The Furys (68 page)

‘Well!' said Mrs Fury. ‘Well! Come in.' She preceded them up the yard. ‘I thought it was the boy,' she said, turning round to her sister. ‘He is out.' Miss Pettigrew came up haltingly, banging her stick on the stones. The little old woman was smiling. ‘Well,' she was thinking, ‘it's been worth it.' She had shamed Miss Mangan into coming. The three women entered the kitchen. Mrs Fury became flurried. She stared from one to the other. Miss Pettigrew sat on the sofa and gave a sigh. She felt done up. Aunt Brigid, prior to sitting down, placed her parcel on the table and remarked, ‘I have brought a bottle of port for Dad. It's the best port that Mr Dingle has in the shop.' She sat down and threw open her coat. Her grey gloves, one of which was fast becoming holed, she now drew off and laid on the table. She looked across at Mr Mangan. ‘I'm sure that port will do him good,' she said. She made herself comfortable. Mrs Fury did not sit down. She was too surprised to move. So she had come now! H'm! But she didn't want her here at all. And as for the old woman on the sofa, she did not want her either.

‘How are you, Fanny?' asked the old woman, looking across at Brigid as though to say, ‘How slow you are, Brigid! Well, I have done it instead.' Her poke-bonnet with its single red rose bobbed up and down.

‘Quite well,' replied Mrs Fury. ‘I hope you are the same.' She leaned against the side of the grate. ‘No. I shall not sit down,' she said to herself. ‘At least they will know that I don't want them here.' To see her own sister sitting there, and sporting her new costume, only increased her admiration for Mr Joseph Kilkey.

‘How are things?' asked Aunt Brigid suddenly. She did not look at Mrs Fury, but at the ornaments on the mantelshelf above her head.

‘One can't complain,' replied Mrs Fury. She looked at the bottle of port on the table.

‘Did you hear about the celebrations in honour of Father Coghlan?' asked Miss Pettigrew. ‘He's turned ninety-four yesterday.' She said this as though her own eighty-two years were a mere nothing.

‘No,' Mrs Fury said, looking anywhere but at this talkative old woman.

‘Fancy!' said Miss Pettigrew. ‘I thought you would have heard. How is everybody?' She turned her head and looked away through the window. Miss Mangan looked glum.

The oldest parishioner of St Sebastian's, who had made such a quick recovery from her illness, due no doubt to Dr Dunfrey's unfailing skill, now drew from her skirt pocket a small bottle of sweets. Miss Pettigrew always carried this small bottle of sweets wherever she went. She unscrewed the lid, and holding out the bottle in her trembling hand said in a wheezy voice, ‘Have a jujube, Fanny!'

Mrs Fury looked at the woman and then at the bottle. ‘I never eat them, Miss Pettigrew,' she replied, ‘thanks all the same.' To be offered a jujube in the middle of a busy morning was something really phenomenal to Mrs Fury.

Undaunted, the old woman turned to Aunt Brigid. ‘Have a jujube, Brigid,' she said almost pleadingly.

Miss Mangan leaned forward in her chair. ‘Thank you, Biddy,' she said, and looked straight at her sister as if to say, ‘I shall certainly take one because you refused.' She smiled now, not at the situation, but at her own inability to extract a confection from the narrow bottle, for her plump fingers could not reach them, whereon Miss Pettigrew, with a vigorous shake of the hand, shook a red jujube upon Aunt Brigid's lap, remarking between loud sucking sounds, for she had taken one herself, ‘I find them excellent for colds, Brigid, excellent! Dr Dunfrey thinks they are too highly acidized, whatever that may mean, but I think he's wrong.' She said this with the ardent conviction of a person who had put down her recovery to the return to the jujube bottle rather than to Dr Dunfrey's unfailing attention.

‘Thanks,' repeated Aunt Brigid, picking up the jujube and putting it into her mouth. The silence of the kitchen was broken now by the twin sucking sounds of Miss Mangan and Miss Pettigrew. Mrs Fury did not move. ‘I don't want them here! What have they come for?' she was thinking.

‘How are the children?' asked Aunt Brigid. ‘Has Peter got anything to do yet?'

‘Not yet.'

Miss Pettigrew raised her head and looked at Mr Mangan. ‘How is your father, Fanny?' she asked between audible sucks.

‘Just the same,' Mrs Fury replied, and she glanced at the old man.

‘Fanny!' said Aunt Brigid. ‘Why don't you sit down? Do please sit down. It makes me feel uncomfortable seeing you stand like that.' She made a violent move in her chair.

