‘But you were in the curate’s robes.’
‘I’m in them this very second, can’t you see up here. And warm as a hand up a cow’s arse they are too. Ah but that’s another cod. The daughter’s doing entirely. Didn’t she say she wanted to see what it was like to get it from a priest. Sure what harm is there in that. To put on an old cassock. And even though I couldn’t get the white collar around me neck to make me look the real part, I was suitable enough for her when I took out me prick. And that had a white collar of skin around it I’m telling you. I fucked her all over the sacristy. Sure she was consuming the sherry as well. Wanted me to do her on the altar. I told her to fucking well go on out of that and get some manners on her, that I wasn’t going to commit sacrilege. And I never broke into any ould church. And I wasn’t doing her where we might leave clues up in front of the tabernacle. I did her at the side altar instead. Where not so much attention is paid. And that eegit. Inquiring what I was doing on the gravestone. I was taking my fucking ease was what I was doing. After a good hump. Couldn’t he fucking well hear me singing. And then the old hag the mother has three of them at the dance hall attacking me for what she says I did to the daughter in the family way. I took a few knocks but I beat and belted and kicked the bejesus out of all three. Put two of them lying in the hospital. And the other in church praying I don’t come after him to belt him again. Bring up now some of that cheese.’
‘It’s warm up here.’
‘Sure it’s as fine as the big house. I’m back and forth there when there’s a need. They think they have me locked out. Come up from under the slab in the pig curing room where I took you. And have nearly everything brought back here except the kitchen stove. Hid in here behind this old bit of straw. Crock from the kitchen, only borrowed mind. To keep the food in or the rats will get at it. Be another month before foddering up here in these fields. And I hear tell plenty about you. Shagging the kraut herself.’
‘You’re not to speak in that fashion of her.’
‘Ah you’re a bit sweet on her. Sure I don’t care. I don’t mean to be disrespectful like. O but god be praised hasn’t she got the greatest body now on her. It’s the rare time when I wouldn’t mind being gentlemen gentry like yourself. That such as the likes of her would give me a tumble. I speak with respect now. But they’re on to you. So I hear in the yard.’
‘Someone snitched on me.’
‘Sure it’s the agent. Don’t you know that. Fancies her, he does. Slathering after her like a lapdog at every meeting of the hunt. And making up to her, rolling his eyes and tipping his hat and begging her pardon from one end of the big house to the other. Sure I’ve seen the crafty piece of work at it. And you wouldn’t blame him for that I’m telling you if you ever clapped eyes on the wife he’s got. With her face like the innards of the gears in the old mowing machine. Sure he cottoned on to it all going on between the two of yez from that stupid eegit Crooks with his big stupid mouth mumbling about the house. And sure I hear tell the agent’s buying your land. Has a mind himself to be the big boss in the big house. Maybe even have her ladyship kept on as the housekeeper. Live like a Protestant. Set up himself and the ugly wife like a king and queen over all these acres. A grand bit of cheese this. What I’m telling you is gospel. Did you ever hear tell of me lie to you. Sure he’s busy taking over the whole place. Selling the trees and buying the ground they stand in.’
‘He will not. No one will. It’s mine.’
‘Well I don’t know a thing about that now, but if it’s yours you’d better soon start minding it. And where now are you going.’
‘I don’t know yet. Maybe Dublin.’
‘Stay out of that place. The gurriers there would carve you up with knives and have you raw for breakfast. Sure you wouldn’t be crazy enough now to step out forever and be gone. Do yourself a permanent mischief. That’s daft. A roof, one of the biggest anywhere, over your head. Them gardens. And anything you want flowing to your mouth with the snap of your fingers or yank of a bell. With the grass growing, the beasts grazing and calves popping out of cows all over the place. You’d be daft and all. And meaning no disrespect now, but haven’t you got a fuck laid on now like hot water in the pipes. You wouldn’t get me out of there with the likes of that kind of living, I’m telling you. Sure your father for a start won’t be around forever. Don’t go abandoning anything that’s a bit of use to your comfort. I’ve learned a bit. Me now, my whole life is discomfort. And I wouldn’t know a bit of differ. But you now, gentry, who has to kow tow to nobody. And here you don’t know where you’re going or what you’re doing.’
‘I could get work on a farm.’
‘What kind of place would give you a job. They’d take one look at your hands and know you weren’t suited. But maybe you could try a stable at one of them big stud farms. You’d know plenty enough about horses. And what I taught you. But you’d be daft. With your own stables right here. But never mind me telling you. All I’ve got is lumps on me head, busts in me arms and scars all over me body. With kicks as well in the shins from them old ewes when I’d shove it up them. And two black eyes you can’t see on me. But I’ll tell you one bloody thing. At least it wasn’t me like the guards and everyone are saying it was who ran off with the master’s horse over there and led the hunt thundering down on that old bald bastard the Marquis digging it in there between the legs of that blonde bloody raring to go bitch. I would have loved to have seen that. To put among my memories. The like of that hunting mob over there now is doing their nut now to catch whoever it was.’
‘It was me.’
‘Go on. You’re codding.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Ah god then, you’re well on your way. And the faster your legs go, the better. That mean bunch are out to hang by the neck the one who did that. Sure you’re well able for Dublin then. But mind now how you go out on your own. Cover up who you are with a tall story. Told once you’ll believe it yourself. Rob only just before dawn and pass the time of day to everyone you see now on the roads like there wasn’t a bother on you. You’d be as well now not letting them know you’re gentry. Sure it’s no extra trouble to call them sir. And you won’t come to any harm. And mind, let me tell you something. You’re the only one who’s ever treated me decent and I won’t forget it. And I’ll even tell you something else you should know. But I won’t.’
By the first chill light of a grey still dawn, Foxy Slattery at the old pump house door, took leave of me. As I stood on the thickening frost and backed away over the stiffened mud and cow flop. He stood there ecclesiastically with his serious suspicious face. As if he were thinking of how to rob you while keeping on good terms. His black priestly garment stuck with hay and straw. His face all scars. And he suddenly beckoned me back. Lifted my bandage to look at my cut.
‘Ah it’s only an old scratch on you. Sure pull this thing off and let the healing air and sun to it.’
Foxy seemed sad to see me go. As I reached the old wall, climbing over it, I turned to look back. In the doorway, a lonely figure. Still see him at the door. Then as I came to the top of the hill, he was gone and the door was closed. And I heard mewing sounds and calls. Four swans flying overhead in formation. They go south. I go east. Out to the world. Maybe even across the high seas. And I know what Foxy wanted to tell me. Something you can easily tell. From just a warm smile and glow in someone’s eyes. That my father is Uncle Willie. Who stood that day by the mound of mud. Head wet with rain. Eyes dropping his tears. Upon the sods.