IN the months that followed the weather was particularly vile: it was a season of downpours and high wind, and the temperature at night was such as to compel me to heap two overcoats on top of my bed. But Mr Collopy ignored the nightly tempest. He left the house frequently about eight and people told me that he was a familiar figure, sheltering under a sodden umbrella, on the fringe of the small crowds attending street-corner meetings in Foster Place or the corner of Abbey Street. He was not in any way concerned with the purpose or message of those meetings. He was there to heckle, and solely from the angle of his own mysterious preoccupation. His main demand was that first things should come first. If the meeting advocated a strike in protest against low wages on the railways, he would counter by roaring that the inertia of the Corporation was more scandalous and a far more urgent matter for the country.
One night he came home very thoroughly drenched, and instead of going straight to bed, he sat at the range taking solace from his crock.
–For heaven’s sake go to bed, Father, Annie said. You are drownded. Go to bed and I will make you punch.
–Ah no, he said brightly. In such situations my early training as a hurler will stand to me.
Sure enough, he had a roaring cold the following morning and did stay in bed for a few days by command of Annie, who did not lack his own martinet quality. Gradually the cold ebbed but when he was about the house again his movements were very awkward and he complained loudly of pains in his bones. Luckily he was saved the excruciation of trying to go upstairs, for he had himself built a lavatory in the bedroom in Mrs Crottys’ time. But his plight was genuine enough, and I suggested that on my way to school I should drop in a note summoning Dr Blennerhassett.
–I am afraid, he said, that that good man is day tros. He means well but damn the thing he knows about medicine.
–But he might know something about those pains of yours.
–Oh, all right.
Dr Blennerhassett did call and said Mr Collopy had severe rheumatism. He prescribed a medicament which Annie got from the chemist—red pills in a round white box labelled ‘The Tablets’. He also said, I believe, that the patient’s intake of sugar should be drastically reduced, that alcohol should not in any circumstances be consumed, that an endeavour should be made to take mild exercise, and to have hot baths as often as possible. Whether or not Mr Collopy met those four conditions or any of them, he grew steadily worse as the weeks went by. He took to using a stick but I actually had to assist him in the short distance between his armchair and his bed. He was a cripple, and a very irascible one.
I had arranged one night to attend a session of Jack Mulloy’s poker school, but a crafty idea had crept into my head. A late start for 8.30 p.m. had been fixed, apparently because Jack had to go somewhere or do something first. I deliberately put my watch an hour fast, and hopefully knocked on the door in nearby Mespil Road at what was really half seven. A pause, and the door was opened by Penelope.
–My, you’re early, she said in that charming husky voice.
I gracefully stepped into the hall and said it was nearly half eight. I showed her my watch.
–Your watch is crazy, she said, but come in to the fire. Will you have a cup of coffee?
–I will, Penelope, if you will have one with me.
–I won’t be a moment.
Wasn’t that a delightful little ruse of mine? So far as I could see, we were alone in the house. Silly ideas came into my head, ideas that need not be mentioned here. I was the veriest tyro in such situations. Into my head came the names of certain voluptuaries and libertines of long ago, and then I began to wonder how the brother would handle matters were he in my place. She came with a pot of coffee, biscuits, and two delightful little cups. In the light her belted dress was trim, modest, a little bit mysterious; or perhaps I mean enchanting.
–Well now, Finbarr, she said, tell me all the news and leave nothing out.
–There’s no news.
–I don’t believe that. You are hiding something.
–Honestly, Penelope.
–How is Annie?
–Annie’s in good order. She never changes. In fact she never changes even her clothes. But poor Mr Collopy is crucified with rheumatism. He is a complete wreck, helpless and very angry with himself. He kept going out to get drowned in the rain every night a few months ago, and this is the price of him.
–Ah, the poor man.
–And what about poor me? I have to act the male nurse while I’m in the house.
–Well, everybody needs help some time or other. You might grow to be a helpless old man yourself. How would you like that?
–I wouldn’t fancy it. Probably I’d stick my head in the gas oven.
–But if you had very bad rheumatism you couldn’t do that. You wouldn’t be able to stoop or bend.
–Couldn’t I get you to call and help me to get my head in?
–Ah no, Finbarr, that would not be a nice thing. But I would call all right.
–To do what?
–To nurse you.
–Heavens, that would be very nice.
She laughed. I must have allowed true feeling to well up in that remark. I certainly meant what I said, but did not like to appear too brash.
–Do you mean to say, I smiled, that I would have to have a painful and loathesome disease before you would call to see me?
–Oh, not at all, Finbarr, she said. But I’d be afraid of Mr Collopy. He once called me ‘an unmannerly school-girl’, all because I told him in the street that his shoelaces were undone.
–His bootlaces, you mean, I corrected. To hell with Mr Collopy.
–Now, now, now.
–Well, he gets on my nerves.
–You spend too much time in that kitchen. You don’t go out enough. Do you ever go to a dance?
–No. I don’t know the first thing about dancing.
–That’s a pity. I must teach you.
–That would be grand.
–But first we’d have to get the loan of a gramophone somewhere.
–I think I might manage that.
Our conversation, as may be seen, was trivial and pointless enough, and the rest of it was that kind.
Finally I got a bit bolder and took her hand in my own. She did not withdraw it.
–What would you do, I asked, if I were to kiss your hand?
–Well, well! I would scream the house down probably.
–But why?
–That’s the why.
Uproar ensued all right, but it was in the hall. Jack Mulloy with two other butties had come in and were jabbering loudly as they hung up their coats. Alas, I had to disengage my excited mind and turn my thought to cards.
Curiously, I won fifteen shillings that night and was reasonably cheerful over the whole evening’s proceedings, not excluding the little interlude with Penelope, as I made my way home. The route I took was by Wilton Place, a triangular shaded nook not much used by traffic. I knew from other experiences that it was haunted by prostitutes of the very lowest cadres, and also by their scruffy clients. A small loutish group of five or six people were giggling in the shadows as I approached but became discreetly silent as I passed. But when I had gone only two yards or so, I heard one solitary word in a voice I swore I knew:
–Seemingly.
I paused involuntarily, deeply shocked, but I soon walked on. I had, in fact, been thinking of Penelope, and that one word threw my mind into a whirl. What was the meaning of this thing sex, what was the nature of sexual attraction? Was it all bad and dangerous? What was Annie doing late at night, standing in a dark place with young blackguards? Was I any better myself in my conduct, whispering sly things into the ear of lovely and innocent Penelope? Had I, in fact, at the bottom of my heart dirty intentions, some dark deed postponed only because the opportunity had not yet presented itself.
As I had expected, the kitchen was empty, for I had assisted Mr Collopy to bed before going out earlier. I did not want to be there when Annie came. I got notepaper and an envelope, went upstairs and got into bed.
I lay there with the light on for a long time, reflecting. Then I wrote a confidential and detailed letter to the brother about, first, the very low and painful condition of Mr Collopy; and second, the devastating incident concerning Annie. I paused before signing my name and for a wild few minutes considered writing a little about myself and Penelope. But reason, thank God, prevailed. I said nothing but signed and sealed the letter.