Troubles - James Gordon Farrell [41]
“Chairs were found and we all sat down. ‘Could we have some service please,’ demanded the Man of Stone in a voice from Beyond the Tomb. A perspiring red-faced chap in an apron scurried out from behind the bar wiping his hands.
“Silence still gripped the room, Major, like a heavy frost. Everyone at our table was wondering why ‘they’ didn’t start talking again, in respectful undertones, of course. Suddenly one of the men at the bar snorted into his glass, sending a great brown spray over his neighbours, hanging on helplessly to the brass rail, barking again and again with uncontrollable laughter, gasping so desperately for air that for a while it wasn’t clear that it was laughter and not some dreadful epileptic fit he was having. Little by little, though, his need for air strangled his merriment and he was led outside, half drowned, by one of his companions, who then returned alone. After this some of the other men were obviously having trouble keeping their faces straight; on every side faces were long and solemn, tight as violin strings. (It was awful, Major, you’ve no idea.) The restrained laughter bulged like an abscess in the room. At any moment one had the feeling that the wretched thing might burst with a loud report and drench us all with the yellow pus of laughter (sorry about some of these metaphors, Major, I’m doing m’best). One could feel it coming, that terrible, cataclysmic burst of laughter...
“At this point Himself, alone in the silence, stood up and began to sing:
‘GodSaveourGraciousKing
LongliveourNobleKing
GodSavetheKing.’
The other members of the Majestic party were now on their feet. Two or three of the ladies, their voices reedy and defiant, joined in here and fluted:
‘Sendhimvictor-rious
Happyandglor-rious
LongtoreignOh!-verus
Go-od sa-ave the King.’
(Oh, Major, you can’t imagine what it was like! Your hackles would have bristled with pride at that dear uplifting sound!)
“Well, an instant of silence followed. Then it came: a great rolling storm of applause, of laughter, of clapping and crying and cheering. The noise was positively deafening. The skin that covered that straining, bulging tension in the room had broken and the relief was divine, Major. Even I was applauding.
“The Man of Stone and the ladies, however, looked far from pleased at this favourable reception. Their faces darkened, the Man of Stone grimly licked his granite lips while the ladies elevated their rheumy eyes to a more noble, uncompromising angle than ever. What was to be done? Hardly had the cascade of applause begun to subside when the Man of Stone, marble nostrils quivering, launched once more into the National Anthem, singing the same verse as before (I suppose there are others, you’re the sort of chap, Major, who’d be likely to know about that sort of thing, but never mind for the moment.)
“This time not only the contingent from the Majestic but also some throaty tenors from the bar joined in, raising their foaming tankards and showing a tendency, common to many Irishmen when singing, to warble sentimentally and allow their eyes to fill with tears. In our party at that moment, Major, muscles were tensing, necks were growing red, veins were bulging, fists were being clenched. Evans, the appalling tutor-wallah, in particular, looked as if he were about to swoon in an ecstasy of hate and violence if he didn’t get to bash someone up pretty quickly.
“Now everyone was singing, not just a few drunken tenors