The Furys (25 page)

‘When we reached New York on the outward trip we had come through a three-day blizzard, and there wasn't a single man who wasn't glad to get the shelter of that harbour for a few days. But the cold only seemed to increase. They say it is the worst winter they've ever experienced in these parts. It was something below zero, I can't remember how much. But working on that deck was foul, I can tell you. Even the longshoremen, hardened to it as they are, even they began to feel it pinching after two days' work on the cargo. When sailing day came, the whole of the deck was coated with a thin film of ice. The ship really looked beautiful, but it wasn't beautiful to work on that deck. When the sun came out, it made things worse. We had to wash down fore and aft right away. We were supposed to be sailing at half-past five that evening for Baltimore.'… Mrs Fury paused and looked up. ‘What a bad writer Anthony is!' she was saying to herself. ‘He must be the worst writer in the family.' She read on: ‘I was sitting in my room when the bosun came along and called for two hands to work for'ard on the wireless. The men didn't respond. In fact, one of them said that he would only go up if he got a tot of rum. The bosun said he would arrange about that, but this man was stubborn and refused to budge from the fo'c'sle unless the rum was brought right away. “Think any man is going to go up that bloody mast in this weather?” The bosun was angry. He said, “Somebody's got to go up, we can't sail unless that wireless is rigged up, and that's all about it.” Nobody said a word. Then from the corner bunk a man named Cash came. He said if another man volunteered he would go up. “All right,” the bosun said, “there are already two men aft, they're waiting. They can't do anything until somebody moves out of here.” Then he looked at me. “I'll go up, bosun,” I said to him. He smiled. “Good, Fury,” he said. “Good man.” The three of us went out.'

Mrs Fury sighed. ‘My heavens!' she exclaimed aloud. Of course he would. Just like his father! What a mad harum-scarum lot the Furys really are! And what's he got for it? A pair of smashed heels. ‘It was just growing dusk. I started to shinny up the rigging, Cash following behind me. Suddenly I remembered that I had left one of my gloves in the fo'c'sle, but I couldn't go back, and I shouted to the bosun, “My glove! I've left it in my bunk.”

‘“Can't do that job with a glove, Fury,” he said. “Impossible. It won't take you but a brace of shakes to shinny up there and get that job done.” Then I climbed higher. It was bitterly cold. I remember I stopped to get my breath, as there was a wind bearing down on us, one of those icy east winds. I could hear Cash breathing under me. “Climb, man!” he was shouting, “climb! Can't stand here all the bloody day!” I went on. When I reached the cross-trees Cash shouted, “Hang on for a spell.” I was glad to. I hung on like grim death, now feeling sorry I had gone up at all, as there were older and more experienced men sitting by that bogie in the fo'c'sle warming their own backsides. But the bosun is such a fine man, I hated to back out. By God! it was cold up on those cross-trees. I knew we would have to put a move on, for the light was going fast, and when I looked down I could only see the dim outlines of her deck, whilst the derricks seemed to have altered their shapes entirely. But I never looked down again.

‘It was the first time I had ever been aloft in the
Turcoman.
You couldn't imagine what a ship looks like from her cross-trees, let alone her truck top, which was where I had to shinny, and quick too. I could hear the bosun shouting below, and a sort of ghostly voice aft. It must have been the man up the mainmast. Suddenly I screamed. I had reached the nest, and had gripped the iron ring at the back of the mast. I don't know why I screamed, I can't remember it clearly enough. But I did know that I could not move an inch higher, that Cash was bellowing just beneath me, that my right hand was kind of glued to this iron ring. I couldn't let go. I shouted them, “My hand's stuck. I can't move.” Cash shouted up, “Christ, man!” That's all I know. Then I fell. I remember hitting Cash, one foot touching a derrick and glancing off it quickly like a bullet. But that's all. It was awful. I hit the deck, and I felt as though somebody had pushed red-hot spikes into my heels and right up into my whole body. I woke up in hospital. Later the doctor told me all about it. My hand had become frost-bitten, and he said another five minutes and I would have lost it. Honestly, Mother, it's impossible to imagine how cold it was that evening. It all happened in fifteen minutes. The bosun wrote to me before the ship sailed. He was awfully cut up about it. The doctor said if Cash had not been right underneath me I would have been killed outright, though how Cash broke my fall I don't know. Anyhow it's all over now.' … The letter dropped to the floor. She sighed. ‘Yes. Thank God, it's all over! Thank the great God!' She leaned out of the bed and retrieved the letter from the floor. She put it inside her nightgown, but a second later took it out again, holding it to her mouth, murmuring, ‘Anthony! Off that mast! Oh! …' She held the letter to her mouth, kissing it. This was the nearest thing to flesh and blood. The face of her son seemed to gaze upon her from its now crinkled pages. She could see his blue eyes, his laughing mouth, his weatherbeaten face. ‘Anthony! Anthony!' she kept repeating under her breath. She lay back, picturing the accident in her mind. What a frightful fall! A mere lad, too! Now he was coming home. Another mouth to feed. She lay back again. Again she opened the letter, her eyes wandering over its pages. ‘Why, there's something else!' she exclaimed, and sat upright. She hadn't read it properly. ‘I only hope that I'm not going to be stuck on these crutches for life. I should simply hate that, Mother.' Mrs Fury's heart seemed to miss a beat – ‘for life!' ‘That's the only thing that worries me, Mother. By the way, I am bringing you some Indian embroidery work for your birthday. I am sure you'll like it. I bought it off a bum in Galveston. Now I think I've said all there is to say, so I close with love to all at home, and beg to remain, Your affectionate son, Anthony.

