Troubles - James Gordon Farrell [119]
The Major got to his feet and hurried after Edward. He found him in his study, examining himself in the mirror with his back to the door. From behind, his jacket’s elegance was unimpaired; a rapid swelling and shrinking was visible below the armpits but there was no noise from his breathing. He heard the Major enter and turned, waving that same closed fist.
“Out for a walk,” he said harshly. “Two men tried to attack me.”
“My God! Where?”
“On the way up from the beach a mile or so away.”
“Here, let me get you a drink!”
The Major poured whiskey into a glass and handed it to Edward. He took it with trembling fingers and drank it rapidly, as if he were thirsty. He sat down then but stood up again immediately, pacing back and forth and still waving his clenched right fist threateningly in the Major’s direction.
“Did they want to rob you?”
“I’ve no idea. For all I know they were trying to kill me. It was odd...Not a word! They didn’t say a word. Neither threats, nor abuse, nor argument...Only heavy breathing and an occasional grunt during the scuffle. I couldn’t even see what the blighters looked like. There was a big man whose clothing was ragged and I heard something tear while we were struggling...and there was a smell of dirt and turf-smoke about him...but they all smell that way. There’s only one thing I know about him for certain. Come here to the light and have a look.”
Edward had paused, holding his tightly clenched fist under the oil lamp. Curious, the Major went over. Edward slowly opened his fingers—a tuft of red hair lay in his palm.
“That’s not much help,” he laughed. “I must know two dozen men with hair that colour around here.” Now that he was standing near to the light the Major could see that he was very pale. But he continued in a strong and cheerful tone: “Must have wrenched this from the beggar’s scalp. Didn’t realize I had it in my hand till I was back here.”
Far from getting better as time went on, the situation was plainly getting worse. Hardly a day passed now without some fresh instance of disagreeable behaviour on the part of the local population: a tradesman deliberately ignoring you in his shop, a child putting out its tongue at you without being scolded by its parents, a door that nobody thought of holding open for you, a seat that nobody offered you while you were waiting to be served...Trivial things, perhaps, but when one thought of how obliging the people of Kilnalough used to be! In short, it became wearing for the nerves. Who could blame Miss Staveley for delivering a long, rambling rebuke to the sniggering shop-girls of Finnegan’s?
The ladies from the Majestic no longer ventured into Kilnalough alone these days; one was too vulnerable to insult. If anything was needed, a few ounces of wool or a jar of peppermints, perhaps, or something from the chemist’s—smelling-salts or senna pods or lavender water—the problem was discussed over the whist-tables and an expedition was mounted. Six eyes, of course, all sharply on the look-out, proved far better than two for spotting insults while in the drapery or the tea-rooms, three tongues far better than one for putting someone back in his place.
In no time at all the ladies developed a remarkable skill for discerning traces of insulting behaviour in the townspeople. A lack of respect would be detected (in a turned back, in a “saucy” smile, in a cheeky “Good day!”) and quick as a flash it would be dealt with. Miss Johnston rapidly established herself as the champion in both detection and retribution and accordingly became the most sought-after person to accompany shopping expeditions. Miss Bagley and Miss Staveley were also reliable performers. Miss Archer and Miss Porteous