At Swim, Two Boys - Jamie O'Neill [93]
Gordie had included a photograph with the letter. Very likely he stood with his chest out and his shoulders back. You could be proud of a son that way. He had a cigarette in his hand and underneath he’d written, I trust the cigarette does not offend. That too would stand you proud. Sign’s on, it was farewell to the old Gordie. It wasn’t any old slavey would do for him now.
He felt her before he heard her, the friction of her eyes on his neck. “Ye’re back,” she said.
“Hello, Aunt Sawney, are you awake so?”
“Don’t tell me, ye was away vandalizing the posters.” And she was off. He was away scandalizing the street, she made no doubt. Wasn’t he at St. Joseph’s, he told her. And if he was, she said, it wasn’t to pray he went. The price of him to be tooting his Fenian songs outside of a church. In vain Mr. Mack protested he had no notion about the Protestant church. Outside of a church, she went on, where a poor soldier laddie was having his last respects. In vain he protested he had no notion there was a funeral in progress. Might be his own son one of these days, she said. But what would he mind with his fond priesteen and his rebels’ medley?
“Will you give it a rest, woman?”
“So long as ye have your twopenny door, the world can go stand on its head.”
But Mr. Mack was saved by the bell. Clink. Customer. This time of night and all. “I’ll be with you directly.” But he wasn’t out of his chair before the inside door opened and think of the devil, the horns is there.
“Hello, Mr. Mack, and how are you at all? Is that a letter you’re after reading, Jim? Who’s it from, don’t tell me. Is it Gordie? Oh, Mr. Mack, I’m pleased he’s wrote at long last, for it wasn’t fair leaving you out in the cold like that. Hello, Miss Burke, is it well you’re keeping? Did you get a snap, Jim? I got a lovely snap.”
“Nancy, this is the private quarters. You know that well.”
“Fierce handsome he looks in his raccoon-skin cap.”
“Thank you, Nancy,” said Mr. Mack ushering her into the shop and closing the door behind.
“And the plumes sticking out on the side.”
“Hackles.”
“What’s that?”
“Not plumes, Nancy. Hackles.”
“Hackles, Mr. Mack?”
“As it happens, Nancy, the shop is closed, only Jim forgot the gas. Howsomever, as you’re here already.”
“’Tis only I was thinking he won’t be sporting a raccoon-skin hat where he’ll be headed. Will he now, Mr. Mack?”
“I don’t know what nonsense you’re talking, Nancy, but if you’d care to purchase anything you need only ask.”
“I was only saying if it’s out East he’s going, it’s the pith helmet he’ll want. Sure you’d go demented with a raccoon on your head in all that sunshine.”
“East? My son is going East?”
“Did he not let on? Oh yes, they was issued with sun-hats. Weeks ago, this was. I’m surprised now how it slipped his mind to tell you.”
Mr. Mack had to sit down. My son is going East, he kept telling himself. Thanks be to God almighty and all the saints. Our Lady of Ransom, pray for us. Out loud he said, “I was a good while out East myself.” Out East in the sun where it’s safe. Safe bar the sun and the Punjab head and the Doolally tap and the dhobi itch and the Billy Stink and the rest. But safe from the trenches. The Lord between us and harm, and he was.
“I’ll be with you directly, Nancy, I must just—” He snuck his head inside the kitchen door. “Jim, Jim!”
“Da?”
“He’s going out East.”
“Gordie is?”
“Isn’t it great?” He waited to be sure his son understood the significance, then back inside the shop.
“I know what it is,” said Nancy. “He must be worried there’s agents about the premises.”
“What agents is these?”
“’Tis well known, Mr. Mack, the Fenians do be in league with the Kaiser.”
Sternly he told her, “There are no Fenians here.”
“And after the newspapers and all?”
“The newspapers is lies. You might listen what the priest says on Sunday.”
“You’ll be getting a fierce name for yourself, Mr. Mack. Second mention in as many months. Breach of the peace, wasn’t it, this time? Likely to occasion? Mind you, that was unfortunate that the poor dead soldier was the son of a superintendent.”