Troubles - James Gordon Farrell [195]
His words were lost in the hubbub to everyone except Danby, to whom they had been addressed. A chilled hush fell on the two long tables as Danby, smiling faintly, prepared to reply. At length, flicking aside the long lock of hair that drooped over one eye, he said: “That all depends, sir, from which side you look at it. From the point of view of the Volunteers the Easter Week rebellion must seem incredibly heroic and patriotic. As for being stabbed in the back, I’m afraid I don’t quite see how you can justify that as a description of the situation.”
“The British Army fought to defend Ireland against the Kaiser while the Catholics stayed at home safe and sound. Justify that if you can! And then...and then...and then they attacked the very lads who were giving their lives to save them! If that isn’t treachery, I’m damned if I know what is!” And Edward sat back quivering with righteous indignation.
“But you don’t even know your facts, sir...You don’t even know your facts!” cried Danby, raising his voice to the thrilling pitch that had so often brought him deserved applause from the Oxford Union. “I say again, you don’t even know your facts...Do you realize that there were a hun-dred thousand, I repeat, a hundred thousand Catholic Irishmen fighting in the British Army? There was no question of treachery at all. The war against the Kaiser had nothing to do with the fight for Ireland’s freedom.”
“Pacifists! It’s all very well for you lily-livered youngsters who were hiding at home behind your mother’s skirts. Think of the men who were risking their lives in France and risking them for you! Major, you were risking your life in France... Perhaps you’d tell these young pacifists whether it was treachery or not!”
The Major sat dumbly at the end of his table. There was a long, an interminable silence. Even Murphy, carrying round the cups of coffee, froze in his tracks and arrested his laboured breathing. At length the Major heaved a sigh and said, softly but audibly: “You’re perfectly right, Edward. I think we all felt we’d been stabbed in the back.”
“There, you see,” cried Edward triumphantly.
“What did I tell you? Treachery!”
But Danby, his eyes twinkling with the pleasure of doing battle with this redoubtable old juggernaut, appeared not in the least abashed. He smiled impishly at his friends and then said: “Really, sir, you can’t classify us all as cowards quite as easily as that. My friend Captain Roberts here, for example, served most heroically in France and I believe he feels, as we all do, that the Easter Week affair was perfectly justified. How about it, Roberts?”
Once again there was a pause and a seemingly interminable silence while everyone held their breath. Captain Roberts blinked and licked his lips. His balding undergraduate head was a great mass of wavy wrinkles as he contemplated the toad which had been put on his plate. For a moment even Danby wondered whether he might not have been over-confident. But then at last Captain Roberts cleared his throat and murmured hoarsely: “Perfectly justified...We all thought so...”
He had opened his mouth wide. He had swallowed the toad. “Good old Roberts!” the undergraduates were thinking and, beside him, Bunny Burdock surreptitiously gave his arm an encouraging, comradely squeeze. But Captain Roberts was careful to avoid the Major’s eye.
A thunderous crash cut short the undergraduates’ jubilation. It came from Edward’s heavy oak chair, which had flown back ten feet and overturned. He was on his feet, his face white and working with fury, glaring at Roberts. But then, without a word he turned and strode out of the room.
The Major, who had glimpsed the expression on his face, hurried after him, napkin in hand—but when he reached the door he thought better of it. He listened to the diminishing echo of Edward’s heavy footsteps on the tiles of the corridor and then,