Liam O'Flaherty - Land

Then she stood in front of Elizabeth and curtsied in a most elaborate fashion.

“I forgive you, darling,” Elizabeth said when the gesture had been completed.

Yet she did not raise her eyes to look at Lettice.

“That’s better,” Raoul said to his daughter. “I’m going to forbid your having anything further to do with the village women, if I notice a deterioration of your manners.”

Lettice came over and perched on the arm of his chair. She put her fingers through his hair.

“I promise you that I’m never going to be guilty again,” she said, “but my work in the village is not responsible for this instance of rudeness. On the contrary, Father, I find my work among the women to be most exalting. It’s wonderful what the Committee has done already for the people. There is laughter and singing everywhere, not only in the village, but in the countryside. People who hadn’t spoken to one another for years are friends once more. Even the most lowly and destitute have been exalted in spirit by the belief that freedom from tyranny is at hand.”

“When bees revolt against the inability of their old hive to give adequate expression to their needs,” Raoul said, “they do not waste time in singing and dancing. The swarm builds a new hive at once. Alas! The people of Manister are completely devoid of the bee’s organisational ability. Dear Lettice! I find lyrical enthusiasm just as exalting as you do, but I prefer organisation at certain moments. This is one of those moments.”

“Please don’t worry, Father,” Lettice said. “Even if nothing came of the Committee but a few days of singing and dancing …”

“If only that wretched O’Dwyer had not deserted me,” Raoul interrupted. “He has power over these fellows. The young men have the same faith in him that monks have in God. They refuse to help me without orders from him. Even though he has behaved in this shabby way, they are not in the least critical of him. I can’t understand how a man can have such power over others and yet behave like an irresponsible idiot.”

“Raoul,” cried Elizabeth in a shrill tone, “you must resign at once.”

“What’s the matter now, Lizzie?” Raoul said quietly. “You look upset.”

Elizabeth got to her feet.

“There is no time to lose,” she cried. “Go and tell these people …”

Her voice drifted away into silence. She stood with her lips parted, her head turned a little to one side, listening intently. Both Raoul and Lettice also got to their feet and stood listening.

“Can it be possible?” Raoul said.

They heard a man whistling a hornpipe called “The Blackbird.” There was no mistaking the voice or the tune. O’Dwyer invariably whistled that tune as he approached the house on his nightly visits to Raoul’s study.

“Let God’s will be done,” Elizabeth said as she heard footsteps on the gravel of the drive.

She walked over to the outer edge of the terrace.

“This solves my problem,” Raoul said, putting his arm around his daughter’s waist.

“Oh! Father!” Lettice whispered, clasping her hands before her lips.

Father and daughter hurried from the terrace into the living-room.

“It is now too late to interfere,” Elizabeth said as she looked towards the sea. “She has already fallen in love with him.”

An occasional drop of rain had begun to fall, making dark stains on the flagstones at the rim of the terrace floor. The wind had died down. It was getting dusk.

“I have been so stupid and narrow-minded,” she said aloud, while tears gathered in her eyes. “I have set myself up in judgment over those whom I love.”

There was a knock at the hall door, Then the door was thrown open. She heard O’Dwyer speak. Raoul and Lettice also began to speak at the same time. There was a peal of ringing laughter from Lettice.

Elizabeth bowed her head and clasped her hands before her mouth.

“I am being punished by her laughter,” she said.

The wind swept up from the sea once more and there was violence in its rush. The clouds burst, loosening a torrent of rain upon the earth. There was a continuous roar among the trees, as the countless drops pressed down upon the outspread leaves, that trembled and swayed under the weight of ever-falling water. The air became heavy and drunkening, as the earth’s pores opened to receive the moisture.

Elizabeth threw back her head, closed her eyes and let the rain beat against her face. Her warm tears mingled with the cool rain-drops. She felt purified by the rain, as if it were the water of baptism making her holy.

“I’m going to learn from her how to love the people,” she whispered with her eyes closed. “Then I may be able to share in her laughter.”

Raoul finished reading the documents that Michael had given him.

“This Bodkin seems to be quite a remarkable ruffian,” he said. “You say he is Father Kelly’s brother-in-law?”

“Yes,” Michael said. “Father Kelly lives with him. That’s why it’s so hard to know what to do. I don’t want to make Father Kelly suffer any more. He has suffered enough already.”

“Of course, you know that Butcher wanted you to kill Bodkin?” Raoul said.

“Naturally,” Michael said. “I knew that at once.”

He suddenly leaned forward and looked at Raoul fixedly.

“Yet I nearly killed Bodkin,” he added, “in spite of knowing it was a trap set by Butcher.”

“Really?” said Raoul. “Tell me about it.”

“After leaving the eating-house,” Michael said, “we went to a cottage belonging to an old man that does a lot of work for our organisation. We got him out of bed and sent him out to get the lay of the land. He came back in a few hours and told us all we wanted to know. District Inspector Fenton had put a guard of two men in civilian clothes on Bodkin’s tavern. One covered the front, from a house across the street. The other was in a shed, overlooking the rear entrance. There is an underground passage, though, that the police didn’t know about, so they left it unguarded. The old man led us to this underground passage the following night and we came up through a trap-door behind the bottom of the stairs in the tavern room. There we came upon a scene that astonished all of us. We saw Father Francis and Bodkin, dressed only in their small shirts, kneeling on the flagstones side by side, holding hands like children and praying to a crucifix that stood on the table before a lighted lamp.”

“Astounding!” Raoul said. “What was the time?”

“A little after one o’clock in the morning,” Michael said. “What made it all the more strange is the fact that Bodkin has injured Father Francis terribly. His sister Penelope, who was married to Bodkin, died a few years ago. Bodkin used to beat her unmercifully. It’s generally agreed that she died as a result of the beatings he gave her. Father Francis was very fond of Penelope. No wonder, because it was she saved his life when they were left orphans at the time of the famine. She raised him and paid for his education until he was ordained. You can imagine how he must have loved her. Yet there he was, kneeling hand in hand with the man that killed her. You have to love a man before you kneel hand in hand with him, at dead of night, in front of a crucifix.”

“Quite true,” Raoul said.

“There are other things about Bodkin,” Michael continued, “that are almost as bad as his spying and his cruelty to his wife. The man is a miser. He won’t spend a penny except to satisfy his gluttony. Even at that, he’ll buy only the very cheapest food. In fact, he rarely buys any at all, because people from the country bring him presents of food. Neither will he employ a man to help him behind the bar, in spite of the fact that he has been ailing for years. An old woman comes in one day a week to do the scrubbing. She has to fight a pitched battle with him every time for her wages. Father Francis does whatever cooking is required. No matter how you look at it, it’s an incredible story.”