The Narrator’s Father Character Analysis

I was standing over the rabbit when I saw the grey body of the stoat slithering away like a snake into the long grass. The rabbit still did not move, but its crying ceased…It did not stir when I stooped. Never before did I hold such pure terror in my hands, the body trembling in a rigidity of terror. I stilled it with a single stroke.

Then as I crossed to the next tee I saw the stoat cross the fairway following me still…As I made my way back to the cottage my father rented every August, twice I saw the stoat, following the rabbit still, though it was dead.

All night the rabbit must have raced from warren to warren, the stoat on its trail. Plumper rabbits had crossed the stoat’s path but it would not be deflected; it had marked down this one rabbit to kill. No matter how fast the rabbit raced, the stoat was still on its trail, and at last the rabbit sat down in terror and waited for the stoat to slither up and cut the vein behind the ear. I had heard it crying as the stoat was drinking its blood.

My father was reading the death notices on the back of the Independent on the lawn of the cottage. He always read the death notices first, and then, after he had exhausted the news and studied the ads for teachers, he’d pore over the death notices again.

“Another colleague who was in Drumcondra the same year as myself has gone to his reward”

…I held up the rabbit by way of answer.

“Where did you get that?”

“A stoat was killing it on the links.”

“That’s what they do. Why did you bring it back?”

“I just brought it. The crying gave me a fright.”

At their age, or any age, I thought their formality strange, and I an even stranger chaperone.

“Why do you want me to come with you?” I had asked.

“It’d look more decent – proper – and I’d be grateful if you’d come. Next year you’ll be a qualified doctor with a life of your own.”

“Would you take it very much to heart if I decided to marry again?”

“Of course I wouldn’t. Why do you ask?”

“I was afraid you might be affronted by the idea of another woman holding the position your dear mother held.”

“Mother is dead. You should do exactly as you want to.”

“You have no objections, then?”

“None whatever”

“I wouldn’t even think of going ahead it you’d any objections.”

“Well, you can rest assured, then. I have none. Have you someone in mind?”

“No I don’t.”

He offered me a sheet of paper on which was written in his clear, careful hand: Teacher, fifty-two. Seeks companionship. View marriage. “What do you think of it?” he asked.

“I think it’s fine.” Dismay cancelled a sudden wild impulse to roar with laughter.

“I’ll send it off, then, so.”

After about a month he showed me the response. A huge pile of envelopes lay on his desk. I was amazed. I had no idea that so much unfulfilled longing wandered around in the world. Replies came from…childless widows, widows with small children, house owners, car owners…and a woman who had left at twenty years of age to work at Fords of Dagenham who wanted to come home.

“My God, if you hang round long enough you see everything.”

My uncle combed his fingers through his long greying hair. He was a distinguished man and his confidence and energy could be intimidating. “At least, if he does get married, it’ll get him off your back.”

“He’s all right,” I replied defensively. “I’m well used to him by now.”

I met Miss McCabe in the lobby of the Ormond Hotel…They sat in front of me, very stiffly and properly, like two well-dressed, well-behaved children seeking adult approval. She was small and frail and nervous…Though old, she was like a girl, in love with being in love…

“Well, what was your impression?” he asked me when we were alone.

“I think Miss McCabe is a decent, good person,” I said uncomfortably.

“Do you think she has her feet on the ground?”

“I think you are very lucky to have found her,” I said. The way he looked at me told me he was far from convinced that he had been lucky.

The next morning he looked at me in a more dissatisfied manner still when a girl came from the Seaview to report that Miss McCabe had a mild turn during the night... The look on his face told me that he was more than certain now that she was not rooted enough.

“Will you come with me?”

“It is yourself she wants to see.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Clear out,” he said. “There is no other way.”

As if all the irons were suddenly being truly struck and were flowing from all directions to the heart of the green, I saw that my father had started to run like the poor rabbit. He would have been better off if he could have tried to understand something, even though it would get him off nothing…Because I was ashamed of him I carried everything he wanted to the car.