— … “Nell’s little house is an ugly hovel
And she has no conscience in whispering lies.
She had the fever there but won’t admit it,
And if the plague will hit you it will end your life …”
— … There was only the one son, Pádraig, in Caitríona’s house.
— Two daughters of hers died …
— Three of them died. There was another one in America: Cáit …
— It’s well I remember her, Muraed. I twisted my ankle the day she left …
— Baba promised Pádraig Chaitríona that he wouldn’t see a day’s hardship for the rest of his life if he married Big Brian’s Mag. Caitríona had an undying hatred of Big Brian, as she had of his dog and his daughter as well. But Mag was to get a big dowry, and Caitríona thought Baba would be more inclined to leave all her money in Caitríona’s own house on account of Mag. To get the better of Nell …
— … “’Twas in Caitríona’s house that Ba-a-ba took sh-e-elter
Till Pádraig re-e-jected Big Brian’s Mag.
’Tis Nó-ra Sheáinín has the neat-handed daugh-ter,
I lo-oved her always without go-old or land …”
— High for Mangy Field! …
— Nóra Sheáinín’s daughter was a fine-looking woman, by God …
— … That’s what turned Caitríona against your daughter from the beginning, Nóra Sheáinín. This talk about the dowry is only an excuse. Since the day your daughter stepped into her house married to her son, she went at her like a young dog with its paw on its food when another one challenges it. Didn’t you often have to come over from Mangy Field, Nóra …
— … “Ere the morning grew o-old Nóra Sheáinín came o-over …”
— Oh my! We’re getting to an exciting part of the story now, Muraed, aren’t we! The hero is married to his sweetheart. But the other woman is still there in the background. She’s defeated in battle now, but there are more upsets to come … anonymous letters, insinuations about the hero’s affairs, murder maybe, divorce for certain … Oh my! …
— … “I wouldn’t marry Big Brian,” said Caitríona’s kitten …”
Put in another line yourself now …
— “‘To scald him you tried,’ said the kitten of Nell …
— ‘His daughter I’d marry,’ said Caitríona’s kitten …
— ‘I won’t give you the chance,’ said the kitten of Nell.”
—’Tis well I remember, Muraed, the day Peadar Nell married Big Brian’s Mag. I twisted my ankle …
— … “’Twas in Caitríona’s house that Ba-a-ba took she-e-elter
Till Pádraig re-e-jected Big Brian’s Mag …”
— It hurt Caitríona even more that Baba moved up to Nell’s house than that Nell’s son got the money and the dowry promised to her own son Pádraig …
—’Tis well I remember, Muraed, the day Baba Pháidín went back to America. Cutting hay in the Red Meadow I was when I saw them coming down towards me from Nell’s house. I ran over to say goodbye to her. I’ll be damned but as I jumped a double ditch didn’t I twist …
— Would you say, Muraed, it’s twenty years since Baba Pháidín went back to America? …
— Sixteen years she’s gone. But Caitríona never took her eye off the will. That’s what has kept her from being in her grave long ago. The satisfaction she got from snarling at her son’s wife gave her a new lease of life …
— Yes, Muraed, and her obsession with going to funerals.
— And Tomás Inside’s land….
— … Listen now, Curraoin:
“Much altar-money was small consolation …”
— Don’t pay any heed to that brat, Curraoin. He’s not able to compose poetry …
— The story is pretty flat now, Muraed. Honest. I thought there’d be much more excitement …
— … Listen, Curraoin. Listen to the second line:
“And a good pound grave, will’s proud donation …”
— … Honest, Muraed. I thought there’d be murder, and at least one divorce. But Dotie can analyse all my misjudgements …
— … I have it, by Heavens, Curraoin. Listen now:
“A cross on my grave will make Nell’s poor heart pine,
And in graveyard’s cold clay grief’s triumph is mine …”
8
Hello Muraed … Can you hear me, Muraed? … Hasn’t Nóra Sheáinín a nerve, talking to a schoolmaster … But of course she is, Muraed. Everyone knows she’s my in-law. I wouldn’t mind but in a place like this where there’s no privacy and nobody has any discretion. Good God above! A bitch! She’s a bitch! She always was a bitch. When she was in service in Brightcity before she got married, they say — we renounce her! — that she was keeping company with a sailor …
Of course I did, Muraed … I told him. “Pádraig dear,” says I, like this. “That one from Mangy Field you’re so eager to marry, did you hear that her mother used to keep company with a sailor in Brightcity?”
“What harm?” says he.
“But Pádraig,” says I, “Sailors …”
“Huh! Sailors,” says he. “Can’t a sailor be as decent as any man? I know who this girl’s mother was going out with in Brightcity, but America’s farther off and I don’t know who Big Brian’s Mag was going out with over there. A black, maybe …”
Of course, Muraed, the only reason I asked my son to bring a daughter of Big Brian’s into my house was that I didn’t want to give Nell the satisfaction of getting the money. By God, Muraed, I had good reason for not liking Big Brian’s daughter. The night Nell got married, that’s what the pussface threw in my face. “Since I have Jack,” she says, the pussface, “we’ll leave Big Brian for you, Caitríona.”
Believe you me, Muraed, those few words hurt me more than all the other wrongs she did me put together. That remark was like a plague of weasels snarling back and forth through my mind and spitting venom. I didn’t get it out of my head till the day I died. I didn’t, Muraed. Every time I’d see Big Brian I’d think of that night, of the room at home, of that mocking grin on Nell’s face in the arms of Jack the Scológ. Every time I’d see a son or daughter of Big Brian’s I’d think of that night. Every time anyone mentioned Big Brian I’d think of it … the room … the grin … Nell in the arms of Jack the Scológ! … in the arms of Jack the Scológ …
Big Brian asked me twice, Muraed. I never told you that … What’s this you said Nóra Sheáinín calls it? The eternal triangle … the eternal triangle … That’s like her stupid grin all right … But, Muraed, I didn’t tell you … You’re mistaken. I’m not that sort of person, Muraed. I’m no gossip. One thing about me, anything I saw or heard, I carried it into the graveyard clay with me. But it’s no harm to talk about it now that we’re on the way of eternal truth25 … He asked me twice, indeed. The first time he came I was no more than twenty. My father wanted me to move in there. “Big Brian is a good hard-working man with a warm house and a fat purse,” he says.
“I wouldn’t marry him,” says I, “if I had to get the loan of the shawl from Nell and stand in the middle of the fair.”
“Why not?” says my father.
“The ugly streak of misery,” says I. “Look at the goaty beard on him. Look at the buckteeth. Look at the stopped-up nose. Look at the club-foot. Look at his dirty little hovel of a house. Look at the layers of filth on him. He’s three times my age. He could be my grandfather.”
It was true for me. He was nearing fifty then. He’s nearing the hundred now, and still above ground, without a day’s illness, apart from the odd twinge of rheumatism. He was going for the pension every Friday when I was still above ground. The ugly streak of misery! …