jherbert.sepulchre-第53节
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d。 And here he was with his father； and Dadda was being torn apart by bullets； his eyes bulging with disbelief while his son； Liam； urinated unknowingly into the stream； the father falling then looking up at the boy； pleading or was it warning？…telling him to run； to get away from there before the gunmen turned their weapons on him； too； only unable to speak； his own blood choking his words。 His father crawling to the bank； collapsing there； the masked Irishmen stepping on him； drowning him； shooting Dadda again。 Halloran blinked； long and hard； but the visions would not disappear。 Scenes from his military service； the killings； the terrible battle at Mirbat； the disillusionment with it all； the women who had drifted in and out of his life； the mother he had e to revile because of the craziness inside her head； the beatings he had dealt to others of his age who dared mock her affliction； and who dared spit the word 'Britisher' as a curse at mention of his father； even though Dadda's birthplace was County Cork…and the beatings Liam received when his anger and frustration were no use against the gangs who taunted him。 Halloran staggered with the intensity of it all。 A blurred figure appeared； walking towards him through the hallucinations； the recognitions； arms out to him； calling his name beseechingly； and he could feel his Mam weeping； although she was but a spectre； not yet clear in his vision。 She drifted through the eidetic imagery； ing closer； her voice faint； begging for his embrace。 And as she drew near； dissolving in and out of projections of his past； her head was distorting； being bent and twisted； as were her hands； pulping and spurting blood； as they had when she'd deliberately walked into the threshing machine on a neighbour's farm her arms and upper body churned by the machinery； her head smashed and almost lopped off 。 。 。 as it was now； tilting； collapsing； hanging by bloody threads on her chest。 Halloran screamed。 But the memories were relentless。 There was the big priest； Father O'Connell； warning Liam that the wildness had to stop； that the Good Lord Jesus would punish the boy for his wickedness； that his cankered soul would be damned eternally into Hell。 The priest came at him unbuckling the thick strap he wore around his waist； winding the buckle end around his fist； raising his arm to flail the boy； the man pity as well as fury raging in his eyes。 Then gone； before the black…robed priest could bring down the leather scourge。 Replaced by one of the gunmen who had murdered Liam's father； the cousin of Liam's mother。 A man she had accused all those years ago； her accusations laughed off； sneered at。 And here he was； sneering at Halloran again； a ghost not exorcised； even though the man had blown himself up a few years after the killing； along with a panion； the homemade bomb they had been carrying in the back of their car towards the border too delicate…or too faulty…for the rough； pitted lanes they had chosen to travel； the jigging and jogging causing wires to touch or to dislodge so that the boyos were blown sky…high； and the only person to celebrate the occasion was Liam； who could not understand how the assassin of his father could be venerated as a hero by the local townspeople； blessed by the Holy Roman Catholic Church when his bits and pieces had been returned for burial on consecrated ground； Father O'Connell himself pleading God's bountiful mercy for this poor unfortunate's soul； speaking of him as a martyr to the Cause； this killer who had robbed Liam of Dadda； who had laughed and sneered Mam to her death； who sneered at him now in this very room。 Halloran yelled his outrage at the apparition； shaking with the emotion； every muscle and cord in his body stiffened rigid。 Then it all began to darken and fade； the memories slipping away； fresh ones barely glimpsed until one bright spot remained； it seemed a great distance away； too far to be within the walls of the house itself。 It grew in size； ing forward； the movement steady； a gliding； the object soon recognisable； its surrounds slowly filtering through； misty at first； but gaining substance。 The tabernacle was on an altar； the altar itself raised above three broad steps； before the steps a munion rail； the kneeling cushions and then the pews on either side of the centre aisle。 Liam； a youth； creeping towards the front of the church； in one hand a metal can from his grandfather's workshed； in the other a lit devotional candle。 He swung over the low rail； leaving the candle on top； and mounted the steps。 