The Empire Trilogy - J. G. Farrell [37]
After he had crossed two more fields and a stream a gravel road came into sight which the Major judged would take him into Kilnalough. The day had turned chilly now that the sun was declining. The thin grey smoke of turf-fires rose from one or two of the chimneys of Kilnalough, very faint against the opal sky to the west where there were no clouds; the horizon looked very cold and clear, as if it were already winter. He shivered. Winter 1919. A peacetime winter: skating on frozen ponds, roasted chestnuts? He had forgotten what winter in peacetime was like and through the unbroken bubble of bitterness in his mind, inches thick like plate glass, he tried to visualize it. But the war was still there. He had not yet finished with it. Although he no longer attended morning prayers to be confronted by the photographs from Edward’s memorial, there were other photographs, smudged and accusing, that still continued even now to appear on the front page of the Weekly Irish Times. The harvest was not yet complete. And what about the survivors? The pathetic letters inquiring about pensions and employment printed in “Our Servicemen’s Bureau” and signed WHIZZ BANG, DUBLIN TOMMY, DELVILLE WOOD, 1916, IMPERIAL RULE, DUBLIN and suchlike? When would it all be finished and forgotten?
On his way down the main street he was hailed by a man whom he at first did not recognize. Nearer at hand, though, he recalled the dapper appearance and the obsequious smile: it was Mr Devlin, Sarah’s father. He had been spotted by Sarah from her bedroom window. She was bored and had nothing to do, confined to bed by a slight chill, it was nothing really, the doctor said, but the Major knew how young people were... they were inclined to be fretful. She was over the worst, of course, thanks very much, but she was so highly strung...In short, she had asked him to ask the Major, if it wouldn’t be too much of an imposition (he needn’t stay more than a minute—it was more for the sake of variety than anything else) if he wouldn’t mind stopping by for a chat...just to say “Hello.”
“I’d be delighted. I’m afraid the dog is rather muddy, though.”
“Well, we could shut him up somewhere,” replied Mr Devlin, looking at the dog with distaste. He led the way through a side door of the bank.
“Careful he doesn’t gobble up all your bank-notes,” laughed the Major as the dog shook itself and frisked cheerfully about the room. Mr Devlin did not appear to find this funny, however; indeed, he looked quite upset. The dog was shut in the kitchen and the Major was shown upstairs to the room where, propped against pillows, her eyes shining, her cheeks flushed and looking, as her father had said, fretful, Sarah was waiting for him.
“I’ll be downstairs,” Mr Devlin said, adding with a cough: “I’ll leave this door open in case you need anything.” And he withdrew. They could hear his footsteps descending the stairs.
“Well, what’s this I hear about you being sick? You’ve had a chill, I understand, but you’re better now. I must say you look as if you’re sparkling with health.”
“Major, do stop talking nonsense and come and sit down. Here on the bed...don’t worry, I won’t bite you. And where’s the lovely dog you were with? It was really the dog I wanted to see, not you. And now I suppose you’ll be thinking it was for yourself. Men are so conceited, young as I am that’s one thing I’ve found out. And