At Swim, Two Boys - Jamie O'Neill [64]
“Yes.”
“But this is a Prince Henry, I do believe. It is a Vauxhall manufacture.”
He leant his elbow on the furled hood. His fingers patted the trim. He desisted for fear of smudges and he tried once more with the lady in front.
“I do hear the Duke of Westminster has had his many Rolls-Royces armor-plated.” No response. “The Army Motor Reserve,” he explained. “For to harry the Uhlans.”
But he had no luck in this wind, so he sat back in the leathery den and checked on Brother Polycarp instead. Dazed is right. Oiled to the eyes if you go to that of it. Atrocious smell of drink off him. I had no notion he was so far gone. I hope now my Jim won’t be getting any bad habits. You’d think they’d be safe in the college. But the demon drink, it has the key to every door.
It was the new father had told him that. Fierce down that father has on the brother. Can understand for why now. He was in the right of it too: Polycarp is not an Irish name. Mind, that father is fierce all ways. I had no notion it was Erse he was talking. Dee’s mirror git. To which the correct reply is Dee’s mirror git is Patrick.
But small the harm in Erse and I’ll be happy for Jim to take classes. So long as it wouldn’t interfere with the Latin.
“I must say, Madame MacMurrough, I have always wanted to congratulate you on the sterling work you do put in for the war effort.”
“What?” called Eveline over the wind.
He leant forward, holding on to his hat, and shouted, “The stockings you do collect.”
“What about them?”
“Well done, I wanted to say.”
“Look here, there’s a rug in the box. See if you can’t wrap it about him.” She checked over her shoulder. “You say he’s a brother?”
“From the Presentation College, mam.” He waited a moment, then said, “He takes my son for Latin.”
“You have a son there?”
“I do indeed. Latin and music. He gives a flute band out of hours.” The engine faltered and Mr. Mack leant forward again. “Are we doing all right?”
“An obstruction in the road. Gone now.”
“As a matter of fact, the new father is after appointing me drill sergeant. I’m to teach the boys marching.”
“You?”
“Oh, murder above!”
“What is it?”
“I’ve only now recollected. If the brother’s for the sick-ward we’ll have no band at all. Oh, holy murder above.”
Silent amid the roaring world, Eveline wove through the trams and jarveys and the May processions of girls and boys. At the People’s Park she swerved to the right, then left along the seafront. The wind confused the groans of her passengers while the road ahead showed clear and sure.
Doyler had been right: the rain came in the evening, and it was still pouring when Jim pushed with the shop bike up Ballygihen hill. The shiny asphalt, the mop of trees, the chimney teeth with a chip off the middle, the squeaks of the wheels which seemed to complain of piles and the falling damps, the mudguard spitting wet: the world conspired with his thoughts and everywhere he looked was Doyler’s presence. Ahead lay Killiney Hill, its obelisk stark against the last cloudy light.
He turned under the arch into Ballygihen Avenue, then pushed against the tradesmen’s gate to Ballygihen House.
Tyre-grooves in the gravel, but no sign of any motor. A light showed in a bedroom and he saw a figure at the window looking out on the bay. There was an area with a steps down and another light showed there. He propped the bike at the railings, took the parcel in its waxed canvas, went down to the kitchen door.
It was a man who answered and he had not expected this. He was in his shirtsleeves but still there was an air of quality about him. “I’ve come with the stockings,” said Jim.
The man lifted an eyebrow in what Jim, an authority now, identified for superciliousness. “Stockings?”
“They’re for Madame MacMurrough.”
“Is my aunt in need of stockings?”
Jim felt the reddening of his cheeks. “They’re comforts for the troops. My father sent me with them.”
The man had an easy and leisured manner that unsettled Jim, the way his eyes felt free to ramble over him. He said, “Best bring them in