The Red And The Green by Iris Murdoch Page A

I.C.A. men were all drawn up in ranks presenting arms and the bugles were blowing and the pipe bands were playing and then everyone started cheering, and do you know, quite a lot of people in the crowd had tears in their eyes.’
    Andrew was disturbed by this account; and he felt that Christopher had perhaps been more interested than he pretended to be. Frances had put down her sewing.
    â€˜But what did it mean?’ said Andrew.
    â€˜Nothing. That’s my point. The Irish are so used to personifying Ireland as a tragic female, any patriotic stimulus produces an overflow of sentiment at once.’
    â€˜â€œDid you see an old woman going down the path?” “I did not, but I saw a young girl, and she had the walk of a queen.”’
    â€˜Precisely, Frances. St Teresa’s Hall nearly fell down when Yeats first came out with that stuff. Though in fact if you recited the Dublin telephone directory in this town with enough feeling you’d have people shedding tears!’
    â€˜Well, I think it ought to be stopped,’ said Hilda. ‘I can’t imagine how they can do it, with the town full of wounded soldiers, you’d think they’d be ashamed. And I’m very surprised indeed that Pat Dumay hasn’t enlisted. I really must have a word about it with his mother. An able-bodied young fellow like that ought to be longing to get out to the Front. I have the impression that he’s becoming a rather disagreeable young man.’
    â€˜I shouldn’t say anything to Kathleen if I were you,’ said Christopher. ‘And I’d advise you not to show your opinion in any way to Pat himself.’ As he said this, Christopher looked quickly at Andrew.
    Andrew felt an immediate pang of annoyance and the familiar sense of a threat. As if he would be such a fool as to bait his cousin for not having enlisted.
    â€˜Well, you may be right,’ said Hilda, getting up. The sea mist now shrouded the garden and enveloped the house, curling damply in through the interstices of the conservatory. The rain had stopped, but water now hung on the interior of the glass in rows of glittering beads which would suddenly start rolling, coalesce, and fall with a small splash on to the stiff linen table-cloth. Frances was packing up the tea things. As they began to drift in toward the drawing-room, Andrew heard his mother saying to Christopher, ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you for such a long time. What exactly did Wolfe Tone do?’

Chapter Three
    â€˜H AVE you heard this one?
    As a beauty I’m not a star.
    There are others more handsome by far.
    But my face I don’t mind it,
    For I am behind it.
    It’s the people in front get the jar.’
    â€˜That’s not very funny.’
    â€˜It’s not meant to be funny. It’s philosophical. Well, and it is so, funny. And have you heard this one, “There was an old man of Rathmines”—’
    â€˜Oh, shut up, Cathal.’
    â€˜Don’t be always telling your brother to shut up,’ said Kathleen, who was laying the table for tea. Her sons did not reply, but waited with an air of abstracted politeness for her to leave the room, which she did a moment later.
    â€˜It’s today the lilly-white boy is coming.’
    â€˜That’s a fine way to be after talking about your cousin.’
    â€˜I mean it complimentary,’ said Cathal.
    â€˜You do not.’
    â€˜All right, I don’t. And you don’t like him either. Isn’t he a sort of a bloody English chancer.’
    â€˜I don’t mind him. I like him all right.’
    â€˜Will he be in his uniform?’
    â€˜I expect so.’
    â€˜Will he be wearing spurs?’
    â€˜How do I know? Yes, I suppose so.’
    â€˜I shall laugh at his spurs. You’ll hear me laughing and it’ll be at his spurs.’
    â€˜You’ll behave yourself decently or I’ll belt you.’
    â€˜You will not.’
    â€˜I