Our Time Is Gone (37 page)

He sat looking at her, and he knew she was not looking well. She seemed to be dressed differently too. This seemed odd, odd because he associated the woman with one long blue coat, one black straw hat, one pair of black shoes, one pair of thin canary-coloured gloves. This morning she had on a coat of the same length, which made her look a head taller. A green coat with a worn fur collar, a blue toque, from under which appeared rebellious wisps of greying hair, a pair of elastic-side boots. No gloves but on her lap her black bag. Mr. Trears felt almost an affection for it. He had seen it so often. But now she appeared to have collected herself, and her unusually burning eyes fastened themselves upon the solicitor. Now he could see she was, or had been ill. She was thin, her face without colour. And something had happened to it. The mouth of course. It must have been the mouth that struck him first. There was always a something hard about her features. Whatever had happened, they were softened to-day. And the mouth seemed on the point of—Mr. Trears realized that at any moment she might
grin
at him. In some way the shape of it had altered.

‘Well, Mrs. Fury?' he said, and he said it with the air of a person who knows what will follow. All the words, their meaning, the tone in which they would be spoken. To his surprise she did not begin: ‘Can't you do
anything
for my son. My youngest child?'

Instead she opened her black bag, and her trembling fumbling hand pulled out far more than was intended, Mr. Trears got up, and helped her put back miscellaneous articles, including cuttings from newspapers. Then he went back to his desk. She held a letter in her hand. Already his quick eye had seen the official envelope.

‘I had this letter from my son, Mr. Trears,' she said, and leaning forward handed it to him. She sat bolt upright in the chair again. She always sat thus, at least in
his
office, and it irritated him. There was something urgent, restless about it. She never seemed at ease. She was a person always reaching the precipice of expectation. A waiting person who had reached nearly to the end of her waiting. Her whole life was a function, so it seemed to Mr. Trears, of sitting bolt upright and waiting for the thing to happen. It was her life. All the time he was reading she watched him, fidgeting the while, moving one foot, then the other. Crossing her hands, uncrossing them. Pulling imaginary hairs from the shoulders of her coat, pulling at the sleeves, but all the time watching the man, almost following his eyes as they scanned the procession, the lines of words. And he knew she was watching, restless, irritated, and hoping.

He read the letter through carefully. It was just the kind of letter any ordinary youth would write to his mother under any circumstances. Enquiries as to her health—remembering things they had done or seen together. Talks about going to live in Ireland. More enquiries about his brothers and sisters. Would Maureen write to him? He had had a letter from Anthony. Had his mother seen Desmond? And following this, long explanations about his personal attitude to things, his work at the prison, the war, and appeals to the mother to see Sheila! Nothing had happened. He just liked her.
Wouldn't
his mother see her? And so on, and so on. Lastly his father. He had written to him. He hoped his mother had now forgiven and forgotten everything, etc. etc. etc., ending with the hope that she would be able to see him soon.

‘Yes,' he reflected. ‘And by giving me this to read it saves her asking me that interminable question.' He slowly folded it, and as he handed it back to her, realized that it was he and not she who had to speak first about it. Well, it would be the same as the last time. He didn't know whether to admire her energy, her stubbornness, or her courage. All these she had.

‘Mrs. Fury,' he began, ‘that is a nice letter from your son. A very nice letter.'

‘Mr. Trears,' she said, ‘I know he wants to see me. Can't—isn't there some way? I don't mind if I walk barefooted—is there no way, I mean—I mean——'

‘Mrs. Fury! I assure you that it is becoming positively saddening to me to see you coming here, day after day, month following month, begging me to do what is simply the impossible. I understand you. I understand your son. But don't you see, Mrs. Fury, it has nothing
whatever
to do with me? The case is closed this nineteen months. Indeed, I ought to say that in thus giving you my advice and seeing you time after time like this, I am being gratuitous. Your case is closed. And it
is
closed, you know. For a time I did my best, whilst interest in your son still held. But it's nearly two years now. I know how you feel about it. But feelings won't get you anywhere. You must simply hope on. Personally, it is my belief that if this war goes on much longer there may be—mind you—' and here Mr. Trears felt that he had better emphasize with all the weight of authority he could command—‘I can't promise—and for heaven's sake, woman,
don't
, don't build on it—don't fasten on to this, thinking it will come off. As I say, with the country's call for men, it has been mooted that a number of prisoners may be released to join the forces.'

