The Lonely Passion of Judith Hearne (18 page)

On the third day of Mr Madden’s silent retreat, she sought

him out. Accidentally, as it were. But she pursued him. At breakfast he made her feel positively foolish when she drew him into conversation. Afterwards, she went to her room, put on her hat and coat, and sat down on the old straightbacked chair, facing the bay window. She allowed nothing to distract her: a moment’s inattention could mean another day of unhappiness. At eleven, she saw him come out on the front steps beneath her, dressed for the street. She jumped up and hurried down the stairs as fast as her legs would carry her. He was walking down the street. She ran after him.

‘O, good morning, Mr Madden,’ she called. ‘Lovely day

for a walk, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah,’ Mr Madden said, looking at the sky. She fell in

beside him.

‘Are you going downtown?’

‘I’ve got some business,’ he said.

‘O. Mind if I walk with you? I’ve been thinking a lot about

you, you know.’

Mr Madden stared straight ahead. She tried again. ‘I mean,

I’ve missed our little talks, you - you seem to have been very

silent these last few days.’

Um.’

‘I was wondering, I mean, I wonder is anything wrong? You - ah, you haven’t had bad news or anything?’

‘Hey,’ Mr Madden said. ‘There’s my bus. I got to get it. I’ll see you later. I got to run now.’ And run he did, limping on his game leg, jumping on the back platform of the bus as it pulled away from the kerb. He waved good bye. Then was lost in traffic.

Avoiding me, O, it’s shameful of him, running away like that, as if I had the plague or something. You hurt me, James Madden, if you knew how much, you’d come back on your bended knees to apologise. Clutching her handbag to her stomach, she stared down tlie road. Ran from me. When I ran after him. Humiliated myself for him. He rejected. He turned away. But my own fault, yes, I’m the only one to blame, no I’m not, that horrid sister of his, telling him heaven knows what awful tale. Rejected, she looked at her long pointed shoes with the little shoe-eyes winking up at her. Little shoe-eyes, always there. But the magic didn’t work. The shoe-eyes were just buttons, just shoe buttons.

O, she said, a woman in love can’t afford to be proud. He must be made to see, he must be made to come back. And I must do it myself, no matter how silly it looks. Tomorrow is Sunday, we first walked together on a Sunday. Tomorrow he must go to Mass and I will go with him, I will have it out, yes, I’ll come right out with it, no matter how much it hurts, ask him to explain himself. Because anything, anything is better than sitting here alone at night, not knowing. And what will I say? Subtle, yes, lead up to it gently, find out his intentions. O, maybe he would say it himself, not have to be asked, gentle, tender with me again. And he will, he will, he’s just put off by the things his horrid sister said against me. I’ll explain, the first time it ever happened, I’ll say, and it was because of you, you made me unhappy. Show him, I will, he is responsible for it all, come right out with it, I was upset for you, I only fell into it because you made me unhappy. And now you are cold, tell me why, I have a right to know.

She did not go to confession, although it was Saturday. Although drunkenness was a mortal sin. No, after tomorrow,

after the Sunday talk, it could all be told to this new priest, Father Quigley, why it had happened. And maybe she might ask for advice on marriage. As her confessor, her new one in her new parish, he must be consulted, he would have advice to give.

The next morning she was up at six. She dressed carefully

and sat by the window until nine. But he did not go out. So she went down to breakfast. The others were there, even Bernard, but he was not. She couldn’t eat a thing, she was so nervous. At a quarter to ten, he appeared and she dawdled with her cup of tea until he had finished eating. He did not speak to her. He lit a cigarette and stood up to leave. She went after him into the hall and saw him put on his coat.

‘Are you going to eleven, by any chance, Mr Madden?’

‘Well,’ he he’sitated. ‘I might do that and I might go to

twelve.’

‘Anyway, you’re going out?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well, I’d like to walk along with you. As a matter of fact,

I’d like to have a word with you.’

‘Well - sure.’

They walked side by side down the street. ‘I think I’ll go to

eleven,’ he said. ‘Have you been yet?’

‘No. I’ll go to eleven too. We can go together, if you’ve no

objections.’

‘That’s fine.’

They turned out of Camden Street, passing the university. ‘You seem to have been very busy lately, Mr Madden.’ ‘I had some business to attend to.’

