Liam O'Flaherty - Land

Presently she heard Andrew call to her.

“For God’s sake, ma’ma,” he cried, “come back here.”

She continued to swim without paying any heed to him.

“Are you out of your mind?” he continued, raising his voice. “Come back before it’s too late.”

She stood up in the water and turned towards him.

“Come with me to the far shore,” she said.

Andrew waded across the narrow strip of shallow water. He halted by the edge and shouted at her through his cupped palms.

“Come back in God’s name,” he said.

Barbara tossed her head and laughed. Then she stretched out her arms and legs, shook wide her hair and floated with her face to the sun. She arched her bosom, so that her tawny breasts rose clear above the water. The dark nipples glistened.

Enraged by this wanton gesture, Andrew shook his clenched fist at her.

“You insane woman!” he shouted. “You need to have the rod laid to you.”

Barbara laughed again. Then she paddled with her arms and legs, churning the black water into foam.

“Laugh, you devil,” Andrew yelled as he raced back to shore. “I’ll soon change your tune.”

When she saw him undress in frenzied haste, she turned and continued to swim. As she advanced towards the cliffs that towered above the far side of the lake, the movement of her limbs began to sound loud in the stillness.

She was halfway across when she again heard him shout.

“I’ll teach you never again to torment a man,” he said.

She glanced back over her shoulder. He was wading slowly through the shallow water, holding both hands in front of his person. The beautiful lean symmetry of his naked body made her swallow with delight. His trunk looked very white against the blackness of his hair and the brown tan of his bony face. He made the sign of the Cross on his forehead before plunging into the deep.

“You devil of a woman!” he shouted as he began to swim.

Barbara reached the far shore a good distance ahead of him. Gasping for breath, she climbed on to the rock and threw herself backwards among the half-resisting branches of the heather. A wide shaft of sunlight, coming through a cleft in the towering peaks, poured down upon the rock. The heather was warm and sweet-smelling.

She stretched out her arms and legs, closed her eyes and listened to the panting rush of Andrew’s body towards her through the water.

Stapleton was clearing the table with leisured dignity when Neville suddenly began to abuse him in a most rude fashion.

“Don’t spend the whole night collecting a few crumbs, you dolt,” Neville said. “I’m getting to hate the very sight of you.”

The butler recoiled visibly, like an ass that feels the sting of a sharp blow on his hide. He stood still for a moment. Then he continued to brush the table, hurriedly and without dignity.

“You are becoming utterly incompetent,” Neville continued as he reached across the table for the decanter of port. “You have even become slothful. You have been in Ireland too long. All English servants degenerate after a certain time in this country. One should change them ever so often, just like one’s linen. You had better pull yourself together, my man, or else pack your things at once. I don’t tolerate inefficiency.”

The butler finished gathering the crumbs. Then he bowed humbly to his master.

“Sorry to disappoint you, sir,” he said in a frightened tone. “I’ll do my best to remedy …”

“How dare you take on an injured air?” Neville interrupted as he struck the board with the heel of his fist. “Clear out at once.”

Stapleton almost bolted from the room. He had seen Neville horsewhip other servants as a result of even more trivial incidents than this one. He closed the door behind him ever so gently. Then he ran on tip-toe all the way to the pantry.

“Are you annoyed about something, Neville?” Barbara said, pushing her empty glass towards him.

He filled her glass without looking at her. In fact, he had not looked at her even once during the meal.

“I have every reason to be annoyed,” he said.

Barbara raised her glass and then lowered it again before it had touched her lips. She looked unhappy and ashamed of herself. It was a mood that made her cruel face somewhat kindly and even gentle.

“You are annoyed about the grey,” she said.

“I told you several times to be careful with him,” Neville said.

“I’m terribly sorry,” said Barbara. “Do you think he is seriously hurt?”

“Andrew hasn’t been able to cool him off yet,” Neville growled, “but I think he’ll be all right in a day or two. He’s a bundle of nerves, that animal. Otherwise, he’d be a champion. Should geld him, I suppose. Damn the grey, in any case. I’ve more important things to worry about. I don’t like the way that groom looked at me when I entered the stables. He’s become surly. A fellow like him cowered before a gentleman until recently. Now he has the effrontery to look me straight in the eye, just as if he considered himself my equal. It’s the spirit of rebellion that is sweeping the country. Even our servants have become rebels.”

Barbara leaned far back in her chair, stared at the far wall, raised her glass with a quick turn of her wrist and took a sip. Then she sighed deeply.

“You are beginning to suspect everybody,” she said. “Sometimes I even think that you suspect me.”

Neville looked at her steadily for a little while. Then he shook his head.

“I don’t suspect you,” he said gloomily. “I never had any illusions about you. I know that you never even liked me. You married me for your own convenience. One can’t suspect a person about whom one has no illusions.”

“You are in a peculiar mood to-night,” Barbara said.

“I’m not complaining,” he continued. “I’ve never asked for sympathy from anybody. I don’t ask for it now, when the going is beginning to get a little rough. I’m not even complaining because you took advantage of my broken ribs to take a separate bedroom. I make no demands on you, not even that you should behave towards me with common decency.”

“Did you have a lot to drink in Clash to-day?” Barbara said.

“Fenton and I did drink a great deal of whisky,” he said.

“Are you planning another murder?” Barbara said.

Neville stared at her angrily and said:

“None of that, Barbara. Do you understand? I’m in no mood for it.”

He shrugged his shoulders, emptied his glass abruptly and then refilled it. His hand shook as he poured the wine from the decanter.

“Fenton is cracking up,” he said after a long silence. “The Bodkin affair has been too much for him. Confound the fellow! His cowardice is bound to get me into trouble.”

“Surely, you can’t blame him,” Barbara sneered, “for having the instincts of a gentleman.”

“You insult the word gentleman,” Neville said. “He is beneath contempt. He went on and on about his wrecked career and his conscience, just as if he held me responsible for his failure to cope with his own weakness. In fact, he was downright hostile to me at first, when I called on him at his chambers. At one stage in the proceedings, he had the effrontery to jeer at me quite openly, because certain arrangements of mine had miscarried.”

He chuckled and then added with great satisfaction:

“He thought that he had me in a corner and that he could gloat over me, but I soon brought him to his senses. He cracked up almost at once when I took him over to Bodkin’s tavern. It was really a disgraceful exhibition. Frankly, it’s not a pretty sight when an Englishman …”

“What was there at Bodkin’s tavern?” Barbara said in a very hostile tone.