novel

Excerpt from Grace and the Fusilier

by Fin Keegan

Dublin, 1922

They had been out in Howth and come home to find him in the kitchen, eating. Bridie was at her mother's for the weekend. Daniel was at mass. Feeling thirsty Thomas Quinn went to the kitchen, a part of the house intowhich he rarely stepped. The curtains were drawn. A man hehad never seen before sat at the table.

"Get out of my house," said Thomas, shaking andpale.

The man--not much more than a boy--looked up. He had eaten half the shepherd's pie that was to have been dinner.

"I will not," he said, taking a swig from a bottleof stout and then looking back down at his food.

It was then, when the necessity of holding thestranger's gaze had passed, that Thomas Quinn noticed a revolver lyingon the table by the black bottle.

Without turning he closed the door behind him.

He stood for a while over the boy and then satdown.

The boy wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Thomas noticed there was blood on it.

"What do you want?"

The boy looked at him--Thomas put him at eighteen,nineteen at the most.

"I want you to shut up."

He finished his meal and taking a second bottleof stout from the press drank it down, looking at Thomas. Upstairsthe twins moved about.

"Who's that?" said the boy.

"My daughters."

"Any men in the house?"

"No."

"You're sure of that?"

"There's no men in the house."

The boy made a face and picked up his gun. He smelled of excrement. His eyes, even in the grey darkness, werebloodshot and weary. There was a heaviness about his movements thattold of a huge tiredness.

"Are you for the Treaty?" he asked suddenly, pointingthe gun at Thomas.

Thomas said nothing.

"Course y'are," scowled the boy. He spaton the ground. "Get up."

Thomas got up, keeping his hands above his head. He turned and felt the gun in his kidneys. He needed to go to thelavatory.

"Go on," said the boy, pushing him throughthe door. "Go into the parlour."

Thomas took him into the drawing-room. Gracewas sitting by the fire saying her rosary. She said nothing--herhand went to her mouth at the sight of the intruder. The fact thathe held a gun was almost incidental. A minute later the twins camedown and were told to sit side by side on the settee.

Thomas stood between the boy and his daughters. He hoped nobody had noticed the trickle of urine that had run down hisleg and was collecting in a dark patch by his foot. There was a smelltoo but it was swallowed up by the stench of the intruder.

The boy finished his stout slowly.

"They're trying to find me," he said atlength.

"They'll come here. Youse'll haveto hide me somewhere."

"We can do that," said Thomas. Nobody spoke. Grace was murmuring her rosary again. The boy watched her for a whilebut said nothing.

Then he said to Madeleine, "Go in and make mea cup of tea. Have you got biscuits?"

She nodded and went over to the door. Charlotte,left alone on the settee, let out a tiny whimper. The boy lookedat her.

"Make it for everyone here," he said, his magnanimitycloaked in a tone, if anything, more menacing than before. "And bringin all the biscuits."

He said nothing while she was gone. Thomaslooked at Charlotte, trying to reassure her with his eyes--she was shaking. The boy looked at his gun.

"You're from the country?" said Thomas.

"Shut up you," said the boy. "English bastard."

There was a sound from outside: rain. ThenMadeleine came back with the tray of tea things. She poured cupsfor all of them and they each took a biscuit.

The boy looked at her closely as she poured.

"Have you got a brother?" he said.

She nodded but before she could speak Thomas said,"I told you there's no other man in this house."

The boy got to his feet and hit him on the jawwith the butt of his revolver.

"Shut your mouth! Shut your mouth you Englishbastard!"

Thomas groaned and fell sideways.

Charlotte screamed: Grace's rosary speeded upand the boy stood looking at her, wide eyed. He swayed, his shoulders,stiff for a moment, slumped with exhaustion. He fell back onto hischair, his eyes rolling upward. There were streaks of blood on thenapkin Madeleine had given him.

"Everybody shut up," he whispered, holding thegun on his lap and closing his eyes.

Thomas, rubbing his jaw, pushed Madeleineover to the settee. Outside the rain fell in spears upon the gravel,a wash of sound about the still life indoors.

"There's no men in the house," said the boy, asif talking in his sleep. "You've no sons?" "No," said Thomas, after a moment of silence, "Only daughters."

He looked at the twins.

"I'm tired," said the boy.

"Yes."

His breathing lengthened; his head fell back. Thomas noticed that the band of black about his midriff was glistening.

He looked back at the twins then gave a start:on the sewing table between them--signed by the Major-General of the IrishDivision himself--there was a certificate of gallantry in the name of hisson. Looking at the boy all the time he reached out an arm and tippedthe frame over onto its face. It fell with a crack. The boysighed but didn't wake.

He looked at Madeleine. She pointed overat the secretaire in the corner which nobody but Noel had ever used andon which there lay, undisturbed since the war, virtually all they had leftof him: his letters and cards, his cap, the telegrams and obituaries, everythingthat pointed to his existence. Madeleine got up--Thomas wentto check her but stopped himself. He thought he could see thin crescentsof life between the eyelids of the gunman.

"They've got you now, boy," murmured the boy. "Got you now." His voice went on, warped into nonsense. Thomaslooked at the gun--the boy's hand was over it entirely. To retrieveit would mean loosening his fingers one by one. It was impossible.

A floorboard creaked. It was a long timesince Madeleine had crept about the house. She took the papers inher hand, clutching them to her chest like life itself. She cameback around the armchair.

Thomas lifted the certificate and then the lidof the sewing table. She dropped them inside. The certificatewent after it. Thomas closed the lid carefully, as though it were a tabernacle,locked it and dropped the key into his pocket.

For three hours the boy stayed where he was, bleedingto death in their drawing room, regaining consciousness for sufficientintervals to dissuade them from going for help. When he slipped awayat last the gun fell to the ground by his feet. Then Thomas got upand called the Guards.