Well, really. If he thinks he’s going to put me off`like that,

he’s got another think coming. Out with it, out with it, and

shame him.

‘I - you’ll think it forward of me - but I had the impression

you were avoiding me.’ Her face coloured scarlet as the words

came out.

‘Where did you get that idea? I was busy, that’s all. I’m

going to Dublin on business.’

‘O?’

‘That restaurant project. A friend of mine is coming back to Ireland for a holiday. I want to discuss it with him.’

‘I see. And when are you planning to run off to Dublin, may I ask?’

‘Well - uh, I haven’t decided yet. Soon. My friend will be here soon. I got a letter from him yesterday.’

‘You might have told me. After all, I’m interested in what you do.’

‘Well, uh, I got two letters. I mean, I got a letter a while ago and then another one yesterday. It isn’t sure though, when he’s coming.’

‘But I don’t see what two letters have to do with it. You made up your mind to go to Dublin and you didn’t even have the decency to tell me.

He stopped walking and stared at her. ‘What’s it to you?’ he said harshly. ‘That’s my personal business. If I want to go to Dublin, or New York, or anywhere, that’s my business. I might even go to New York. I tell you it’s not sure yet.’

‘New York? But you said you were going to stay here.

Why, you told me yourself-why only last week you said…’ ‘Last week was different.’ ‘I don’t see how.’

He began to walk again at a terrible Rice. She had to run to keep up with him. ‘Last week I thought I had a partner for that restaurant deal,’ he said, his head down, his rough-red face angry. ‘This week, I find you’ve been stringing me along.’

The? But Mr Madden-Jim-I don’t understand. If you mean what happened, your sister told you I drink, I mean, it’s not true.’

‘Never mind that. I hear you’re a piano teacher, is that right?’

‘I don’t see what that has to do with it.’

‘It’s got everything to do with it. I need a partner for this hamburg joint I got in mind. I thought you were on the level. Well - are you? If you’ve got a couple of thousand pounds we can talk business.’ He stopped walking, took her roughly by the arm. ‘Well, how about it? You want to be partners with me?’

‘But - but that’s impossible. I haven’t got any money. I…’ He let go of her arm. ‘See what I mean? I thought not. Phoney, same as everybody else in this town. Okay, I’m going to Dublin, see what I can do. And if it doesn’t work, I’m going back to the States. I never should of come here.’

‘But I thought you were going to stay in Ireland. I thought that was why you retired from business over there.’

‘Ireland!’ He stared at the rain-threatening sky. ‘Who’d stay in Ireland, unless he had to? Tell me that?’

She was silent. As though by common consent, they began to walk again.

‘I don’t understand why you thought that I-I mean, i thought you were interested in me, Jim. As a woman, I mean. I don’t think you’ve behaved very well.’

‘Well, what d’you mean well? What I do’s my business.’ ‘Your business? And what about me, Mr Madden? What am I to think? You took me out, you might say you confided in me, you gave me certain ideas, you led me on to think all sorts of things and then you just ignore me. I have to humble myself to run after you and then you have the nerve to tell me you were only courting me because you thought I might put some money in your silly restaurant.’

They had reached Saint Finbar’s. The people were coming out from the ten o’clock Mass, meeting the people who were waiting to go in for the eleven o’clock. He looked at the crowd and then looked at her.

‘Come on with me,’ he said. ‘I want to talk to you. In private.’

He walked past the church, down a side street. She followed, her face mottled with blushes, her whole body quivering with indignation and shame. In the side street, he stopped and looked back at the crowds.

‘Now, listen, Judy. You’ve got this all wrong. I took you out - sure. You had nobody else around. I liked you, I thought you were a fine woman. I thought you and me were interested in the same things. But I didn’t make any passes, did I? I didn’t give you any ideas. Let’s get that straight.’

‘It’s that horrid sister of yours,’ she cried, her voice shrill

with fear. ‘She turned you against me. She told lies about me’ ‘May? May’s got nothing to do with this. Besides, I didn’t

need May to tell me you were drunk, that day. I’ve got ears.’

‘O, but you mustn’t believe it. It was because of you. She

upset me with what she said, I couldn’t bear it, I had a drink,

medicinal, purely medicinal. I took it to soothe my nerves.’

