The Old Jest (20 page)

‘Where will you go?'

‘Away.'

‘Yes. I shouldn't have asked, should I?'

‘I am a very secret person.'

‘The soldier said you were dangerous.'

He laughed.

‘Good. I like to be thought dangerous.'

‘Those twelve…'

He moved towards her.

‘I'm sorry, Nancy. They were dangerous too. Twelve new, dangerous men. They had to be stopped before they did a lot of damage. We are very naive people. These men were capable of finding out things that would have harmed a lot of people. Created problems. We have to win, Nancy. In the end of all the people have to win. That is very important.'

‘You make it sound important.'

Suddenly above them the bird on the roof awoke. It adjusted its position and flapped its wings for a few seconds. Then slowly it took off and beat its way out to sea.

‘I think you should go.'

‘Yes.' He picked up the canvas bag.

‘Are you Angus Barry?'

‘What a very persistent young lady you are! I might have been. I certainly am no longer.'

‘But could I think of you as that person?'

‘If it gives you pleasure.'

He picked up her right hand and kissed it.

‘So, with an Angus Barry gesture I leave you. I shall go along the coast a bit and then cut up into the hills. I will be all right. I have a place to go where I will be safe.'

She nodded.

‘Will you stay here a little while after I have gone?'

‘I'll make sure there are no signs left.' She smiled at him. ‘I'll cover up for you.'

They moved to the door and stood close together looking out at the world.

‘It's cold,' she said.

‘It's always cold at this time of night.'

Somewhere up above the beach a stone tumbled. She clutched at his arm.

‘Go.'

‘Yes. I hope I haven't done you too much harm.'

‘Just go.'

She stamped her foot.

He stepped out of the hut and began to walk towards the sea.

Her heart beat so hard she thought she would die there and then.

‘Halt.'

A line of men materialised from the darkness, stretching from the railway right down to the edge of the sea. He walked on. His feet now splashed through the little white curling waves.

‘Halt.'

The crunch of their feet on the sand. If he swam, he might get away. She ran down the sand towards him.

‘Run. They're here. Run. Swim. Please.'

‘There's no point in running or swimming, Major Barry.'

He stopped walking and turned. The water was covering his good leather shoes.

‘Go back, Nancy,' he said. ‘Go back now. This minute.'

‘They're here,' was all she could reply.

‘Major Barry, we know you are armed. Throw your bag and your gun on to the sand. Don't do anything foolish. We won't hesitate to shoot both you and the girl if you do anything stupid.'

The man stood quite still.

‘The girl knows nothing about this. She is a child. She brought me a few scraps of food from time to time. She knows nothing. Let her out of here. Safely out. Then, I swear, you can take me.'

‘Oh no!'

‘Gun and bag on the sand.'

‘When you let the girl out. I'm not telling you a lie. The girl is irrelevant.'

‘All right. The girl can go.'

She looked at him across the few feet between them. He smiled at her. ‘Go now, Nancy. Just walk through them and keep on walking until you get home.'

‘What will happen?'

‘Nothing will happen. They will take me to prison. That's all. Turn round and walk.'

‘Are you telling me the truth?'

‘Yes.'

She nodded. She turned round and faced the soldiers. Their silver faces were indifferent.

‘Goodbye.'

‘Au revoir.'

‘Thank you,' she said and started to walk.

She walked through the soldiers and up towards the blocks of stone, then she stopped and looked back. He had thrown his bag on to the sand and was fumbling in his pocket for the gun. He took it out and looked at it for a moment, and then threw it down beside the bag. Then they shot him. Two. Three shots. Running.

‘No, no, no!'

Four. Five. Six. Making sure.

‘Hold your fire.' She heard her voice screaming like Grandfather's at Talana Hill.

Running.

Seven.

Silence.

‘No, no!'

They caught her just before she reached the body, stroked now by the gentle sea.

‘No!'

Two men were leaning over him. Red in the waves, turning to pink, washing, cleaning the wounds.

‘Keep him below the tide line. We don't want to have to clear up a mess.'

‘Sir.'

‘The boat'll be along in a minute.'

‘Please,' she said to one of the men holding her. ‘Please let me help him.'

He laughed. ‘That poor sod don't need help no more.'

‘Why? He said you'd put him in prison. Why?'

‘Don't arsk me, lidy. We only obey orders.'

‘Take that girl home, one of you. Back where she came from.'

‘I can go home alone. I don't need anyone to take me.'

‘Corporal Tweedie, take the girl home and tell her parents from us they ought to keep an eye on her.'

‘Sir.'

The engine of a boat puttered in the distance.

‘No,' she said.

‘Come along with me, Miss.' Corporal Tweedie's voice was kind.

‘What are you going to do with him?'

‘You can let go of her now. She'll be all right.'

Her arms were throbbing from their gripping hands. Her face was wet with tears that she hadn't noticed pouring from her eyes. There was a crack of light now on the horizon, red like flames. The corporal gave her a gentle push in the direction of the line. She started to walk. His footsteps followed her. She stopped.

‘What are they going to do with him?'

The engines cut out and the boat drifted towards the shore.

‘Get on, Miss. Do get on.'

She was bitterly cold. She moved on again towards the blocks. Climbing up over the granite. Up on the line she looked back. Two soldiers were hoisting the body into the boat. The earth was colouring now. There would be no traces soon.

