Our Time Is Gone

by James Hanley

  Desmond went on eating. Yes, he had her there! And the great thing about life was that you could swing open the gown of a beautiful woman. And you could love her so much that you didn’t even care where she came from. And he sat there thinking of nothing except how he had her there, and could hold her there. He knew his power. It was rather fine being conscious of a force which only drew its real significance from an experience such as this. Butting one’s head into another world, and flinging your arms in it and spreading your legs there. Yes, he knew what she liked in him. So that secret thought of his could remain quiet and undisturbed. Having finished his supper he drew away from the table and went upstairs. There she was lying, waiting for him. It was a fine world when always there was somebody waiting for you—especially Sheila. She stared up at the ceiling, hearing him undress.

  She heard the heavy boots clumped down outside the door. The door close. She watched him move about the room. She liked his huge, hulking body, the way it moved about, the length of his arms, the carriage of his head. She liked him when he patted his chest in front of the glass. There he was, stretching over her, folding his clothes.

  ‘What did you do? Just bath and eat?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes! and then somebody came.’

  She turned her face to the wall.

  ‘Move in,’ he said, though he didn’t get into bed for some seconds afterwards. It was as though somebody had turned on an electric fan in his head. Dead and live thoughts stirred, whirled together. He wondered, went on wondering. Then he got into bed. When he said: ‘Well, darling—what happened?’ she turned her face to him. They lay in each other’s arms, silent and motionless.

  You flung a hammer up and down and kept the lines intact for people who owned railways, and you were a mug. You became by sheer grit a captain in the army and life was different. And the whole world was different too. You went on living and loving but the texture of the bed sheets was finer.

  Yes, it was grand getting on, always moving about, earning more money. Thinking of nobody but yourself—and your wife. Ah yes! He had her all right. He knew! He was strong and she liked that. The slap on the rump, the big hand cupping the breast, the coarse thumb pressing the nipple. That was it. Looking at him now, with the light beating down on his face, she could see the question there—and he could answer it.

  ‘Yes. That’s what I like about you. You’re a man—an animal.’

  The other world, the dead world, that had no meaning, was a long, long way off. A lost world, and the ciphers of humans in it were lost too. But not quite. She thought of this now. Thought of it as she became conscious of the pressure of these animal arms, and fingers exploring, and mouth a little open and the eyes full and bright like a person opening the door on wonder. How this man loved her! Idolized her. How honest the face. How in a sense beautiful.

  ‘Desmond darling, if you ever left me I should die.’ Then she held his face in her hands. Her look said: ‘I mean this. It is no part of a little game, darling.’ No. It was longer than a game, as long as life, something she really meant, believed in. If he ever left her she would die.

  He said: ‘Sheila! Sheila! I’ll never leave you.’

  He reached up and switched out the light. He ran his hand down her back.

  ‘Darling,’ she said.

  Some ‘darlings’ he liked, some he loathed, but this one only made him a little afraid. There was something in her tone of voice, it seemed to him that it was for the moment false. It meant she was going to say something he didn’t like.

  He knew the weight and tone of those ‘darlings.’ He had been a good learner. He anticipated her.

  ‘Who was the visitor?’ he asked.

  Then he rolled over on his back, drew a little away from her. Who was the person who had called? Desmond Fury didn’t mind who called—even the devil so long as he was there! He hated missing people who called. He liked to see everybody. Also he was suspicious—and he took good care to let her know this. So somebody had called. A man. Naturally. No woman would ever call. With Sheila there it would be a man.

  ‘Who was it?’ He spoke like a person who already knows the worst. ‘Who was it?’

  ‘My brother.’

  ‘Your brother!’ he said.

  In the darkness she smiled. She sensed fear there. Enjoyed it.

  ‘Oh! I see! Yes—of course!’ he stammered. Her brother! Had he to believe that! It might be one of those brotherly brothers. Like Peter! Like the others he hadn’t seen. ‘Your brother! Fancy! I never knew you had one, Sheila.’

  No! He had never imagined it. Brother! Not at all. This person beside him was a being who had nobody, never had, belonged to nobody. But was his now.

