Troubles - James Gordon Farrell [192]
Five of the undergraduates had been correctly identified by Murphy as young gentlemen, rather noisy and talkative ones. From a first-floor window the Major watched them dubiously as they sauntered out on to the lawn where Seán Murphy had been instructed to set up croquet hoops. The sixth, however, was an older man, taciturn and rather self-conscious. He sometimes laughed when the others laughed but not quite so spontaneously. If he cried: “Good shot, Maitland!” or “Your turn, Bunny!” or “Bravo, Hall-Smith!” it was usually to echo one of the others who, for the most part, addressed him with distant politeness or ignored him altogether. Later, when they came in for a specially arranged tea with cucumber sandwiches (served in the gun room to inhibit the ladies) the Major learned that this older man’s name was Captain Roberts and that, yes, he had been “up” when the war broke out. And yes, it was a bit hard getting back to one’s studies—at least, he added with an agonized smile, he’d found it so at first anyway. But now, of course...And his sad, shocked eyes returned to the faces of his high-spirited companions.
Presently, the latter having drunk their tea and eaten their sandwiches as unconcernedly as if such things were an everyday occurrence in their lives (as no doubt they were), they returned to their game on the lawn and Captain Roberts trailed after them, a walking reminder of the follies of the older generation if his young companions had needed a reminder (which of course they did not).
The Major viewed dinner that evening with foreboding. There was a faint possibility that Edward, who seldom appeared for meals these days, might forget to attend. Before anyone else arrived, however, he was standing at his chair in the dining-room. On each side of his own seat three empty places had been reserved for the young men: the places of honour, a fact which did little to mollify the indignant old ladies.
The undergraduates arrived late and somewhat out of breath after ragging through the corridors while changing for dinner. There had been an attempted debagging of Maitland, who was the elected butt of the party. Then someone had pinched one of his socks and thrown it out of the window, so that when he followed the others into the dining-room he was wearing odd socks and looking so humorously aggrieved that the others could hardly suppress their laughter.
But Maitland was promptly forgotten when the impatient Edward showed them to their places. In fact they positively goggled with amazement. Laid out at each place beside the silver cutlery was a...revolver! Amazing! Everything people said about Ireland was true! The Irish were completely mad! They hardly dared catch each other’s eye.
Only Captain Roberts, gloomily eyeing the dim and distant contours of the room, seemed to have noticed nothing unusual. While they were waiting for soup to be served he absently picked up the revolver set at his place, spun the empty chamber, hefted it for a moment in his palm, then put it down again, picking up a silver fork instead. Having twirled it briefly between finger and thumb, he replaced it carefully, peering in a worried fashion across the table at the three bright and gleeful faces of his companions opposite. What on earth was the joke this time? Not for the first time since the vacation had begun he wondered uneasily whether he might not have lost his sense of humour.
“Pass the word along,” Bob Danby on his left whispered, groaning with pain, into his ear. “What can the last course possibly be?”
So it was the revolvers set out with the cutlery that was arousing the mirth of his companions! As he passed Danby’s joke on to Bunny Burdock on his right he reproved himself for not having noticed—though, as a matter of fact, he had noticed, assuming merely that the hotel had rats. In the mess dug-outs in France they had been in the habit of blazing