At Swim, Two Boys - Jamie O'Neill [63]
“What’s that, Brother?”
“I don’t recall . . .”
“There you go, Brother. We’ll make this the last. Well after closing and was the knock to come there’s never a hope you’d be bonafide. Knock that back now and we’ll show you out the yard door. Are you with us at all there, Brother?”
Hands guided him through the dark, the dim and the dark to the light that shone without. Our Lady’s Litany trembled on his tongue:
Queen of Angels, pray for us.
Queen of Patriarchs, pray for us.
Empress of India, pray for us.
“Brother! I say, Brother Polycarp! No, this way, Brother!”
Somebody calling his name. How bright it was. He had not expected such light. Such light he could not bide and he trembled for the dark once more.
“Brother Polycarp! Will you watch out for yourself!”
Calling him back. But he was going now, out into the light. The mighty roar of trumpets greeted him. A screech as if the gates of hell had opened. The gates crashed against him closed and he was floating, floating in the light, in the blue and stelliferous bright.
Her face was just as he always had known it would be, noble and wise and pained with care. He closed his eyes. “Mater,” he said. “Mater misericordiae.”
Mr. Mack was already beside him. “Brother Polycarp, are you hit?”
“Is he all right?” a woman’s voice called.
“There’s no blood,” said Mr. Mack. “I think ’tis only bruises. Are you current at all there, Brother? He’s dazed yet.”
The woman climbed down from the motor-car. “Simply stepped in front,” she was saying. “He gave no sign.”
“Don’t trouble yourself, mam. He was clearly in the wrong. Is it Madame MacMurrough it is?”
“Is there anything broken?”
“Not at all. A few scratches is all. You’ll know me, Madame MacMurrough. I’m the man with the stockings.”
“Stockings? Is there a constable about?”
“Sure there’s never a constable when you wants one, mam. Flap-doodlers is all they are.”
The brother let out a groan and Eveline said, “Don’t stand there wittering, man. Take his shoulders while I take his legs. We must get this fellow to a hospital.”
“In your motor-car, mam?”
“Hurry now.”
While they bundled the brother to the back seat, Mr. Mack said, “Yes, stockings for the troops at the Front. I knits them at home, then you boxes them off. I was thinking of sending the boy up later for I have another parcel made up to go.”
She looked at him slant-eyed, then shook her head. The brother moaned and she bent down. “Don’t fret. You’ll be safe soon.”
Mr. Mack saw the brother’s eyes open. There was disbelief there and his fingers trembled to touch the lady’s face.
“My poor man,” she said and held his hand. An incomparable beatitude formed on his yellow smile. “What does he say?”
“I can’t quite catch the wind of it.”
“Is it Latin?”
“I have it,” said Mr. Mack. “The Mater. ’Tis a hospital away in Dublin.”
“There’s no time for that. We must try for St. Michael’s.”
Some young gurriers had gathered and Mr. Mack had the honor of scooting them clear of the coachwork. Others jumped up and down to glimpse the injured party. “Is there bleeding, mister?” they wanted to know. “Is the brother kilt at all?” Mr. Mack appropriated his handkerchief for a screen against their uncouth snitches.
Eveline loosened the brother’s collar. His eyes had closed again but she whispered in his ear, “Hold still now.” To Mr. Mack she said, “You had better sit with him. Try and make him comfortable.”
Mr. Mack would be delighted to assist in any way he could, and he hadn’t his seat hardly taken before the vehicle juddered into motion. He held the brother’s head in his lap. “I must say, Madame MacMurrough, it is a great delight to be in a motor-car. It is a Vauxhall design, I believe. A Prince Henry.” She seemed not to hear him over the wind, so more loudly he said, “I was in a doctor’s runabout