The Empire Trilogy - J. G. Farrell [34]
The Major smiled when he had read this and thought: “How splendidly Irish! The brass band fighting the police with their instruments! I wish I’d been there.” All the same, it was hard to avoid the conclusion that Edward was exaggerating the number of “decent” Irish. And since Newtownbarry was hardly any distance from Kilnalough surely there was cause for concern here too? But the Major was not concerned, at least not for the time being. For the moment he was merely diverted by the spectacle of the Irish behaving as Irishmen are supposed to behave.
The Major laughed aloud. But a day or two later there was a more sombre description of how the crowd had jeered at District Inspector Hunt as he lay dying on the street in Thurles, having been shot from behind. The Major was busy however, and hardly glanced at it. He had made up his mind to tackle Edward about Angela.
Though she was certainly ill, perhaps it was nothing too serious. On the other hand, she was eating so little that at this rate she might starve herself to death. He must know the truth. He was on the point of asking a direct question when Edward said gruffly: “Look here, Brendan, I’d like to thank you for all you’re doing in these...well, trying circumstances. No, no, don’t say a word...I know how it is. I just want to say that I appreciate it, that’s all.”
The Major stared at him in astonishment. What was he doing? And what were the “trying circumstances”? Once again he was about to ask, bluntly, make an end of the mystery and get down to brass tacks...But Edward was visibly moved; the harsh lines of his face had softened, reminding the Major of how he had looked the other evening standing under the downpour in an attitude of despair. How defenceless one is when one is beginning to get old in a country where they are killing the policemen, with a son agin the government, with a daughter ill in bed! Later he realized that he really should have spoken up (by that time it was too late, naturally) because his position had become more delicate than ever. Supposing that, without realizing it, he should stop doing “all that he was doing” (whatever it was), or just as bad, once the “trying circumstances” were over, should continue doing it, thereby revealing that he had not been doing it deliberately. He shook his head sadly (but could not help smiling) over this absurd situation.
* * *
BUY VICTORY LOAN!
“We have won the fight, but we have gone into debt in buying the ‘gloves.’ It was a glorious fight for humanity, but the creditors call regularly for interest on the loan nevertheless. They are about to demand the whole amount...hundreds of millions of pounds fall due for payment within the next few years.”
HELP YOUR COUNTRY OUT!
* * *
Two or three of the elderly ladies who resided permanently at the Majestic had approached the Major to ask his advice on the Victory Loan, alarmed at the thought that England had got herself into debt (although, of course, in a perfectly respectable way). But the Major disappointed them. He listened politely, of course, but his indifference was plainly visible. He contented himself with murmuring: “Afraid I don’t know much about that sort of thing. Perhaps Edward or, let me see, that bank-manager fellow Devlin might be able to give you some tips.” To tell the truth, the ladies were somewhat distressed by his attitude; after all, in a manner of speaking the “gloves” had been bought expressly for his use. They retired with tight lips and the ill-defined but somehow distinct impression that the Major, in spite of all the evidence to the contrary, suffered from a lack of patriotism.