His wife would want his advancement and certainly she herself would be a hindrance to what she sought. When she first met the Ruttledges she expected them to be bowled over by her personality since they were already friendly with her parents-in-law. They found her exhausting. She drew all her life from what was outside herself, especially from the impression she imagined she was making on other people, and her dark good looks and sexual attractiveness helped this primal conceit. She accepted mere politeness as unqualified endorsements but was quick to dismiss anybody who allowed signs to show that they found her less than entrancing. Her sense of importance and confidence could only be kept alive by the large, closely bound family to which she belonged and to which her husband had been inexorably annexed.
“I’ll get in these last bales and leave you to your evening,” Ruttledge said.
Once all the meadows were empty and clean he refused to turn off the engine. He waved to everybody and blew a kiss to Margaret, who turned away as pleased as she was embarrassed.
“I hope you have a great evening,” he shouted down.
“God bless you for all the help,” Mary said.
“You know I never liked you anyhow,” Jamesie shouted.
“Isn’t he terrible? But you have to admit he’s a character,” Lucy smiled, waving like a queen.
Jim smiled quietly as he waved.
The next morning was heavy and still. The radio said that thundery showers in the south would cross the whole country by evening. Very early in the morning they started to draw in the bales, the wheels of the tractor making bright streams through the cobwebbed grass. Kate insisted on helping. She wore old gloves against the hard binder twine but hadn’t the strength to lift the heavier bales.
“Are you sure you want to be doing this?”
“As long as I’m useful.”
“You are great use. Those bales are heavy though. There’s no use getting hurt.”
They worked steadily. Not until the bales rose high would the lifting become hard and slow. While it was still morning they saw Jamesie and Mary come through the open gate under the alder tree. They were wheeling bicycles and wearing caps with the peaks turned back. Their two dogs were already following trails through the meadow. Their hearts lifted. A weight of heavy repetitious work stretching into the evening rain was suddenly halved and made light.
“A poor old pair slaving away against starvation in the winter,” Jamesie called out.
“Why aren’t you attending to your guests?”
“They’re gone. They went last night. In that car Dublin is only two hours away.”
“We thought they’d stay a few days.”
“No. They went,” Jamesie said carefully. “Jim had to be back at work. The house is too small.”
“Poor Margaret was lost,” Mary said. “She didn’t want to go at all. All she wanted was to be in the meadows with us again today.”
“When you see a child like her you wish for happiness.”
“Then wishing you’ll be. She’ll have to batter it out on her own like the rest of us,” Mary said.
“There’s nothing worse than seeing a lone man in a meadow,” Jamesie said, and burst out laughing when he spotted the gloves Kate was wearing. “God bless you, Kate. You came prepared for winter,” and displayed his own enormous welted hands with pride: “Pure shoe leather!”
The drawing in started to go very quickly. The two women went into the house and brought out a jug of sweetened tea.
“The Shah was right. John Quinn is getting married,” Jamesie said, resting on the bales.
“He was like a hen on a hot griddle until he found out,” Mary said. “It was a sweet charity someone got to hear something for once before he did. As soon as you were gone he got Jim to drive him down to Shruhaun. Lucy was fit to be tied. She thought they’d never come back.”
“We had only two drinks,” Jamesie said. “The place was packed. There was a great welcome for Jim. John Quinn was there like a cat with cream, people congratulating him and slapping him on the back, buying him drinks. It’d nearly make you die. He got her out of the Knock Bureau all right. Her family is dead set against the match. That’s why the wedding is here. She has three sons, a big farm and money. We’re all going to be invited. He’s not going to send out anything as ignorant as invitations. John himself is coming round on all the good neighbours and inviting us all personally. You can expect a visit. We had a most wonderful time.”
“Had Jim drinks?” Ruttledge enquired.
“Just the two but Lucy was wild. She bundled everybody into the car the minute they got back,” Mary laughed. “I’d say your ears were well warmed on the way back to Dublin if you could hear.”
“I’ll recover,” he said. “Some of these ones are just too precise. They think the whole world revolves round their whatnot.”
As the stacks disappeared from the meadows and the shed filled, the sun coming and going behind the dark, racing clouds, they were able to stack the last loads at their ease, chatting and idling. The birds had gone quiet. The hum of the insects was still. Swallows were sweeping low above the empty meadows. The wing beats of swans crossing between the lakes came on the still air and they counted seven in formation before they disappeared below the screen of trees. For such elegant creatures of the air and the water, their landing was loud and clumsy.
They were lingering and tidying up, with hours of space and weather to spare, when Bill Evans came through the gate and lumbered over to the packed shed. He was wearing the huge wellingtons but no overcoat, wide braces crossing the shirt of mattress ticking. The braces were connected to the voluminous tweed trousers with nails instead of buttons.
“Ye got on great,” he praised.
“Anybody with meadows yet to mow is late,” Jamesie said provocatively.
“There’ll be plenty of weather yet,” he defended his own house stubbornly.
“That’s right. Give him no heed, Bill,” Mary took his part. “When will the bus start taking you to town?”
“Every Thursday from now on,” he said importantly.
“They’ll wash your whatnot when they get you to town,” Jamesie said. “You’ll never be the same again.”
“You’re a pure disgust, Jamesie. They will run you out of the parish yet. It’s a wonder Mary has put up with you for so long,” he responded ringingly.
“What else can I do, Bill? I’m stuck with him now,” Mary said.
“That’s all that is saving him,” he grinned.
The two women left to go into the house and he followed them as trustingly as a child.
“Lord bless us,” Jamesie said. “They treat him worse than a dog and yet he’d die on the cross for them if you said as much as a word. He’ll have great times in the town. He’ll devour everything in sight. He’ll eat and drink rings round him. He’ll fatten,” Jamesie said in glee. “Sometimes I think he’s as happy as anybody.”
The words hung in the air a moment without meeting agreement or disagreement: it was as if they both knew secretly that there was no certainty as to what constituted the happiness or unhappiness of another.
“Would you change places with him?”
“No.”
“Would he change places with you?”
“Like a shot.”
“I doubt it. Nobody will change lives with another. Anyhow it’s not possible.”