The Secret Journey

by James Hanley

  Joseph Kilkey sat back on the sofa. He was surprised at the sudden change in himself. He was no longer conscious of any concern, of any feeling. He merely said, ‘Oh! That’s bad, isn’t it? Yet what can I do, Mrs. Fury? Nothing! I’ve only just got clear of the woman myself. And how? Don’t ask me. I hate to think about it. I’m sorry I can’t do anything. Honestly, I can’t. I’m as useless and helpless as you. This comes of trying to do too much—too much. And besides——’

  ‘That’s enough! You can’t help me! Perhaps I haven’t even the right to ask. But at least don’t make it a thousand times worse by telling me what I should have done. But where is Maureen? It almost seems as if she knew I was coming here! Maybe it’s best she isn’t here. She’d laugh. But where is she?’

  Joseph Kilkey turned his face to the woman.

  ‘Don’t look like that,’ she said.

  ‘I can’t help looking like it,’ he said. ‘Maureen’s gone! Cleared out. That’s why I can’t help you, Mrs. Fury. She’s cleared! Somehow I had a fear she would, but I never said anything, didn’t make a single move. I let her go. That’s all. And so Dermod and I keep each other company. But the woman next door is very kind. In the day-time she looks after him. When I get back he comes in again, and I feed him, wash him and put him to bed. At the same time I carry on with my work. Do I hate Maureen for this? No. I’m only sorry for her, Mrs. Fury. Sorry for your daughter—like I’m sorry for you.’

  ‘Yes,’ she shouted. ‘Yes. The trouble with you is you’re too bloody good.’

  She jumped to her feet, opened the door, and before Joseph Kilkey could recover from his surprise she had gone. But he always remembered the savagery of her utterance, and of the feeling that went through him like a knife as she shouted in his face.

  ‘Poor distracted woman!’ he said. ‘Poor, poor fool!’

  ‘There’s no way out now,’ she said, as she continued on her way down the King’s Road. ‘I always thought I could keep that secret, and so hide my shame, and that I’d win through. But I haven’t, and I’m disgraced. Disgraced.’

  As she turned down Tention Street that led to the recreation-ground she thought of her husband—far away, carefree, untroubled. She passed into the gardens looking for a seat, only to be ordered out at once. The park was closing. She found a bench outside and sat down. Then something gave way. She fell back on the seat. Passers-by stared at her. The woman must be drunk. She saw nothing, she felt nothing. She couldn’t think. She was numb. Gradually the flow of human traffic died away. It was getting dark. She sat up and stared at a young tree that stood inside a wire cage. She stared at this with the greatest interest.

  ‘Denny! Denny!’ she kept saying. ‘Denny! Help me! Help me!’

  ‘There must be a way out,’ she thought. ‘There must be! There must be!’

  She could not sit still upon the bench. Her lips moved, she seemed on the point of bursting into speech, one could see by the strained look upon her face that at any moment she would shout at the top of her voice.

  Twice her hat slipped down over her eyes, and she thrust it back again. She wanted to lift her feet up—to be stretched on the bench, but this was a public highway. Suddenly she got up and walked away, stopped as though she were making up her mind about something, then returned and resumed her seat on the bench. What was the time? They would wonder where she had got to. But would they really?

  ‘I can’t cry. Even if I tried.’

  She rose again, straightened her hat, and walked slowly home. Peter let her in. Without a word she pushed by him and went upstairs. The bedroom door closed, then opened again. ‘Where is Anthony?’ she called down.

  Peter threw down the newspaper. From the bottom of the stairs he called up, ‘He’s next door playing chess with Possie. D’you want him?’

  ‘Yes. Right away!’

  ‘I’ll swear Mother’s been to Ragner’s! I’ll swear it. She’s found out.’ He put his hand in his pocket, pulled out a note which only that evening a man had given him as he left the shed, and opening it out, read it again. Then he folded it and put it in his inside pocket. He went next door. Grumbling, Anthony came in.

  ‘What’s up?’ he asked. ‘Why should she want me? Aren’t you the bloody pet and bottle-washer here?’

  ‘You shut your mouth,’ said Peter. ‘Go up and see what she wants. She’s only just come in. God knows where she’s been till this hour.’

  He stood waiting at the bottom of the stairs. What could she want his brother for? Why the desperate hurry? Curiosity sent him upstairs, kept him standing outside the bedroom door, listening. His mother was crying.

