Best of Myles

by Flann O'Brien

  Thank you, I never drink before six.

  And a wise rule for those that have their health. Goodbye to you and please remember me to the good lady.

  I will indeed. Goodbye!

  THE BROTHER has it all worked out.

  What?

  The war. How we can get through the war here in the Free State. I mean the rationing and brown bread and all that class of thing. The brother has a plan. Begob you’ll be surprised when you hear it. A very high view was taken when it was explained in the digs the other night.

  What is the nature of this plan?

  It’s like this. I’ll tell you. We all go to bed for a week every month. Every single man, woman and child in the country. Cripples, drunks, policemen, watchmen—everybody. Nobody is allowed to be up. No newspapers, ’buses, pictures or any other class of amusement allowed at all. And no matter who you are you must be stuck inside in the bed there. Readin’ a book, of course, if you like. But no getting up stakes.

  That strikes me as a curious solution to difficulties in this dynamic iron age.

  D’ye see, when nobody is up you save clothes, shoes, rubber, petrol, coal, turf, timber and everything we’re short of. And food, too, remember. Because tell me this—what makes you hungry? It’s work that makes you hungry. Work and walking around and swallying pints and chawin’ the rag at the street corner. Stop in bed an’ all you’ll ask for is an odd slice of bread. Or a slice of fried bread to make your hair curly, says you. If nobody’s up, there’s no need for anybody to do any work because everybody in the world does be workin’ for everybody else.

  I see. In a year therefore you would effect a saving of twenty-five per cent in the consumption of essential commodities.

  Well now I don’t know about that, but you’d save a quarter of everything, and that would be enough to see us right.

  But why get up after a week?

  The bakers, man. The bakers would have to get up to bake more bread, and if wan is up, all has to be up. Do you know why? Because damn the bit of bread your men the bakers would make for you if the rest of us were in bed. Your men couldn’t bear the idea of everybody else being in bed and them up working away in the bakery. The brother says we have to make allowances for poor old human nature. That’s what he called it. Poor old human nature. And begob he’s not far wrong.

  Very interesting. He would do well to communicate this plan to the responsible Government department.

  And you’re not far wrong there yourself. Bye-bye, here’s me bus!

  I noticed an interesting reference to Handel in this newspaper recently. ‘He died,’ I read, ‘on the anniversary of the first performance of his greatest Oratorio, and is fitly buried in the Poets’ Corner of Westminster Abbey, for he is, indeed, the Milton of English musicians.’

  That makes James Joyce the Don Bradman of English literature and Oscar Wilde the Constable of English music-hall.

  INTERCHAT

  WHO IS going to win beyond? Which of the pair would you back?

  I do not know.

  The brother says your man is going to win. But begob I don’t know. It’ll be a long time before your other man hands in his gun.

  That is true.

  Your man is smart, I’ll agree with the brother there. And he doesn’t take a jar, that’s another thing that stands to him. And of course he bars the fags as well. But does that mean that your other man is a buff?

  Scarcely.

  Oh indeed begob it doesn’t. It certainly does not. Because your other man gets up very early too. It wasn’t yesterday or the day before your other man came up.

  He has undoubtedly certain qualities of adroitness.

  Of course the brother looks at it the other way. He is all for your man and never had any time for your other man. Says no good could ever come out of the class of carry-on your other man has been at for the last ten years. There’s a lot in that, of course. The brother certainly put his finger on it there. But it’s not all on the wan side. Your man was up to some hooky work in his time too.

  No doubt.

  There’s a pair of crows in it. And I think your other man is six to four on. Do you know why?

  I do not.

  Because he knows the place backwards, every lane and backyard in it. Lived there all his life, why wouldn’t he. And of course your man doesn’t know where the hell he is. And do you know why I wouldn’t be sorry to see your other man coming in first?

  No.

  Because it would be great gas to prove the brother wrong for once. And you’ll live to see it too. Because do you know what I’m going to tell you?

  What?

  Your man is using the whip. Do you know that? YOUR MAN IS USING THE WHIP.

  Is that a fact?

  I’m telling you now. Begob here’s me ’bus. Cheers!

  Bye bye.

  The brother is having terrible trouble with the corns.

  Is that a fact?

  Ah yes. Sure the corns has nearly finished him with the ball-dancin.

  Is that the way?

  Not that he complains, of course. Word of complaint is a thing that never passed his lips. Never was KNOWN to pass his lips. A great man for sufferin in silence, the brother. Do you know what I’m going to tell you?

  No.

  A greater MARTYR than the brother never lived. Do you know that? Talk about PAINS! He’s a great example to all of us.

  How is that?

  Number one, the eyes isn’t right. Can’t see where he’s goin or who’s shoutin at him half the time. Number two, he does have all classes of shakes in his hands of a mornin. Number three, he does have a very bad class of a neuralgia down the left side of his jaw and a fierce backache in the back as well. And of course the bag does be out of order half the time. But do you know a game he does be at?

  I do not.

  He does spend half the day eatin pills. He does have feeds of pills above in the digs.

  I see.

  And you do know why? Because he bars the doctors. He’d die roarin before he’d let them boys put a finger on him.

