The Barracks by John McGahern Read Free Book Online Page B

hillbeyond shone against the dark. She lit the small glass oil lamp and turned to rake the coals out of the ashes.
    She worked quickly and well and without thinking much. She didn’t wash herself or brush her hair or go outside till she had to get water out of the barrel for Reegan’s shaving. The cold made her wince as she broke the ice, and she saw their black cat dart in through the door she’d left open; she came in afraid to find her thieving, but she was only waiting to wrap her frozen fur about Elizabeth’s legs and purred and cried loudly till she was given a saucer of milk in the scullery.
    The children were rising, their feet were padding on the boards overhead. The kettle was boiling, the shaving water, the slices of bacon laid on the pan ready for frying, the table set. The morning’s work was almost done; her sense of purpose, of things needing her to do them, failing fast. There wasn’t enough in front of her now to keep her going headlong: she didn’t want to wash or brush her hair and she could not bear the look of her face in the mirror; and when the children came with a rush of life into the kitchen it made her only more oppressively aware of her sickness. “There was frost, Elizabeth?” their cries came. “We’ll be able to slide on Malone’s pond if it keeps up.”
    She could only answer them with tired assent. There seemed no end to their excitement and curiosity. She wondered if they’d wake Reegan.
    â€œDaddy’s off to court today?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œIs it time for him to get up, Elizabeth?”
    â€œCan I go up to call him?”
    â€œMe, Elizabeth, I’ll go up!”
    â€œLet Sheila go up so,” she said to Una.
    â€œThen I can quench the lamp, Elizabeth? It’s no good any more, it’s too bright.”
    â€œI’ll shine his boots, Elizabeth.”
    Elizabeth, Elizabeth, Elizabeth, Elizabeth, it seemed without end. Sheila was racing up the stairs. The blinded darkness met her with a shock. She stood at the door and called,“Daddy, it’s time to get up,” but she got no answer and she had to tiptoe to the window and let up the blind so that the light poured in.
    â€œDaddy, it’s time to get up,” she timidly rocked his shoulder.
    She had to rock harder and raise her voice.
    â€œIt’s the day for the court, Daddy.”
    He grunted, and then suddenly opened his eyes. She felt the wild fright of his eyes opened on her and not recognizing her and then the slow remembering and the dawning there of the world he lived in. At last he knew who she was.
    â€œIt’s time to get up, Daddy.”
    â€œIt’s you, Sheila,” he rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes. “What day is today, Sheila?”
    â€œThursday, Daddy. It’s the day of the court.”
    He took a moment to absorb what she said and then his eyes searched swiftly for the clock on the table: it was five past eight. “Christ, I forgot,” he swore as he jumped out of bed. “Another blasted day in town.”
    He was downstairs almost with her in his collarless shirt and trousers and stockinged feet. He stopped to listen at the dayroom door: but there was no noise of Mullins moving.
    â€œYou must have been up early,” he praised Elizabeth when he felt the kitchen warm with the blazing fire.
    â€œI thought not to wake you,” she replied.
    â€œIs there water boiled?”
    â€œIt’s ready—when you want it.…”
    He took down the plain wooden box that held his shaving-kit from the top of the medicine press and opened it on the sewing-machine to get his cut-throat razor and he stroked it over and back on a strip of fine leather tacked to the side of the press. After he’d tested its sharpness he laid it carefully on a newspaper in the window and searched the box for the brush and stick of soap.
    Elizabeth poured the hot water into the basin in the