‘Miss, I haven't all day, you know.'

She nodded and they walked along the line.

‘What will they do with him?' She asked the question quietly.

‘Dispose of him,' was all the answer she got. After that they walked in silence.

At the gate she turned to him.

‘I go up here. It's all right. You can leave me now.'

He looked doubtfully at her.

‘I promise. I'll just go straight home.'

‘I dunno …'

‘You see, you'll upset my aunt dreadfully if you wake her up and start telling her all this. Please.'

‘Orders, Miss.'

‘I promise. My Grandfather's a general … well, a retired general.'

‘All right. You get on home to bed. And don't you go round blabbing or you'll be in real trouble.'

‘I'd really like to know why they did that.'

‘They must have their reasons.'

A bird twittered uneasily above them from its nest.

‘They make the decisions, we do what we're told. That's the way of life.'

‘I don't think he saw it like that.'

‘That's why they wanted him dead. There's your answer. Go on home now, Miss, and keep your face shut.'

He turned and walked away.

The house was still and peaceful.

She looked at her face in the glass on her dressing table. Her eyes were swollen with tears and shock. She dropped her clothes on the floor and fell naked on to her bed. The light from the growing sun was widening across the ceiling. Red sky in the morning. I will never be able to sleep again. The swallows scratched in the eaves. Sleep or laugh or love or swim in the sea which is now filled with his blood. Be happy, never be happy. The great illusion. We all seek for an illusion. That's all. I will never again … never … I… She slept.

She awoke the next morning as usual to the sound of Aunt Mary's bath water running down the pipes. Golly, I must get up, she thought, and then remembered what had happened in the night! Or perhaps it had been a nightmare? If she went down to the hut, he would still be there, sitting with his back to the wall reading. Had he, in fact, existed? There would be no trace of him. No blood on the sand. No footmarks. No spent bullets. It was Sunday. The bells would ring in the two churches in the village. The only thing to do is to get up. She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her second toe was still longer than her first one. Nothing had changed. There was sand on the floor. Bridie would have a word or two to say about that. Oh dear God, let him have peace now! He didn't get his bottle of claret. I feel so heavy, full of shame and sadness. Sunday clothes. Spit and polish.

There were no papers on Sunday, so Aunt Mary was reading a book when Nancy went into the dining room.

‘Good morning, dear. I hope you slept well.'

Nancy kissed her aunt.

‘Umm!'

‘I didn't, I must say. I couldn't stop thinking of that awfulness yesterday. Pour out your own coffee, dear, I've got sticky fingers. I suppose there'll be reprisals now. No one can ever leave anything alone. We'll walk to Church today, dear. I feel the need to clear my head.'

‘It's going to rain.'

‘A little rain won't hurt us. It may hold off until after lunch.'

‘Sun before seven, rain before eleven.' It was just something to say.

‘I wonder if they found the man they were looking for. I do hope it isn't poor Angoose.'

‘Hmm!'

‘Harry and Maeve are coming to lunch. I hope you'll behave terribly well.'

‘I will. Honestly.'

‘That's good, dear. In a way I hope they don't find him. I'd hate to think of anything terrible happening to him.' She shut her book. ‘It really hasn't been a very happy few days.'

‘No.'

‘I rather suspect that Harry and Maeve are going to get engaged. Will that upset you?'

Nancy thought about it.

‘No. Not a bit. Isn't that funny!'

‘That's all right then. I wouldn't like you to be upset.'

She got up and looked around the room vaguely.

‘We'll have to decide what we're going to sell and what we're going to keep.'

‘I suppose so.'

‘One becomes so attached to things.'

‘Yes.'

‘It'll be an adventure. New ground.'

‘Yes.'

‘Next week we must positively start to get organised.'

‘Yes.'

‘I must go and see to father.'

She moved to the door.

‘I think we'll have champagne for lunch. Wouldn't that be a good idea?'

‘Yes.'

‘And you'll be good?'

‘I told you.'

‘Give Bridie a hand to clear the table, there's a good girl.'

‘Yes.'

As she opened the door and went out, the sound of the old scratchy voice came down the passage.

‘I fear no foe with Thee at hand to bless, Ills have no weight and tears no bitterness …'

Nancy picked up the tray from the sideboard and began to pile it with plates. I ought to cry, but I can't. Anger and pain.

‘Where is death's sting? Where grave thy victory?'

The door down the passage closed and the voice was lost.

The great thing is you can always choose, and then, as Bridie says, you've no one to blame but yourself.

About the Author

Jennifer Johnston is a preeminent voice of contemporary Irish fiction. Her long list of accolades includes the Whitbread Literary Award for
The Old Jest
, the Evening Standard Award for Best First Novel for
The Captains and the Kings
, and a Man Booker Prize shortlist mention for
Shadows on Our Skin
. Her recent
Foolish Mortals
was shortlisted for the Irish Book of the Decade by the Bord Gáis Energy Irish Book Awards. Johnston has authored seventeen novels and five plays. She lives outside Derry, Northern Ireland.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1979 by Jennifer Johnston

Cover design by Mimi Bark

ISBN: 978-1-4976-4643-8

This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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New York, NY 10014

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