‘If Ireland was free …’

‘Words.’

‘The Tans in their big Crossley tender …’ sang the father in his tired voice.

‘Words. Words. Words. God. If I’d’ve had the guts I’d’ve left you. To drown in your words. I’ve no doubt that in forty years’ time, or in fifty maybe, you’ll be doing the same thing as he is now. All I can say is I’m glad I won’t be round to see you.’

‘She’s a hard woman all right,’ said the old man. ‘I always told you that. A hard one. It’s the only word for her. Hard.’ A sob of self-pity came out of him as he repeated the word. She got up and began to clear the dishes from the table. She piled the plates and cups on the draining board and poured hot water from the kettle into the sink. The old man and the young one looked at her inimicably as she moved backwards and forwards between the scullery and the table. As she turned on the cold tap the water rattled in the pipes.

‘I think I’ll go to bed.’ Joe stood up.

‘Are your shoes clean for school?’

‘Clean enough.’

Normally she would have looked, but this evening she didn’t turn from the sink. This upset him. He pushed past her into the scullery and took the shoe cloth out of the box where the polish was kept and gave his shoes a quick rub. It didn’t make much difference, if any, to their appearance, but it made him feel better.

‘Obscure!’

The word came into his mind and he said it out aloud.

‘Obscure. Ob … scure … lure … pure … hoor.’ He laughed to himself. ‘A pure hoor dressed in velours is pretty obscure.’

His mother had turned round from the sink and was looking at him.

‘What’s up with you?’

He put the cloth back in the box.

‘I was just talking to myself. That’s all.’

‘I hope you find yourself entertaining.’

‘Always,’ he answered. That was the truth anyway.

He opened the back door and looked out into the yard. The wind was cold. He wondered what she would be doing now. Would she be asleep, he wondered, or be lying curled on the divan listening to the radio? Correcting books, puffing as she frowned over the inadequacies of her pupils, or just asleep, obscurely asleep, the light from the wind-shaken lamp outside in the street making patterns on the floor?

‘Will you for heaven’s sake shut that door, or you’ll have us all blown out of the house.’

He pushed the door shut against the wind and decided not to wash. He’d cleaned his shoes at any rate.

‘Good night.’ He pushed past her and walked slowly through the kitchen. The two men were sitting staring into space, the space behind their skulls. Brendan’s fingers drummed unconsciously and nervously on the table. Behind him his mother pulled the scullery door shut and locked it.

‘Life is very obscure,’ he said at the bottom of the stairs. No one seemed interested.