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were no letters sent between himself and Martha. There is a reference that my mother makes to Gearóid about Patrick’s domestic life. She says he has gone in on himself a lot, that he rarely socialises and spends most of his time, either locked away in his study, or pottering about in his glasshouse trying to grow exotic plants from seeds.
    My mother did not accompany him to Washington. He was only away for a short while, she said when I enquired. ‘It was during the War, don’t you know?’
    ‘You used to talk about America, Mam,’ I said, trying to draw her out, ‘the opportunities.’
    ‘America!’ She looked shocked. ‘What would I be going there for? There’s no morality there.’
    It appears that Patrick was going through a depression at the time, and perhaps saw his recall from Spain as a demotion (despite the fact that most diplomats are moved around every three or four years to prevent them from ‘going native’, and to reacquaint them with policies at home). He refers in his diaries to vague, unsubstantiated innuendo in diplomatic circles which questioned his professional competence, alleging that he posed a threat to the delicate balance of Irish neutrality. And he makes a number of references to his private life being his own. Normally a taciturn man in matters concerning his career, Patrick now became outspoken and expressed his anger at the practice of politically appointing some ambassadors. He made it known that he considered this practice unfair to career diplomats who had spent years in office gaining valuable experience. But behind all this ranting there was a deeper reason for his demise, to do with Jiménez who was never far from his mind and who obviously continued to hold sway over him. One can almost hear his words shouted through the ink: ‘JJ, he will be my undoing’.
    In the meantime a world war was raging, and Patrick hardly made a reference to it. Perhaps he was seeking a reprieve. I mean can one just leave one war and land directly in the middle of another? Is that the continuity that the world seeks?
    But it was Madrid he went back to. It was always Spain he requested.
    Wars, however, appear to like continuities as do families. But continued years of war proved as barren for my parents as they did for the European landscape. Nevertheless, despite the time passing, my mother still lived with expectation, and Patrick still pursued his studies on impotence, maintaining his correspondence with Beltrán.
    Patrick’s impotence, it seems, was psychogenic. It is obvious he was not sterile. It appears he was unable to maintain an erection long enough to ejaculate inside a woman:
    There could be difficulties with M. She is totally opposed to any sort of experimentation in this area. She believes scientific meddling interferes with the natural order of things. I understand her sensitivity, but are we not meant to use our intelligence to improve our lot? If we are to accept her logic, does that mean we should stand by in hopelessness and watch a quarter of our population being wiped out by consumption? Are we to ignore scientific research? She says having a child is not the be all and end all, that there’s a special blessing for marriages that are chaste. I shall have a job working on her.
    ***
    It is also clear now that this man, my putative father, had sexual difficulties even at the time of his honeymoon. He refers back in his diary to the island of Cies. He is quite open, almost scientific, as if he is taking stock of relative potency:
    The coitus on the island was really more of an intimacy than the physical act proper. I had difficulty in staying erect. M was so understanding, but she does not know a lot. It cannot be due to any lack of physical beauty before my eyes, for she is indeed beautiful. Or perhaps it is the proximity of the physical that deters me. I have been used to inanimate visual stimulation. Something inhibits me. Is it to do with religion? A repressed upbringing? I