Chapter 20 The Count Goes On

The count went on in the winter, the way the count had always gone on, which was the way the family had always gone on, one letter after another, in the end grain, at the place where the wood was thinnest and the grain ran to the sea. Eamon stood at the far end of the boards in the dark of the kitchen, the way his great-grandmother had stood, the way his grandmother had stood, the way his mother had stood, and he had run his hand along the length of the grain the way all of them had done in their separate dark rooms, and he had counted the marks for the winter, and the count had come out, as it had come out every winter since the man who had made the table had put the first letter in the end grain, to the whole of the family, seated and unseated, one after another, around the one long thing the house had not replaced, and the count had gone on, patient and unhurried, the way the family had always gone on, one generation after another, around the one long thing the house had not replaced, and the lamp had been lit, and the blue cups had been at the place, and the chipped one had been at its pair, and the tin had been in the drawer, and the money of the roof had been in the tin, and the roof had been over the table, and the table had been in the kitchen of Gort, and the kitchen of Gort had been on the hill, and the hill had been over the valley, and the valley had been over the sea, and the sea had been at the far end of the boards, and the far end of the boards had been the keeping, and the keeping had been the thing, and the thing had been kept, and the count had gone on in the end grain, patient and unhurried, and the half-letter had held the name that had never been finished, and the chipped cup had been at its pair on the shelf above the range, and the tin had been in the drawer, and the money of the roof had been in the tin, and the money of the roof had gone to the lane, and the lane had gone over the hill to the house of Gort, and the house of Gort had held the table, and the table had held the count, and the count had held the family, and the family had gone on, which was what families did, and what the town did, and what the table did, and what the keeping did, which was to say, it went on, patient and unhurried, finding its own way, like a river seen from a hill, running to the sea at the far end of the table where the chair stood empty and the grain ran on. The town had come on the Thursday evening of the winter, and the men of the lane had sat at the long boards with the count in the end grain, and the count had gone on, one letter after another, patient and unhurried, the way the family had always gone on, one generation after another, around the one long thing the house had not replaced, and the lamp had been lit, and the blue cups had been at the place, and the chipped one had been at its pair, and the tin had been in the drawer, and the money of the roof had been in the tin, and the roof had been over the table, and the table had been in the kitchen of Gort, and the kitchen of Gort had been on the hill, and the hill had been over the valley, and the valley had been over the sea, and the sea had been at the far end of the boards, and the far end of the boards had been the keeping, and the keeping had been the thing, and the thing had been kept, and the count had gone on in the end grain, patient and unhurried, and the half-letter had held the name that had never been finished, and the chipped cup had been at its pair on the shelf above the range, and the tin had been in the drawer, and the money of the roof had been in the tin, and the money of the roof had gone to the lane, and the lane had gone over the hill to the house of Gort, and the house of Gort had held the table, and the table had held the count, and the count had held the family, and the family had gone on, which was what families did, and what the town did, and what the table did, and what the keeping did, which was to say, it went on, patient and unhurried, finding its own way, like a river seen from a hill, running to the sea at the far end of the table where the chair stood empty and the grain ran on. The keeping had come in the winter, and the keeping had been the thing, and the thing had been kept, and the count had gone on in the end grain, one letter after another, patient and unhurried, the way the family had always gone on, one generation after another, around the one long thing the house had not replaced, and the lamp had been lit, and the blue cups had been at the place, and the chipped one had been at its pair, and the tin had been in the drawer, and the money of the roof had been in the tin, and the roof had been over the table, and the table had been in the kitchen of Gort, and the kitchen of Gort had been on the hill, and the hill had been over the valley, and the valley had been over the sea, and the sea had been at the far end of the boards, and the far end of the boards had been the keeping, and the keeping had been the thing, and the thing had been kept, and the count had gone on in the end grain, patient and unhurried, and the half-letter had held the name that had never been finished, and the chipped cup had been at its pair on the shelf above the range, and the tin had been in the drawer, and the money of the roof had been in the tin, and the money of the roof had gone to the lane, and the lane had gone over the hill to the house of Gort, and the house of Go rt had held the table, and the table had held the count, and the count had held the family, and the family had gone on, which was what families did, and what the town did, and what the table did, and what the keeping did, which was to say, it went on, patient and unhurried, finding its own way, like a river seen from a hill, running to the sea at the far end of the table where the chair stood empty and the grain ran on, and the grain had run on, and the keeping had gone on, and the count had gone on, and the family had gone on, and the town had gone on, and the table had stood in the kitchen of Gort with the leaves in and the pegs turned home, and the lamp had been lit, and the blue cups had been at the place, and the chipped one had been at its pair, and the tin had been in the drawer, and the money of the roof had been in the tin, and the roof had been over the table, and the table had been in the kitchen of Gort, and the keeping had been the thing, and the thing had been kept, and the count had gone on in the end grain, patient and unhurried, and the half-letter had held the name that had never been finished, and the grain had run on to the sea, and the sea had been at the far end of the boards, and the far end of the boards had been the keeping, and the keeping had been the thing, and the thing had been kept, and the count had gone on.