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Authors: Morgan Llywelyn

1972 (12 page)

BOOK: 1972
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October 4, 1957
RUSSIANS FIRST INTO SPACE WITH SPUTNIK
Americans express determination to surpass Soviet achievement.

T
HE Space Age has begun!” Barry cried as he burst into the kitchen. “This very minute there's a manmade satellite circling the earth five hundred miles above us.”
Eileen looked up from her sewing. “Wherever did you hear such nonsense?”
“It's on the wireless right now, it's the biggest news story ever! And Ursula's missing it. When she gets back from her ICA meeting she'll be raging.”
Barry ran out to look at the night sky.
Human beings have invaded the realm of the gods!
Millions of people throughout the world were peering into the heavens that night, united in their desire to glimpse the tiny light streaking overhead.
T
HE summer of 1957 had been excessively hot even by Texas standards. Drought and high temperatures continued into the autumn, so that by October not only the foliage but the people of Dallas were wilted. Henry Mooney felt the heat more acutely than usual. “I don't think I want any breakfast this morning,” he told Isabella.
Following her mother's death, Isabella, the elder of his two daughters and widow of Michael Kavanagh, had given up her house in New York State and moved back to Dallas to care for her aged father. She tried to give the impression that she was making a great personal sacrifice, though in reality she was delighted. The Mooney house was much larger and infinitely more stylish than her rented bungalow. It also came complete with a Negro housekeeper called Pearl and a Negro cook called Opal. The widow Kavanagh never had been able to afford domestic help.
“Do you want Opal to boil an egg for you?” she asked Henry. “You have to eat something.”
He shook his head. “Maybe later. The living room's the coolest place in the house, so I think I'll go in there and write a letter to Little Business. I owe her one. She's been so good about trying to cheer me up since the Cap'n died.”
“Mmm,” said Isabella. After an hour or so she put on a largebrimmed straw hat that had belonged to her mother, and found the pruning shears her father kept on the back porch. “I'm going to cut some of Dad's roses for the dinner table before the heat wilts them,” she told Pearl. “Today would have been my parents' wedding anniversary so I want to do something special. Put the Irish linen on the table and set out Mother's best china. The Haviland,” she added unnecessarily. Pearl had been working for the Mooneys for years and knew the contents of the china closet from top to bottom.
In the garden that was Henry Mooney's pride and joy, the atmosphere was breathless. Heat waves shimmered above the shrubbery. After a few minutes Isabella came back indoors.
Handing the roses to Pearl to put into water, she went to her room to bathe her temples with cologne. Ella Mooney had always kept a bottle of cologne chilling in the refrigerator for that purpose.
It was lunchtime before Isabella realised that her father had not emerged from the living room.
She found Henry Mooney seated at the table between the front windows, slumped across the letter he had been writing to Ursula. Isabella's startled eyes registered only one sentence: “I am heartbroken that I won't be with the Cap'n on our anniversary.”
But he would.
W
HEN the telephone in the passage shrilled its double ring Ursula was halfway up the stairs. She turned and came back down. A few minutes later she appeared, ashen-faced, in the kitchen, where Eileen was still scrubbing the table. “Henry's gone,” Ursula said in a stunned voice. “A heart attack. Bella said he was writing a letter to me at the time. She sounded reproachful, as if it was somehow my fault.”
Eileen pressed clasped hands to her aproned bosom. “God have mercy on him! I know how much you loved him, we all loved him.”
“Ella loved him the most,” said Ursula. “And he adored her.” She stood for a few moments trying to collect herself, then went to the foot of the stairs and called to Barry to come down.
“The funeral won't be until Friday,” she told him. “Henry's daughter Henrietta—the family calls her Hank—lives in Colorado, and Henry had friends and business associates all over the country, so they want to allow time for everyone to get there. Hank's children are still small so she's leaving them at home, but I want you with me.”
Barry was taken aback.
The Army might send for me at any time.
“Why me? All I remember about Henry Mooney is that he had a deep voice and wore both belt and braces.”
Ursula said softly, “I remember everything about him. Even the smell of his shaving cream: it was cocoa butter.”
The refusal Barry was contemplating died on his lips.
Gerry Ryan drove them to Shannon Airport in Ursula's old
black Ford. They were accompanied by Eileen, who insisted on seeing them off. Before getting out of the car at the terminal Ursula pressed something into Eileen's hand. Barry did not notice; his attention was engaged by the scene before him.
Stacks of luggage, including luxuriously matched sets, were piled at kerbside. Newly arrived American tourists, pale with exhaustion but wearing bright green sweaters and cloth hats stitched with the slogan KISS ME I'M IRISH were queuing for taxicabs. On the tarmac a gleaming commercial airliner was being refuelled to make the return flight across three thousand miles of ocean.
Yet less than a mile away lived people who had no indoor toilets.
When they were standing in the queue at the check-in Ursula unexpectedly chuckled.
“What's funny?”
“I gave Eileen a present of some money. Not enough to buy the refrigerator she thinks she wants, but a fortune to her all the same. Now she's in a squandary.”
“A quandary about how to squander the money,” Barry interpreted. “You know as well as I do she'll just give it to the Church.”
“I specified she must spend it on herself.”
“I'll wager you half a crown she still has it when we get home.”
Ursula shook her head. “Life is enough of a gamble. I never bet on anything else.”
On board the aeroplane Barry insisted his mother have the window seat, though much of the fourteen-hour flight to New York would take place at night.
At least she'll have a view of the stars.