  ‘Anthony! Don’t look like that! Please help me! I’m in an awful mess. I can think of only one person now. Do you know where Desmond lives?’ She gripped his hand.

  ‘Help me! Please go! Look, here is a letter for him. Do go now! I am afraid. Afraid.’

  ‘What is all this about, Mother? Why are you afraid? Explain yourself. Besides, I don’t know where Desmond lives since he left Vulcan Street. Mother, this is what you should have done long, long ago. Had Desmond round here. And his wife.’

  ‘Don’t preach! Will you go or not?’

  ‘All right,’ he replied. ‘But it’s a mystery to me, that’s all, though. I had an idea something was wrong here. Don’t you know what street he lives in?’ he asked.

  Mrs. Fury stood by the bed. ‘How I hate myself for asking you to do this. You above all. I thought everything was going to be splendid. You two boys at home, and both working.’

  ‘Now you know very well, Mother,’ replied Anthony. ‘Don’t let’s talk on that subject again. I’m not staying ashore—not for anybody. I’m not working anywhere. Just waiting for my ship. Besides, I don’t feel at home now.’

  He went downstairs. Peter was waiting for him.

  ‘What is wrong?’

  ‘God knows! She has to have help—now! But it’s all twaddle to me. I can’t make out what she’s trying to get at. Where does Desmond live? I’m going to see him. Nobody seems to have any idea where he hangs out. We’re like a lot of bloody strangers in the house.’ He put on his coat and scarf.

  Peter looked at his brother.

  ‘Let me go,’ he said. ‘How can you go right to the south end of Gelton with your bad feet? Sit down! I’ll go instead. Yes, I know where he lives all right.’

  ‘It would suit you to a T, wouldn’t it? But that’s not getting anywhere. I’ll go. I don’t know how you have the bloody nerve to go near the place. Soft John will go instead.’

  ‘Number six—I think it’s six—or eight, Prees Street. It’s behind the Customs House.’

  ‘Number six Prees Street,’ said Anthony. ‘Right.’ Scowling, he went out.

  ‘Now I am caught in a trap. Oh, Christ! If I’d known she was going.’

  He went upstairs.

  ‘I want to speak to you, Mother,’ he said, and went into the room. He sat down by her on the bed. ‘Mother,’ he said, ‘I know all. It’s my fault from the beginning. My fault. Don’t be angry with me. Please don’t be angry.’

  ‘Why did you burn this woman’s notes, Peter? This woman has struck at last. One time I could have got over such a thing—I mean the worry of it—now I can’t. I’ve gone as far as any human being can go. Don’t blame yourself. True, I got money from her and cleaned your slate for you—but wasn’t I glad to get money again and again? Didn’t it make me drunk? I went on and on. Why? We all have to live. Accidents happen. People are ill—people are on strike.’

  ‘But, Mother, you used to manage splendidly before.’

  ‘Did I? How do you know how I managed? Don’t talk nonsense, man. It’s not the money, the disappointments, the indifference of your father, the selfishness of you lads. It’s just the disgrace. It’s like being stripped naked in the street.’

  ‘And you were there this evening! What did she say?’

  ‘Well! What did she say? We haven’t a leg to stand on. She must have her money to-morrow without fail. She s
imply won’t wait. I think the woman has grown to hate me—to loathe the sight of me. But why? My God! Have I done her any harm? None. There it is. She must have her money or my home is gone. Do you understand—liar and cheat—my lovely bloody house.’

  ‘Mother!’

  ‘Peter! I don’t know what I am saying. Oh, Jesus! I can’t stand it! I can’t! Two years almost I’ve managed, I’ve been screwed down. I’ve been patient, hopeful—always looking forward, seeing the end of it, and a chance to get out of this hole. The woman takes an almost fiendish delight in being insulting. There! I’m sorry. Don’t know what I’m saying. It’s not your fault. It’s mine—mine—mine! Now go and leave me alone. I wish your father were here.’

  ‘I don’t want to go. I want to stay and talk with you. I can see now that we’ve all been mean towards you—selfish, never worrying about any one but ourselves. I’ve watched you day after day, doing the same old things, looking to Grandfather, cleaning, washing, mending. We have had money—yes, Anthony too—and not one of us have ever asked you out—even for a walk. Mother! I speak only for myself. I want to tell you something. I always remembered being a little boy, at home, at school, and then going away to Ireland. And when I came back I was afraid. Yes, afraid of you. I wondered why. I surprised myself. Now I know I was always the same, always. I couldn’t help it.’

