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“I wouldn’t give a toss,” Caitriona said, who was there at the time, “if it fell out in one big plop, as long as it fell with the same noise out of Nell’s …”

— Tim Top of the Road’s old one got a slice of a will also …

— That’s what gave her the flashy house …

— No it wasn’t. It was my turf …

— I got a great coup from the insurance at the same time. Top of the Road and his eldest daughter …

— I sold a whole set of The Complete Carpenter and Mechanic to his son …

— Credit that, as you’d say yourself …

— He came into a will that time when Peter the Publican’s daughter was teasing him in the parlour …

— The Old Master got a will …

— Billy won’t be short of doctors so …

— Oh, the thief. The little pimply prick face! …

— … That’s another lie! It wasn’t because of a will that that Dog Eared butcher stabbed me …

— … He could pay for forty-two pints, couldn’t he! Somebody with not enough land that the donkey could only plonk his two hind legs down on it! He had to stick his front two on Curran’s land next to him … That’s him all the way! Pushing the car for those knackers from Derry Lough was the best he did …

— And Curran too, he got the lump of land he wanted his son and Tim Top of the Road’s daughter to move into …

— The devil fuck her! I’ll be bollixed if she lets that one in on her land! …

— Top of the Road’s young one has insurance …

— … If that’s the way it is, then Caitriona is delighted she didn’t get the will. If she had …

— She’d have made two slate-roofed houses …

— She’d have bought two cars …

— She’d have erected two crosses …

— And two hats …

— You’d never know, and maybe even a pair of pants …

— Bloody tear and ’ounds, isn’t that what Blotchy Brian said when his daughter’s son went off to college to be a priest: “If that cud-chewing cunt were still alive,” he said, “she’d never have rested easy until she had forced Paddy to dump his wife, and packed him off for the priesthood.”

— If you tell me Caitriona how many pounds were to be got in the will, I’ll make out the interest on it for you:

Isn’t that right, Master?

— They’d be enough there anyway to repay Kitty her pound.

— And Tim Top of the Road for the chimney …

— And Nora Johnny for the spoons and the silver knives …

— Oh Holy Mary, Mother of God! Silver knives in Gort Ribbuck! Silver knives! Oh, Jack! Jack the Lad! Silver knives in Gort Ribbuck! I’ll burst! I’m going to burst! …

3.

— … She said that, Master? …

— She said exactly that, Guzzeye Martin. She said …

— … “Up there the problem is,” I said …

— … “‘Diddley die de dum,’ Caitriona sings, ‘a fine big pig for roasting …’”

— … “Martin John More had a buxom young daughter …”

— How long do you think before she marries again, what do you think? …

— Ah, go on, Kitty, my neighbour, how would I know, I haven’t a clue …

— Of course, she’d have no problem getting a man, that’s if she has any notion to marry again. She’s a fine sprightly flighty young woman, God bless her pins and what else! …

— That’s very true, Margaret, you were my neighbour! …

— That’s if she never said anything about it when she saw that you were gone …

— That wasn’t it, Breed …

— Maybe the Junior Master might marry her …

— Or the Master from Derry Lough, since the priest’s sister dumped him …

— You are really a dote, Billy. Honest, cross my heart and hope to die. Tell us if the Schoolmistress said anything about getting married again …

— Ah, come on like, was that the way it was so, the sponger, the wanker, the twisted thicko, the runt, the sweaty scumbag warm-arsed bollix! Where is he, let me at him, the crooked cunt? …

— This is a very nice way to welcome people to the graveyard …

— Son of a gun, cop on now, Master, don’t you remember what I said to you? Didn’t he die though? …

— Where is he so? …

— Come on now, Master, my good friend, easy now, easy! We were always good neighbours up above. Did I ever open one of your letters? Ah, come on now, Master, stop telling lies! … If that was the case, Master, it wasn’t me who did it … The Postmistress could do anything in the world she wanted, but don’t call me a liar, please, Master … That’s a dirty lie, certainly, Master! I never gave your letters to anyone, but straight up to your house, and stuck it straight from the bag into your hand. I’m telling you now, not every postman would do that! …

Oh, Master, Master, God forgive you Master, God forgive you! I didn’t deliver your post so promptly every day just to see your wife. Oh, come on, I hope that that idea never even entered your head! … Oh, come on, Master, you were my neighbour, stop that now. Don’t tell lies about her. She is still there above treading on the bright daisies of mendacity while you are here below in the dark pushing up the daisies of truth …

Believe every word I say, Master, that I was very sorry that you died. You really looked after people who visited your house. And it was always worthwhile listening to you too. You’d blast away there about life … Ah, come on, Master, don’t say things like that! … Ah, come off it, Master! …

There wasn’t a day passed, but I gave my condolences to herself … Ah come on, my good neighbour, for God’s sake, stop going on about that! “That’s a great one about the poor Old Master,” I’d say to myself. “It’s not the same place since he left. I’m telling you, Mistress, that I’m really sorry for your trouble …”

… Take it easy now, Master! Easy there! Can’t you just keep it to yourself! “Billy the Postman,” the old codger would call over to me, “but, sure, I know that. He really liked you …” Ah come on now, Master. We can talk about this, Master! “I did my best for him, Billy, but it was beyond the doctors …” Oh, Master my darling! Oh, Master of my heart!

… “The way it was, Billy, one way or the other, the Master was far too good …”

“Ah, come on now Master, don’t disgrace yourself and all the neighbours listening! Remember always that you are a Lord of Learning, and you must always give a good example … Just be patient now! Come on now, Master, you are really doing my fucking head in. This is a great welcome, no doubt about it, to the dirty dust …

— Do you think it possible, Billy the Postman, that you might require some degree of spiritual assistance? …

— Oh the snot-snuffling sot shit, he does …

— De grâce, Master! Keep a grip on yourself. Billy is really a very romantic guy. Honest, he is …

— You were like that too, Master …

— I swear I saw you, Master … in the school …

— It’s no wonder our kids marry heretics and blacks …

— … To make a long story short, Master, it was Whit Monday. It was a holiday. I went for a stroll up along the road just, as we say, to take the air …

… Now, I’m asking you, my neighbours, what harm is there in going for a stroll? Only once in a blue moon did I ever get a chance to stretch my legs … It wouldn’t have done my health any good to go the other direction down the road … Just shut up a minute! … As I was just going past the gate of your house, I noticed she had the car out on the road. I had put air in its tyres for her … So what, Master, so what if I did? It was just an effort to be a bit neighbourly … “God be good to the poor old Master,” I said to myself. “He really took a shine to that car.” “Billy,” the one says to me, “the Old Master was never destined to be happy. The Old Master was far too good …” Oh, Master, I can’t help it? … But hang on a minute, Master! The rest of the story …