Our Time Is Gone (96 page)

‘You'd hardly notice it, dad.'

‘I suppose you couldn't get me the little mirror out of the locker. I could see for myself.'

Desmond shook his head.

‘I'd rather not.'

‘Well, I'll get your mother to show it me. They took her away from me last night; they said she was annoying me, but she wasn't, the poor creature's half off her head with the delight of me being alive. I know. Sure, don't I know—the way she fusses round me. Ah, I like your poor mother for it. She has a good heart—I'd begrudge nothing to a good heart. Will you get me a drink? I'm so dry. This morning they made me eat something and I was sick after that.'

‘There's somebody coming, dad, I can hear them. I must go now. Cheer up, I'll be thinking of you, of both of you. I'll see you again. Get well, dad, get well.'

The old man opened his mouth to reply, but only air came out.

Desmond laid him back on the pillows. ‘All this talking,' he thought, ‘it's killing him, I'm sure it's killing him. Oh, why do we have to talk at all? Why can't we just sit and look at each other and say nothing at all?'

‘Goodbye, dad.'

There was no answer. When he turned away he found the door open, the Mother Superior standing there, and a gentleman in white beside her. ‘The doctor,' he said to himself. He went out, he said ‘Good afternoon,' to the doctor.

‘Are you the old man's son?'

Desmond nodded. ‘I am glad you are here,' he beckoned him outside.

‘Your father,' he began, and the pause frightened Desmond, ‘your father, I'm sorry to say …'

‘Yes, doctor?'

‘He may never recover. I have never seen a man so thin, so exhausted. I hope you haven't been here too long. It's bad for him.'

‘He has not been here very long, doctor,' the Mother Superior said, ‘he
had
to see his father to-day, family matter.'

‘If we could get him back again,' went on the doctor, ‘he slips away so often. Apart from this extreme weakness of constitution, there's his mind—he wanders a lot.'

‘I know that already.'

‘He will never work again.'

‘I know that too. There will never be any need for him to work again.'

‘If I may say so—the fact is that your father has worked
too
hard—and too long, he's spent.'

Desmond did not answer—he thought, ‘At any moment death will come into it.' He thought of their days, the last days, he thought of the dream cottage. Perhaps even that was too late.

‘Will he always be like this, doctor? I mean …'

‘He's overstrained—he's in his late sixties, isn't he?'

‘Yes. He's sixty-eight.'

‘There was a time in his life—what time I don't know—but there was a time when he should have stopped, and didn't. I have now received a full report about your father. I got this with the help of two other men who brought him home. They, like he, were shipwrecked. When I look at your father, I ask myself how any man, he isn't a big man—I ask myself how this frame could have withstood it. Twice within a week he was swimming in the sea. I don't know where he got the strength.'

Desmond was silent. He looked from one to the other, the tall, dignified figure of the Mother Superior, the short, stocky figure of the doctor, the features as rosy and shining as a winter apple. The Mother Superior looked at the doctor. ‘I knew where he got his strength,' and answered a question he could not force himself to answer.

‘You are coming again,' the doctor said.

Desmond said, ‘yes', without thinking.

‘That is very wise. Don't build up any hopes,' the doctor turned, ‘we had better go in.' Over his shoulder he called ‘Good-day,' in reply to the other's ‘good-afternoon'. The door closed. For some minutes Desmond stood there, unable to move. He stared stupidly ahead of him.

‘I never expected that—
never
, never.

He walked away as though in a dream—he found himself walking across the garden and when he came to the chapel he stood outside. He heard the choir, the high notes of boys' voices. ‘I'd better wait. I must see her now.'

He ventured a little further. He could see through the doorway the altar, the priest, he had a sudden vision of himself kneeling two steps below that figure, and suddenly the stream of words was surging in his head—

Suscipiat Dominus sacrificium de manibus tuis, ad laudem et gloriam nominis sui, ad utilitatem quoque nostram, totiusque ecclesiae suae sanctae
.

‘Fancy that coming into my head, after all these years.'

He saw her then walking towards him, tall, lean, erect, ‘How straight she is, how tall,' and she saw him waiting. He did not speak as she came up to him, and he quickly caught her hand: ‘Mother, I must speak to you. I
must
to-day.'

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About the Author

James Hanley (1897–1985) was born in Liverpool, England, to an Irish Catholic family. He spent time in the merchant navy and served with the Canadian Infantry during World War I. From 1930 to 1981 Hanley published forty-eight books, including the novels
Boy
,
The Furys
,
The Ocean
,
Another World
, and
Hollow Sea
. He penned plays for radio, television, and theater and published a work of nonfiction,
Grey Children
, on the plight of coal miners. Hanley died in London but was buried in Wales, the setting for many of his works.

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 © 1941 by Liam Hanley

Cover design by Jamie Keenan

ISBN: 978-1-4976-9987-8

This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

345 Hudson Street

New York, NY 10014

www.openroadmedia.com

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