The Furys (13 page)

‘Did you ever see the like of it?' shouted Mrs Fury. ‘Come along! We must get out. Have to get a tram after all.' Mr Fury knocked out the contents of his pipe and said, ‘Good Christ Almighty!'

‘Denny!' Mrs Fury pushed her face into that of her husband. ‘Do you know where you are?' Peter had got out of the taxi. The man had already thrown up the car bonnet. Miss Mangan climbed out after Peter, ridiculing the driver for his vain efforts, whilst Mr Fury was left as sole guardian of the bundle in the corner. ‘Peter,' he called, ‘give me a hand with your grand-dad.'

They got the old man out. The bewildered group stood on the pavement. ‘I won't pay you a penny,' stormed Mrs Fury at the driver. The man looked up from his engine. ‘I don't want your money,' he said. ‘Would you mind standing out of my light?' He stood watching the party edge away towards the car-lines. Peter was smiling. Mrs Fury said, ‘Here's a car.'

The same commotion as before, the same searching for seats. Brigid Mangan was hanging on desperately to her brother-in-law as the tram started off. ‘You never saw such a woman as Fanny,' he remarked to Miss Mangan. ‘Creates such a fuss over nothing.' Brigid affected to be sympathetic. They went inside, leaving Mrs Fury with Peter and her father sitting at the furthest end of the car.

‘I'd better go down,' he remarked to Brigid, and left her sitting by herself. In the brilliantly lighted car Mr Fury fell to studying his son. Peter began to talk excitedly about his journey across. The passengers looked at this youth. Mrs Fury was trembling now. It only required a word about his failure to start her husband off. Each time he sailed perilously near to the subject occupying both their minds the woman turned pale. She dreaded any mention of it. Peter turned to his father. At the the same moment Mrs Fury remarked icily: ‘We get down here.'

She got up from her seat, saying to Mr Fury, ‘Peter and you better get Father out,' and she sailed along to the platform. Her sister was already standing holding on to the brass rail. ‘What a wild night, Fanny!' Miss Mangan exclaimed. The woman did not reply. She turned her head round, anxious to see what progress the others were making. She could not bear to have her son alone with his father, not for a single moment. Peter caught her eye then, and he wondered at the strange expression upon his mother's face. Mrs Fury's fear was that her son might suddenly expand. More than that. That he might confide in his father. There would be enough to talk about when they got home. She hoped the fire had not gone out. Peter and Mr Fury helped Mr Mangan down to the road when the tram pulled up at the bottom of Hatfields. Mrs Fury looked at Peter. She was glad to see him again. She loved her son, but that wasn't the end of the matter. There was a question to be asked and a question to be answered. She was to have her say, and there was plenty of time for that. The car moved on, leaving the party of five standing together in the middle of the road. The rain suddenly stopped. Peter went up to his mother. He was smiling at her now. But the mother turned her head away, saying to her sister, ‘How I hate those trams!' – but she was really saying to herself, ‘How could I? So soon.' Quite out of place. She had not failed to notice the little conversation that had gone on between the boy and his father. She resented this. The boy must learn to know his position. Peter was still standing at her elbow.

‘Dad and I are going ahead with Grand-dad,' he said, but his mother replied, ‘Not at all. We'll all go together, Peter.' A sudden frenzy seized her. She could not understand. She drew back from her son. This confrontation with her own flesh and blood after so many years rather frightened her. Gradually she would right herself. His coming home was, of course, associated with the other thing. It made her feel sick again just to think about it. Ahead she discerned her husband waving his free hand, the other was round her father. ‘He's coming now,' she shouted, and at the same moment gave her son a violent push, saying, ‘Go to your father.' She turned to her sister. ‘Let them go ahead. Denny has the key.' The two sisters walked slowly behind. For some time no word was spoken. Then Brigid exclaimed, ‘I say, Denny looks awfully miserable. Isn't he well?' Mrs Fury replied, ‘He's quite well, Brigid. What makes you think that?'

‘He's so quiet,' went on Brigid. ‘He's hardly spoken a word since we met.' The other woman laughed. Oh! That was an old habit of his. She wouldn't be surprised when she told her that Denny had never opened his mouth to her father for the past two years. Brigid Mangan said, ‘They had a row, I suppose.'

‘Yes.' Mrs Fury was not feeling expansive enough at that moment to continue any further. The row had been over Peter, of course.

‘I hope you won't miss your boat,' Mrs Fury said. They were in the street now. ‘What else could I say,' she was thinking, ‘after that remark?' Quite out of place. She was always the same. ‘Brigid,' she said, ‘how long is Peter out of college?'

