Troubles - James Gordon Farrell [188]
“You really sympathize with Sinn Fein in many ways, is that not so? No, no, don’t bother to deny it, Major. With me... och, I’m just a useless old man, you know, everyone says so...with me you don’t have to pretend. Well, you must leave now before it’s too late. This wretched affair in Ireland is none of your doing. No doubt you haven’t helped matters, but that’s neither here nor there. Now, if you’ve a grain of sense, you’ll leave while you still have a chance.”
“I can’t leave with the way things are. The hotel’s in a dreadful mess.”
The Major had called on old Dr Ryan to ask his advice on what should be done with Edward, about whom he was becoming progressively more concerned. Edward was seldom to be seen these days. He spent a great deal of time out of doors engrossed in some work he had undertaken in the grounds (not even Seán Murphy had been able to tell him just what this work was). Once, on his way up the drive, the Major had glimpsed Edward’s massive silhouette standing on the topmost roof, outlined against a bank of white cumulus clouds over Wales. On another occasion, while feeding the dogs in the yard (Evans the tutor had left on the day after the ball without waiting to be sacked, taking with him all Mr Norton’s silk shirts which had been drying on a line), he had heard harsh laughter echoing amid the slates and turrets overhead—but then there had been silence, and no reply when he had called Edward’s name.
What could be done to improve Edward’s state of mind? But Dr Ryan, who as usual appeared to be fast asleep, had shown himself disinclined to talk about Edward. Instead, he had kept on insisting that the Major should leave, which for the Major was quite out of the question.
“Very well. If you want to act like a young fool and get yourself in a scrape...!”
Yes, yes, but about Edward? If, for example, he could be persuaded to take a holiday for a few weeks? But the old man was impatient with the Major’s theories and laborious qualifications as to Edward’s state of mind. Edward was a confounded nuisance and had been raving for years!
“But the holiday?”
“Yes, yes, take the old divil away and see he never comes back!”
The Major ground his teeth with exasperation and thought that it was really high time the old buffer retired. He was becoming more senile every day.
Naturally, when the Major suggested to Edward that it might do the twins good if he took them away for a few days or even longer (“I could look after the hotel while you’re away”) Edward looked at him in amazement. Leave Ireland at a time like this! At the very moment when one must stand firm! Only yesterday his property had been abused; a warning notice he had placed on the gate-post had been removed. The guilty party must be found and punished!
The Major (who was himself the guilty party) sighed and stared at his finger-nails. Edward was clearly inaccessible to reason. But perhaps the whole thing would blow over, the “troubles” would sort themselves out, Edward be restored to his senses. Although mild, the Major was a stubborn young man and determined, in any event, to salvage whatever he could. The twins should be sent to England to stay with their aunt, the one deemed “fast” who was married to a clergy-man, it couldn’t be helped. Besides, she was unlikely, in the Major’s opinion, to prove “faster” than the twins already were. Mrs Rappaport should also be dispatched. Perhaps the guests might be encouraged to leave as well...
“Do whatever you think best, old man. I leave it in your hands,” Edward replied vaguely, with the air of someone who has more important things on his mind. And he stared into the distance, cracking his knuckles and looking insane.
When the day came for the twins to leave neither they nor Edward seemed in the least upset by their departure or by the prospect of separation. On the platform of Kilnalough