The Furys (26 page)

‘Denny! Will you have something warm before you go?' Her eyes wandered to Mr Postlethwaite. They remained focused upon this little man, dressed in his loud brown suit, yellow shoes, and bright blue collar and white tie. ‘What a funny little man,' thought Aunt Brigid. As though unconsciously obliging, Mr Postlethwaite at that very moment removed his shining hard hat, revealing to the now astonished Miss Mangan his completely egg-shaped bald head, as if to say, ‘Why not complete the circuit?'

‘Thanks all the same, Brigid.' said Mr Fury. He was angry now. He could not conceal his vexation, the more so since the man from next door exclaimed with perfect aplomb, ‘Go ahead, Fury. I'll wait.' It was positively humiliating. ‘No!' It was almost a growl. ‘We have to go to this Union meeting, Brigid. We're late already. Another time. Sorry. But you see …' Mr Postlethwaite looked at his watch. ‘Go ahead, Fury,' he said again. ‘No!' This was too much. Caught between two extremes. Seemed to Mr Fury as though they had specially designed this meeting. Making a fool of him! He looked almost savage now. ‘Won't you have one, then?' he asked. He looked at Mr Postlethwaite, his tone was almost pleading.

‘No. Thanks all the same. You go ahead. I'll wait,' he said.

‘All right, then.' Mr Fury picked up the parcels and said, ‘Come along, Brigid!' Mr Postlethwaite said, ‘I'll be waiting here.' Dennis Fury could make no reply. He was full, really full. They crossed the road. Mr Fury pushed against the swinging doors, and almost fell into the public bar-room! ‘Phew!' he said. The place was crowded. Aunt Brigid, immediately behind, had now recovered her somewhat scattered self. As she sailed through at Mr Fury's heels she assumed a carriage almost regal.

‘Right through to the snug, Denny,' she exclaimed. The man growled back a reply quite unintelligible to Miss Mangan.

Miss Mangan sat down and leaned back in her seat. She surveyed the room. Mr Fury, having put down the parcels, took a chair and sat opposite Aunt Brigid. She could see at once that he was ill at ease. She smiled at him now. It was indeed her hour of triumph. Her foresight, she felt, had been almost prophetic. Here was her brother-in-law, however uncomfortable he might be, here he was sitting right in front of her. And this man had once vowed, she remembered the incident quite clearly, he had taken a vow that he would never sit in a public with her. She almost beamed – her triumph was mirrored there for him to see. She put out a gloved hand, and raising her finger pressed the bell. Then she drew off her gloves, laid them on the table, and opened her coat. Mr Fury looked at her expansive bosom. Where in heaven's name had she got such a gown? A brighter, more tantalizing, more provocative green he had never seen. And to come to Hatfields like that! Hatfields was full of ‘Billies'. Mr Fury thought, ‘The Postlethwaites will talk about this for a week.' He felt sure that if Aunt Brigid lived in Hatfields for one month she would agree with him. Miss Mangan roused him from his momentary meditation. ‘What are you having, Denny?' she asked. Mr Fury paused. The moment for complete capitulation had arrived. But for Postlethwaite he would never have been in this humiliating position. He now evaded her glance, and replied, looking absently at the big mirror over her head:

‘I'll have a glass of bitter, Brigid.'

There. It was done now. He had broken his vow.

Aunt Brigid looked at him, little short of astonished at his reply. ‘A glass of bitter! Good heavens, man! A dirty night like this!' ‘And on such an occasion as this,' she added to herself.

‘Oh no! Have something really warm. A tonic, Denny?'

‘No, Brigid. I never take that stuff now,' replied Mr Fury. If ever he hated his sister-in-law he hated her now. He was almost certain this business had been deliberately planned.

‘Stuff and nonsense!' exclaimed Aunt Brigid. ‘You want something warm on a night like this. And you look as though you wanted it.' If that wasn't a sharp thrust, nothing was. The barman came in.

‘Two small Irish,' she said. ‘No water in one.'

The barman went out. Aunt Brigid, beginning now to feel painfully sensitive to Mr Fury's embarrassment, allowed her eyes to wander aimlessly around the room. The shelf full of bottles was one splash of colour. In the grate the fire blazed merrily, its murmurous noises almost seemed like a song, inviting one and all to partake of its warmth and welcome. The barman returned with the glasses and put them down on the table. He stood waiting. He looked boldly at Mr Fury. He knew Mr Fury, but his glance at the buxom woman was almost furtive. It expressed the momentary bewilderment of a man who has bumped into something new in the human species. He had never seen anything like Aunt Brigid before. Hence his bewilderment. Miss Mangan withdrew some coins from her bag and paid for the drinks. ‘Thank you,' she said. The barman went out.