‘P.S. – I think you had better see them at the Shipping Office, as I understand that the allotment money ceases from the day of the accident. I'm not sure, Mother, but think it best you should see about it right away. I dare say I'll get some compo out of this lot.' She crushed the letter into a ball and then let it fall to the floor. She could hear Mr Fury mounting the stairs. ‘Imagine it!' thought the woman. ‘Just imagine it.' She picked up the crumpled letter and clutched it tightly in her hand. ‘To think that the boy met with that accident nearly three weeks ago, and I only heard about it a few days ago. I shall certainly have something to say to Mr Lake about this.'

CHAPTER VII

1

‘Here's the evening paper,' Mr Fury said. He sat down on the bed and pulled the newspaper from his pocket.

‘Has Brigid come back yet?' asked Mrs Fury.

‘No. Not yet. ‘Spect she's ferreting about somewhere,' replied Mr Fury. ‘Here you are.' He handed the newspaper to his wife.

‘Thank you,' Mrs Fury said. She laid the paper down and looked at her husband. Mr Fury was completely dressed for the street.

‘Are you going out, Denny?' asked the woman.

There was something puzzling about his manner, about the expression on his face.

‘Yes,' Mr Fury said. ‘I'm going out! That is, as soon as that lad gets back.' He pulled out his watch. ‘Gone seven now.'

Mrs Fury suddenly thought, ‘I shall be up tomorrow.' The very expression upon her husband's face seemed to have engendered the thought.

‘Where are you going?'

‘It's Federation night, Fanny. I thought you knew. It's every month.'

‘Oh!' exclaimed Mrs Fury, and she looked towards the window. ‘I hope that boy won't be long, then,' she added.

‘Aye,' Mr Fury said. He got up from the bed and commenced to walk up and down the room. Mr Fury was worried, he was growing impatient. Why the devil didn't Postlethwaite knock? Mrs Fury picked up the newspaper and opened it.

‘Where's the rest of it, Denny?' she asked, and Mr Fury came to a sudden halt in the middle of the room.

‘Isn't it there? I must have left it downstairs. Hang it! I'll go and get it.' He turned towards the door, but Mrs Fury said it didn't matter.

At that moment somebody knocked at the door. The man sighed. ‘It's Possie,' he said. ‘He said he'd knock for me on his way down.' He looked anxiously at his wife, thinking furiously, ‘Where the devil has that lad got to?'

‘You'd best wait, Denny,' Mrs Fury said. ‘Peter will be back any minute now. I wonder where Brigid is?' The knocking was repeated. Mr Fury shouted, ‘Brigid! I suppose she's busy collecting stuff for her family history.' He went out. Mrs Fury heard him open the door, and Mr Postlethwaite said, ‘Hello, Fury! Ready?'

‘Aye. Just a minute!' said Mr Fury. He went upstairs again.

‘Fancy that lad being out all this time!'

He called downstairs, ‘Can you wait a few minutes, Possie?' Then, just when he was giving up hope, a welcome sound came to his ears.

‘Here's Maureen!' he said.

Mrs Fury said, ‘You'd better go, then, Denny. Don't keep that man waiting at the door.' Mr Fury said, ‘All right.'

Maureen was already mounting the stairs. Mr Fury met her on the landing. ‘Your mother's not very well,' he said. ‘Will you stay with her a while? Peter'll be back any minute. And your Aunt Brigid won't be long now.' He rushed down the stairs. When he reached the lobby he turned round, filled with a sudden inspiration.

‘Has she been to see you?' he called up the stairs. ‘Yes,' shouted back Maureen as she opened the front room door.

