excerpt
pale face twisted as if in a devilish agony that he could not feel because the hell-fire in his belly numbed it.
The upstairs room was silent. Only an occasional creak of the floor as Clifford or Una or Mother Ross moved around the bed. Michael would sooner have been able to banish Caitlin’s agony from his thoughts but that was impossible. He sat in the chair and stretched his legs across the hearth. His foot knocked over the empty poteen bottle. He let it lie. To reach down and set it upright would have taken more effort than it was worth. His hand sought the glass instead, but his forearm found it first and knocked it off the chair. It fell with a crash on the stone-flagged floor.
‘Stupid glipe,’ Michael chided himself.
His head fell backwards onto the high back of the chair. His eyes flickered shut like a baby’s. In five minutes he was noisily asleep.
‘Michael. Michael. Wake up.’
He struggled back to consciousness, forcing his aching eyes to open. Fuzzily he saw Mother Ross leaning towards him. ‘Michael. Michael. Wake up.’
Sleepily he sat up in the chair. His neck was stiff; his head was sore. ‘Mother Ross,’ he muttered. ‘It’s you.’ Then suddenly he remembered everything and leapt to his feet. ‘Mother Ross. The baby? Caitlin? How’s Caitlin?’
‘Michael, Clifford wants you to fetch Father Mullan.’ Mother Ross looked worn out. Her face was pale and forlorn; her eyes red-rimmed and sore, her forehead puckered in a frown.
‘Caitlin?’ Michael screamed. ‘Caitlin? How’s Caitlin? For God’s sake, Mother Ross.’
‘We think that Caitlin’s all right, Michael.’ Mother Ross began to weep.
‘You think!’ cried Michael. ‘Oh my God. And the baby?’ Michael was close to weeping himself, keeping back the tears with an effort. His throat was tightly constricted. He could hardly speak. ‘What about the baby?’
‘We don’t know, Michael.’ Mother Ross forced the words out. ‘She’s having convulsions. She’s been having them for an hour or more. Clifford doesn’t think she’s going to last out the night.’
Michael felt unaccountably composed. He held Mother Ross close to his heaving chest and gently patted her back. Then a tear broke free from each eye and rolled down his cheeks. They dropped on to Mother Ross’s gingery grey hair. Neither Michael nor the old woman spoke till Mother Ross’s sobbing had stopped.
Libros Libertad 