‘Well, Denny,' she exclaimed, as she pushed over his glass. ‘Well, here's all the best to you!' As though the spirit in his glass did not contain sting enough, she added, almost indifferently, ‘It will do you good. You need it.' A direct affront to her sister.

Mr Fury, hesitating at first, now picked up his glass. His mind was torn between two alternatives. Here was this woman whom he had never liked, and outside, just across the way, Mr Postlethwaite was patiently waiting. So he thought. But Mr Postlethwaite had already gone. He didn't know whether to drink or not. Then Miss Mangan hesitated, the glass almost at her lips.

‘For God's sake, Denny, drink it, man! It won't poison you.' Mr Fury drained his glass at one gulp, and then banged it down on the table. He looked the woman full in the face. ‘I know what you're thinking, Brigid,' he said.

The woman put down her half-empty glass. ‘What?' she asked. ‘That Joe Kilkey is the ugliest-looking man that ever set foot out of Country Clare?'

Mr Fury sat back. He had certainly not expected this. It was a complete surprise. For a moment he could say nothing. Then he managed to gasp out:

‘So you saw Maureen, then?' He wondered if she had already been up to Vulcan Street.

‘Oh yes,' said Aunt Brigid, ‘I saw her this morning. Poor girl!' The man jumped to his feet. This was surely going too far.

‘And what the hell's wrong with Kilkey?' he asked rudely. ‘To hear you talk, you'd think the girl was a martyr or something.'

Aunt Brigid smiled. ‘What an excitable man he is!' A Fury all over.

‘Now, Denny,' she said, ‘Don't be so silly.' Unseen, she rang the bell again. ‘Why get excited over nothing? I say quite truly that I think Mr Kilkey an ugly man – a repulsive-looking fellow. He must be years older than Maureen. How in the name of heaven did the child come to marry him? Why, the man's nearly bald!' Before Mr Fury could make a reply the barman returned.

‘Same again!' said Miss Mangan, and pushed the glasses forward, without looking at the barman. Her eyes seemed to pin Mr Fury to his seat, to set a seal upon his mouth. Not until the barman had gone did Mr Fury find his tongue. ‘Ah! a lot of blather,' he said. ‘Kilkey's all right. A good, honest chap. He mightn't have brains, of course. He's straight, just the same. A good worker. Well respected. He treats Maureen all right. She's lucky.' He now lowered his head so that his eyes took in the bright green and white of the linoleum on the floor. It was a kind of preparatory manoeuvre, for Mr Fury was now expecting a real tidal flow to emanate from that large lady opposite him.

‘What made her go?' asked Aunt Brigid. ‘I never saw such a change in a girl. She's really coarsened. Looks older. What did Fanny say?'

Mr Fury slowly raised his head.

‘I don't know what you're talking about,' he said. She watched him fumble for nearly a half-minute at his vest pocket, in an endeavour to extract from it his gun-metal watch, which was attached to a long bootlace woven into a form of chain. But somehow the watch refused to be brought out. At last he gave it up. Miss Mangan did not realize it, but the glass of neat whisky had gone to Mr Fury's head. It was such a time since he had tasted anything as strong.

‘No, I don't know what you are talking about, Brigid,' Mr Fury repeated. ‘The girl wasn't influenced by Fanny or by me. She cleared off on her own accord. And, by Christ!' – he paused, as though in the next effort he were giving up his very soul – ‘and, by Christ, I don't blame her! Her mother is as ambitious as any Pope.' His voice rose, the colour was mounting to his cheeks.

‘That's what's wrong with Fanny,' he went on. ‘She had too many hoity-toity ideas. She drives her children away from her. She calls it indifference; says they're mean-spirited. The truth is, she has dominated them all her life, and now two of them are married she hates it bitterly. She can't dominate them any more. She's got an almost insane ambition. Where she gets it from, I don't know.'

‘She ought never to have left Ireland,' interrupted Miss Mangan.

‘Oh!' Mr Fury stood up and leaned forward until his face almost touched that of Miss Mangan. He was conscious of her red face, her fat neck, her enormous breasts, and of the strong scent of cheap perfume that emanated from her bosom.

‘That's insulting, Brigid. I know now that you planned this. Tell me this. What the devil was she going to do with her life, stuck in a bloody old fishing village? Fanny has brains, she has ambition. Those two things have plagued her, and me, and her own children.'

