— Ababúna!
— And there was a fine spacious room there, Cite, with a roundtable like the one you gave the pound to Caitríona to buy, that she never paid back …
— That’s a damn lie …
— And there was a silver teapot like the one in Nell’s, sitting on top of it. And a man in black clothes with golden buttons opened the door. I thought it was the Red-haired Policeman, till I remembered they were in America. Another man came in wearing what looked like a postman’s cap, and the man of the house and himself began to argue. The man with the golden buttons and himself caught the man of the house and threw him down the stairs. I thought he’d be a heap of bones because there were three or four flights of stairs below. Then they threw him out the door on top of his head and he nearly upended the old woman. Honest to God, Cite, I felt sorry for her. Her head was in a tizzy.
Then the man of the house looked back and waved his fist at the man who threw him out. I thought it was the Big Master — the same snub nose and slit eyes — and that it was Billyboy the Post who threw him out, till I remembered they were in America. I knew that whatever about the Big Master being in America that Billyboy the Post couldn’t be there, with the post to be delivered every day …
— The ruffian! The lecher! The …
— This man who you’d take for Billyboy went up the stairs again to the room, and there was a woman there wearing black clothes with flower prints.
“That’s the Schoolmistress, if I’m not dreaming,” says I to myself. But then I remembered that they were in America and that the Schoolmistress was teaching school at home a few days before that …
— The trollop …
— De grâce, Master … Now, Dotie …
— The man with the golden buttons opened the door again. Another woman came in who had a snub nose and a fur coat just like the one Baba Pháidín had when she was home from America, till she had to get rid of it on account of all the smudges of soot in Caitríona’s …
— That’s a damn lie, you slut …
— … Oh! A smashing picture, Dotie! Honest! There was excitement and consternation. If only you saw that part where Eustasia said to Mrs Crookshank:
“My dear,” she said. “It’s no use going on arguing about it. Harry and I are married. We were married in a Registry Office on Sixth Avenue this morning. Of course, my dear, Bob is still there …”
And she shrugged her shoulders triumphantly. Oh! It’s an awful pity you didn’t see Mrs. Crookshank’s face, Dotie, when she was left completely speechless. I couldn’t help thinking — if the cultural comparison may be excused! — of what Nell Pháidín said to Caitríona: “We’ll leave Big Brian to you, Kay.”
— You mangy bitch! You So-an’-so … Muraed! Muraed! Do you hear me? Do you hear the nit-infested Filthy-Feet, and Bríd Terry? I’ll explode! I’ll explode! …
6
And Nell won her case against the lorry driver! Even though her son was on the wrong side of the road. He can’t have been a very bright judge. That slut Bríd Terry was wrong when she said the law would take the last penny off her. And she got eight hundred pounds after all that! The priest, who else? And the pussface had the nerve to go offering up Masses for my soul …
There’s a road being built up to her house. A road that couldn’t be built if my Pádraig wasn’t such a simpleton. She’s playing on him now, just as she played on Jack the Scológ with the St. John’s Gospel. If I were alive …
Not the wind of a word about the cross now. And what that ugly streak of misery said: “That harridan is not worthy of a cross.” Has he no fear of God or the Virgin Mary! And him nearly a hundred years old! May his visit to Dublin do him no good! …
They have forgotten about me above ground. That’s the way, God help us! I thought Pádraig wouldn’t go back on his word. That is if that young fellow picked up the story right? He probably didn’t. He was too keen on going to England …
If my Pádraig only knew how I’m being treated in the graveyard clay! I’m like a hare cornered by the hounds. Betrayed and flayed by Seáinín Liam, by Cite, by Bríd Terry, by them all. Trying to hold my own with the lot of them. And not a single soul to stand up for me. I won’t be able to stand it. I’ll explode …
That pup, Nóra Filthy-Feet, is inciting them all …
Her daughter has changed completely. I was sure she’d be here a long time ago. She’s a great woman. I’m happy now that Pádraig married her. I must tell the truth. I am indeed. I’d forgive her everything herself and her mother ever did to me, for having thrown Nell on her back in the fire, and for pulling every lock of hair and every bit of skin and every strip of clothes off Big Brian’s daughter. And she broke the delph. She overturned the churn Big Brian’s daughter and Nell were making butter in. She jumped on top of a brood of young chickens on the floor. She grabbed the silver teapot Nell had on show on top of the dresser and made a pancake of it against the wall. And she threw the clock Baba gave the pussface out through the window. That’s what the young fellow said …
She’s a great woman. I wish I hadn’t been so hard on her. To throw Nell on her back in the fire! That’s a thing I never had the guts to do …
And she’s left her sickness behind her now. Raising hens and pigs and calves. If she lives she’ll make money …
But to throw Nell on her back in the fire! Her head of fair hair got a scorching. I forgot to ask the young fellow if her fair hair was scorched. I’d give everything I ever yearned for to see her throwing Nell in the fire. A pity I wasn’t alive!
I’d shake her hand, I’d kiss her, I’d clap her on the back, I’d send for one of the golden bottles from Peadar the Pub’s window, we’d drink one another’s health, I’d offer a prayer for the soul of her mother and I’d see to it that her next girl-child would be christened Nóra. But what’s wrong with me? There’s a Nóra there already!
Upon my soul, I’ll call Nóra Sheáinín, I’ll tell her about the job her daughter did and how she’s a great worker now, and I’ll tell her I’m delighted that she’s married to my son …
But what will Muraed, Cite, Bríd Terry and the rest of them say? That I used to revile her, that I used to call her a bitch and Nóra Filthy-Feet; that I wouldn’t vote for her in the Election …
They’ll say that. They’ll also say — and it’s true for them — that she told lies about me: that she said I robbed Tomás Inside, that her daughter got six score pounds of a dowry …
But let them. I’d forgive her anything on account of her daughter throwing Nell on her back in the fire …
Nóra … Hey! Nóra … Nóra dear … I’m Caitríona Pháidín … Nóra … Nóra dear … Did you hear the news from the land above? About your daughter …
What’s that, Nóra? What did you say? Good God above! That you have no time to listen to silly rubbish from the world above! … You involved yourself with filth in the Election, and all you got for it was the seal of the clay! By God! … You can’t be bothered listening to my story … About sordid affairs! You’ll spend all your time from now on with … with … with … what did you call it? … with culture … You haven’t time to listen to my story as it has nothing to do with … with culture. Holy Son of God tonight! Nóra Filthy … Nóra Filthy-Feet from Mangy Field talking about … about culture …
Will you repeat that mouthful of English, when it’s as rare as a cat with a straddle to have English in Mangy Field. Say it again …