Our Time Is Gone by James Hanley Read Free Book Online Page A

the edge of the bed.
    He lay quite still, though his mind was choked and smothering under a flood of memories that no move of the hand, no wish and no thought could wipe away. Something made him raise his head. The woman had opened her eyes. She was looking full at him, and he held her look. He clasped her hand, let it go, clasped it again, hoping, wondering. Was she really dying? Or just ill? Very tired, or——But what was she doing here? In this place on this early morning, and the rain pouring outside and a wind breaking over the roofs. He shut his eyes, opened them again. Was she really looking at him? His wife? Fanny?
    â€˜Fanny! Dear, dear Fanny. Sure God help you, woman, I … How are you now?’
    â€˜My bag?’
    â€˜Your bag, Fanny. Why, I don’t——’ and then he smiled, remembering. ‘Why, of course. Your bag. Your own bag. D’you want it, Fanny?’
    â€˜My bag,’ she said.
    â€˜Yes, yes. I—here—what is this, it—I wonder——Fanny, are you dying? Oh God!’
    â€˜My bag.’
    â€˜Of course, Fanny. Here! There now.’
    He had found the black bag, for they had not yet taken her things away. It lay on the locker by her bed. He laid it near her hand, and he noticed how she clutched it.
    â€˜There, Fanny.’
    â€˜My bag,’ she said, and somehow the voice seemed to rise from the bottom, from the very inside of the bed.
    And again he was afraid. ‘Oh Great God this night,’ he said, and suddenly sat up rigid. She was looking up at him, as though he were some stranger. She looked through and beyond him. He was a stranger to her.
    â€˜I won’t die,’ she said.
    He felt his arm gripped by her hand, then it slackened and fell away. The words sang their way around the man’s brain. ‘Won’t die! Won’t die!’
    Hearing a sound he turned; somebody was coming. He shifted his chair to the head of the bed, and as he moved he saw something that turned him cold.
    â€˜They’ve bound my poor Fanny,’ he said. He bent his head on his breast and sobbed. After a minute or two he was silent. The screen had moved then.
    It was at this moment that Captain Desmond Fury had come. Father had not noticed son, the son had not noticed the father.
    Now they were together, outside the hospital, the rain falling, and a slight mist shrouding the building from a grey, almost starless sky. And the father drew back and then looked up at his son. And Captain Fury looked down at him, and then up at the windows.
    â€˜Well! What have you to say for yourself?’ asked Mr. Fury.
    He stood there, hands in his pockets, looking down at the polished boots, then up at the collar and tie and uniform cap. What had he to say? Anything? So here he was.
    â€˜Dad! I am sorry about this. It’s hard all right! Look here, couldn’t we go somewhere and talk? I mean——’ Yes, what did he mean—exactly? Take his father home? Go home with his father? What? Which? The rain was falling heavily. ‘Listen, Dad?’
    â€˜Well! I’m glad you went, anyhow! Though she didn’t know anybody. I think it’s the end of your poor mother! Only God this night can look to her.’
    He looked away from his son. Desmond! The eldest! The first to fly and be free! ‘The pusher,’ as he called him. Ran off with that woman. Married out of the church. Well, by heck, he had pushed somewhere now! An officer. A captain.
    â€˜Listen, Dad, I’m really sorry about this. Look here! Would you like to come home with me—for the night, say? Besides, we can’t stand here in the rain, can we?’
    â€˜Maybe not. Well, you look well and fat and prosperous! But then you were always the healthiest in the family. Ah, well! You were always a pusher—a thruster! I tell you straight, your mother’s fair beat. Fair beat—but she’s been a sticker your mother has. A real sticker,