day she would go a long walk she would tear out several pages to take with her, being too
lazy, she said, to cart the whole book about the countryside. He felt a lump in his throat
and a hotness in his eyes as he thought of the neverness of her. He would never see her
again. He must buy a hat tomorrow if it was warm and sunny. His bald spot became
intolerably tender if he got it sunburned.
During tea he studied the faces around the dining room. He decided that he would have
to make the effort to be sociable. On his way out he went to the table where the Brothers
sat in the alcove.
Excuse me, could I buy you a drink after your meal? The biggest of the three raised
his hands and laughed.
Ah no thank you very much but we don t drink. He had the flattest of Dublin accents.
The others nodded in agreement. James bowed slightly and could think of nothing more
to say. He went out into the bar himself. He was no good at this sort of thing. His mother
had always made the approaches. She had an unerring instinct for choosing the right
people. You could see them warming to her immediately as she began to talk. The
Brothers would never have refused her if she had asked them. But would she have asked
them? Probably not, with her instinct.
James ordered a beer. There was a man sitting reading a book at the far side of the bar.
He had the book flat on his knees so that the cover was hidden. James took his drink and
sat at the table next to him. He sipped his beer. The man read on, not looking up.
Do you read much? James asked.
No. Not at all. Holidays mostly. Sometimes at night I ll read a bit if I can t get to
sleep. It helps put me over.
Yes, said James. What s the book? The man showed him the cover. It was an
American sex novel. A picture of a blonde in her slip with one foot on a chair so that you
could see her stocking tops and the v of her lace panties.
It was all I could get down here, he said. Are you on holiday?
James nodded and swallowed his beer.
Will you have another? said the man half rising out of his seat.
No. No thanks, I must be off, James answered quickly. How long are you staying?
Another week, said the man.
Then I ll see you around.
As James moved past the bar the manager put his head round the door and said in an
undertone to the barman, John, you ll not forget the bottle of Powers for the Brothers
room.
James walked out of town but the landscape was the same as far as the eye could see.
A scatter of grey one-storey houses against the grey-green of the poor land. Networks of
low stone walls fenced fields which were full of rocks themselves. He turned back seeing
no variety and went back to his room to read Hemingway. At eleven he took his sleeping
pill and fell asleep almost immediately. The last thing he saw was the picture hook above
the mantelpiece, caught in a shaft of light from the street where the curtains did not quite
meet.
Cheapskates, he thought, a favourite word of his mother s.
The next day he walked along the beach close to the water s edge. The tide was out
and he discovered that he could walk past the rocks which had stopped him the previous
night. After about a mile he came to another high projection of rock topped by tufted
grass with a ravine at its centre. Round the corner of the rock he saw a girl squatting. He
ducked back then peeped out again to watch her. She was sitting on a rock drawing. Her
long legs were bare and half folded under her. Her hair was yellow. He hesitated a
moment then decided to walk close past her to get a better look. He walked casually, his
hands behind his back, looking out to sea and when he came level with her he glanced
round. She smiled at him, guilty of her sketch book.
Hello, she greeted him. James stopped and went towards her. Close up he noticed
that her midriff was bare, her blouse knotted beneath her breasts.
Sketching? he asked.
Yes, she said, throwing her arm over her drawing just as one of the boys in his class
would do. Please don t look.
It s a lovely morning, he said but felt it too banal a thing to say, so he added, . . . for
sketching. The light . . . it s just right.
Oh you know about things like that, she said, starting up. Are you an artist?
James smiled and edged his hip onto a rock. No . . . no I m not.
She was very beautiful, the more he looked at her. Pure skin, little or no make-up,
blonde hair tied back, some strands of which had come loose and fallen down the side of
her face. She wore a pink blouse and from where he sat above her he could see the slight
curvature which began her breast. Her legs had the faintest trace of pale hair against the
sunburned skin.
May I see? James asked. She laughed embarrassed, and said that it was absolutely
useless. Her accent had class about it, not Northern, but definitely class.
I ll show you because I ve only started, she said and opened the book. The page was
dark grey for pastel and the line of the outcrop of rock had been sketched in, the line of
sea and the far side of the lough.
It s good, said James looking at her. She bit her bottom lip.
Then I d better leave it like that, she said laughing. I d only ruin it.
James handed the book back and asked, Are you on holiday?
Yes, we re staying at the hotel up there. She pointed. Behind those trees.
It looks expensive.
Yes but it s gorgeous. An old Georgian mansion. Just the sort of place you d like to
own.
Are you staying long?
She pulled a face. We ll be going on Sunday.
Who s we ?
I m here with my parents. That s why I go sketching. There s nothing else to do.
You like sketching then?
Yes I love things, she said. She waved her hand in the direction of the sea. . . .
Nature . . . I don t know how to put it. Drawing doesn t really help. If you could
somehow get into it . . .
Have you read Hopkins? James asked.
No. She shook her head from side to side, thinking.
It s all there, said James. There lives the dearest freshness deep down in things.
Oh him, she interrupted. Yes I think I have. He s in The Pageant.
Yes, said James, left with the rest of the poem inside him.
Writing poems about it is just a different way of drawing it. It still doesn t help. I [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]