The Railway Station Man Read Online Free PDF

moment. All nature’s changes are otherwise so imperceptible, this hiding of the sun by the world’s edge shocked her by its speed and its awful simplicity each time she watched it happen.
    Jack appeared from nowhere and stood in silence beside her. ‘What time’s dinner?’ he asked at last.
    â€˜Any time you want it. I hadn’t thought about it yet.’
    â€˜I thought I’d go down and have a drink in the village.’
    â€˜You can have a drink here and save yourself the trip.’
    â€˜See some action.’
    Helen laughed.
    â€˜There hasn’t been action in Knappogue since 1798. I doubt if there was any then either.’
    â€˜If that’s all right with you?’
    â€˜Sure. Go ahead. We’ll eat about half past nine. Unless the action is too exciting, then you send me a message by carrier pigeon.’
    â€˜Right. See you.’
    Surprisingly, he bent down and kissed her on the top of her head.
    Eight high plastic stools along the bar. All empty. Two jugs of warm water and some pickled onions in a jar. The smell of beer, cigarettes and turf dust. The turf dust must be my imagination, he thought, as nowadays no one uses the real thing any longer, neat stacks of clean briquettes beside each fireplace. No dust, no smell, no fleas. Rather tired flames flickered round the structure in the grate and across the room, high on the wall, the TV set flickered in reply.
    Do not leave me oh my darling–
    Mr Hasson must have seen it before. He stooped, arms outstretched along the bar, over the Democrat , his bi-focals slipping slowly down his nose, unable to sustain their normal position owing to the tilt of his head.
    â€“ on this our wedding day … ay.
    Mother will be watching it, a half-smile on her face. As she cooks the dinner she will speak the lines with the actors.
    Jack thought how irritated he would be if he were there.
    Across the hall Mrs Hasson was supervising the laying up of the tables for breakfast. The white cloths hung in stiff points. Each side plate had its folded napkin. This evening one dahlia stood on each table in a silver cornet-shaped vase.
    Mr Hasson looked up from the paper as Jack reached the bar. In the background Mrs Hasson adjusted a silver cornet a fraction of an inch and the men leaned against the pillars of the station, blue morning sky waited, they waited, the long silver tracks waited.
    â€˜How’s Jack?’ asked Mr Hasson, as if they were used to meeting every day. He pushed his glasses back into place again and began to fold up the paper.
    â€˜Great, thanks. Everything okay with you?’
    â€˜Mustn’t complain. The Mammy keeping well? Just down for the weekend? She’ll be glad of the company. Give her a lift.’
    Want to bet?
    Jack thought of her face as he had walked in the door the evening before, quite unexpectedly, like someone being pulled sharply from the safe web of sleep. Pleased, yes, finally pleased, but her mind taking quite some time to reach that pleasure.
    And dear old dirty Dublin? Same as ever?’
    â€˜Much the same.’
    â€˜Dangerous. Maire McMenamin from Gortahork had her car broken into and all her clothes taken. In broad daylight. Not a stitch or stim left to her. You want to mind yourself up there. Drugs and drink and kids stealing money.’ He laughed suddenly and reached for a pint glass. ‘That’s what they say on the wireless. Guinness?’
    Jack nodded.
    â€˜They say nowadays it’s safer in Belfast. Troubles and all. What would you say to that?’ He held the glass carefully angled under the tap.
    â€˜It’s not as bad as the papers make out.’
    He paid no attention.
    â€˜I wouldn’t go near the place at all now. There was Mrs Hasson only last week wanted up to Dublin to look at the shops. Not at all, I says to her. What can you get in Dublin you can’t get just as well in Donegal town? And the price of petrol. And you could lose your