by Colm Toibin
And so Nora and Jim and Margaret had sat by his bed with the screen pulled around it so that the other patients and their visitors could not see. But they could hear. And when Father Quaid from the manse and Sister Thomas from the St. John of God convent had both visited, they had heard too. Nora and Margaret held Maurice’s hands and spoke to him and tried to soothe and console him and they promised him that he would be all right, but they knew that he would not be without pain again until he died.
Death, however, would not come. And Maurice was in such pain that catching his hand when he reached out was almost dangerous because he would clutch so tight. He was more alive then than he had ever been before, she thought, because of his needs and his panic and his fear and the pain that seemed to be burning in him until he was like an animal bellowing and then he could be heard not only in the corridor but even in the reception area of the hospital too.
Working in such a small hospital, a hospital that would soon be closed down, she thought, was clearly not what that doctor had planned when he was studying medicine. He seemed to be the only doctor there, on call day and night, which meant that he could seldom be found. Being stationed in a rural hospital with no surgical wards or private rooms, no heart specialists nor professors guiding students through wards, must have been a humiliation. He knew nothing about pain or death, and she remembered him now speaking to her as though she was wasting the time of a very busy man. She felt a profound and active hatred for him and the feeling was like a strange sort of pleasure as she walked along and the rain started.
When the rain became heavy, Catherine came in the car to fetch her. Donal was in the front seat and got out to let her sit there. As he held the car door open, he grinned at her as though they were in a conspiracy together. It was the first time she had seen him smiling in months and as they drove back to the house in silence it was the only thing she thought about.
Catherine led her back in the house like a child who had not listened to advice from people who knew better.
“Your shoes are destroyed,” Catherine said.
“They’ll dry out.”
Nora changed her clothes and then found a novel that she had packed. Tiptoeing down the stairs, she went into the sitting room instead of the kitchen. The room was filled with paintings and china and vases and lamps that Mark had inherited. The furniture, too, had been in his family for generations, and had been recently re-upholstered by someone in Dublin. Since they rarely used this room, she presumed that the idea of her being here now in her casual clothes, sitting in an armchair reading a book, would irritate Catherine, still working in the kitchen. Nora found a stool and put her stockinged feet up. She wished that she was further into the book so that she could become engrossed in it. Eventually, she put the book down, lay her head back and closed her eyes. She pictured Donal’s face as he held the car door open for her and wondered what Catherine might have said to him as they set out to find her. Whatever she had said, or, even more likely, her impatient silence or exasperated tone, had amused Donal, and that thought amused Nora now.
Nora knew that Catherine would phone Una, even though, having inherited strange residual elements of their mother’s frugality, she disliked spending money on trunk calls, especially ones that were likely to go on for some time, as this one would. Catherine would have to recount how rude Nora had been to her friend Dilly Halpin, actually laughing at her openly, and also how she had gone like a madwoman for a walk in the rain and had to be rescued, and then, once back in the house, how she had put her feet up on the sofa that had been so recently upholstered. Una, she imagined, would listen sympathetically.
By one o’clock, the kitchen had been put back in order. Catherine loved her kitchen, Nora saw, and seemed happy standing by the Aga or setting the table or talking to anyone who came in and out, including two men who worked for Mark. She had that morning’s Irish Independent spread out on the kitchen table and at intervals read an item in the newspaper, though never for long. Nora sat opposite her and tried to take an interest in what Catherine’s children were saying when they appeared. She discovered from Conor that Donal had found a chess set and was teaching one of his cousins how to play.
Catherine moved between the pantry and the kitchen as she began to prepare the dinner. Nora wondered if she should offer to help, but instead began, absent-mindedly, to read the newspaper. Since Maurice had gone to hospital, she had stopped getting any newspaper at all, but now she thought that she might start getting The Irish Times. It was a Protestant newspaper, but it had longer articles, she thought, and they were better written than the articles in the other newspapers. There was something more serious about The Irish Times; she would hide it from Jim and Margaret when they came, knowing that they favoured the Irish Press and would think, in any case, that she was wasting money.
The atmosphere in the room changed when Mark came in. As soon as he took his cap off, he gave the impression that this was what he had been looking forward to all morning, not only the food, but the company. He had an easy way about him that Nora appreciated now. She wondered if it came from being brought up in this house, knowing always that he would inherit the farm, but she thought it was more than that, he had good manners which would have been apparent anywhere. In similar circumstances Maurice would always be preoccupied with something, some journal, an item on the news, or a book, and there would often be complaints about the noise the children made, although these complaints would be offered in good humour and taken seriously by no one, least of all the children themselves.