‘Since last Monday.'

They reached the house. Denny and his son had already gone inside. When Mrs Fury and her sister entered the kitchen, they found Mr Mangan seated in his usual place. Mr Fury was standing by the window.

‘It seems ten years since I saw you, Dad,' Peter was saying. ‘I don't think you've changed much.' Mr Fury smiled. Mrs Fury looked from one to the other. How well Peter and his father seemed to be getting on, she was thinking. ‘Denny,' she said quickly, ‘will you take Brigid's things upstairs?' Mr Fury picked up Miss Mangan's bag. ‘Will you go up with him, Brigid?' asked Mrs Fury. ‘He'll show you the room.' Brigid crossed the kitchen and followed Mr Fury upstairs. No sooner had they gone than Mrs Fury swung round and demanded sharply of her son his reason for not replying to her last letter. Peter had seated himself on the sofa. He looked at his mother. He could not conceal his surprise at her sudden demanding tone.

‘Why, I …'

‘Of course, the Principal will probably write to me,' his mother interrupted. She flushed a little. Somehow she had not liked the attitude of her husband. The word ‘conspiracy' flashed across her mind. One only had to leave them for a single moment. What was the matter with her? Was she suspicious? Well, she would not blind herself to facts. Peter got up. ‘Well Mother …' but the woman immediately clapped a hand over his mouth. She could hear her husband and sister descending the stairs.

‘Plenty of time tomorrow,' she said. The youth stared at her. To him she had suddenly grown huge, she overawed.
She
certainly had changed. He recalled the journey in the taxi. His mother had seemed to overawe everybody. Mrs Fury repeated the word, ‘Tomorrow.' Her whole spirit thrilled to the word. Tomorrow. Judge and judged. A cross-examination. The whole truth. What she thought, felt, what she had hoped for and lost. She could feel the energy stirring in her. Tomorrow would settle everything. Besides, there was Brigid. She would hear what she had to say. How glad she was now that the woman had come over with Peter! She would not grumble at the temporary inconvenience. Brigid and Mr Fury came into the kitchen. Miss Mangan sat down beside Peter. She could not take her eyes from her father. There was something about his whole attitude that filled her with pity. Anthony Mangan did not even know his daughter had arrived. Mrs Fury started to prepare supper. Immediately Brigid got up and went to the back kitchen to help. Fanny Fury said:

‘Just watch that pan, Brigid. I must show the boy his room. I completely forgot about it. Then Father must have some milk and be put to bed.' Mrs Fury felt that agitation growing. She called to Peter. ‘Get your bag, Peter, and come upstairs.'

They left Mr Fury standing under the mantelshelf. He was looking at the old man, but he was thinking of the ride in the taxi. He could not forget that ride. The whole atmosphere seemed mysterious. His wife would do that, of course. But why the devil did she conceal things like she did? Why didn't she be open and say, ‘I know why you failed'? No. She was content to skirt round the thing. Her whole attitude implied that she already knew everything. When was he going to get a chance to talk with his son? He wasn't blind. He knew what they would be talking about upstairs. Damn it! One would think the lad had committed murder. He joined Miss Mangan in the back kitchen. ‘I can't make Fanny out,' he said, leaning against the sink, his eyes following the quick movements of her hands as she arranged plates and cups on a tray.

‘No, I'm damned if I can. Do you know why the lad failed? I don't. It was all a surprise to me, because his mother wrote me a couple of years ago, when I was at sea, saying he had passed his preliminary examinations with great success.' Brigid Mangan said, ‘I don't know, Denny. Fanny knows more than I do. All I can tell you is, that the boy came to me last Monday night and said he was finished at the college.' Mrs Fury came in. There he was again. ‘Brigid.' Her sister looked up. ‘Would you like a drink?' No. She did not want anything. Mr Fury said, ‘I'll bring in a drink if you like.' ‘Of course,' Mrs Fury said; ‘go and bring some stout, Denny.' Mr Fury put his hat and coat on and left the house.

Upstairs, Peter was sitting on the bed. The same old room. The one he had left seven years ago. Hardly a thing altered. And there in the corner stood Desmond's fishing-tackle. He thought of all the fish he had caught at the strand in Cobh. He was still sitting there when his mother came up. A flood of memories swept across Peter's mind. ‘I'm so glad to be home, Mother,' he said. His mother forced a smile. ‘I'm so glad too.' They went downstairs together. Everything had turned out differently. But she must still smile. Mr Fury came back with three bottles of stout. The two sisters laid the table between them. Peter went up to his father. The man smiled at him but said nothing. He was lost in admiration for this son. Each time he looked up at him he smiled. He did not know whether it was his tall, splendidly proportioned figure, or whether it was the mop of hair, or even the enthusiastic light in Peter's eyes, but he was conscious of this admiration. He could not conceal it.