  ‘Yes! He’s in the Navy. How he found me out I don’t know! I wish he hadn’t come. He wants to come again. Says he has such a lot of news. Oh, Desmond, I don’t want to see him. Can’t you take me away? I’m afraid of him. I never thought I’d see him. It’s like a bogey man. Can’t we go to-morrow?’

  She had moved over to him, put her arms round his neck. ‘Oh, Des! Des!’

  He did not respond to her embraces. He lay quite still. He felt suddenly lifeless, cold, just like a dead fish. One went out happy, one came home. And then——

  ‘What does this swine want anyhow?’

  She liked this show of temper in him.

  ‘I don’t know, except that he wants me to go back to Ireland, darling.’

  Desmond Fury sat up in the bed. One could talk in the darkness. One could love, trust, one could listen.… But one could be afraid—suspicious. He switched on the light. There was a weakness in this woman. He knew the spot to touch Was she lying to him? Making a bloody joke of his loving, his life, his ambitions—was this just ‘another bloody man.’ He gripped her arms, held her. He could not content himself. ‘What’s all this bloody business, Sheila?’

  ‘Ssh! Don’t shout, the girl’s asleep,’ she said. She was smiling at him.

  No, that wasn’t the weak spot. Not yet.

  ‘Blast the girl!’ he said,‘I don’t believe it’s your brother! I don’t believe you ever had one—or a mother and father either. You’re cleverer than me, but there are some things you don’t know.’

  Out of this statement grew a smile, but a smile she did not like to see.

  ‘When you don’t believe in me, Desmond—I go! How many times is that I’ve said it?’

  ‘I’ve believed you all along. All along. I even believed you over my brother.’

  ‘You can still believe that. Nothing happened with your brother. I don’t make love to little boys, even though they were meant to be priests and were made into lonely desperate little boys by the most astonishing pigheadness of——’

  ‘Here! You keep my mother out of this! You ought to be ashamed to mention it. You know how worked up I’ve been lately over her. She’s dying. Now listen! I hate—I loathe this, I can’t help it—I’m suspicious. I’m never sure of you. Is all my life to be like this? Never sure. We have only ourselves. No child. I’m never sure. Are you telling the truth?’

  ‘When you cool your temper I’ll go on explaining,’ she said, and climbed over him out of the bed.

  The beauty of two breasts that stood firm like orbs of ivory was wasted. To Desmond they meant nothing. He stared at her, standing naked upon the floor. He wanted to shout but the Alice he didn’t care about, hardly ever saw, and who slept quietly in the next room, nevertheless put out a restraining hand.

  ‘Come, Sheila! Get back into bed! I’m sorry. I’ve been out to-night. I can tell you it was rather a depressing business, the whole bloody lot of it. Come now, get back into bed. Please.’

  But she stood there, silent, indifferent to entreaty.

  ‘You should learn to control yourself,’ she said.

  At that he got out of bed. He flung his arms round her. He was full of apologies. He took on the halo of the innocent and injured party. Didn’t she understand him? She ought to by now. Perhaps he was hot tempered. Well, he had alw
ays been so. ‘Come,’ he said, ‘I’m not doubting you, Sheila, really I’m not. But when you say you’re frightened, you don’t want to see him, what am I to think?’

  ‘God only knows,’ she said, almost with disgust. She forced herself away and got back into bed again. He followed and switched out the light.

  They lay still in the darkness … Yet the very air seemed to throb with the violence of his tongue. They lay listening to each other’s breathing. Between them stood the mysterious brother. Both looked at him. One wondered, the other dreaded.

  ‘Who the devil is this fellow?’ thought Desmond. ‘What does he want?’ Precisely. A woman like Sheila shouldn’t have a brother. Came to-day. While he was out. Naturally! The other fellow in prison had called like that while he was out.

  Was it still possible to be sure of this woman? Maybe. ‘But it’s bloody hard. Perhaps I am too selfish—too jealous. Well, damn it, I can’t help it. She just makes me so.’

  She thought: ‘Why has he come now? Now of all times. I thought all that was over. What exactly does he want?’ Dragging her back there, alive. No! She loathed the thought.’

  ‘What ship is this brother of yours on?’ he asked. The words fell into the silence like lead pellets into water. She could hear his heavy breathing. That was his energy. He spent it over her, over the bed, the room—his life. Energy. Energy.

