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- Колин Маккалоу
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- Стр. 104/535
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But
it
was
a
long
time
.
There
were
the
last
rites
to
be
administered
,
in
case
the
soul
had
not
yet
left
the
body
;
and
Fee
to
see
,
Paddy
to
see
,
practical
advice
to
give
.
The
doctor
had
gone
,
dejected
but
long
used
to
the
tragedies
his
far-flung
practice
made
inevitable
.
From
what
they
said
,
little
he
could
have
done
anyway
,
so
far
from
his
hospital
and
his
trained
nursing
staff
.
These
people
took
their
chances
,
they
faced
their
demons
and
hung
on
.
His
death
certificate
would
say
"
Croup
.
"
It
was
a
handy
malady
.
Eventually
there
was
nothing
left
for
Father
Ralph
to
see
to
.
Paddy
had
gone
to
Fee
,
Bob
and
the
boys
to
the
carpentry
shed
to
make
the
little
coffin
.
Stuart
was
on
the
floor
in
Fee
's
bedroom
,
his
pure
profile
so
like
her
own
silhouetted
against
the
night
sky
outside
the
window
;
from
where
she
lay
on
her
pillow
with
Paddy
's
hand
in
hers
,
Fee
never
left
her
contemplation
of
the
dark
shape
huddled
on
the
cold
floor
.
It
was
five
o'clock
in
the
morning
and
the
roosters
were
stirring
drowsily
,
but
it
would
be
dark
for
a
long
time
yet
.
Purple
stole
around
his
neck
because
he
had
forgotten
he
was
wearing
it
,
Father
Ralph
bent
to
the
kitchen
fire
and
built
it
up
from
embers
into
a
blaze
,
turned
down
the
lamp
on
the
table
behind
,
and
sat
on
a
wooden
bench
opposite
Meggie
to
watch
her
.
She
had
grown
,
put
on
seven-league
boots
which
threatened
to
leave
him
behind
,
outstripped
;
he
felt
his
inadequacy
then
more
keenly
,
watching
her
,
than
ever
he
had
in
a
life
filled
with
a
gnawing
,
obsessive
doubt
of
his
courage
.
Only
what
was
he
afraid
of
?
What
did
he
think
he
could
n't
face
if
it
came
?
He
could
be
strong
for
other
people
,
he
did
n't
fear
other
people
;
but
within
himself
,
expecting
that
nameless
something
to
come
sliding
into
consciousness
when
he
least
expected
it
,
he
knew
fear
.
While
Meggie
,
born
eighteen
years
after
him
,
was
growing
beyond
him
.
Not
that
she
was
a
saint
,
or
indeed
anything
more
than
most
.
Only
that
she
never
complained
,
that
she
had
the
gift
--
or
was
it
the
curse
?
--
of
acceptance
.
No
matter
what
had
gone
or
what
might
come
,
she
confronted
it
and
accepted
it
,
stored
it
away
to
fuel
the
furnace
of
her
being
.
What
had
taught
her
that
?
Could
it
be
taught
?
Or
was
his
idea
of
her
a
figment
of
his
own
fantasies
?
Did
it
really
matter
?
Which
was
more
important
:
what
she
truly
was
,
or
what
he
thought
she
was
?
"
Oh
,
Meggie
,
"
he
said
helplessly
.
She
turned
her
gaze
to
him
and
out
of
her
pain
gave
him
a
smile
of
absolute
,
overflowing
love
,
nothing
in
it
held
back
,
the
taboos
and
inhibitions
of
womanhood
not
yet
a
part
of
her
world
.
To
be
so
loved
shook
him
,
consumed
him
,
made
him
wish
to
the
God
Whose
existence
he
sometimes
doubted
that
he
was
anyone
in
the
universe
but
Ralph
de
Bricassart
.
Was
this
it
,
the
unknown
thing
?
Oh
,
God
,
why
did
he
love
her
so
?
But
as
usual
no
one
answered
him
;
and
Meggie
sat
still
smiling
at
him
.
At
dawn
Fee
got
up
to
make
breakfast
,
Stuart
helping
her
,
then
Mrs.
Smith
came
back
with
Minnie
and
Cat
,
and
the
four
women
stood
together
by
the
stove
talking
in
hushed
monotones
,
bound
in
some
league
of
grief
neither
Meggie
nor
the
priest
understood
.
After
the
meal
Meggie
went
to
line
the
little
wooden
box
the
boys
had
made
,
planed
smooth
and
varnished
.
Silently
Fee
had
given
her
a
white
satin
evening
gown
long
since
gone
to
the
hue
of
ivory
with
age
,
and
she
fitted
strips
of
it
to
the
hard
contours
of
the
box
interior
.
While
Father
Ralph
put
a
toweling
padding
in
it
she
ran
the
pieces
of
satin
into
shape
on
the
sewing
machine
,
then
together
they
fixed
the
lining
in
place
with
thumbtacks
.
And
after
that
Fee
dressed
her
baby
in
his
best
velvet
suit
,
combed
his
hair
and
laid
him
in
the
soft
nest
which
smelled
of
her
,
but
not
of
Meggie
,
who
had
been
his
mother
.
Paddy
closed
down
the
lid
,
weeping
;
this
was
the
first
child
he
had
lost
.
