Troubles - James Gordon Farrell [69]
He poked his head out of the door and took a deep breath of cool, unscented air. The relief was extraordinary. There was the sound of footsteps. A buxom girl wearing an apron was skipping towards them along the path.
“The master?” she called. “Is he there? A gentleman does be at the door.” The Major nodded and re-entered the building to tell Edward that he was wanted. The piglets had calmed down and were lying in a row on their backs having their stomachs rubbed. Getting to his feet with a grimace of annoyance, Edward said: “Look here, why don’t you have a good look at the pigs and then follow me up to the house for a spot of tea when you’ve finished? See you up there in a few minutes.” With that he hurried out. A moment later he returned to say: “By the way, would you mind dousing the lanterns before you leave?” Then he was gone again.
Dr Ryan and the Major exchanged a glance but said nothing. Padraig made a sour face and began to wipe one of his boots with a clean handful of straw. The three piglets, gradually becoming aware that the flow of pleasure over their fat pink stomachs had been interrupted, rolled over and sat up. Their three visitors stared at them grimly until, one by one, the animals crept away to a heap of oozing mud and straw in the farthest corner of the court and settled themselves with their backs to the strip of tin. From there they eyed with suspicion and alarm the hostile creatures who (in appearance, anyway) so much resembled their beloved Edward.
When he judged that they had gazed at the animals for a suitable interval the Major doused the lights (which turned the piglets as grey as rats) and ushered the doctor and his grandson out into the fresh air. The old gentleman looked very weary indeed now and his movements had become more trembling and tentative than ever. They began to climb in silence towards the looming house, with the old man leaning heavily on his grandson’s slim shoulder and thrusting at the ground with his stick. “Really,” thought the Major, “it was most inconsiderate of Edward to bring the ‘senile old codger’ all the way down here for this pig nonsense.”
On a flight of stone steps between two terraces they stopped for a rest. They had gained sufficient altitude to afford the Major a view over the strip of park-land to the south-west, and beyond to the meadow. From the next terrace up, or from the one above that, he should be able to see clear to the tenants’ farms and the rolling hills behind them. The farmhouses—he remembered them perfectly—would be clustered there on the green slopes looking, at this distance, like grey sugar cubes.
They were now taking a short cut across the penulti-mate terrace, which led them past an immense swimming-pool, a splendid-looking affair which for some reason the Major had never noticed before. Here and there bright blue tiles were visible through the green lichen that veiled its sides and they passed the peeling white skeleton of a high-diving-board; beside it a springboard hung over the black water on the surface of which, by accident or design, lay the green discs of water-lilies. “It must be fresh water,” he thought. “Rainwater, perhaps.”
As he watched, something heaved powerfully beneath the surface. “Looks as if there might be good fishing. Pike, I wouldn’t be surprised. Too bad Edward hasn’t got a decent cook.”
Turning a corner of the pool brought a reflection of the sky down on to the water for a moment and left the water-lilies floating in azure. He glanced back once more to see if any fish were rising, but the surface was glassy smooth. He was tempted to go back and try the springboard to see whether it had rotted through—but undoubtedly it had. And it was fitting that it should have. From