  ‘It’s a destroyer. I should have said. He’s in the Navy. Has been since he left school.’

  ‘Oh——’ A very long ‘Oh,’ then, ‘Ah—I see! How old is he?’

  ‘Younger than me.’

  ‘How old exactly?’ he enquired. Younger than she meant nothing. It was better to say always two and two are four.

  ‘What is he in the Navy? Officer, I reckon.’

  ‘Gunnery lieutenant,’ she said. ‘His ship is stationed at Berehaven.’

  ‘Oh! So he came to-day. What time? People will come when I’m not here.’

  ‘Shortly after you’d gone. He’d searched for me for months. Some priest sent him.’

  ‘H’m! Priest!’ They had their hands everywhere!’ What priest?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know! I’m tired. I’m going to sleep. I’m not under the Inquisition.’

  ‘Don’t be so touchy, Sheila! When you have moods you’re just touchy.’

  ‘And you, you’re kind, sweet, innocent, suspicious, darling.’ She tickled him.

  ‘I explode,’ he said. ‘It’s the best way. Half-way to anywhere is nowhere.’

  ‘You’re getting cleverer every day, darling. I hope you like John. He’s nice, you know.’

  ‘Is he? When is he coming. Sheila? You say you don’t want to see him. Why? I’d like to know. You know, you can’t go on being mysterious. No. That’s wrong. I mean, have you a family that committed all the crimes in the calendar, or spread the plague or something? Hiding them. Oh, don’t think I’m keen to know them,’ this in a sudden rush of words. ‘I mean—well, I’m curious—who wouldn’t be? Where you hailed from is bound to be curious. And then there’s this not wanting to see him. It makes me interested, you see.’

  He lay there, wondering, speculating, doubting. The fact was he didn’t believe her. He couldn’t believe her. Brother indeed! He could feel her breath fanning his cheek.

  ‘The fact is, Des, that I got a shock when I saw him, and now I don’t want to see him again. Can’t we go to-morrow? What difference will two days make. Take me away to-morrow, darling. I don’t want to stay here any more. I wish he’d never found me. Wanting me to go back there. I have a horror of it. I ran away from it and now they want to drag me back. Well—shall we go to-morrow?’

  It sounded like an ultimatum in his ears. What was she afraid of? Who the hell was this brother? Was it a brother or just one of ‘those others’?

  ‘D’you want me to be honest, Sheila?’ he said, turning in the bed, and their faces almost touched. ‘The fact is I don’t believe what you say. To me it’s just all that dirty business over again. You understand, you remember, I said I would never ask you any questions. I didn’t care where you came from. I loved you. That’s all I care about. But this—this brother calling on you?’

  ‘You will see him to-morrow,’ she said.

  ‘Oh! That will be interesting. What time will he be coming here?’

  ‘Between ten and twelve,’ she said.

  ‘I won’t be here. I’m going to see my mother at the hospital. I promised that.’

  ‘I want to go, and I want you to take me away to-morrow, Des, darling. One of these days you’ll know what I ran away from. But let’s go. Right away in the morning. You have to go Saturday. A day makes no difference. Let’s go first thing in the morning. Couldn’t we begin packing?’

  Frightfully enthusiastic, frightfully anxious to get out of it all of a sudden. Why should she run away from her brother? He wouldn’t kill her.

  ‘Look here! All this sounds crazy to me! I’m going to sleep. We’ll talk about it to-morrow. Go to sleep, Sheila.’

  ‘I want to go to-morrow,’ she said. ‘Can’t you—won’t you take me to-morrow?’

  ‘But why all this bloody hurry?’ He was getting exasperated. ‘He’s not going to poison you or anything, is he? It’s making mountains out of molehills. A lot of confounded fuss over nothing. I shan’t go to-morrow. Go to sleep.’

  She began to cry. Didn’t he love her any more? Was that how he looked at it? Didn’t he believe what she said?

  ‘If you don’t go—I’m going.’

  ‘But it’s nonsense. I can’t go to-morrow. I’m going to see my mother. I told you. For Christ’s sake, woman, understand! I mean what I say.’

  Before he realized it she was out of bed again. She stood in front of the mirror and through its reflection watched him moving restlessly in the bed.