‘The army! To go to war?'

‘Well—yes. To join the army and go to the front, I suppose,' he replied.

‘You mean my son might be freed, and then he would go over to France in this war?'

‘Precisely.'

‘To kill people?'

‘Well, I'm afraid I can't discuss that, Mrs. Fury. It's beside the point. Let us keep to the point. I have to be frank. I have done all that it is humanly possible to do about your boy. And apart from the possibility I mentioned—and for God's sake don't hope about it, Mrs. Fury—apart from that, nothing more can be done. I am trying to be honest and generous together. In this world it's sometimes rather difficult. Let me only assure you this. That you will for certain see your son. You will be allowed. But not at present. It is no pleasure to say no to you all these hundreds'—was it hundreds?—‘of visits. So I hope you will go home and just think of what he'll look like when you see him. Make plans. Do little things for him. Keep up your spirits, Mrs. Fury. And now——'

‘I have,' she said. ‘I am.'

‘Yes, I know that,' he said, and again he said to himself: ‘This woman has been ill.' ‘Have you been ill, Mrs. Fury? You've changed since I saw you last.'

‘Well, yes—I was, Mr. Trears. I'm all right now. I was in hospital awhile and I left a few weeks ago. I've felt much better since I left. I like to be doing things. They thought I wouldn't get better,' she concluded, laughing.

‘Still at the same address? Let me see! Hey's Street—or Hey's Lane or something?'

No! Oh no! She wasn't there now! It wasn't a very nice place—not like what she had been used to. She'd shifted now. Perhaps Mr. Trears would have her address. It was twenty-nine B, Edcott Court. It was near the river.

‘Yes, oh yes,' he said, and wrote it down on a piece of paper, though he hadn't the slightest idea where it was. Well, he was glad to have it.

‘You're not feeling unwell now?' he asked suddenly, surprised by her change of colour. ‘You're all right, you're
sure
you're all right?' And then he rang the bell. When Ranson's person showed he said: ‘When Mrs. Evans brings in the tea, Ranson, ask her to bring in another cup. Thank you.'

He looked at the woman. There was something about her that made him uncomfortable. He got up at once. ‘Look here, Mrs. Fury, you don't look well to me, whatever you may think. Come now. You sit in my chair for a bit. And a cup of tea will work wonders.'

The woman looked at him and said. ‘Oh no! Really. Thank you. I'm sure, I'm—Mr. Trears——'

‘Of course,' Mr. Trears said, and he caught her arm. Knew all along. Walked too far most likely.

‘There,' he said. ‘Just make yourself comfortable. You've been rushing, Mrs. Fury. Here's some tea coming now,' and Mrs. Evans, complete with tray, came into the room.

Mrs. Fury attracted attention, not by appearance nor by the fact that she was seated in ‘the boss's chair,' but simply because she was having a cup of tea with Mr. Trears, and Mr. Trears's clients
never
drank tea with him.

‘Tea, sir.'

‘Thank you! Anywhere will do. Yes, on that cabinet. Thank you.'

When she had gone he poured out tea. Held sugar and milk before the woman in the chair. He watched her hard red hands fumble clumsily with the sugar cubes.

‘That's right,' he said, and this time he went back to his own seat. ‘You've reared a big family, haven't you?' he added, and watched her smile, a smile that said: ‘Why ask me? You know everything.' Of course he did. He'd ransacked the cupboards. He knew everything.

‘What hospital were you in, Mrs. Fury?'

The cup paused on the way to her mouth. ‘The General, Mr. Trears. One of the nurses there said I'd had delirium. But I don't know anything about that.'

‘Is your husband still at sea?'

She nodded her head. The question seemed ridiculous. The man was never anywhere else but the sea. Why should the great Mr. Trears, who was always busy, be talking to her like that? She replaced the empty cup on the tray, said: ‘Thank you, sir.'

‘I hope you won't think me curious, Mrs. Fury,' he went on, ‘but it may interest you to know that I met your son—the eldest one, isn't it? Desmond, I think. In the army.'

‘You met him,' she said. ‘I never knew that, Mr. Trears. He came to see me at the hospital.'

