— … “Nell’s house is only a rotting hovel
She needn’t bother be spouting lies
The fever was there, no use denying it
If that plague gets you, you’ll surely die …”
— … Caitriona only had one son in the house, Padd …
— Two daughters of hers died …
— No, three did. Another one in America. Kate …
— I remember her well, Margaret. I twisted my ankle the day she left …
— Baba promised Caitriona’s Paddy that she wouldn’t see him short for the rest of his days if he married Blotchy Brian’s Maggie. Caitriona really hated Blotchy Brian’s guts, and she was the same way with her dog and her daughter. But she had a big dowry, and Caitriona had a notion that Baba would more than fancy leaving money in her house as a result. Just to best Nell …
— … “Baba was holed up in Cat-rion-a’s house
Until Paddy rejected the Blotchy’s Maggie.
Nora Johnny has a lovely fair maiden
Without cows or gold I took her fancy …”
— High for Gort Ribbuck! …
— Nora Johnny’s daughter was a fine piece of work, I swear …
— … That’s what turned Caitriona against your daughter in the first place, Nora Johnny. All that old guff about the dowry is only an excuse. From the day your daughter stepped into her house, married to her son, she had it in for her like a pup with his paw on a bone and another pup trying to whip it from him. How often did you have to come over from Gort Ribbuck, Nora …
— … “Each morning that broke, Nora Johnny came over the way …”
— Oh my! We’re getting to the exciting part of the story now, Margaret, aren’t we? The hero is married to his sweetheart. But there’s another woman lurking away in the background. She’s been wounded by the conflict, and there will be lots of trouble ahead … Anonymous letters, sly gossip about the hero, maybe a murder yet, certainly a divorce … Oh! My! …
— … “‘I wouldn’t marry Blotchy Brian,’ said Caitriona’s kitty …”
Add a few lines to that yourself …
—“‘But you thought for to hurt him,’ said Nell’s kitty back …”
—“‘But I’d marry his daughter,’ said Caitriona’s puss to that.”
—“Said Nell’s kitty then, ‘That’s a chance you won’t get.’”
— It pissed Caitriona off even more that Baba took off and stayed in Nell’s house more than Nell’s son got the money and the dowry that had been promised to her own Paddy …
— I remember well, Margaret, the day that Baba Paudeen went back to America. I was cutting hay above in the Red Meadow when I saw them coming down from Nell’s house. I ran over to say good-bye to them. As God is my witness, just as I was jumping across the furrowed dyke, I twisted my …
— Don’t you think, Margaret, isn’t it twenty years since Baba Paudeen went back to America? …
— She’s gone sixteen years. But Caitriona never took her beady eye off the will. If it wasn’t for that she’d be dead a long time ago. It added years to her life to be badmouthing her son’s wife …
— Yes, Margaret, and the pleasure she got in going to funerals all the time.
— And Fireside Tom’s land …
— … Listen to me now, Curran:
“A great big altar as a kind compensation …”
— Don’t mind that little scut, Curran. Sure, he couldn’t compose a line of poetry …
— The story is getting a bit boring now, Margaret. Honest. I thought they’d be a lot more hassle by now …
— … Listen, Curran. Listen to the second line:
“And to add to my pride, to be in the Pound Place …”
— … Honest, Margaret. I thought there’d be at least a murder and a divorce. But Dotie can assess every prejudice …
— … By japers, I have it now Curran. Listen:
“The cross above me will drive Nell to distraction
And in the cemetery clay I’ll have won the race …”
8.
— Hoora, Margaret! … Can you hear me, Margaret? … Nora Johnny has no shame talking to a schoolmaster … Of course, that’s true, Margaret. Of course, everyone knows she’s my inlaw. You wouldn’t mind but there is no place here you can get a bit of privacy, or get out of the way. Sweet God almighty! A bitch! A bitch! She was always a bitch. That time when she was a skivvy in the Fancy City before she got married they used to say — we don’t want to even think about it! — that she used to hang around with a sailor …
Sure thing, Margaret … I said it to him. “Patrick, my darling,” I said, just like this. “That thing from Gort Ribbuck that you are determined to marry, did you hear that her mother was hanging around with a sailor in the Fancy City?”
“So what?” he said.
“Ah, Patrick,” I said. “Sailors, you know …”
“Hu! Sailors,” he said. “Couldn’t a sailor be just as good as any other person? I know who this girl’s mother was hooking up with in the Fancy City, but that’s a long way from America, and I haven’t the faintest clue who Blotchy Brian’s Maggie was knocking around with over there. With a black, maybe …”
Sure thing, Margaret. If it wasn’t that she couldn’t warm to Nell and didn’t want to give her the money, there’s some chance that I’d let my son bring a daughter of Blotchy Brian into my house. I swear, I could have been fond of Blotchy Brian’s daughter. The night that Nell got married, that’s what the cow threw in my face. “I have Jack,” she said, “You can have Blotchy Brian now, Caitriona.”
Do you know what, Margaret, but those few words hurt me far more than all the other wrongs she did me. What she said was like a plague of stoats buzzing back and forth through my brain spitting out venomous snots. They never left my head up to the day I died. They never did, Margaret. Every time I saw Blotchy Brian I’d think of that night in the room at home, and on the gloating grin on Nell’s puss because of Jack the Lad. Every time I’d see Brian’s son or daughter, I’d think of that night. Every time somebody even mentioned Blotchy Brian, I’d remember it … on the room … on the grin … on Nell in Jack the Lad’s arms! … in Jack the Lad’s arms …
Blotchy Brian asked me twice, Margaret. I never told you that … What’s that Nora Johnny calls it? … The eternal triangle … the eternal triangle … That was her silly shite, alright … But, Margaret, I didn’t tell you, did I? … You’re mistaken. I’m not that kind of a person, Margaret. I’m not a blabbermouth. Anything that’s my own business, anything I saw or heard, I took it into the clay with me. But there’s no harm talking about it now when we are gone the way of all flesh …
He asked me twice, I’m telling you. The first time I was hardly more than twenty. My father was trying to get me to do it. “Blotchy Brian is a good decent man, with a nice little spot, and a decent stash of money,” he said.
“I wouldn’t marry him,” I said, “even if I had to borrow the shawl from Nell and stand out in front of everyone in the middle of the fair.”
“Why’s that?” said my father.
“Because he’s an ugly git,” I said. “Look at his ridiculous goatee beard. See his sticky out teeth. His nasal whine. His bandy leg. See the dirty dive of a hovel he lives in. See the coat of filth all around it. He’s three times as old as me. He could be my grandfather.”
And I was right. He was nearly fifty that time. He is nearly a hundred now, still alive and not a bother on him, apart from the odd bout of rheumatism. He’d be going to collect the pension same time as me when we were up there. The ugly gom! …
“Every brat to her own device,” my father said, and that was all he ever said about it.