  No! He wouldn’t kill her. This brother had never killed anything except flies, and sometimes when feeling really bloodthirsty, a few birds. Nor would he poison her. But he might weaken her. She was afraid. She didn’t want to see him. She was happy now, happier than she had ever been. She liked this kind of life, this kind of man. There was something so new, so dynamic about this new world of hers. She wasn’t exploring it in any epicurean. sense. She was living And this—this brother coming—it was like feeling the touch of a dead hand upon her, she had a horror of it. He couldn’t force her—he couldn’t threaten—but he could weaken. He was stronger than that man in the bed. He could weaken them both. She was afraid of him. She put her fingers to her face, and ran them up and down, her eyes closed, her breath staining the mirror.

  Desmond Fury lay watching. He wasn’t very much interested. One of her tantrums. How well he was getting to know her. One by one the keys were falling into his hand. He would get all the keys soon. She was really weak. It lay at the heart’s core. He could touch it when he wanted.

  ‘Hadn’t you better come to bed? All this nonsense about rushing off just because your brother called! My God! Is he all that important, that you have to act like this?’ She did not answer him. It riled him. He shouted. ‘Get back to bed, Sheila.’

  She never moved. If she stood like that much longer he would lose his temper. It wasn’t the brother—blast the brother, it was her standing there not answering!

  ‘We’ll leave on Saturday as arranged. I have many things to attend to.’

  She never spoke. She leaned over the dressing-table studying her face. She saw him get out of bed. He was standing behind her. He was shaking her violently.

  ‘What’s the matter with you? Have you lost your head? Such a bloody fuss!’

  She turned round and looked at him. ‘Take me away to-morrow,’ she said quietly. ‘I don’t like my brother. I don’t want to see him. Please take me out of this.’

  He stood there looking at her. ‘Be sensible, darling. You know I love you. Come now.’

  She drew back as he attempted to put his arms round her.

  ‘I am being sensible,’ she said. ‘It is you who are so pig-headed. Are
you going to take me out of this?’

  ‘Now you’re being nasty.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  He thought she was going to cry.

  ‘Please, Des, take me out of Gelton.’

  It was that look—it was that sudden drawing back. He was giving in.

  ‘I’ll see this brother of yours,’ he said. ‘I intend to see him. I’ll go right down in the morning. But it still seems silly to me to carry on as you are doing. Have you done something wrong, something you’re afraid about now that he’s turned up? Sheila, what in the name of hell has he got to do with us?… I think you’re making a fuss. But I’ll take you out of this to-morrow. Will that satisfy? We’ll go on the night train. Come now, get back into bed, there’s a good girl. I hate seeing you cry,’ and he led her back to the bed.

  ‘Can’t we go in the morning?’ she asked as he switched out the light.

  ‘No! Haven’t I said I’m seeing my mother to-morrow? I must see her. How do I know if I’ll ever see her again? Sheila, don’t be so aggravating.’

  ‘Desmond.’ She threw her arms round him, held him tight. ‘Do you really love me?’

  ‘Sheila! Sheila! Do I love you! God! Do I love you.’ He buried his head under the clothes, holding her tight, smothering. ‘I love you to distraction.’

  ‘Shall we go in the morning, Des?’

  ‘No! The night train. Don’t let’s talk about that any more. I’m tired. Got to sleep.’

  He turned over, closed his eyes. He was soon asleep.

  She lay awake. She was restless in the bed. He woke up, grunting. What the hell was wrong now? Somehow this woman had changed completely in a few hours. So tormenting, so irritable, so—what was behind this visit of her brother? He sat up in the bed.

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’ he asked irritably, switching on the light.

  ‘I’ve an awful headache, I can’t sleep.’

  She covered her face with her hand, running her fingers across her forehead. He got out of bed.

  ‘I’ll get you a powder and some water.’

  He went downstairs, making a terrible noise, nature having supplied him with feet that could make noises on the softest carpet. As he struck a match and lit a candle to go searching about for a glass, he asked himself if this sudden display of outright silliness wasn’t just a ruse. He loved her deeply, but he had never been sure of her. Nor was he now. How could he forget Peter? How could he forget making her a promise that he would never probe into her past? What exactly was it? One long procession of men? What was it that made her afraid to see the brother? He returned with the glass.