‘Yes, sit down, Fanny,' advised Miss Pettigrew. With her figure in profile, Miss Pettigrew looked just bonnet and nose. The veins in her thin neck stood out as she talked. Her skin was yellow, and had an almost scaly appearance.

Mrs Fury went into the parlour. She came back with a chair and sat down.

‘They say now that everybody will be back at work next week,' began Aunt Brigid. ‘I do hope it's true. I
shall
be glad to get back to Ireland.'

‘Yes, I'm sure you will,' replied Mrs Fury. She was surprised at her own calm. These two women bored her. Bored her to distraction. What could have brought her sister here? Had she something unpleasant to say?

Miss Pettigrew took another jujube from her bottle. ‘Fanny,' she said, ‘are you coming with the Order to the Ursuline Convent?'

‘I don't know.' She got up again from the chair. She couldn't sit down. She was restless. There was that journey again to Banfield Road. Why didn't these people go away? She picked up the wine-bottle from the table.

‘What is this, Brigid?' she asked. Miss Mangan was too astonished to reply. What was that? Why, the port wine she had bought for her father. As she held the bottle in her hand the kitchen door was thrown violently open, and Dennis Fury, followed by Michael Mulcare, came into the kitchen.

‘Hello!' he said. It was almost a growl. ‘Sit down, Mike,' he added, ‘if you can find room.' Then he surveyed the gathering.

Mr Fury took one glance at Miss Mangan and went out. ‘Fanny!' he called. ‘Fanny!' Mr Mulcare was smiling at Miss Pettigrew. ‘Have a jujube, young sir,' she said. Mrs Fury went into the back kitchen. ‘Listen,' said Mr Fury, ‘where's that boy?'

‘Peter? He's gone out!' She stood staring at her husband.

‘Where? Where's he gone?' demanded the man. ‘He ought to be here – now.'

‘He's gone to McIntyre's with a message for me. What is the matter?'

‘Matter!' shouted Mr Fury. ‘Matter! That lad ought to be here. Mr Mulcare's ship is sailing on the next tide. He wants to get out. D'you understand me?' The bewildered woman understood nothing. Mr Fury rushed into the kitchen. He stood looking at Miss Mangan. ‘What do you want?' he asked angrily.

Aunt Brigid had not expected this. ‘What on earth is the matter with you, Denny?' she said. Her face had grown pale.

Mr Fury wanted to dive at her. ‘Matter! I'll tell you what's the matter!' he shouted. ‘You clear to hell out of this. Understand? You mean —, that's what you are. You never put your face near here all the time you've been at her house.' He pointed at Miss Pettigrew. ‘And take her to the devil too. Get that? Go ahead!' His eyes fell on the bottle. ‘What's this?' he growled.

Mrs Fury came rushing in from the back kitchen. ‘Denny! Denny! Have you lost your head? Such language! Brigid brought that port for Father.' She gripped her husband by the coat and tried to push him back to the sofa.

‘Leave me alone!' shouted Mr Fury. ‘I know what I'm doing. I want this sister of yours to go. Right away. The old devil! She only comes round here to insult you.' He pushed his wife away. ‘Come along, Miss Mangan! You get to hell out of it.' He stood in the middle of the kitchen, red-faced, swinging his arms. ‘Where is that lad?'

Mrs Fury shouted, ‘Haven't I told you? He's out.'

‘Then he must be found! Mulcare's ship is sailing with the next tide, and if I know anything he's going with him. Are you getting out?' he shouted. ‘You pair of hags. You do nothing but insult this woman, hang you! She's worth ten of you.' He picked up the bottle. ‘And take this too. If the old man drank it he'd choke out of sheer protest against your generosity.' Whilst he stood there, livid with anger, Miss Pettigrew from sheer fright dropped her bottle, and the kitchen floor was covered with red confections. Mr Mulcare began to gather them together.

‘But, Denny! For God's sake control yourself. What is all this talk?' said Mrs Fury.

The man ignored her. ‘Are you going …?' He said no more, for Miss Mangan had already risen to her feet. She could not speak. Miss Pettigrew, having put her jujubes in her pocket, followed Aunt Brigid to the door.

‘Keep away from here!' shouted Mr Fury. He banged the door in their faces. Then he looked at his wife. ‘Fanny,' he said, ‘where is that lad?'

‘I told you.' She turned to Mr Mulcare. ‘Mr Mulcare,' she said, ‘please excuse my husband. I …'

She sat down near the table. What was all this excitement about?

