 |
| Andrew Akimov |
Clay
THE matron had
given her leave to go out as soon as the women's tea was over and Maria looked
forward to her evening out. The kitchen was spick and span: the cook said you
could see yourself in the big copper boilers. The fire was nice and bright and
on one of the side-tables were four very big barmbracks. These barmbracks
seemed uncut; but if you went closer you would see that they had been cut into
long thick even slices and were ready to be handed round at tea. Maria had cut
them herself.
Maria was a very,
very small person indeed but she had a very long nose and a very long chin. She
talked a little through her nose, always soothingly: "Yes, my dear,"
and "No, my dear." She was always sent for when the women quarrelled
over their tubs and always succeeded in making peace. One day the matron had
said to her:
"Maria, you
are a veritable peace-maker!"
And the sub-matron
and two of the Board ladies had heard the compliment. And Ginger Mooney was
always saying what she wouldn't do to the dummy who had charge of the irons if
it wasn't for Maria. Everyone was so fond of Maria.
The women would
have their tea at six o'clock and she would be able to get away before seven.
From Ballsbridge to the Pillar, twenty minutes; from the Pillar to Drumcondra,
twenty minutes; and twenty minutes to buy the things. She would be there before
eight. She took out her purse with the silver clasps and read again the words A
Present from Belfast. She was very fond of that purse because Joe had brought
it to her five years before when he and Alphy had gone to Belfast on a
Whit-Monday trip. In the purse were two half-crowns and some coppers. She would
have five shillings clear after paying tram fare. What a nice evening they
would have, all the children singing! Only she hoped that Joe wouldn't come in
drunk. He was so different when he took any drink.
Often he had wanted
her to go and live with them;-but she would have felt herself in the way though
Joe's wife was ever so nice with her and she had become accustomed to the life
of the laundry. Joe was a good fellow. She had nursed him and Alphy too; and
Joe used often say:
"Mamma is
mamma but Maria is my proper mother."
After the break-up
at home the boys had got her that position in the Dublin by Lamplight laundry,
and she liked it. She used to have such a bad opinion of Protestants but now
she thought they were very nice people, a little quiet and serious, but still
very nice people to live with. Then she had her plants in the conservatory and
she liked looking after them. She had lovely ferns and wax-plants and, whenever
anyone came to visit her, she always gave the visitor one or two slips from her
conservatory. There was one thing she didn't like and that was the tracts on
the walks; but the matron was such a nice person to deal with, so genteel.
When the cook told
her everything was ready she went into the women's room and began to pull the
big bell. In a few minutes the women began to come in by twos and threes,
wiping their steaming hands in their petticoats and pulling down the sleeves of
their blouses over their red steaming arms. They settled down before their huge
mugs which the cook and the dummy filled up with hot tea, already mixed with
milk and sugar in huge tin cans. Maria superintended the distribution of the
barmbrack and saw that every woman got her four slices. There was a great deal
of laughing and joking during the meal. Lizzie Fleming said Maria was sure to
get the ring and, though Fleming had said that for so many Hallow Eves, Maria
had to laugh and say she didn't want any ring or man either; and when she
laughed her grey-green eyes sparkled with disappointed shyness and the tip of
her nose nearly met the tip of her chin. Then Ginger Mooney lifted her mug of
tea and proposed Maria's health while all the other women clattered with their
mugs on the table, and said she was sorry she hadn't a sup of porter to drink
it in. And Maria laughed again till the tip of her nose nearly met the tip of
her chin and till her minute body nearly shook itself asunder because she knew
that Mooney meant well though, of course, she had the notions of a common
woman.
But wasn't Maria
glad when the women had finished their tea and the cook and the dummy had begun
to clear away the tea-things! She went into her little bedroom and, remembering
that the next morning was a mass morning, changed the hand of the alarm from
seven to six. Then she took off her working skirt and her house-boots and laid
her best skirt out on the bed and her tiny dress-boots beside the foot of the
bed. She changed her blouse too and, as she stood before the mirror, she
thought of how she used to dress for mass on Sunday morning when she was a
young girl; and she looked with quaint affection at the diminutive body which
she had so often adorned, In spite of its years she found it a nice tidy little
body.
When she got
outside the streets were shining with rain and she was glad of her old brown
waterproof. The tram was full and she had to sit on the little stool at the end
of the car, facing all the people, with her toes barely touching the floor. She
arranged in her mind all she was going to do and thought how much better it was
to be independent and to have your own money in your pocket. She hoped they
would have a nice evening. She was sure they would but she could not help
thinking what a pity it was Alphy and Joe were not speaking. They were always
falling out now but when they were boys together they used to be the best of
friends: but such was life.
She got out of her
tram at the Pillar and ferreted her way quickly among the crowds. She went into
Downes's cake-shop but the shop was so full of people that it was a long time
before she could get herself attended to. She bought a dozen of mixed penny
cakes, and at last came out of the shop laden with a big bag. Then she thought
what else would she buy: she wanted to buy something really nice. They would be
sure to have plenty of apples and nuts. It was hard to know what to buy and all
she could think of was cake. She decided to buy some plumcake but Downes's
plumcake had not enough almond icing on top of it so she went over to a shop in
Henry Street. Here she was a long time in suiting herself and the stylish young
lady behind the counter, who was evidently a little annoyed by her, asked her
was it wedding-cake she wanted to buy. That made Maria blush and smile at the
young lady; but the young lady took it all very seriously and finally cut a
thick slice of plumcake, parcelled it up and said:
"Two-and-four,
please."