  Mrs. Fury looked up at her son. Her mind was confused. What was this he was saying? Some sort of strange language. She wanted him out of the room.

  ‘Please go away and leave me alone,’ she said wearily.

  Without seeming to hear her, he went on:

  ‘I was afraid you’d love me too much. I don’t know. But I was your favourite, wasn’t I? Yes. I have a lot to answer for. I deliberately did everything to aggravate you. I haven’t done a single decent thing. Not a decent thing. Look.’ He pulled the letter from his pocket and opened it out. ‘It’s from that woman. She wants me to go and see her this evening. Well, there it goes.’ He tore the paper into shreds and flung it into the grate.

  There was something cruel in the expression that lit up his face.

  ‘Anyhow, it’ll make no difference whether I go or not. She’ll pick up somebody else. Mr. Kilkey’s right. She can’t help it.’ He bent down and put his arms round his mother. ‘Mother! I am sorry for you. Really! Really! I’ll do anything for you.’

  ‘Please go away,’ she said.

  He got up and went out. It seemed the only thing he could do. There was nothing he could say. The door shut noisily behind him.

  CHAPTER XVII

  ‘Is that Anthony?’

  ‘Yes, Mother.’

  Anthony went in. His mother was still sitting on the bed where Peter had left her. He stood by the door—he seemed a little afraid now. He hated the very idea of having to say ‘No.’ Her glance was a question, direct.

  ‘Did you see him?’ she asked.

  ‘Why don’t you light a lamp or something, Mother?’ said Anthony, ‘instead of sitting here like this? Peter downstairs is the same. It gives me the jim-jams.’ He held the lighted match until he could hold it no longer. They were in darkness again. ‘There was nobody there,’ he said. ‘The place was in black darkness. Both of them out. I enquired next door. Desmond went out about half-six—and she went only a quarter of an hour before I got there.’ He heard her mutter something under her breath. ‘Listen, Mother. How—what is all this about? Does it mean that we have no money at all? I don’t understand. Peter down there is like a dummy.’

  ‘Shall I go on with this—or shall I just chuck everything? This continual effort.’ She lowered her head, saying, ‘I feel too ashamed to speak. All this time that everything has seemed to be doing so nicely I really have hidden the truth. Peter’s education has crippled me. Your father’s illness—my own—all these things put me back. I had to get the loan of money. Yes, even now I hate having to admit it. I’ve kept the house—tried to keep it respectable—tried to keep us together. It’s not worth it. It isn’t really anything.’

  ‘What’s the good of talking like that now, Mother? Why didn’t you explain before? We might have done something. Now I see why you let Grandfather go. You just couldn’t be bothered any more. Don’t worry, Mother—don’t worry. There’s a way out. Listen, you haven’t thought of Aunt Brigid. She’d help you now. Just think of all you’ve done for Grandfather. She’ll help you. She will, really.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’ She laughed. ‘Ask her—your aunt?’

  ‘Why not?’ he said. ‘Considering all you’ve done, you have a perfect right to.’

  ‘She wouldn’t do it. In any case, your aunt isn’t a millionaire. Oh Christ, I feel so utterly fed up with everything that I’d like to—oh, I don’t know what I’ll do.’

  ‘Won’t you let me write Aunt Brigid?’ he pleaded.

  ‘It’s no use writing,’ she replied. ‘Anthony, you’re tired out. Please go to bed.’

  ‘Then if a letter won’t do, I’ll send her a telegram. She won’t refuse me. I know it. Cheer up, Mother! We’re not dead yet, and you’ve seen worse things before now. Even Father’d be a help if he were here,’ he concluded.

  ‘Oh no, he wouldn’t! Don’t you have illusions about your father. He’s not worrying.’