  That is a singular prejudice.

  And of course half the pills he does be swallyin is poison. POISON, man. Anybody else takin so many pills as the brother would be gone to the wall years ago. But the brother’s health stands up to it. Because do you know he’s a man with an iron constitution.

  Is that a fact?

  He’s a man that would take pills all his life and not be killed by them. In wan night I seen him takin’ three red pills, four white pills and a blue one. All on top of one another. Well of course a man that could do that could have a feed of arsenic for his breakfast and damn the feather it’d take out of him.

  No doubt.

  Cheers now.

  I’VE A QUARE bit of news for you. The brother’s nose is out of order.

  What?

  A fact. Some class of a leak somewhere.

  I do not understand.

  Well do you see it’s like this. Listen till I tell you. Here’s the way he’s fixed. He starts suckin the wind in be the mouth. That’s OK, there’s no damper there. But now he comes along and shuts the mouth. That leaves him the nose to work with or he’s a dead man. Fair enough. He starts suckin in through the nose. AND THEN DO YOU KNOW WHAT?

  What?

  THE—WIND GOES ASTRAY SOMEWHERE. Wherever it goes it doesn’t go down below. Do you understand me? There’s some class of a leak above in the head somewhere. There’s what they call a valve there. The brother’s valve is banjaxed.

  I see.

  The air does leak up into the head, all up around the brother’s brains. How would you like that? Of course, his only man is to not use the nose at all and keep workin’ on the mouth. O be gob it’s no joke to have the valve misfirin’. And I’ll tell you a good one.

  Yes?

  The brother is a very strict man for not treatin himself. He does have crowds of people up inside in the digs every night lookin for all classes of cures off him, maternity cases and all the re
st of it. But he wouldn’t treat himself. Isn’t that funny? HE WOULDN’T TREAT HIMSELF.

  He is at one there with orthodox medical practice.

  So he puts his hat on his head and talkes a walk down to Charley’s. Charley is a man like himself—not a doctor, of course, but a layman that understands first principles. Charley and the brother do have consultations when one or other has a tough case do you understand me. Well anyway the brother goes in and is stuck inside in Charley’s place for two hours. And listen till I tell you.

  Yes?

  When the brother leaves he has your man Charley in bed with strict orders not to make any attempt to leave it. Ordered to bed and told to stop there. The brother said he wouldn’t be responsible if Charley stayed on his feet. What do you think of that?

  It is very odd to say the least of it.

  Of course Charley was always very delicate and a man that never minded himself. The brother takes a very poor view of Charley’s kidneys. Between yourself, meself and Jack Mum, Charley is a little bit given to the glawsheen. Charley’s little finger is oftener in the air than annywhere else, shure wasn’t he in the hands of doctors for years man. They had him nearly destroyed when somebody put him on to the brother. And the brother’ll make a job of him yet, do you know that?

  No doubt.

  Ah yes. Everybody knows that it’s the brother that’s keepin Charley alive. But begob the brother’ll have to look out for himself now with the nose valve out of gear and your man Charley on his hands into the bargain.

  Is there any other person to whom your relative could have recourse?

  Ah, well, of course, at the latter end he’ll have to do a job on himself. HAVE TO, man, sure what else can he do? The landlady was telling me that he’s thinkin of openin himself some night.

  What?

  You’ll find he’ll take the razor to the nose before you’re much older. He’s a man that would understand valves, you know. He wouldn’t be long puttin it right if he could get his hands at it. Begob there’ll be blood in the bathroom anny night now.

  He will probably kill himself.

  The brother? O trust him to look after Number One. You’ll find he’ll live longer than you or me. Shure he opened Charley in 1934.

  He did?

  He gave Charley’s kidneys a thorough overhaul, and that’s a game none of your doctors would try their hand at. He had Charley in the bathroom for five hours. Nobody was let in, of course, but the water was goin all the time and all classes of cutthroats been sharpened, you could hear your man workin at the strap. O a great night’s work. Begob here’s me ’bus!

  Bye bye.

  HALF THE CROWD above in the digs are off to Arklow for a week Tursda. On their holliers, you know.

  I see. Is your relative travelling also?

  The brother? Not at all man. Yerrah not at all. Shure the brother can’t leave town.

  Is that a fact? Why not?

  The brother has to stop in town for the duration of the emergency. The Government does be callin the brother in for consultations. Of course that’s between you and me and Jack Mum. The brother gave a promise to a certain party not to leave town during the emergency. He has to stand by. Because if something happened that could only be fixed up be the brother, how could your men be chasin after him on the telephone down to Strand Street, Skerries, where he goes every year to the married sister’s?

  Admittedly it would be awkward.

  Sure you couldn’t have that, man. You can’t run a country that way.

  I agree.

  You couldn’t have that at all. And do you know what I’m going to tell you, if ould Ireland isn’t kept out of this business that’s goin on, it won’t be the brother’s fault. And all the time he’ll keep the Guards right, too. The ould weather-eye never leaves them boyos, no matter what consultations he’s called in on. They needn’t think they can take it easy because he’s busy. He has the eye at the present time on a certain boyo in plain clothes.