She thought she
would have to stand in the Drumcondra tram because none of the young men seemed
to notice her but an elderly gentleman made room for her. He was a stout
gentleman and he wore a brown hard hat; he had a square red face and a greyish
moustache. Maria thought he was a colonel-looking gentleman and she reflected
how much more polite he was than the young men who simply stared straight
before them. The gentleman began to chat with her about Hallow Eve and the
rainy weather. He supposed the bag was full of good things for the little ones
and said it was only right that the youngsters should enjoy themselves while
they were young. Maria agreed with him and favoured him with demure nods and
hems. He was very nice with her, and when she was getting out at the Canal
Bridge she thanked him and bowed, and he bowed to her and raised his hat and
smiled agreeably, and while she was going up along the terrace, bending her
tiny head under the rain, she thought how easy it was to know a gentleman even
when he has a drop taken.
Everybody said:
"0, here's Maria!" when she came to Joe's house. Joe was there,
having come home from business, and all the children had their Sunday dresses
on. There were two big girls in from next door and games were going on. Maria
gave the bag of cakes to the eldest boy, Alphy, to divide and Mrs. Donnelly
said it was too good of her to bring such a big bag of cakes and made all the children
say:
"Thanks,
Maria."
But Maria said she
had brought something special for papa and mamma, something they would be sure
to like, and she began to look for her plumcake. She tried in Downes's bag and
then in the pockets of her waterproof and then on the hallstand but nowhere
could she find it. Then she asked all the children had any of them eaten it --
by mistake, of course -- but the children all said no and looked as if they did
not like to eat cakes if they were to be accused of stealing. Everybody had a
solution for the mystery and Mrs. Donnelly said it was plain that Maria had
left it behind her in the tram. Maria, remembering how confused the gentleman
with the greyish moustache had made her, coloured with shame and vexation and
disappointment. At the thought of the failure of her little surprise and of the
two and fourpence she had thrown away for nothing she nearly cried outright.
But Joe said it
didn't matter and made her sit down by the fire. He was very nice with her. He
told her all that went on in his office, repeating for her a smart answer which
he had made to the manager. Maria did not understand why Joe laughed so much over
the answer he had made but she said that the manager must have been a very
overbearing person to deal with. Joe said he wasn't so bad when you knew how to
take him, that he was a decent sort so long as you didn't rub him the wrong
way. Mrs. Donnelly played the piano for the children and they danced and sang.
Then the two next-door girls handed round the nuts. Nobody could find the
nutcrackers and Joe was nearly getting cross over it and asked how did they
expect Maria to crack nuts without a nutcracker. But Maria said she didn't like
nuts and that they weren't to bother about her. Then Joe asked would she take a
bottle of stout and Mrs. Donnelly said there was port wine too in the house if
she would prefer that. Maria said she would rather they didn't ask her to take
anything: but Joe insisted.
So Maria let him
have his way and they sat by the fire talking over old times and Maria thought
she would put in a good word for Alphy. But Joe cried that God might strike him
stone dead if ever he spoke a word to his brother again and Maria said she was
sorry she had mentioned the matter. Mrs. Donnelly told her husband it was a
great shame for him to speak that way of his own flesh and blood but Joe said
that Alphy was no brother of his and there was nearly being a row on the head
of it. But Joe said he would not lose his temper on account of the night it was
and asked his wife to open some more stout. The two next-door girls had
arranged some Hallow Eve games and soon everything was merry again. Maria was
delighted to see the children so merry and Joe and his wife in such good
spirits. The next-door girls put some saucers on the table and then led the
children up to the table, blindfold. One got the prayer-book and the other
three got the water; and when one of the next-door girls got the ring Mrs.
Donnelly shook her finger at the blushing girl as much as to say: 0, I know all
about it! They insisted then on blindfolding Maria and leading her up to the
table to see what she would get; and, while they were putting on the bandage,
Maria laughed and laughed again till the tip of her nose nearly met the tip of
her chin.
They led her up to
the table amid laughing and joking and she put her hand out in the air as she
was told to do. She moved her hand about here and there in the air and
descended on one of the saucers. She felt a soft wet substance with her fingers
and was surprised that nobody spoke or took off her bandage. There was a pause
for a few seconds; and then a great deal of scuffling and whispering. Somebody
said something about the garden, and at last Mrs. Donnelly said something very
cross to one of the next-door girls and told her to throw it out at once: that
was no play. Maria understood that it was wrong that time and so she had to do
it over again: and this time she got the prayer-book.
After that Mrs.
Donnelly played Miss McCloud's Reel for the children and Joe made Maria take a
glass of wine. Soon they were all quite merry again and Mrs. Donnelly said
Maria would enter a convent before the year was out because she had got the
prayer-book. Maria had never seen Joe so nice to her as he was that night, so
full of pleasant talk and reminiscences. She said they were all very good to
her.
At last the
children grew tired and sleepy and Joe asked Maria would she not sing some
little song before she went, one of the old songs. Mrs. Donnelly said "Do,
please, Maria!" and so Maria had to get up and stand beside the piano.
Mrs. Donnelly bade the children be quiet and listen to Maria's song. Then she
played the prelude and said "Now, Maria!" and Maria, blushing very
much began to sing in a tiny quavering voice. She sang I Dreamt that I Dwelt,
and when she came to the second verse she sang again:
I dreamt that I
dwelt in marble halls
With vassals and
serfs at my side,
And of all who
assembled within those walls
That I was the hope
and the pride.
I had riches too
great to count; could boast
Of a high ancestral
name,
But I also dreamt,
which pleased me most,
That you loved me
still the same.
But no one tried to
show her her mistake; and when she had ended her song Joe was very much moved.
He said that there was no time like the long ago and no music for him like poor
old Balfe, whatever other people might say; and his eyes filled up so much with
tears that he could not find what he was looking for and in the end he had to
ask his wife to tell him where the corkscrew was.
No comments:
Post a Comment