‘Oh! I see!'

‘I never saw him, of course. They said I was too ill. They told me he was an officer or something. I didn't know. They showed me his photo once. I was pleased and I wasn't pleased. He said he would come to see me! But he never came.'

‘Oh!' Mr. Trears said, and he thought of that ‘magnificent effort' of Captain Fury's.

‘In a way I feel I don't really belong to them any more, Mr. Trears. But I'm a curious woman. You mightn't think so. But I suppose I must have thought my children would always be around—well,
by
me, Mr. Trears. Still, it doesn't bother me much now, really. I neglected my husband to do for them. I had only one idea in my head. Just to make them good. One—well, you know—but that doesn't matter. One goes on loving one's children till the last. Isn't that so, Mr. Trears?'

‘I suppose it is. But perhaps you made a mistake, you know … you can't
make
people good, Mrs. Fury. Your other son is at sea too, isn't he?'

Mr. Trears had spread again. At the moment the state of things in the outer office did not concern them, but he
would
keep watching that clock. In court at eleven-thirty. And he looked twice at his watch in as many minutes.

This assured the woman of two things. That Mr. Trears was simply doing this to be kind, and secondly he was waiting for her to go. Well, there it was. It ended just like the last time and the time before, and the same words framed for utterance. When could she see her son? With these words she always departed. Mr. Trears would shake hands, and affable Mr. Ranson would say: ‘
Good
morning, madam,' and then she was in the street again, in the world. She made as though to rise.

‘Don't. Really, it's quite all right, Mrs. Fury. I
shall
disturb you in ten minutes, because I have to go to the courts.' He looked at his watch again. ‘Feeling better?'

Yes, thank you. I just got a bit dizzy. That's all. It's the walk down. Oh, I don't know, Mr. Trears. One time I just sat in a kitchen and looked after my family, and now life's simply walking to and fro, up and down to your office. I'm sure you are sick of my face,' and now she rose to her feet.

‘You've a daughter married too, I believe. Does she come to see you at all?'

‘Not much. I've seen little or nothing of my eldest children since they married. I hardly think of them. You see, Anthony is the only one who comes home.'

She paused and, Mr. Trears thought ‘home! home! that was this woman's whole life—home!' And suddenly he was laughing and tapping her gently on the shoulder. ‘Tell me, Mrs. Fury, suppose if the chance came, would you do all this over again? I mean build up your home—I mean——'

She looked, not at Mr. Trears, but out through the open door, and even glanced at the ruby shining in the ring on the solicitor's little finger. A buzz of voices met her ears. The outer office must be full of impatient people. She heard Mr. Ranson speak.

‘When you're like me, Mr. Trears, and I'm just like all the thousands you see every day, you have a family, and you have to make them all hold together and respect each other. I tried to do that with my children. It didn't work. But if you don't hold your family together, Mr. Trears, well, they suffer for it, I mean,' and she hesitated, stammered something, her face reddened.

And Mr. Trears said, as he saw her through the door. ‘I know! I understand what you mean, Mrs. Fury. You have to hold them together, make them work for each other. All the same you can't
make
people good, now can you?' He offered his hand. ‘Good-bye, Mrs. Fury, now don't worry; oh, and if there is anything I can do for you at any time don't forget that I am here. Good morning,' and he watched the door of the outer office close on her. Then he went back to his desk. Well! Well! Just fancy …

Although that woman may not have realized it she had said something that interested him very much.

‘The rest of the world doesn't matter. But your family does.'

Yes. There was something in that, reflected Mr. Trears, and that woman even now would begin all over again. Well! Well! The personal relationship was the core of living for a woman like that, even though for many others it simply meant what the brass tongue of the Stock Exchanges of the world spoke.

At a quarter past eleven he was on his way to the court, but the little talk with the woman remained in his mind. He knew her so well that he could tell almost everything that had happened to her during the morning. Husband and son at sea. The other two married and out of it. She was living alone. Looking after herself most likely. Hidden away in another hole. And she had probably walked all the way to his office, and it had made her ill. And as he passed through into the court he could hear her say: ‘I am quite well, thank you.' She was quite well. There was something almost heartening about that ‘quite well.' Then he heard his name called out.