John McGahern - Amongst Women

‘Would they let us stay the night in a hotel?’

‘As long as it is a big hotel they won’t mind,’ she laughed. ‘As long as we can pay.’

‘Are you sure it won’t be too much?’

‘Next week I’ll be in America,’ she said.

‘I’ll write to you,’ he said and she just pressed his knee as she drove through Enfield. After Maynooth she told him to watch out for hotels. On the outskirts of the city the West Country looked large and nondescript and they had vacancies. Accentuating her American accent she paid in cash and the girl in reception hardly looked at them as they filled the forms and were handed the room keys. The room was plain but comfortable. As soon as they saw the room they both realized how ravenous they were. Downstairs the dining room was empty but still open. ‘We might as well treat ourselves this evening.’ Nell encouraged him to pick whatever he wanted from the menu. She had steak, he an enormous mixed grill with chips. They had to wait longer for the food to be served in the empty dining room than it took them to eat. Unused to such places, Michael spoke in whispers. Only when he laughed did his voice ring out.

All through the night they made love. The anxiety of his years soon gave way to tenderness and great gratitude. Each time that she thought he was at last slipping into sleep he would come into her again. She received him as if he were both man and child, his slenderness cancelled by strength, his unsureness by pride; and she took him too each time as if she were saying a slow and careful farewell to a youth she herself had to work too hard ever to have had when she was young. Not until morning did they fall into a sleep of pure exhaustion and as soon as she woke she roused him and drove him to the part of the city where his sisters lived.

‘I’ll write,’ he said in the empty morning street.

‘You have the address?’

‘I have.’ He tapped his jacket.

‘I’ll write as well.’

‘You’ll see me in New York.’ He rapped the hollow roof of the car with his fist as a signal of affection before the car moved away.

The whole street appeared to be sleeping. A milkman delivered bottles to doorsteps from an electric float, the motor whirring when it moved. He was a long time knocking before there was any sound at all within the house where Sheila and Mona lived. Then an upstairs window opened. Mona leaned out in her nightclothes. Her surprise vied with total disbelief.

‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded.

‘I ran away,’ he said.

‘What are you coming here for?’

‘I’m going to England.’

‘I’ll come down,’ she said and closed the window.

He heard her speak rapidly to someone in the room, probably Sheila. It seemed a very long time before anyone came to the door. They were both dressed when the door opened.

‘How did you get this far?’ Sheila demanded.

‘I hitched.’

‘In the middle of the night?’

‘I got several small lifts and then a milk lorry took me in this morning,’ He told them the story of how he ran away much as he had told Nell but he did not mention her at all. ‘He told me to go to the room and take off my clothes and wait for him there.’

‘He’ll kill us if we give you the fare.’

‘I’ll have to get it somehow. I’m not going home.’

They fried sausages and eggs and bacon, made him tea and toast. The man and woman who owned the house came down and were told the story. The man was quiet and wore his postman’s uniform. In spite of their fear both girls were beginning to get caught up in the excitement of the drama and when they went to work Sheila took Michael with her into the Kildare Street offices. There the excitement continued. Before long the whole building seemed to have called in on Sheila. A young man, polite and good-looking, was running away from home. To grey civil servants it brought back the glow of their own youth. If it were not for the obligatory procedures that had to be adhered to, he would probably have been offered a civil service position there and then. ‘It’s terrible. We don’t know what to do,’ Sheila kept repeating but she was enjoying the stir and the attention.

In her secretive way she had already made up her mind how she was going to take care of the situation but she continued to seek counsel which was drawing sympathy her way. She had a boyfriend now, a civil servant like herself, and Mona and he joined them for lunch in the huge canteen. Michael was having a fine time. Here were people and excitement and noise and bustle. Gone was the oppression of Moran’s house. His charm would work here as well as anywhere. But Sheila had different plans. ‘You can’t go to England,’ she said.

‘Why? I’m not going home.’

‘You haven’t finished school. If you finish school you can go anywhere. If you leave now you can be nothing but a labourer for the rest of your life.’

She ignored his protests that it was his own business. She was going to see Moran and Rose that evening. If Moran wouldn’t agree to take him back he could stay in Dublin with them. He had only another couple of years to do after which he would have all the choices he wanted, even labouring if that was what he wanted to do. The way he was going about it he would have no choices.

She took the train to Great Meadow to face Moran. So much time had passed without news of Michael that they had grown anxious and were relieved to see her. Moran had no reason to imagine that she might not be completely on his side in the matter.

‘So he ran to you,’ Moran said.

‘He hitched.’

‘I have a plan for that boy,’ Moran said.

It was simple. They would bring Michael home and the whole house would help supervise a beating that Moran would administer. That way it would be properly done and they would be legally protected; besides, Moran was not strong enough any more to handle him on his own: ‘So he’ll be taught a lesson he’ll never forget for the rest of his life.’

‘He’d not come home for us. The only way he’ll come home and go back to school is if everything can be forgotten.’

‘There’d be no need to tell him.’

‘I’d have to tell him,’ Sheila said doggedly.

‘Of course I have no right to expect any consideration in this house,’ Moran shouted; but there was little he could do.

Sheila went back to Dublin and she and Mona brought Michael down a few days later. They had to promise him that if there was trouble again they would give him every help to stay in Dublin or to go to London.

‘Do your best,’ they urged him. ‘If it doesn’t work out we’ll give you every help. Two more years you’ll be finished school and you can go anywhere you want.’

When he entered the house it was with extreme watchfulness and a self-conscious sheepishness that was almost comic.

‘You’re welcome,’ a grieved Moran looked away as he put out his hand to him. ‘All my family are always welcome back to this house, without exceptions.’

Sheila’s boyfriend, Sean Flynn, had driven them all down. He attracted most of Moran’s attention who assumed she would not have drawn him into a family situation as delicate as the present one if she did not intend to marry him. Sean Flynn was flattered; he was used to pleasing. They talked about politics, the land the Flynns farmed in Clare, his huge family and they both agreed that the family was the basis of all society and every civilization. Moran enjoyed himself and felt cheated when the time came for them to head back for Dublin.

‘The next time you must come for a proper visit,’ Moran said as he shook his hand by the car.

‘If I’m asked,’ Sean Flynn turned to tease Sheila.

‘You’ll be asked,’ Moran laughed. ‘You should never give these women too much sway. They’d have you in leg-irons before you’d know.’