The Railway Station Man Read Online Free PDF Page B

life. Have the car smashed up. Lose your life in the night walking down O’Connell Street. That’s what I said to her. Wasn’t I right?’
    â€˜Did she go?’
    â€˜Of course she didn’t go. Why would she go whenever I told her not to? Save your money I said to her and away on to Lourdes next year with your sister Kathleen. The two parishes is getting together and forming a group.’
    He slowly let go of the handle and looked at the glass. ‘Wasn’t I right?’
    â€˜If she wants to go to Lourdes …’
    â€˜Of course she wants to go to Lourdes. Hasn’t she been on at me for years about it, and the group has always gone at the wrong time. Right in the middle of the tourist season. Caravans full. The hotel full. People in and out for meals at every hour of the night and day. How could she go then? I mean to say. Answer me that?’
    â€˜How indeed.’
    He pushed the glass over to me.
    â€˜There’s a new priest here, Father Mulcahy, and I said to him, Listen here, Father Mulcahy, I said to him if that Lourdes trip was at a more expedient time … see what I mean? A nod is as good as a wink. Father Collins, not that I’d a word against him, was never very amenable to suggestion. July suited him, so July it had to be. Let’s start with this new young fellow the way we mean to go on. Let’s have a bit of flexible thinking. That’s what I said. Wasn’t I right? After all, if you look at it another way, Mrs Hasson works for this parish like no one else. The backbone you might say she is and I wouldn’t mind who heard me say it and it’s only fair she’d get a chance of a trip like that. Wouldn’t you say so? And her the backbone.’
    â€˜Definitely.’
    He looked pleased.
    â€˜That’ll be one pound and five pence. God be with the days Guinness was one and six a pint. I don’t know how the young fellows can afford to drink at all these days. The politicians have the country ruined. Ruined into dire straits. Wouldn’t you say? One and six. And that was real money. Silver was silver. They stole the money out of our pockets when they changed all that. Daylight robbery.’
    Jack handed him the money.
    â€˜I took the pledge at the age of sixteen and never broke it. Forty-seven years. Think of that now. Think of all the money would have flowed out of my trouser pocket in all those years. Mrs Hasson will take a drop from time to time. A wedding or such like. A glass of port or a nice brown sherry, but never a drop has passed my lips. My old mother, God rest her, always used to say … Good evening sir.’
    Jack snatched his glass from the bar and fled to a small table by the fireplace. A tall man in a tweed suit walked across the room. He wore a black patch over one eye and his left sleeve was empty. Mr Hasson folded away the paper.
    â€˜Good evening, Mr Hasson. A better evening.’
    His voice was English. An Oxford and Cambridge sort of a voice, quite low, quite pleasant.
    â€˜Just what we were saying, sir, before you walked in the door. A Scotch, sir? What a fine country we’d have, sir, if only we had the weather. Paradise I’d say it’d be.’
    â€˜Full of happy tourists?’
    â€˜That’d be the way, sir.’
    â€˜Hmmm.’
    He turned away and looked at the screen.
    A lonely man walked down the street. People waited behind the windows. Watched.
    â€˜Ah, yes …’ he said, nothing more.
    Mr Hasson poured a large Scotch in silence. When he had finished he put it on the bar and pushed the water jug along beside it.
    â€˜Good man. That’s the ticket. No water thanks. I like it just as it is. I hate your dream of tourists. So here’s to the rain.’
    He took a drink, then he walked across the room to the fireplace. He stood looking down at Jack for a moment.
    â€˜Mind if I join you?’
    â€˜No … I … of course not.’ Jack