--Metempsychosis?

--Yes. Who's he when he's at home?

--Metempsychosis, he said, frowning. It's Greek: from the Greek. That
means the transmigration of souls.

--O, rocks! she said. Tell us in plain words.

He smiled, glancing askance at her mocking eyes. The same young eyes. The
first night after the charades. Dolphin's Barn. He turned over the
smudged pages. RUBY: THE PRIDE OF THE RING. Hello. Illustration. Fierce
Italian with carriagewhip. Must be Ruby pride of the on the floor naked.
Sheet kindly lent. THE MONSTER MAFFEI DESISTED AND FLUNG HIS VICTIM FROM
HIM WITH AN OATH. Cruelty behind it all. Doped animals. Trapeze at
Hengler's. Had to look the other way. Mob gaping. Break your neck and
we'll break our sides. Families of them. Bone them young so they
metamspychosis. That we live after death. Our souls. That a man's soul
after he dies. Dignam's soul ...

--Did you finish it? he asked.

--Yes, she said. There's nothing smutty in it. Is she in love with the
first fellow all the time?

--Never read it. Do you want another?

--Yes. Get another of Paul de Kock's. Nice name he has.

She poured more tea into her cup, watching it flow sideways.

Must get that Capel street library book renewed or they'll write to
Kearney, my guarantor. Reincarnation: that's the word.

--Some people believe, he said, that we go on living in another body
after death, that we lived before. They call it reincarnation. That we
all lived before on the earth thousands of years ago or some other
planet. They say we have forgotten it. Some say they remember their past
lives.

The sluggish cream wound curdling spirals through her tea. Bette remind
her of the word: metempsychosis. An example would be better. An example?

The BATH OF THE NYMPH over the bed. Given away with the Easter number of
PHOTO BITS: Splendid masterpiece in art colours. Tea before you put milk
in. Not unlike her with her hair down: slimmer. Three and six I gave for
the frame. She said it would look nice over the bed. Naked nymphs:
Greece: and for instance all the people that lived then.

He turned the pages back.

--Metempsychosis, he said, is what the ancient Greeks called it. They
used to believe you could be changed into an animal or a tree, for
instance. What they called nymphs, for example.

Her spoon ceased to stir up the sugar. She gazed straight before her,
inhaling through her arched nostrils.

--There's a smell of burn, she said. Did you leave anything on the fire?

--The kidney! he cried suddenly.

He fitted the book roughly into his inner pocket and, stubbing his toes
against the broken commode, hurried out towards the smell, stepping
hastily down the stairs with a flurried stork's legs. Pungent smoke shot
up in an angry jet from a side of the pan. By prodding a prong of the
fork under the kidney he detached it and turned it turtle on its back.
Only a little burnt. He tossed it off the pan on to a plate and let the
scanty brown gravy trickle over it.

Cup of tea now. He sat down, cut and buttered a slice of the loaf. He
shore away the burnt flesh and flung it to the cat. Then he put a forkful
into his mouth, chewing with discernment the toothsome pliant meat. Done
to a turn. A mouthful of tea. Then he cut away dies of bread, sopped one
in the gravy and put it in his mouth. What was that about some young
student and a picnic? He creased out the letter at his side, reading it
slowly as he chewed, sopping another die of bread in the gravy and
raising it to his mouth.


Dearest Papli

Thanks ever so much for the lovely birthday present. It suits me
splendid. Everyone says I am quite the belle in my new tam. I got mummy's
Iovely box of creams and am writing. They are lovely. I am getting on
swimming in the photo business now. Mr Coghlan took one of me and Mrs.
Will send when developed. We did great biz yesterday. Fair day and all
the beef to the heels were in. We are going to lough Owel on Monday with
a few friends to make a scrap picnic. Give my love to mummy and to
yourself a big kiss and thanks. I hear them at the piano downstairs.
There is to be a concert in the Greville Arms on Saturday. There is a
young student comes here some evenings named Bannon his cousins or
something are big swells and he sings Boylan's (I was on the pop of
writing Blazes Boylan's) song about those seaside girls. Tell him silly
Milly sends my best respects. I must now close with fondest love


Your fond daughter, MILLY.




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