Troubles - James Gordon Farrell [189]
“Yes, yes!”
“Will you?”
“Ouch! Daddy, you’re hurting!”
“D’you promise?”
“Yes, yes!”
And with that he bundled them into their compartment and rejoined the Major, who was the only member of the party to be moved by this leave-taking. Still, he was glad to see them out of danger. He only wished Mrs Rappaport had agreed to leave also, but he had only succeeded in arousing her obstinacy. She loathed Calcutta; always had. Refused to go there. The heat was appalling.
“Calcutta? But nobody wants you to go to Calcutta!” A long and debilitating argument had ensued. She agreed that she would be safe there. But safety wasn’t everything. One had one’s duty, after all. She would stay where she was. She remained quite deaf to the Major’s protestations. Once, fleetingly, she seemed to grasp that the Major wanted her to go to England, not to Calcutta, for she exclaimed: “I’m not pregnant, am I?”
“Good heavens! I certainly hope not!”
“Well, the climate here is perfectly suitable.” During this baffling conversation the huge cat that crouched on her lap like a furry bulldog stared piercingly into the Major’s eyes. But at last the Major acknowledged defeat; sensing this, the cat relaxed and rubbed its head against the hard leather holster which Mrs Rappaport now habitually wore strapped round her waist (the calm and practical Mrs Roche had taken care to remove the cartridges, however). The cat yawned and licked its paw to wash its face. The audience was at an end.
One success (the twins) and two failures (Edward’s holiday, Mrs Rappaport). Next the Major turned his attention to the Majestic itself, afraid that the collapse of the building might be imminent. The Major, of course, knew himself to be anxious by nature and inclined to get things out of proportion. Yet he still believed that he could hear the curious cracking sounds which he had first heard during the roar of the storm. Now that all was quiet and tranquil one should have been able to hear them quite clearly. But the fact was that, although he could feel them, he could not hear them at all. It was merely an abrupt sensation of strain, followed by an ominous relief—a sensation that might be represented as the snapping of rotten branches under water. No doubt it was pure imagination. Nevertheless, in order to set his mind at rest he telephoned an architect in Dublin by the name of Delahunty and explained his fears, asking him if he would come down and look the place over.
Delahunty was a confident, jolly man of middle age who had been recommended to the Major by a mutual acquaintance. He laughed at the Major’s anxiety; he knew the place well, he said. He had often stayed there with his parents as a child. Solid as a rock! One might just as well expect Dublin Castle to fall down. But if the Major really wanted reassurance he’d be delighted to come and have a look round. It would be good to see the old place again after all these years. If it was a nice day he might even bring his swimming-costume and take a dip in the swimming-pool...Was it filled at the moment? well, yes...though, strictly speaking...that was to say, there was water in it...Capital! The Major should expect him on Tuesday. And Delahunty, who was a busy man, had rung off before the Major had time to append any more of his laborious qualifications.
On Tuesday he duly made his appearance, a bald, tubby man with sparkling eyes who greeted the Major as if they were old friends. Splendid to see the old place again. Donkey’s years since he’d been in this corner of Ireland. Needed a bit of spit and polish by the look of it but solid as a rock. After all, it wasn’t the paint that counted but what was underneath. Look, now that he was here why shouldn’t he stay for supper as well? They could put his name in the pot, couldn’t they?
“By all means.”
Ah, they knew how to build in those days. They didn’t just throw a house up with a couple of bricks and a lick of mortar the way they did nowadays. See, Major,