‘Well, that’s your business. I didn’t ask you your business,

did I?’

‘I know what’s wrong,’ she screamed, clutching at his sleeve,

standing out in the street with the tears blinding her. ‘You

think I’m a drunkard, you do, that’s why you’re going away,

that’s why you’ve been so cold. The other thing is only an

excuse. But it’s not true, Jim, it’s not true, I hardly ever touch

it, that’s why it affected me, I’d make you a good wife, Jim,

really I would. I’d be a help to you, I don’t care what you

were, I don’t care, I don’t care.’

Carefully, he lifted her hands offhis sleeve. ‘Who said any thing about getting married? Did I? I never even considered it.

Listen, Judy, get a hold of yourself. I like you, I thought of

you as a good friend. That’s all, that’s all. Marry? Are you crazy

in the head, or something? Marry! At my age. At yours. What

is this?’

‘O, my God!’ she wailed, shielding her face with her arm.

‘O, merciful God!’ She ran away from him, stumbling, her

head down: to get away, away anywhere from his face, his

harsh voice, his hate. 1kunning, weeping, she reached the

street corner and the gate of the church. The people were now

going in to eleven o’clock Mass. Hide! Hide! She joined the

crowd, mopping her face with her handkerchief. She dabbed

Holy Water on her brow. and went blundering to a side aisle,

to the great mass of kneeling people, hiding herself among

them, getting away from him.

‘introibo ad altare Dei!’ cried the priest.

‘Addeum quilaetificat juventutummeum,’ the altar boys

mumbled.

Where is he, he wouldn’t come in after that, he wouldn’t dare to face me after the way he spoke. O, the horror in the

street, me shouting like a servant girl and him bellowing like a soldier, his voice, his face, cruel, enjoying the hurt, how could he do this, how could he, so hurtful, has he no kindness, no mercy in him, telling that story about a letter, going to Dublin, a fairy tale, a pure invention, it rolled off his tongue as deceitful as a bad confession, I should have asked him to see it, proof, I had a right to, yes, because it wasn’t true, else why did this happen now, after he was so nice, no, it was the drinking, the stories that horrid sister of his told about me, she’s the one who’s responsible, she did it, and me too, I made a fool of myself, i should have been polite and firm, giving myself away like that, shouting and weeping and I rushed at him, accusing him, they say that puts a man off, you could see he was embarrassed, that’s why he went down the side street, so’s people couldn’t see us, yes, I put him off, a pushing woman, it hurt him to say those things, he still called me Judy, even then, Judy, you can see he’s still fond of me, he’s sorry now, sorry, he was hurtful though, the cruel way he said it, ‘at your age,’ what does he know about my age, yes, and he said, are you crazy in the head,’ crazy, O, aunt dear, no, no, it couldn’t be, O, my God, help me, save me.

She began to pray, her eyes on the altar, her mind far from the sacrifice. The Our Fathers and Hail Marys stumbled through her mind, repeating themselves until they were meaningless, as hurried and without devotion as the mumbled responses of the altar boys. They died half-said as she slowly retraced the agony from its beginning, from the humiliating moment she had run out of the house after him. The walk, the things said, the cruel way he said them. They could not be washed away by repetition, those cruel words. Unlike prayers, they could not be dulled by restatement. They were the negation of prayer, the antithesis of hope.

She did not hear the sermon. She only wondered if he were in the church, sitting cruelly in the house of God after destroying her faith. When the Mass was over she sat until everyone else had left. Let him leave first, hide from him. He had said those things, they could never be unsaid. And he was the last one, James Madden, the last one ever.

People were already taking their places for the twelve o’clock Mass. She must leave. Impossible to go back to Camden Street now. He’d tell the whole thing to his horrid sister and then in no time at all, others would know about it, that Friel woman and that sleekit birdy Lenehan. They would all have a good laugh over how she had made an utter fool of herself. No, I can’t go back now among them, among enemies. Thank God I have some real friends left, the O’Neills-and it’s Sunday. I’ll go somewhere and have a small bite to eat and afterwards I’ll go for a walk until three.

At a quarter to three, Shaun O’Neill looked out of the drawing room window and saw Miss Hearne coming up the avenue.