Slowly, Nora saw, Catherine changed in Mark’s presence. She was interested in everything he said; she asked him intelligent questions. She did not move around as much or seem to want to do two things at the same time. As the children set the table, Nora became also glad she was here, glad to be away from her thoughts. This was almost the first time, she realised, that the full weight of what had happened had lifted from her. It had lifted merely by her listening to Mark and Catherine having a casual conversation; it was as if she had been able to breathe out whatever air was in her lungs, and sit without thinking, without feeling anything. She did not know that this could occur, and she wondered how long it would last.
In the afternoon, Catherine wanted to drive in to Kilkenny, but Nora was adamant that she would not go with her.
“I’d like a book and a nice chair and a room with no one else in it,” she said.
“You sound very wise to me,” Mark said. “Trying to get parking in Kilkenny on a Saturday is a bad business.”
“There are things we need,” Catherine said, “and we won’t be long and maybe the children will go to bed early this evening and then we can sit down and relax.”
Nora saw that Donal, who was listening, was alarmed by this. Like her, he wanted to go nowhere. But more than that, he did not want to be grouped with the rest of the children and sent to bed early. He had a way, when under pressure, of keeping his eyes cast down, raising them to take a fearful look at each person, then lowering them again.
“Donal will stay here with me,” Nora said.
Still, Donal did not look up at her. Whatever the prospect of having to go to Kilkenny with his aunt and his cousins and then face an early bedtime had done to him, it would take him a while to recover. Soon, it was agreed that one of his cousins would remain to play chess with him, and the others, including Conor, would go to Kilkenny.
“You know, wild horses wouldn’t drag me in to Kilkenny,” Mark said to Nora. “I go in twice a year to see an accountant, but I would nearly pay him to move out this way so I would never have to go in at all. I don’t mind Thomastown or Callan, but there’s something about Kilkenny. Too many shops. Too many shoppers. Too many people you half know. This one here, however, can’t get enough of it.”
He nodded in the direction of Catherine, who was putting on lipstick.
“And when it’s not Kilkenny, it’s Dublin. I don’t min
d Dublin so much, especially on a Thursday, although I hear it’s not as safe as it used to be.”
“Trying to get you to buy clothes,” Catherine said, “will be the end of me.”
Mark soon put his cap back on and put on his boots in the hall. Farm work, Nora thought, must be a constant relief. She smiled to herself at the thought. Catherine had emptied the contents of her handbag onto the kitchen table and seemed to be looking for something. When it was found, and the handbag had been re-filled, she stood looking around the kitchen. It struck Nora that she would be expected to do the washing-up while they were all away; she decided that she was not going to stand by Catherine’s sink at any point during this visit.
“I think I’ll light a fire in the sitting-room,” she said. “I’m feeling a bit cold.”
While the house had central heating, Nora knew that it was seldom used. The kitchen was kept warm by the Aga cooker.
“We haven’t lit a fire in that room since Christmas,” Catherine said, “and even then it was only for a few hours. I don’t know what state the chimney is in.”
Nora nodded, waiting for her to say that she could, nonetheless, try to light the fire there. When she did not, Nora decided that she would look for another book in the old bookcase at the top of the stairs, one with an opening more interesting than the one she had been reading before dinner, and she would spend the afternoon in bed. She might even sleep. She liked the idea of relaxing like this on a Saturday afternoon while her sister went trailing all over Kilkenny, leading the children from shop to shop.
When they came back it was dark. Nora had slept for a while and was now in the sitting-room, having found a two-bar electric fire and turned it on.
“Oh, it’s very stuffy in here,” Catherine said.
“I think you mean it’s warm,” Nora replied. “The rest of the house is freezing. I don’t know how you manage.”
“The central heating eats oil,” Catherine said. “It’s an old system. We should really get it replaced.”
Nora was enjoying the novel and wished now that her sister would leave her in peace until it was bedtime. It struck her that Catherine would like to feel that she had somehow helped to look after Nora. This visit was one way of doing that. And since she wished to look after her, Nora thought, then Catherine could do all the cooking and cleaning and washing-up and leave her alone to read. She thought of the phone call between Catherine and Una, how Catherine could add the sink full of dirty dishes and the two-bar electric fire blazing to her list of what she had to put up with all weekend.
That night, when the house was quiet and the children had gone to bed, Mark asked Nora if she had made any plans, and she told them that she was going back to work in Gibney’s. She had told no one, she said, not even Jim and Margaret, nor Fiona and Aine, nor the boys.
“I’ll tell them nearer the time.”
From the way Catherine looked at her, Nora knew that Una had already told Catherine what she had heard in the golf club.
“They’ll be lucky to get you,” Catherine said.
“There wasn’t anything else,” Nora replied. “I have no qualifications except typing and shorthand and I’ve forgotten both. I suppose people feel sorry for me, but no one except the Gibneys feels sorry enough for me to offer me a job.”
“Couldn’t you get by on the widow’s pension and the money you have saved?” Catherine asked.