‘Ah! Thought so!' Mr Fury said under his breath. ‘Coming, Possie,' he said. He went into the kitchen. He took the outer sheet of the evening newspaper from his pocket, rolled it into a ball, and flung it into the fire. As he did so, he looked at the figure in the chair. Mr Mangan's long hands gripped the sides of his chair. His breast rose and fell. But for its gentle rise and fall it seemed as though the life in that figure, imperiously alone and lonely, had suddenly been stilled.

‘Aye, slobberer!' exclaimed Mr Fury, ‘you don't know the bloody fun you're missing.' He waited until the bundle of paper had burnt out. Then he joined Mr Postlethwaite in the street.

‘Better catch the next car that comes along,' exclaimed Mr Postlethwaite. They hurried down the street. Mr Fury remained silent. He knew by now how punctual Mr Postlethwaite was, how he hated to be kept waiting. They stood a moment at the bottom of the street.

‘Did you see what the paper says?' remarked Mr Postlethwaite.

‘Aye, I did that!' replied Mr Fury. ‘Take it from me, nothing's going to stop those miners coming out. I don't blame them anyhow, they're always being shit on.' Yes, of course he'd read it. But he wasn't going to have Fanny reading it. He felt pleased now that he burned the sheet of newspaper. ‘The missus isn't well,' he went on. ‘I …'

‘See that lad of yours is home,' interrupted Postlethwaite.

‘Yes.' Mr Fury had been hoping all along that Peter would not be mentioned. He looked at Mr Postlethwaite now, as if to say, ‘Your sponge must be pretty dry.'

‘What are you going to do with him?' asked Postlethwaite.

‘Oh! I don't know.' Mr Fury hated talking about him. Probably make him an ambassador.'

‘Here's our car.' said Postlethwaite. They walked to the end of the line, and stood waiting for the passengers to descend. The tram would then reverse and go towards town again. As they stood together on the kerb, watching the people descend into the road, Mr Fury's eyes caught sight of a buxom and heavily laden figure coming down the stairs from the upper deck. ‘It can't be!' he was thinking. ‘It can't be Brigid. Surely!' He brushed the idea from his mind.

Mr Postlethwaite said, ‘It's clear now.' They stepped off the kerb. Mr Fury said. ‘D'you reckon if those miners come out they'll want support?'

‘Why not?' asked Mr Postlethwaite. ‘Why not?'

Mr Fury cursed himself for such a silly question. Then he swung round as a hand touched his shoulder.

‘Why, Denny!' exclaimed a voice. Mr Fury did not move. He stood there as though rooted to the very earth. He knew that voice. He didn't want to turn round. But now Mr Postlethwaite looked at him, a penetrating sort of look, and he turned round to face Aunt Brigid, newly arrived from town. She seemed hot and flustered. She carried parcels in each hand. The little finger of her right hand was tightly clasped round her bag handle. Under her left arm she clutched an umbrella.

‘Well, Denny!' she exclaimed again. ‘This is a surprise.' Mr Fury looked confused. Somehow the figure of his sister-in-law appeared to swell. It seemed to move towards him like a great wave. In another minute he must be smothered beneath this wave of flesh and parcels. Yes. It was a surprise. Just when he and Postlethwaite were on their way to the Union meeting. And, confound it! Aunt Brigid's coat had blown open, so that her bright green gown shone resplendent for all the world to see. And Mr Postlethwaite hated the very sight of green, orange being his favourite colour. Mr Fury cried in his mind – ‘Damn! Damn!' It
would
happen like that. Miss Mangan's breath came short and sharp. At that moment Mr Postlethwaite, to Mr Fury's great surprise, relieved Aunt Brigid of her parcels and placed them on the edge of the footpath. Mr Fury said, ‘Here, Brigid,' and took the remaining parcels from her and placed them beside the others. ‘We're just going to the Federation meeting,' remarked Mr Fury, after what seemed a long and ominous silence. ‘Aye, we were just catching this tram.'

Mr Postlethwaite looked from Aunt Brigid to Mr Fury. ‘A nice how-d'you-do,' Mr Fury was thinking. Aunt Brigid! Anywhere but there, on that kerb, her coat wide open. He felt sure the sight of the green gown must have been almost harrowing to a man like Mr Postlethwaite. ‘Button your coat, Brigid,' he said. ‘It's a dirty night.' Aunt Brigid looked over her brother-in-law's head towards the garish lights of the Star and Garter. On such a night as this those lights seemed to have an almost magnetic power. They beckoned to her. She buttoned up her coat and asked: