Jamie ONeill - At Swim, Two Boys

PART ONE

1915

By the love of comrades.

W ALT W HITMAN

CHAPTER ONE

In delicate clutch an Irish Times he held. A thruppenny piece, waiting to pay, rolled in his fingers. Every so often his hand queried his elbowParcel safe? Under me arm, his hand-pat assured him.

Glasthule, homy old parish, on the lip of Dublin Bay. You could see the bay, a wedge of it, between the walls of a lane, with Howth lying out beyond. The bay was blue as the sky, a tinge deeper, and curiously raised-looking when viewed dead on. The way the sea would be sloping to the land. If this paper chappie dont show up quick, bang goes his sale. Cheek of him leaving customers wait in the street.

A happy dosser was nosing along the lane and Mr. Mack watched with lenient disdain. Any old bone. Lick of something out of a can. Dogs life really. When he came to the street Mr. Mack touched a finger to his hat, but the happy dosser paid him no regard. He slouched along and Mr. Mack saw it puddling after, something he had spilt in the road, his wasted civility. Lips pursed with comment, he pulled, squeezing, one droop of his bush mustache.

Oh hello, Mrs. Conway, grand day it is, grand to be sure, tiptop and yourself keeping dandy?

Nice class of lady, left foot, but without the airs. Saw me waiting with an Irish Times, twice the price of any other paper. They remark such things, the quality do. Glory be, I hope she didnt thinkhis Irish Times dropped by his sideWould she ever have mistook me for the paperman, do you think?

Pages fluttered on the newspaper piles, newsboards creaked in the breeze. Out-of-the-way spot for a paper stand. Had supposed to be above by the railway station. But this thoolamawn has it currently, what does he do only creeps it down, little by little, till now he has it smack outside of Fennellys

Mr. Mack swivelled on his heels. Fennellys public house. The corner doors were propped wide where the boy was mopping the steps. Late in the morning to be still at his steps. The gloom inside gave out a hum of amusement, low mouths of male companionship, gathered by the amber glow of the bar. Mr. Mack said Aha! with his eyes. He thrust his head inside the door, waved his paper in the dark. Scuse now, gents. He hadnt his hat back on his head before a roar of hilarity, erupting at the bar, hunted him away, likely to shove him back out in the street.

Well, by the holy. He gave a hard nod to the young bucko leaning on his mop and grinning. What was that about?

Presently, a jerky streak of anatomy distinguished itself in the door, coughing and spluttering while it came, and shielding its eyes from the sun. Is it yourself, Sergeant?

Hello now, Mr. Doyle, said Mr. Mack.

Quartermaster-Sergeant Mack, how are you, hows every hairs breadth of you, what cheer to see you so spry. A spit preceded him to the pavement. You werent kept waiting at all? This rather in rebuttal than inquiry. Only I was inside getting of bronze for silver. Paper is it?

The hades you were, thought Mr. Mack, and the smell of drink something atrocious. Fennelly has a crowd in, he remarked, for the hour.

Bagmen, the paperman replied. Go-boys on the make out of Dublin. And a miselier mischaritable unChristianer crew

Ho ho ho, thought Mr. Mack. On the cadge, if I know my man. Them boys inside was too nimble for him.

Would you believe, Sergeant, theyd mock a man for the paper hed read?

Whats this now? said Mr. Mack.

The paperman chucked his head. God be their judge and a bitter one, say I. And your good self known for a decent skin with no more side than a margarine.

Mr. Mack could not engage but a rise was being took out of him. The paperman made play of settling his papers, huffling and humphing in that irritating consumptive way. He made play of banging his chest for air. He spat, coughing with the spittle, a powdery disgruntled coughChoky today, said heand Mr. Mack viewed the spittle-drenched sheet he now held in his hand. This fellow, the curse of an old comrade, try anything to vex me.

Im after picking up, choosily he said, an Irish Times, only I read here

An Irish Times, Sergeant? Carry me out and bury me decent, so you have and all. Arent you swell away with the high-jinkers there?

Mr. Mack plumped his face and a laugh, like a fruit, dropped from his mouth. I wouldnt know about any high-jinkers, he confided. Only I read here tis twice the price of any other paper. Twice the price, he repeated, shaking his cautious head. A carillon of coins chinkled in his pocket. I dont know now can the expense be justified.

Take a risk of it, Sergeant, and damn the begrudgers. The paperman leant privily forward. A gent on the up, likes of yourself, isnt it worth it alone for the shocks and stares?

Narrowly Mr. Mack considered his man. A fling or a fox-paw, he couldnt be certain sure. He clipped his coin on the paper-stack. Penny, I believe, he said.

Thruppence, returned Mr. Doyle. Balance two dee to the General.

Mr. Mack talked small while he waited for his change. Grand stretch of weather were having.

Tisnt the worst.

Grand I thought for the time of year.

Thanks be to God.

Oh thanks be to God entirely.

Mr. Macks face faltered. Had ought to get my thanks in first. This fellow, not a mag to bless himself with, doing me down always. He watched him shambling through the pockets of his coat. And if it was change he was after in Fennellys it was devilish cunning change for never the jingle of a coin let out. A smile fixed on Mr. Macks face. Barking up the wrong tree with me, my merry old sweat. Two dee owed.

At last the paperman had the change found. Two lusterless pennies, he held them out, the old sort, with the old Queens hair in a bun. Mr. Mack was on the blow of plucking them in his fingers when the paperman coughedSqueeze mecoughed into hisSqueeze me peas, Sergeantcoughed into his sleeve. Not what youd call coughing but hacking down the tracts of his throat to catch some breath had gone missing there. His virulence spattered the air between, and Mr. Mack thought how true what they say, take your life in your hands every breath you breathe.