  Anthony was silent. Well, what could he say to that? ‘I’ve told her a lie to-night, but at least it’s better than telling her the truth. Damn, I never came across such a mean sod in my life as Desmond. He has altered. No mistake. He has a damned good job and he must have some money. No! I’ll never like him again. Never! He’s just like bloody stone. Solid bloody stone.’ And he thought of the meeting—the first meeting for four years. Yes, he could even see him laughing, hear him say, ‘What! Are you another of them? That’s two ambassadors in a month. I must be getting very important. Anthony, I wouldn’t help Mother if I had it. D’you know why? I’ll tell you. It’s quite simple. She doesn’t understand what money is or what it is for. If I was able—I say if I was able—well, and I forked out the bit I’m trying to save for a rainy day, what’d happen? She’d spend half of it on you and on Peter. She’d rush round to Kilkey’s with this and that, and the object for which she got the money would come last. This Ragner woman is clever enough to show Mother what a fool she really is, living in dreamland. Thinking only of how nice everything’ll be when we’re all together again. A jolly happy family. Bosh! I advise you, as I advised Maureen years ago, and as I advised that other devil only a year ago, get clear of Hatfields, and stay clear. If Mother likes to hang on there, that’s her affair; you take my advice, and when your ship arrives get on it and get away. When there isn’t a soul in the place except herself, perhaps she’ll be happy.’

  And that was that! ‘An unfeeling brute,’ Anthony thought.

  And how was Anthony these days? So sorry about his accident, but he’d heard Mother had got compo. H’m! where’d that gone? The woman must eat money, aye, and what about him? Hadn’t he his own troubles to think about? Lately, he had been thinking of a number of things. For one thing, this wife of his was leading him a dance. He was a mug, a bloody mug, couldn’t see his own nose. Well, hadn’t he that to think about, and his job, and the rights of the workers, and now he was expected to hear a tale—a tale that was thirty years old. Oh! older than that, since before he was born.

  ‘The bloody world’s slumped all wrong. I hear those tales every day, and some of them are more than thirty years old, some are hundreds of years old. Tell Mother I’m awfully sorry. I wish I could do something to help.’

  Yes, and only a few weeks back Maureen had come to him crying her eyes out. But what had all this to do with him? He couldn’t help it, it wasn’t his fault.

  ‘Well, after all, it hadn’t, still—good Christ, it’s Mother, and he’s my brother. He might have tried, anyhow, blast him. No, I couldn’t have told Mother that, she’d have died. God, he’s mean as sin.’ He couldn’t tell. He could hear her breathing in the dead silence of the room.

  ‘It’s a
nuisance, and after all that crazy rush to the other end of the town,’ he said.

  ‘Go to bed, Anthony,’ she said. ‘You’re actually falling asleep. Do go, there’s a child.’

  ‘Hang it, I’m not going to bed,’ he said angrily. ‘I’m sitting here. Won’t you do as I say, ask Aunt Brigid? You’ve never asked her for a single thing in your whole life. I’m absolutely certain she’d help, Mother. Oh well, perhaps you want to go to bed yourself. Good-night.’ And he got up and went out.

  ‘Tell Peter to get off to bed too,’ said Mrs. Fury. ‘I don’t know what cause he has to sit moping in the kitchen. Get your suppers both of you, and get to bed.’

  ‘All right, Mother,’ he called back from the bottom of the stairs.

  Peter was still sitting in the kitchen. It was getting late, the fire had gone low. He looked up as his brother entered the kitchen, but immediately fell into contemplation again. Anthony remained silent, passing in and out of the back kitchen, first with two cups, then a teapot, and finally two rounds of bread, which he began to toast. He knelt down on the mat in front of the fire. Peter looked at him, at his rust-coloured hair, his red face, his big eyes, the heavy mouth, and then at the hand that held the fork. What a huge hand Anthony had, a man’s hand. His own were soft, white, though here and there they were already discoloured, and there were segs upon the palms.

  ‘Aren’t you sorry you came home, Anny?’ he said.

  ‘I don’t know,’ replied Anthony. He took the toast from the fork, and reaching over put it on the table and picked up another piece. He never looked at Peter at all. Head and hand seemed concentrated upon but one thing, the second round of toast.

  ‘I think you are, though,’ Peter said. ‘You are sorry.’

  ‘What if I am? Who belongs less to the house than me, who’s hardly been in it since I left school? Why shouldn’t I be sorry? It’s not only being sorry, either. It’s my job. I have to work, haven’t I? Earn money like everybody else. Besides, I couldn’t work ashore. And I am happy. You’re quite right. But that’s only because I’ve never been anywhere else.’