‘I think you are very rude,' protested Brigid, ‘very rude, and most unsympathetic. I don't see eye to eye with Fanny myself, but at the same time, I must admit, I admire her. She is, after all, my sister. And I simply will not sit here and hear you say those things.' Mr Fury lowered his eyes. Miss Mangan's form seemed to swell, to move forward, to shrink, to ascend; in fact, Aunt Brigid appeared to be doing a series of acrobatic feats. If he kept on looking he would see her pirouetting about the bar-room. Mr Fury tossed off his second glass of whisky.

Aunt Brigid now began to feel more at her ease. Her brother-in-law was indeed becoming expansive, almost to the point of embarrassment. She sat back again, resting her head against the wall. The wallpaper was bright yellow in colour, and upon its surface there ran riot a number of birds, large and weird-looking. They hung upon the branches of trees not less weird-looking. The birds looked down upon Miss Mangan's head with respect and approval. Mr Fury's hands were stretched across the table. Glancing down, Aunt Brigid's eyes came to rest upon two bright blue stars, tattooed stars, on the back of Mr Fury's hands. What a passion sailors had for getting themselves tattooed, and the most awful-looking designs seemed to be favoured amongst them. Dennis Fury had completely forgotten Mr Postlethwaite's existence, as indeed Mr Postlethwaite had clean forgotten his, for he was now sitting enraptured in the back row of the Mechanic's Hall listening to a fiery speech from one of the Union delegates. Likewise Miss Mangan, leaning her head on the wall, had forgotten Mr Fury. Her gaze, aimless and vacant, seemed to be concentrated upon space, the space between the green curtain and the ceiling. Behind the curtain she heard many voices, mostly the voices of men, and over the top of the curtain itself there hung, as though caught in space itself and held, a great cloud of smoke, from pipes and cigarettes. Occasionally somebody spat heavily, or cleared his throat. There then followed a slow scraping sound, as a foot ground into the sawdust upon the floor. Here, however, it was quiet, cosy, and warm. Anything seemed possible – such a cheery, well-lighted room.

‘Have you heard why that boy failed?' asked Miss Mangan suddenly, and her eyes pinned themselves upon her brother-in-law's hands. Mr Fury sat up as though struck.

‘What?'

‘Denny! You must be getting deaf. Have you heard why that boy left the college?'

‘I expect,' growled Mr Fury, ‘I expect he was running round after women in the Mall. Surprised me he never once ran into you.' All propriety was at an end.

‘Disgraceful! Denny! Disgraceful!' Miss Mangan had indeed grown suddenly pale. So that was why! That perhaps revealed why Fanny was so silent. She had questioned her, but her sister had refused to be drawn out.

‘Aye,' went on Mr Fury. ‘That's the result of her ambitions. It's all a bloody cod.' He got up from the chair. Slowly his head was clearing. He could even see Aunt Brigid much more clearly. On the other hand, this sudden revelation had served its purpose. It was as though Miss Mangan herself had taken a drop too much. But her bewilderment and confusion were accompanied by a feeling of shame. Was this true? Her mind held on to the question leech-like. Was this true? My word! What was all this? Mr Fury said slowly, ‘I'm going home.'

Aunt Brigid remained fast in her seat. There was still something left unsaid. She leaned across the table, gripped Mr Fury by the coat, and pushed him down again.

‘Sit down, Denny! You're getting excited. That whisky has gone to your head.'

‘Oh no!' he said. ‘Oh no! it hasn't!' Suddenly the room seemed to shake, as a voice, bronze-like, roared out, ‘Time, gentlemen! Time.'

2

When Peter left the chapel of St Sebastian he walked slowly down the gravel path. He was like a man who has at long last got over a very disagreeable task. Now that he had been to Father Moynihan he felt better. The ordeal was over. He had listened carefully to the priest's advice. He stood now looking to right and left. It was turned seven o'clock. Suddenly he exclaimed, ‘I'll go and see Maureen.' He crossed Ash Walk, turned left, and eventually found himself at the bottom of Price Street. Price Street, like Hatfields, was old property. It belonged to the railway company. A high wall ran along the full length of the houses. The back yards of fifty-two houses faced it. It did not end there, for at the end of Price Street it crossed an open space, and continued its way behind two huge leather warehouses. He walked up Price Street until he came to number thirty-five. He stood looking at the door, then shifted his glance to the curtains. Perhaps Maureen was in the parlour. Would she know him? It was such a long time since he had seen her. There was something pleasurable in the anticipation. He knocked on the door.