“We saved nothing. We had nothing except the house in Cush and I sold that and put some of the money away for an emergency and I’ve been living on the rest. The widow’s pension is six pounds a week.”
“It’s what?” Mark asked.
“There might be another pension, a contributory pension because of the stamps I have from the years I worked in Gibney’s before I was married, but it’s means-tested and the man from social welfare thinks I must have money saved. But I don’t, and when he believes me I might get that as well.”
“And what are the Gibneys offering?” Catherine asked.
Nora smiled.
“Do you remember the night Billy Considine asked Mark how many acres he had?”
“I remember it well,” Mark said and laughed. “He didn’t get any good of me that night and I suppose you’re not telling us either. He was trying to make out that the farmers were living off the fat of the land while the teachers were the only ones who did any work.”
“You really have no money?” Catherine asked.
“No, but I’m going to work, and Jim and Margaret are paying for Aine at school, and Fiona will be qualified the year after next. So I’ll be able to keep going, the boys and myself.”
“Have you thought about Donal?” Catherine asked. “He hasn’t spoken a word since he came here, and Aunt Josie is worried about his speech.”
“He has developed a stammer,” Nora said. “And he’s very conscious of it. But I leave him alone about it. I hope it might just be a temporary thing.”
“I wonder if he shouldn’t see a speech therapist?” Catherine asked.
“You know when he talks to his aunt Margaret he doesn’t stammer at all. He just chats away to her. He’s used to her, so that’s what makes me think he’ll grow out of it.”
“Margaret always loved him,” Catherine said. “Do you remember the first summer in Cush when she drove down every night to see him? Even when he was asleep she’d sit beside the cot doing nothing else except looking at him.”
Nora felt herself becoming sad at the memory of that time. When she caught Mark’s eye, she saw that he was watching her with sympathy. She wished she had not let them ask her any questions about her life.
“Are you sure you’re going to be able for Gibney’s?” Catherine asked. “I mean, is it not a bit soon?”
“I don’t have any choice. And that old bag Francie Kavanagh runs the office.”
“Francie Kavanagh? We used to call her the Sacred Heart,” Catherine said. “I don’t know why.”
“And you should see Peggy Gibney. She’s grander than your friend Dilly. Almost too grand to move.”
“Is Dilly grand?” Mark asked.
“She is, Mark,” Nora said, and looked at Catherine.
“She remarked on her way out that you looked very well,” Catherine said. “It must be your new hair.”
“I was waiting for you to mention it.”
“There’s a marvellous woman in Kilkenny,” Catherine said. “We all swear by her. The next time I’d really like you to see her, if only to talk through what the options are.”
“It’s a fiver an hour,” Mark said.
“No, it’s not, Mark,” Catherine said. “Really, you should see her.”
“I suppose I should,” Nora said and smiled.
CHAPTER FIVE
When they arrived home it was almost dark and the house was cold. She lit a fire quickly in the back room and made sure to give no instructions to Donal and Conor. They had, she felt, been under enough pressure all weekend; now they were home they could do whatever they liked. They had beans on toast and Conor watched television while Donal roamed the house uneasily.
On the way home, she had stopped in Kiltealy to let the boys switch places and, on seeing a shop open, had bought the Sunday Press. When she was checking the television listings for Conor she noticed that there was a film after the nine-o’clock news. It was Gaslight with Ingrid Bergman and Charles Boyer. When Donal came into the room, she pointed it out to him.
“It’s one of the best films I have ever seen,” she said.
It was before she was married, she remembered, and there was a temporary picture house in the Abbey Square and she had gone with Greta Wickham. Maurice seldom came with her to the pictures in the years when they were going out together, and, once they were married, he lost all interest in them. He was too busy with Fianna Fáil and writing articles and correcting homework. And he liked being alone
for an evening, knowing that later they would be together. It was something that never left him, a pure pleasure in the idea that they were married, that they did not have to separate and each go home, as they did in the years before they were married.
“What’s the film?” Conor asked when he heard about it.
“It’s about a woman in a house,” she said.
“Is that all?”
“Maybe something h-happens to h-her in the h-house,” Donal said.
Conor looked at Nora.
“Are there robbers?”
“You’d have to see it to know how good it is. And if I explained it to you, it would give it all away and then it would be no use.”
“Can we watch it?”
“It’s on very late.”
“Are you going to watch it?”
“Yes I am, I suppose.”
“Then we can watch the beginning, and then we can decide.”
“You won’t get up in the morning.”
“It’s Donal doesn’t like getting up.”
“I h-hate getting up,” Donal said.
When the nine-o’clock news was coming to an end, she noticed that the two boys had not moved. She could not remember watching a film with them before and she became almost flattered that they trusted her opinion about Gaslight.
When the film had started, however, she saw that Conor was disappointed, and probably Donal as well.