‘Well, I'm going to find him,' said Mr Fury. ‘Yes. By God, I'm going to trim his sails.' He looked at Mulcare. ‘Wait,' he said. ‘Please wait here.' Then he rushed out of the house.

Mr Mulcare now removed his cap. He went up to the table, and leaning one hand upon it said, ‘Mrs Fury, I have a job for your son on my boat, and I make you this promise, that I shall look after him. That is, if you want him to go.' He stood looking down at the woman's crumpled hair. ‘By sheer accident I met your husband this morning as he was coming out of the Federation offices. Well, my ship is going, for this strike is finished. Do you want your son to go?' he asked. Then he went back to the sofa and sat down.

Mrs Fury, without a word, went up to her room. She sat down on the bed. She felt as though a wheel were turning in her head. First Mr Kilkey, then her sister and Miss Pettigrew, and now Mr Mulcare and her husband. There wasn't even time to think. She could only sit there, numb. What should she do?

Whilst she sat there, dazed, unable to make any decision, her husband came into the room. ‘Hang it!' he said, ‘where is the lad? If he misses this ship I …'

‘Denny! Denny! Please! Control yourself. Will you at least let me be quiet for a moment?'

He sat down by her side and put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Let him go! Let him go, Fanny! I don't care if I never see one of my children again. I only want peace. And we ought to be on our own. Understand? Let him go! Mulcare is a good man. He'll look after him.'

Even now she hedged. She hated to see him go. It was like turning the last page of a book. She hesitated. The man pulled out his watch. Then he went downstairs again. Mulcare was walking up and down the kitchen. Mr Fury said, ‘It's a caution. I'll … if he misses this chance … I …'

‘There isn't much time, Fury,' remarked Mr Mulcare. ‘I don't think your wife wants him to go.'

Mr Fury whispered into the man's ear. ‘That's the kind of woman she is.' He seemed to hold his breath for a moment. ‘She still wants her son – in spite of everything. She hates to let him go.'

Mulcare made no reply. Then he said casually, ‘I've got an hour. No more.'

‘If I was his age,' said Mr Fury, ‘I would go like a shot! By God I would! Aye, Mike, and if I could get a job I would go now.' There was something almost desperate in his utterance, as though in that very moment his being hungered to be free, his spirit longed for the sea again.

‘You must be content. All you have to do is to be content,' remarked Mulcare. ‘Your time's up, Fury. Isn't that it?' He watched this old man sit down on the sofa.

‘Aye, I suppose so. I suppose so,' Mr Fury replied.

The other man continued his pacing of the kitchen. Once he looked at the figure of Mr Mangan. Then he stood to listen to somebody moving above-stairs. Somebody up there was pacing the floor too. When Mr Fury looked up at the clock he felt certain that its face had grinned at him. So sure was he of this that he got up and turned its face to the wall. ‘Of course!' he cried in his mind. ‘Of course she would send him out. She's a caution.' Well, he couldn't sit down. No. He got up again and went upstairs. Mrs Fury was kneeling in front of the altar. The man closed the door quickly and stood at the top of the stairs. He pulled the five and threepence from his pocket and looked at it. That could wait. He would give it to her later on. He sat down on the stairs. He could hear Mulcare walking up and down the kitchen. Extraordinary! Extraordinary! That he should have met him at that very fortunate moment. It had been like the solving of a problem, a problem which had kept him awake the whole night. By heavens! he had seen nothing like Peter. Not for many a day. He was certain the lad was drinking – and then smashing that glass vase in his room!

Mulcare had stopped by the window. Suddenly he went to the kitchen door and shouted, ‘Here's your boy now!'

‘What!' Mr Fury almost overbalanced as he ran down the stairs.

The front room door opened. Mrs Fury called after him, ‘Denny! Denny!'

‘What?' shouted Mr Fury.

‘Is that Peter?' she asked.

‘Yes. It is,' replied Mr Fury, ‘and only just in time too.'

‘I want him to come up here at once.' she said. Then she went back into the room and shut the door.

She could hear shouting below-stairs. ‘You don't want to go? Why? You said that last night too. Tell us why? There must be some reason for it. Is it your mother? Then, by Christ! if you don't, I do! D'you hear me?'

Mrs Fury stood listening on the dark landing. She heard Mulcare say, ‘If he doesn't want to go. Fury, that's the end of the matter.'

‘Then
I'll
go!' shouted Mr Fury. The woman on the landing gripped the banister.