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- Колин Маккалоу
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- Стр. 190/535
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No
flowers
smothered
these
coffins
,
and
the
vases
all
around
the
chapel
were
empty
.
What
blossoms
had
survived
the
terrible
heat
of
the
fiery
air
two
nights
ago
had
succumbed
to
the
rain
,
and
laid
themselves
down
against
the
mud
like
ruined
butterflies
.
Not
even
a
stalk
of
bottle
brush
,
or
an
early
rose
.
And
everyone
was
tired
,
so
tired
.
Those
who
had
ridden
the
long
miles
in
the
mud
to
show
their
liking
for
Paddy
were
tired
,
those
who
had
brought
the
bodies
in
were
tired
,
those
who
had
slaved
to
cook
and
clean
were
tired
,
Father
Ralph
was
so
tired
he
felt
as
if
he
moved
in
a
dream
,
eyes
sliding
away
from
Fee
's
pinched
,
hopeless
face
,
Meggie
's
expression
of
mingled
sorrow
and
anger
,
the
collective
grief
of
that
collective
cluster
Bob
,
Jack
and
Hughie
...
He
gave
no
eulogy
;
Martin
King
spoke
briefly
and
movingly
on
behalf
of
those
assembled
,
and
the
priest
went
on
into
the
Requiem
immediately
.
He
had
as
a
matter
of
course
brought
his
chalice
,
his
sacraments
and
a
stole
,
for
no
priest
stirred
without
them
when
he
went
offering
comfort
or
aid
,
but
he
had
no
vestments
with
him
,
and
the
house
possessed
none
.
But
old
Angus
had
called
in
at
the
presbytery
in
Gilly
on
his
way
,
and
carried
the
black
mourning
garb
of
a
Requiem
Mass
wrapped
in
an
oilskin
across
his
saddle
.
So
he
stood
properly
attired
with
the
rain
hissing
against
the
windows
,
drumming
on
the
iron
roof
two
stories
up
.
Then
out
into
it
,
the
grieving
rain
,
across
the
lawn
all
browned
and
scorched
by
heat
,
to
the
little
white-railinged
cemetery
.
This
time
there
were
pallbearers
willing
to
shoulder
the
plain
rectangular
boxes
,
slipping
and
sliding
in
the
mud
,
trying
to
see
where
they
were
going
through
the
rain
beating
in
their
eyes
.
And
the
little
bells
on
the
Chinese
cook
's
grave
tinkled
drably
:
Hee
Sing
,
Hee
Sing
,
Hee
Sing
.
It
got
itself
over
and
done
with
.
The
mourners
departed
on
their
horses
,
backs
hunched
inside
their
oilskins
,
some
of
them
staring
miserably
at
the
prospect
of
ruin
,
others
thanking
God
they
had
escaped
death
and
the
fire
.
And
Father
Ralph
got
his
few
things
together
,
knowing
he
must
go
before
he
could
n't
go
.
He
went
to
see
Fee
,
where
she
sat
at
the
escritoire
staring
mutely
down
at
her
hands
.
"
Fee
,
will
you
be
all
right
?
"
he
asked
,
sitting
where
he
could
see
her
.
She
turned
toward
him
,
so
still
and
quenched
within
her
soul
that
he
was
afraid
,
and
closed
his
eyes
.
"
Yes
,
Father
,
I
'll
be
all
right
.
I
have
the
books
to
keep
,
and
five
sons
left
--
six
if
you
count
Frank
,
only
I
do
n't
suppose
we
can
count
Frank
,
can
we
?
Thank
you
for
that
,
more
than
I
can
ever
say
.
It
's
such
a
comfort
to
me
knowing
your
people
are
watching
out
for
him
,
making
his
life
a
little
easier
.
Oh
,
if
I
could
see
him
,
just
once
!
"