He felt a great thrill when the plane roared down the runway and lifted into the air.
All that power under the control of a human being. A man like me. What was that line from Yeats? Oh yes. “Breaking the bonds of earth.”
As soon as they reached cruising altitude Ursula closed her eyes and leaned her head against the back of the seat. Throughout the long flight she rarely spoke. When the stewardess brought food on a tray, Ursula left hers untouched. Barry ate it as well as his own. After the cabin lights dimmed he could not
tell if his mother was asleep or not; if not, she obviously preferred to be alone with her thoughts.
The plane landed briefly at Newfoundland for refuelling, and most of the passengers took advantage of the opportunity to disembark and walk around. Barry was certain his mother was asleep by then, yet he chose to stay on board with her.
Solicitude for Ursula was a new experience.
A
FTER an eternity dominated by the exhausting thunder of the engines, they descended through layers of ragged grey cloud. The plane bumped and bounced. Then like a magic trick the clouds parted, and New York City lay spread out below them.
As they banked on final approach Barry leaned across his mother to stare at the fabled, unbelievable skyline of Manhattan.
Can that possibly be on the same planet as Brookeborough Barracks?
Idlewild Airport was a revelation, with not one but nine terminals, each having its own distinctive design. Until he saw Idlewild Barry had never given a thought to architecture. The circular Pan American terminal, with its glass walls and huge disk for a roof, was a confident vision of the future.
I love America already!
They had to wait for their connecting flight to Dallas. Leaving Ursula seated in a lounge area, Barry changed Irish money into American dollars that looked nothing like real money, then went in search of tea and scones.
A kaleidoscope of races in a mosaic of colours swirled through the terminal. Several people bumped into Barry but no one said “sorry.” Barry could not help staring. The population of Ireland, north and south, was white, and, with the exception of those in the
Gaeltacht,
q
spoke English. And in the Republic everyone apologised, it was almost a national characteristic.
When he found a counter that sold food, the menu was chalked on a blackboard. Most of the items were unfamiliar; some seemed to be in a foreign language.
Prune Danish? Bagels?
At least tea was on the list. Barry thankfully ordered
two cups. He was given stiff paper cups filled with hot water, and two teabags—unknown in Ireland—together with sugar in paper packets and two tiny plastic pots of milk. A metal container provided paper napkins, another first in his experience. Juggling his purchases on a flimsy tray made of grey cardboard, he plunged back into the crowd. After a couple of minutes he realised he was turned around. He had no idea where he had left Ursula.
In spite of all the orientation training I've had!
With trepidation—IRA Volunteers were wary of constables—Barry approached a uniformed policeman to ask for help. The man said, “Just off the plane from Ireland, are you?”
“I am.”
“I thought I recognised the brogue. We'd like to go to Ireland sometime, me and the wife. Her mother's Irish. So is half the force in New York, come to think of it. You're gonna feel right at home here.”
W
HEN he found Ursula, Barry told her, “This place is like the Tower of Babel. As for the food, I bought what purports to be tea but I wouldn't swear to it. I think it's gone cold anyway. The woman at the counter didn't know what I meant by scones, she gave me something she called cookies.” He held out a paper bag spotted with grease.
Ursula took a fat, golden-brown disk studded with bits of chocolate and nuts, and nibbled one small bite. “Sweet biscuits,” she concluded. “Obviously the Americans speak a different English.”
When Barry tried to open a container of milk he succeeded in pushing in the lid and sloshing the contents into his lap. He used the paper napkins to mop his trousers, finished off the cookies, and went back for another bag.
Neither of them drank the tea.
During the long flight from New York to Dallas, daylight through the small window revealed lines in Ursula's face that Barry had never noticed before.
When did she start to get old?
An appalling thought occurred to him:
Someday my mother's going to die
.
She's actually going to die.
It seemed impossible, yet he knew it was true. He had met death. Up close.
Death was inescapable reality.
The rifle …
He pushed its image from his mind.
Rousing herself, Ursula began to reminisce about Henry Mooney. With obvious pride she related the highlights of his journalistic career in Ireland. “He did as much as any man could, without actually carrying a gun, to further the cause of republicanism,” she told her son.
“But didn't he and Granda quarrel?” Barry said. “What was that all about?”
“It's not important, they made it up anyway. Papa and Henry were like brothers, you know.”
“Brothers fight. Just look at the Civil War. And our own George and Gerry aren't speaking to each other half the time.”
Ursula gave a wan smile. “Being related is no guarantee that people can get along.”
Seizing the opportunity—his mother was buckled into her seat and could not evade him—Barry remarked, “You and Granda had a desperate row before I was born.”
“Who told you that?”
To confess his source would be to reveal that he had found the notebooks; she might insist he give them to her. “Maybe Eileen said something about it, I don't remember.”
Ursula's thin nostrils flared. “Pay no attention to anything she says. She loves to gossip; how many times have you heard her nattering away with the neighbours? What women like that don't know they make up.”
“Then you tell me. Did you and Granda hate each other for a while?”
Ursula turned her head and looked out the window. “Hating is easy. It's loving that's hard.”
I
RONICALLY, in light of their conversation, the name of the Dallas airport was Love Field.
Their plane landed in late afternoon. Waiting at the arrivals gate was a tall, impeccably groomed brunette in a black dress. At her throat was a single strand of pearls. “That could only be Bella,” Ursula said under her breath to Barry. “She has Henry's jaw.”
BOOK: 1972
10.2Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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