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224 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1977
‘Can’t you leave him be? There’s no other boy in Derry had to take his old father around with him wherever he went. Making a show of him.’
‘They were always glad to see me, so they were . . . Always listened. Always engaged me in edifying conversation. They had time for me.’
‘Well, tonight they’ll have a bit of peace.’
‘You’re hard.’
‘It’s better to be hard than soft in the head.’
There was no reply to that one . . . The old man’s head drooped towards his chest. Some small worm of pity moved inside Joe.
‘Maybe he has a girl,’ he said and was instantly appalled by the words, by the possibility of the truth in the words, by the possibility . . .
A road to the right wandered down the hill toward the river. He went with it. Smoke streamed from the high chimneys of the power station on the other bank of the river. A curve of grey and white houses formed a bay, and boats rocked gently on its sheltered water. He sat down on a wall and looked at it all. Beyond the houses the river opened out wide into the lough and then somewhere far away there was the sea. The world. The real world. Perhaps it was all the same. Perhaps everywhere you went people were lost, searching with desperation for something they would never find. Mutilating themselves and each other in their desperation. There was no safety. A bird got up slowly from the field below him, ungainly for a moment and then soaring with a perfection that took your breath away. The song he had heard in her room came into his head.
I see the last black swan
Fly past the sun,
I wish I too were gone
Back home again.