An End and a Beginning Read Online Free PDF Page B

being at sea—Christ, it makes you feel old—seventy-five, seventy-seven—here we are. At last. One-hundred-and-one, Bonin Road.”
    He stood at the door, hesitant. Then he knocked, softly at first, then loudly. He had a sudden feeling of hopelessness, insecurity, of being lost, a great uncertainty. He knocked louder. There was no answer. He knocked yet again, and in doing so, the door gave to his weight; it had never been shut. He pushed it open and stepped inside. He entered the kitchen without a sound. And then he saw him. His eye took the measure of the man, the kitchen. It might have been only yesterday, in spite of that fellow Delaney. Mr. Kilkey was sitting in front of the fire. Peter Fury stood motionless, staring at the back of his head. His legs sprawled, there was something casual and comfortable about this man. One hand held the stem of a pipe, the other was fast in his trouser pocket, he puffed smoke upwards.
    â€œMr. Kilkey.”
    â€œJoe.”
    â€œMust have grown deaf. Mr. Kilkey, ” he called loudly, and his eye ransacked. The objects in the kitchen, the cleanliness, the extreme tidiness, and he recalled Kilkey’s ruthless habits. He had always been particular, even to the point of fussiness. The kitchen was dark. He glanced across at the windows, heavily barred outside. The table was cleared of everything save a cloth, a faded green cloth from America, covered with the most ornate designs. The alarm-clock, also American, ticked away. Familiar objects came under his eye. The canvas pipe-rack that had been a present from his father, the lace mats on the dresser, his own present to his sister. His eye searched out; it was like looking for old friends who have outlived their friendship. He walked slowly across the floor and touched the man on the shoulder. The pipe fell to the floor. The man jumped, he swung round.
    â€œ You! ” He got to his feet, flung his arms round Peter, held him. The big bald head hardly reached to Peter’s shoulders.
    â€œMy dear lad. It is you. I can hardly believe it. At last. Thank God.” Tears welled into his eyes, he smiled, he clutched Peter’s hands.
    â€œThis is good. This is wonderful. At last! Well indeed!”
    Peter was moved. It was the first time he had ever seen an old man cry.
    â€œI meant to be outside this morning,” Kilkey said. “I heard. I knew the day, the time, but I couldn’t, I couldn’t manage. Got called out to a job.”
    â€œDo sit down, Mr. Kilkey, do sit down,” Peter said, speaking close against the old man’s ear. Then he shouted into it, “Have you gone deaf?”
    â€œThat camp I was in fifteen years ago,” was all Kilkey said. They stood silently looking at each other.
    â€œYou wouldn’t remember that. Never mind. But I’ve something ready for you. Knew you’d come, knew all along. Oh, I am glad. Sit down. Rest yourself. Fancy. Out at last.”
    â€œYes, perhaps I am, somehow it’s hard to believe. I keep asking myself stupid questions. It’s the backwash of the nightly confessions when the door closes in the evening, and they shut you in. Maureen! Where is Maureen?”
    â€œEh! What’s that? Can’t hear you. I told you, that camp did it, can’t hear you—a bad clout, affected both ears. Shout.”
    â€œ Where is Maureen? ”
    â€œDon’t know. I never know. Hear rumours. Last time somebody saw her in Halifax, of all places. That’s Yorkshire.”
    He took a pipe from his pocket, and began filling it. “You’ll have something to eat directly. My Mrs. Turner will be here any minute now. She always gives me a midday meal.”
    â€œI want clothes. Have you anything here that fits? I must get out of this. Christ! I can’t believe I’m alive. Keep touching myself just to make sure. Just lying here, back on this sofa, quiet, the door fastened, no staring eye, you can’t believe,