‘Come along,' Mrs Fury said. They all sat down to table.

‘What about Dad?' Brigid asked, turning round to look at her father. Mrs Fury said, ‘Of course. Denny' – pause – ‘Peter, just help your grand-dad upstairs. Father will put him to bed.' She dashed away from the table, filled a pan with milk and put it on the stove. She came into the kitchen again, and sat down. ‘That's the first time I ever forgot Dad's supper,' she remarked to Brigid. They were alone in the kitchen now.

‘Dad is looking awful,' said Brigid. ‘How long has he been like that?'

‘Some time now. My dear woman, you ought to have been here during the past three months. You would have seen things that would have opened your eyes pretty wide. Still, I don't mind. I always said I would stand by Father. But tell me, now that you're here, has he a sister in Belfast? It might seem silly asking such a question, but you know how uncommunicative a man Dad always was.' Brigid looked surprised.

‘Of course,' she said. ‘He has a sister just outside the city. Liam Doonan is in the dye business there.' Mrs Fury confessed her astonishment. ‘I rather wondered,' she went on. ‘At one time it was nothing but “Belfast, and the Belfast boat”, until it began to get on my nerves. As for Denny, well … Here, help yourself.' She handed her sister a plate of fish. ‘Thanks.' Peter and his father came down again. Mrs Fury said, ‘Before you sit down, Denny, will you see to that milk outside?' Mr Fury went out and brought the milk in. ‘I must go to him now,' Mrs Fury said, ‘Excuse me.' She got up from the table and took the pan from her husband. Father and son sat down. When Mrs Fury went upstairs, Mr Fury said, ‘Hasn't he grown, Brigid?'

‘Indeed he has. He's a fine young man now.' They looked at Peter. Mrs Fury joined them a few minutes later. Peter put a penny in the gas-meter.

‘Now,' Mrs Fury began. She looked at her husband. ‘You'd better sleep down here for tonight, Denny. Peter will have his own room. Brigid and I will sleep together.' Miss Mangan protested. With a wave of the hand Mrs Fury dismissed this. ‘Father has to sleep by himself, Brigid, and besides, nobody could ever sleep with the snoring he does. Peter can't sleep down here. It wouldn't be fair to the boy. And I'm certainly not going to let you sleep in the kitchen. I can rig up a good bed for Denny.' Nobody spoke. They went on with the meal. Fanny's word was enough. There was a knock at the door.

‘How late it is!' said Mrs Fury. ‘Who can that be? Go and see, Denny.' But before Mr Fury could move, Peter had dashed to he door and opened it. ‘It's somebody for Dad,' he called in to them.

‘Hang it!' exclaimed Mr Fury. ‘Who can it be this time of night?' He went outside. Peter came back. ‘Who was it?' asked his mother. ‘I don't know, Mother. Looked like a railway chap. He had a driver's clothes on.'

‘Oh!' Everybody stopped eating. They could hear a conversation going on at the door. Then the door closed. Mr Fury came in. ‘Well,' he said, ‘there's no doubt about it; the miners and everybody are coming out now. Good Jesus!'

‘Denny! Denny! Before the boy! What on earth are you thinking about?' She looked at her son. ‘Peter, hurry up and finish your supper; look how late it is,' and her eye went to the clock again. The youth got up. ‘All right. Goodnight, everybody,' he said. He went towards the door. His mother followed him. They stood in the hall for a moment, then went upstairs.

‘It is true, then?' asked Brigid. Mr Fury smiled. ‘Aye. It's only too bloody true, Brigid. It looks as though the whole country's going to come out.' Mr Fury was feeling so angry that he wanted very much to add. ‘Aye, and it looks like you're going to be here for a pretty stay.' He pushed his chair back and got up from the table. Brigid followed. She seated herself in Mr Mangan's high-backed chair, remarking to herself how comfortable it was. ‘Poor Father,' she was saying to herself, ‘he looks a wreck and no doubt about it.' She stretched her feet out in front of the fire. Mr Fury fell to studying them. What a difference there was between this woman and his wife. Fanny was more wiry, had more energy. Brigid was always heavy and flabby, he was saying to himself. He wished his wife would come down. What on earth was she doing upstairs all this time? He never liked being alone with Brigid Mangan for long. He remembered too well the last occasion, when they had argued the whole night through about Parnell. Brigid was a real school-ma'am.