Doubt； guilt fear…urged him to open the tabernacle； to save the chalice containing the munion wafers he knew Father O'Connell always prepared the night before early Sunday mass； but he didn't； too afraid to do so； for it would be like opening the door to God； Himself； inviting Him to witness the sacrilege Liam was about to mit； and perhaps God…if any such creature really existed might take away the hatred； the one emotion Liam did not want to lose； because it gave him his life objective； it overcame grief and insecurity； if only for a short while。 He tipped the can and poured petrol over altar and steps； retrieving the candle and holding it aloft； well away from the inflammable liquid he splashed along the aisle。 Eyes almost blinded with tears； Liam dropped the candle into the puddle near his feet。 The fire sped away from him and now he was outside； face bathed in a warm glow； gazing in stupefied awe with the other townspeople as their beloved church perished in flames that might have been sent from Hell itself。 And Father O'Connell could not be held back。 He broke away from his flock and ran into the church； was gone for long minutes； an eternity； while the men outside moaned； the women wailed； and then he was bursting through the doors； the Holy Chalice clasped in his seared hands； but he was alight； his clothes； his hair； his skin on fire。 He staggered on the church steps； and the people his people…were afraid to go near； as if they would be contaminated； the flames would engulf them too。 The priest screamed and he shrieked and he raised his arms up to the night； the chalice falling to the concrete； spilling its contents。 The crowd moaned as one when Father O'Connell slumped to his knees。 They cried aloud when he pitched forward onto his face。 His body flared； a fireball without shape； and Liam's screamed Noooooooo became Halloran's as he stood in the centre of the room； hands striking the air as if to erase the memories； to banish the dreams。
He stumbled back against the wall； the open doorway beside him。 The worst of the stench came to him then； a smell so malodorous it was almost choking。 He cupped a hand to his。 mouth and nose； blinking away wetness in his eyes。 His whole body was damp； his clothes clinging； and it was only with considerable effort that he kept his legs straight。 The urge to sink to the floor had to be fought against； for he was overe with weariness and confusion； he resisted； acutely aware that there was danger all around him in this room； in this house。
The torch was lying several feet away； its thin beam pointed at the wall opposite； revealing only a strip of torn wallpaper。 He could just make out the shape of the black bag he'd also dropped lying close by。
In a crouch； his senses still not recovered from the onslaught they had received； Halloran moved forward and grabbed both items； then scrambled backwards so that he leaned against the wall once more。 He broadened the light beam to take in a bigger area。
The floor was littered with rubbish and filth； a threadbare carpet； corners curled covering a minimal section of bare boards。 The walls were stained； the faded paper hanging in tatters； to one side were cupboards； the wood cracked and dull。 A small table and chair were to his left； a few paces away； on the table…top a plate on which remains of a meal had furred green。 I…C° noticed that the ceiling light socket had no bulb； the ceiling itself bulging in places； and pockmarked with dark fungi。 Mustiness from that fungi contributed to the room's pungency； the rest was a mixture of urine； stale faeces； and sweetness。
The wide beam lingered around the room's single window； whose curtains were rendered grey by dust。 A high…backed armchair faced the window。 Wiry stuffing； like internal organs； spilled from holes in its upholstery。 He knew that it was from here that the lodge…keeper watched the estate's gates。 But Halloran could not see if the chair was occupied。 Several seconds went by before he determined to find out。
He edged past the doorway； keeping to the wall； moving to a position from where he could shine the beam directly into the chair。 Shadows shifted also； stirred by the changing light。 The angle improved as he drew closer； yet somehow he was reluctant to discover who sat there； his mind scarcely coping with the hallucinations it had already been bombarded with； he knew； though； that he could not leave the room without confronting the lodge…keeper。
He reached the corner； his shoulder brushing mould and dust from the mildewed wall； and raised the torch so that it shone directly into the seat。 Both relief and disappointment swept through him when he found it empty。
But a faint disturbance w