  I see.

  I was thinking of takin a week myself in August. Down as far as Bettystown with Charlie. Would you say that’d be all right?

  I think the nation would be reasonably safe, especially since your relative has undertaken to remain in the capital.

  Begob I think you’re right, I think I’ll chance it. Here’s me bus. Cheers.

  THE BROTHER can’t look at an egg.

  Is that so?

  Can’t stand the sight of an egg at all. Rashers, ham, fish, anything you like to mention—he’ll eat them all and ask for more. But he can’t go the egg. Thanks very much all the same but no eggs. The egg is barred.

  I see.

  I do often hear him talking about the danger of eggs. You can get all classes of disease from eggs, so the brothers says.

  That is disturbing news.

  The trouble is that the egg never dies. It is full of all classes of microbes and once the egg is down below in your bag, they do start moving around and eating things, delighted with themselves. No trouble to them to start some class of an ulcer on the sides of the bag.

  I see.

  Just imagine all your men down there walking up and down your stomach and maybe breeding families, chawing and drinking and feeding away there, it’s a wonder we’re not all in our graves man, with all them hens in the country.

  I must remember to avoid eggs.

  I chance an odd one meself but one of these days I’ll be a sorry man. Here’s me Drimnagh ’bus, I’ll have to lave yeh, don’t do anything when your uncle’s with you, as the man said.

  Good bye.

  If you keep this column reasonably clean and return it to me when used, I will allow you a halfpenny on it. Think not too ill of me, I am young, my nails are broken and it is years since I amused myself by rubbing them on slates.

  I WAS OUT in a boat with the brother down in Skerries, where he’s stopping with the married sister. On his holliers, you know. A great man for the sea, the brother.

  Indeed?

  Ah yes. If the brother had his way, of course, it’s not here he’d be but off out with real sea-farin men, dressed up in oil-skins, running up and down ropes and all the rest of it.

  I see.

  The brother was givin out about the seals. ‘Tumblers’, he called them. The brother says all them lads should be destroyed.

  That would be a considerable task.

  They do spend the day divin and eatin mackerel. If them lads had their way, they wouldn’t leave a mackerel in the sea for you and me or the man in the next street. They do swally them be the hundred, head an’ all. And the brother says they do more than that—they do come out of the water in the middle of the night-time and rob gardens. You wouldn’t want to leave any fancy tomato-plants around. And you wouldn’t want to leave one of your youngsters out after dark, either, because your men would carry it off with them. The brother says they do take a great interest in the chislers. They do be barkin out of them during the day-time at chislers on the beach.

  That is most interesting.

  The brother says the seals near Dublin do often come up out of the water at night-time and do be sittin above in the trams when they’re standin in the stables. And they do be upstairs too. Begob the brother says it’s a great sight of a moonlight night to see your men with the big moustaches on them sittin upstairs in the trams lookin out. And they do have the wives and the young wans along with them, of course.

  Is that a fact?

  Certainly, man. The seals are great family people, always were. Well then the brother was showin me two queer lookin men with black and white feathers on them and black beaks, out sittin there in the water.

  Two birds?

  Two of the coolest customers I ever seen, didn’t give a damn about us although we went near enough to brain them with the oars. Do you know the funny thing about them lads?

  I do not.

  Them lads takes a very poor view of dry land. Never ask to go near the land at all. They do spend their lives sittin on the sea, bar an o
dd lep into the air to fly to another part of it. Well do you know what I’m going to tell you, I wouldn’t fancy that class of a life at all. Because how would you put in your time or what would you do with yourself, stuck there out on the water night an mornin? Sure them lads might as well be dead as have a life like that. Annyway, it wouldn’t suit me and that’s a certainty. Would you fancy it?

  Scarcely, but then I am not a bird. Birds have ideas of their own.

  Begob they’ve a poor time of it, say what you like, no comfort or right way of livin’ at all. Sure they do have to lay their eggs out in the sea.

  Do they?

  Certainly they do. The brother says the mother-hen has some kind of pocket in under the wing. Nobody knows how she whips the egg into the pocket when she lays it. Do you know what the brother called it? ONE OF THE GREAT UNSOLVED MYSTERIES OF THE SEA.

  I understand.

  ONE OF THE GREAT UNSOLVED MYSTERIES OF THE SEA. And of course there wouldn’t be anny need for anny mystery at all if they had the sense to land on the shore like anny other bird. That’s what I’d do to lay me eggs if I had anny. But no, the shore is barred, they do take a very poor view of everything but the water. Begob, here’s me ’bus. Cheers!

  Good bye.

  DID YOU ever meet our friend’s dog?

  Whose dog?

  Your man’s.

  But whose?

  The brother’s.

  No.

  Well that animal’s an extraordinary genius. Do you know what I’m going to tell you, he could take you out and lose you. There’s nothing he can’t do bar talk. And do you know what?

  What?

  Who said he can’t talk?

  I thought you said so yourself.

  Don’t believe a word of it man. The dog talks to the brother. He does be yarnin with the brother above in the digs of a Sunday when everybody’s out at the first house of the pictures. Believe me or believe me not now.