— Or flea-ridden kips like in your town land …
— I’d prefer Mae West to the whole lot of them. I’d give anything to see her again. She’d be a great one for the young bucks, I’d say. Myself and the youngfella were in the Fancy City the night before the fair. We downed a few pints.
“That’s enough now,” I said. “If we went the whole hog we’d soon make a hole in the price of the colt.”
“It’s too early to go to bed now,” he said. “Come on, let’s go to the pictures.”
“I was never there,” I said.
“So what?” he said. “Mae West is on tonight.”
“In that case, so,” I said, “it’s alright with me.”
We went.
A woman came out. A fine strap of a thing, and she started leering at me.
I leered back at her.
“Is that her?” I said.
“Who, so?” the youngfella said.
Another babe came out just after that. She kind of ran her hand along his hip. Then she threw a face and started grinning at us. They all started grinning too.
“That’s her now,” the youngfella said.
“Off you go,” I said. “She’d be a great one for the young bucks, I’d say. As soon as the pen is ready, I’m telling you now, but you couldn’t do much worse than to get hitched up with a little slip of a thing. But for God’s sake, don’t get caught up with the likes of her. She’d be a great one for the young bucks alright, but nonetheless …”
“But, but, nonetheless what?” the youngfella asked.
Just then another busty broad came out, just like the floozie that is always up for it in Jack the Lad’s house, and he was talking to the two of them. He started waxing the air with his hands. Some lickspittle comes out. The cut of your man who goes fishing in Nell Paudeen’s place — Lord Cockton. Mae West said something to him. I swear to God that the youngfella told me what it was, but there’s no way I can remember it now …
The little fart pulled a face as if his cheeks were swollen up. He dropped the hand down along his sides. He was a filthy fucker, and he knew what he wanted. I’d say he had a dicey ticker too, the poor hoor! …
— … Just the once Kitty. That’s the only time I was ever ever at the pictures. More than anything I’d give anything to see them again. That was the time my daughter was about to deliver, the one who is married in the Fancy City. I spent a week looking after her. She was coming around after the birth that time. Her husband came in after work. He gobbled down his dinner and done himself up.
“Breed Terry,” he says, “were you ever at the pictures?”
“What are they?” I says.
“All those pictures that they’re showing up in that place?”
“In the church?” I says.
“Ah no,” he says, “just pictures.”
“Pictures of Jesus and the Blessed Virgin and St. Patrick and Joseph, is that it?” I said.
“Ah, not at all,” he said, “but pictures of foreign places and wild beasts and whacky weirdos.”
“Foreign places and wild beasts and whacky weirdos,” I says to myself. “I don’t think I’d like to go there at all. Who knows, God save us from all harm! …”
“You have a crude culchie mind,” he said, pissing himself laughing. “They’re only pictures. They won’t do you any harm.”
“Wild beasts and whacky weirdos,” I says. “What’s that all about? …”
“It’s a picture about America tonight,” he said.
“America,” I exclaimed. “Is there a chance that I’d see my lovely Breed and Noreen — God love them! — and Anna Liam? …”
“You’ll see people like them,” he said. “You’ll see America.”
And of course I did. You never saw anything like it! It’s more the pity I couldn’t do anything about them? That bloody fire that destroyed my mind completely! … But I’m telling you Kitty, everything was as clear as if I was there myself. There was an old woman with a rag wiping the door with a face on her just like Caitriona Paudeen when she’d see Nell and Jack the Lad going on past her coming from the fair …
— Holy shite! Abooboona! …
— And there was a big spacious room with a round table, just like that one Kitty, that you gave the pound to Caitriona to buy, that time she never gave it back to you …
— You’re a filthy liar! …
— And a silver teapot, like the one in Nell’s house, laid out on it.
And then this guy, all dressed in black, except for his golden buttons opened the door. I thought it was the Foxy Cop, but then I remembered that it was in America. Then another man came in with a cap on his head like a messenger boy and himself and the first guy started ballocking one another. Himself and the guy with the golden buttons grabbed the man and shagged him down the stairs. I thought he was going to be completely mangled as they chucked him down three or four flights. Then they kicked him headfirst out the door and nearly bowled the old woman over. I swear Kitty, I really felt sorry for her. My head was all fuzzy.
And then the man looked back and shook his fist at the guy who chucked him out. I thought he was the Old Master — the little button nose and the bitty beady eyes — and Billy the Postman threw him out, but then I remembered it was all in America. And I realised whatever about the Old Master being in America there’s no way that Billy could be there as he had to deliver the post every day …
— The crook! The sneaky lowlife slime sucker! The …
— This guy, the spitting image of Billy, went back upstairs, and there was a woman there all in black sporting some flowers.
“That’s the Schoolmistress, if she’s alive,” I said to myself. But then I remembered this was all happening in America, and the mistress was teaching in the school a few days before this …
— The dirty cow! …
— De grâce, Master! … Now, Dotie …
— The guy with the golden buttons opened the door again. Another woman with a small cute nose came in wearing a fur coat, just like the one Baba Paudeen wore when she was home from America but that she had to get rid of because of the snots of soot that slopped down on it in Caitriona’s house …
— You’re a filthy liar, you useless crock of crap! …
— … Oh, it was a wonderful film, smashing, Dotie! Honest! I was both excited and scared shitless. If you had only seen that bit where Eustasia says to Mrs. Crookshank:
“My dear,” she said. “There’s no point in getting upset about it. Harry and I are married. We were joined together in matrimony in a registry office on Sixth Avenue this morning. Of course, my dear, Bob is there all the time …”
Then she rolled her shoulders kind of triumphantly. Oh, it’s really a tragedy that you didn’t see the face that Mrs. Crookshank pulled, and she struck dumb! I couldn’t help thinking — God forgive me! — of what Nell Paudeen said to Caitriona:
“Sure, you can have Blotchy Brian, Kay.”
— You whoring whack! … You so-and-so … Margaret! Margaret! Did you hear that? Did you hear the trollop of the Toejam trotters, and Breed Terry? I’m going to burst! I’m going to burst! …
6.
And so Nell wasted the lorry man! Even though her son was on the wrong side of the road. That judge hadn’t a clue. So much for Breed Terry that the law wouldn’t leave her with a brass farthing? And she got eight hundred pounds after that! It was the priest, wasn’t it? And the holy joke had the cheek to say masses for me …
They’re making a road into her house. They couldn’t have made that road only that my Patrick is so simple. She’s taking him for a ride now, just like she did with Jack the Lad about John’s Gospel. If I were alive …
There hasn’t been as much as a peep about the cross anymore. And after what that ugly turkey said: “It would be a shame to put a cross up over that dried-up juice box.” Easily known he’s not a bit afraid of God or of His holy mother. And he’s nearly hitting the hundred! I hope his journey to Dublin kills him! …