John McGahern - The Barracks

spes tutissima coelis .

“It’s easy to see who those gentlemen belonged to,” Casey remarked as he read the inscriptions and then he derided as he saw the fingers point to the heavens, “They might get a hell of a land; whoever told them heaven was in that direction anyhow!”

Both of them laughed at the sally, their fear fast going. They gazed a while at the plot, and crossed the stone stile out of the graveyard.

“Though it is up,” Mullins said. “They’re right in that. It was up Jesus Christ went on Ascension Thursday.”

“But how do you know it was that way up?” Casey laughed as he set himself to argue. “The world rotates, it does a full circle every twenty-four hours, in twelve hours it’ll be down where Australia is now and it’ll be pointin’ in the direct opposite direction then.”

“It’s to Mulloy’s we’re goin’, isn’t it?” Mullins halted the argument, but he was not beaten. Mulloy’s was a small pub down the Eroona road, out of the way of the mourners who’d return to the village.

“That’s where we said, it’s a long time since we had a drink on our own, and where there’s more than two people you can never get any satisfaction out of talkin’,” Casey said.

“To get back where we left off,” Mullins said, “in twenty-four hours the earth’ll be back where it is now and it’ll be still the same direction. I think the Ascension is the important thing.”

“But the world rotates round the sun as well,” Casey countered and they both squared themselves. It was plainly a problem that’d not allow itself to be solved in a moment, and when they were not putting on a show or face before people they loved few things better than to feel themselves garbed in the seriousness of these philosophical arguments.

When they reached the road they quickened their pace, their speech grew more excited. Away to their right the plains in the summer swept greenly down to the river and village and woods. There was a shimmer of heat in the fields of young oats and the powdery white dust of the road dulled the shine on their boots as they walked, it was the time of year for pints of cider.

There’s nothing to lose! Nothing to lose! You just go out like a light in the end. And what you’ve done or didn’t do doesn’t matter a curse then, wore itself into Reegan’s bones in the next months.

He’d won and sold his turf, fulfilled all his contracts, but he hadn’t near the money he’d expected to have, the expenses of her last illness and burial eating up most of the profit he had calculated on as well as all her savings, the savings that had meant so much to her now only a pathetic little sum against the flood of bills.

And would he have to knuckle down and grin and bear the police till he died or was forced to retire at sixty, or the children were able to fend for themselves.

“No, no, no,” the whisper grew more savage as the autumn wore to winter and the end of another year of his life. “No, no, no! There’s nothing to lose! Nothing to lose! You just go out like a light. And what you did or didn’t do then doesn’t matter a curse, so do what you want, what you want to do, while you’ve still the time.”

It grew and grew as he watched Quirke more. He’d smash him if it was the last thing he did, and he seemed to dog the barracks these days, the other policemen as much as Reegan, with surprise early morning inspections and oral examinations of their knowledge of police duties. It seemed as if he thought he’d hound them into efficiency.

“I can’t remember anything I read these days. It just slips through the auld mind, the memory is goin’, sir. I had it all off once, sir!” Reegan listened to Mullins near breaking down under examination one early morning.

“But, my good man, haulage vehicles are something that you should come up against every week,” Quirke retorted impatiently. “It shouldn’t be even necessary to have a memory, if you had only your eyes open I can’t see how you could escape knowing,” he said in cold disgust, staring at Mullins’s great and sagging corpus. Then, “when have you had your last summons in court?” he asked quietly.

“It’s a good while,” Mullins tried to bluster. “About a year ago, sir. Nothing ever much happens in this district.”

“No, everybody just breaks the law quietly, without any fuss, in broad daylight,” Quirke said with heavy sarcasm and then, “Perhaps, you, Sergeant, could illuminate that section of the Road Act for Mr Mullins,” he turned to Reegan.

“The Road Traffic Act,” Reegan corrected.

“The Road Traffic Act,” Quirke said, both of them staring at each other without any veils on their mutual loathing and hatred, and Reegan, who had almost perfect knowledge of duties and regulations, answered in a tone that was calculated to be as blameless on the surface and as insulting as possible in undertone. The examination eventually ended with a scarifying lecture by Quirke, the policemen trooped hotly away to leave Quirke and Reegan alone.

“I’ve been informed that you’ve supplied the Convent Laundry and half the town with fuel, Sergeant,” Quirke went straight to the attack as soon as they were alone.

“And what if I did?” Reegan stiffened.

“We’ll pass that point for the moment. May I ask you this one question, Sergeant? Do you intend to stay long more in the police? Why, Sergeant, are you a policeman anyhow?”

“Is it the regulation answer you want?” Reegan insulted, though well in the grip of the habit of years of discipline that had kept his feelings towards his superiors from erupting into violence.

“Any answer!” Quirke shouted, far the more infuriated.

“To keep from starvin’ I suppose,” Reegan ground.

“And you don’t believe you have a responsibility in the matter? You don’t believe you should do a fair job of work for a fair remuneration,” Quirke beat with his fist on the patrol book on the table.

“I don’t believe anything nor care,” Reegan said.

“Well, I’ll see that you’ll act something at least, I’ll see that much, Sergeant.”

“You can see what you like!” was Reegan’s answer.

Quirke had taken his gloves from the table: he rose and went half-way to the door. He grew quieter to say, “I thought there for a time that you were coming to your senses, and left you alone, but that was no use. Then you had your trouble and I wanted to give you every consideration but that’s plainly no use either. Things have passed out of bounds. This station might as well not exist, except as an example in everything that no police station should be. And those men can be led, you’re the root—” he was saying when he saw Reegan’s eyes look hard as steel, the breath hissing: “You leave my trouble out of this, she’s the dead!”

Quirke apologized quickly as he moved towards the door, “Though what I’ve said stands! I intend to make a serious report. There’ll have to be changes.”

“There’ll have to be changes,” Reegan almost bared his teeth to shout as the door closed, and it was to all intents the end of Reegan the policeman. He did no more patrols, rose always late for roll call in the mornings, answered no official letters, and made a complete travesty of the signing in-and-outs, but waiting, not sending in his resignation. The others grew afraid; they had a secret meeting together in the dayroom; and while deciding against reporting him they resolved to attend to their own subordinate duties with blameless care. And they knew that the situation couldn’t continue long as it was, soon there would have to be some crash. It was Brennan who was the most indignant of the three, he’d have reported Reegan to make sure of his own safety. “We have a duty to protect ourselves,” he said. “The man’s gone out of his mind, he doesn’t care what happens, and he’ll get us the sack as well as himself. We must look out.”