Troubles - James Gordon Farrell [80]
“No half measures, eh?”
“I can see you haven’t been reading the papers, Major. Couple of army chaps were shot down on a links in Tipperary the other day...unarmed men. Didn’t have a chance out there with no shelter, nobody passing by. The Shinners are brave enough when the other fella doesn’t have a gun. They’ll run like rabbits if they know you’re armed.”
The Major only glanced at the newspaper these days, tired of trying to comprehend a situation which defied comprehension, a war without battles or trenches. Why should one bother with the details: the raids for arms, the shootings of policemen, the intimidations? What could one learn from the details of chaos? Every now and then, however, he would become aware with a feeling of shock that, for all its lack of pattern, the situation was different, and always a little worse.
Satisfied with the Major’s look of dismay, O’Neill was now saying confidently that there was no need to worry. “All this will be cleared up now within five or six weeks, you can take it from me.”
“How d’you know?” asked the Major hopefully, thinking that perhaps O’Neill had heard something. “Two reasons,” declared O’Neill. “One, reinforcements are coming from England with this new recruiting campaign. Two, because of the nature of the Irish people. The Irish are a quick-tempered lot but they don’t hold a grudge for long. They’re good at heart, you see. Besides, they’re too inefficient to get anywhere by themselves...I speak, mind you, of the Southerners; Ulstermen are a different kettle of fish. Besides, all Ireland’s best leaders have been Englishmen; look at Parnell.”
“Yes, yes, to be sure,” agreed the Major dubiously. “It must end soon. That’s what we used to say in the trenches,” he added with a faint smile.
“Of course, of course,” O’Neill said, failing to perceive the Major’s irony. “You can take my word for it. I’ve just been having a drink with the army lads we have here now and I don’t think they’ll stand for much nonsense from Paddy Pig.”
“You mean the men staying at the Majestic? I didn’t think they had much time for us locals.”
“They’re splendid chaps, you can take it from me,” replied O’Neill, who was now taking off his bulging jacket and showed less sign of leaving than ever. “It’s just that they don’t really know who they can trust over here and, frankly, I don’t blame them for that. Come in with me now to the bar and I’ll introduce you.”
“Really, thanks all the same...” protested the Major, but O’Neill was already on his feet and beckoning imperiously with a forearm as thick as a leg of lamb. The Major followed him reluctantly. O’Neill’s studded shoes clicked on the tiles of the corridor and bit into the worn wood of the locker room where a fat naked gentleman was vigorously towelling his quivering bottom. They passed through into the Members’ Bar.
“Just a minute,” the Major said. “There’s someone I must say hello to.”
Mr Devlin, dapper and smiling, was hastening towards him. He was delighted to see the Major back amongst them once more and must express his thanks for the kindness he had shown to his daughter Sarah on her way to France and how was the Major’s dear auntie who had also been so kind...(“Ah, deceased is she? Indeed now, I’m sorry to hear it.”) And was the Major himself in better health than he had been? It must have been a great worry and a terrible grief for him to be losing his auntie like that...And as for Sarah she would be back one of these days and he knew that she would look forward to seeing the Major as much as he himself did and besides they would probably be meeting here at the links from now on because he had “a little job to do”...He paused expectantly.
“Oh?”
Yes, he’d be spending some considerable time here in the evenings because he