"Ah, God be with me," said she, "an old woman on a stick, that hasn't a place in the wide world to go to or a neighbour itself. . . . I wish I could get a cup of tea, so I do, I wish to God I could get a cup of tea. . . . Me sitting down in my own little house, with the white tablecloth on the table, and the butter in the dish, and the strong, red tea in the teacup; and me pouring cream into it, and, maybe, telling the children not to be wasting the sugar, the things! and himself saying he'd got to mow the big field today, or that the red cow was going to calve, the poor thing! and that if the boys went to school, who was going to weed the turnips—and me sitting drinking my strong cup of tea, and telling him where that old trapesing hen was laying. . . . Ah, God be with me! an old creature hobbling along the roads on a stick. I wish I was a young girl again, so I do, and himself coming courting me, and him saying that I was a real nice little girl surely, and that nothing would make him happy or easy at all but me to be loving him—Ah, the kind man that he was, to be sure, the kind, decent man. . . . And Sorca Reilly to be trying to get him from me, and Kate Finnegan with her bold eyes looking after him in the Chapel; and him to be saying that along with me they were only a pair of old nanny goats. . . . And then me to be getting married and going home to my own little house with my man—ah, God be with me! and him kissing me, and laughing, and frightening me with his goings on. Ah, the kind man, with his soft eyes, and his nice voice, and his jokes and laughing, and him thinking the world and all of me—ay, indeed. . . . And the neighbours to be coming in and sitting round the fire in the night time, putting the world through each other, and talking about France and Russia and them other queer places, and him holding up the discourse like a learned man, and them all listening to him and nodding their heads at each other, and wondering at his education and all: or, maybe, the neighbours to be singing, or him making me sing the Coulin, and him to be proud of me . . . and then him to be killed on me with a cold on his chest. . . . Ah, then, God be with me, a lone, old creature on a stick, and the sun shining into her eyes and she thirsty—I wish I had a cup of tea, so I do. I wish to God I had a cup of tea and a bit of meat . . . or, maybe, an egg. A nice fresh egg laid by the speckeldy hen that used to be giving me all the trouble, the thing! . . . Sixteen hens I had, and they were the ones for laying, surely. . . . It's the queer world, so it is, the queer world—and the things that do happen for no reason at all. . . . Ah, God be with me! I wish there weren't stones in my boots, so I do, and I wish to God I had a cup of tea and a fresh egg. Ah, glory be, my old legs are getting tireder every day, so they are. Wisha, one time—when himself was in it—I could go about the house all day long, cleaning the place, and feeding the pigs, and the hens and all, and then dance half the night, so I could: and himself proud of me. . . ."
The old woman turned up a little rambling road and went on still talking to herself, and the Philosopher watched her go up that road for a long time. He was very glad she had gone away, and as he tramped forward he banished her sad image so that in a little time he was happy again. The sun was still shining, the birds were flying on every side, and the wide hillside above him smiled gaily.
A small, narrow road cut at right angles into his path, and as he approached this he heard the bustle and movement of a host, the trample of feet, the rolling and creaking of wheels, and the long, unwearied drone of voices. In a few minutes he came abreast of this small road, and saw an ass and cart piled with pots and pans, and walking beside this there were two men and a woman. The men and the woman were talking together loudly, even fiercely, and the ass was drawing his cart along the road without requiring assistance or direction. While there was a road he walked on it: when he might come to a cross road he would turn to the right: when a man said "whoh" he would stop: when he said "hike" he would go backwards, and when he said "yep" he would go on again. That was life, and if one questioned it, one was hit with a stick, or a boot, or a lump of rock: if one continued walking nothing happened, and that was happiness.
The Philosopher saluted this cavalcade.
"God be with you," said he.
"God and Mary be with you," said the first man.
"God, and Mary, and Patrick be with you," said the second man.
"God, and Mary, and Patrick, and Brigid be with you," said the woman.
The ass, however, did not say a thing. As the word "whoh" had not entered into the conversation he knew it was none of his business, and so he turned to the right on the new path and continued his journey.
"Where are you going to, stranger?" said the first man.
"I am going to visit Angus Óg," replied the Philosopher.
The man gave him a quick look.
"Well," said he, "that's the queerest story I ever heard. Listen here," he called to the others, "this man is looking for Angus Óg."
The other man and woman came closer.
"What would you be wanting with Angus Óg, Mister Honey?" said the woman.
"Oh," replied the Philosopher, "it's a particular thing, a family matter."
There was silence for a few minutes, and they all stepped onwards behind the ass and cart.
"How do you know where to look for himself?" said the first man again: "maybe you got the place where he lives written down in an old book or on a carved stone?"
"Or did you find the staff of Amergin or of Ossian in a bog and it written from the top to the bottom with signs?" said the second man.
"No," said the Philosopher, "it isn't that way you'd go visiting a god. What you do is, you go out from your house and walk straight away in any direction with your shadow behind you so long as it is towards a mountain, for the gods will not stay in a valley or a level plain, but only in high places; and then, if the god wants you to see him, you will go to his rath as direct as if you knew where it was, for he will be leading you with an airy thread reaching from his own place to wherever you are, and if he doesn't want to see you, you will never find out where he is, not if you were to walk for a year or twenty years."
"How do you know he wants to see you?" said the second man.
"Why wouldn't he want?" said the Philosopher.
"Maybe, Mister Honey," said the woman, "you are a holy sort of a man that a god would like well."
"Why would I be that?" said the Philosopher. "The gods like a man whether he's holy or not if he's only decent."
"Ah, well, there's plenty of that sort," said the first man. "What do you happen to have in your bag, stranger?"
"Nothing," replied the Philosopher, "but a cake and a half that was baked for my journey."
"Give me a bit of your cake, Mister Honey," said the woman. "I like to have a taste of everybody's cake."
"I will, and welcome," said the Philosopher.
"You may as well give us all a bit while you are about it," said the second man. "That woman hasn't got all the hunger of the world."
"Why not?" said the Philosopher, and he divided the cake.
"There's a sup of water up yonder," said the first man, "and it will do to moisten the cake—Whoh, you devil," he roared at the ass, and the ass stood stock still on the minute.
There was a thin fringe of grass along the road near a wall, and towards this the ass began to edge very gently.
"Hike, you beast, you," shouted the man, and the ass at once hiked, but he did it in a way that brought him close to the grass. The first man took a tin can out of the cart and climbed over the little wall for water. Before he went he gave the ass three kicks on the nose, but the ass did not say a word, he only hiked still more, which brought him directly onto the grass, and when the man climbed over the wall the ass commenced to crop the grass. There was a spider sitting on a hot stone in the grass. He had a small body and wide legs, and he wasn't doing anything.
"Does anybody ever kick you in the nose?" said the ass to him.
"Aye does there," said the spider, "you and your like that are always walking on me, or lying down on me, or running over me with the wheels of a cart."
"Well, why don'
t you stay on the wall?" said the ass.
"Sure, my wife is there," replied the spider.
"What's the harm in that?" said the ass.
"She'd eat me," said the spider, "and, anyhow, the competition on the wall is dreadful, and the flies are getting wiser and timider every season. Have you got a wife yourself, now?"
"I have not," said the ass, "I wish I had."
"You like your wife for the first while," said the spider, "and after that you hate her."
"If I had the first while I'd chance the second while," replied the ass.
"It's bachelor's talk," said the spider, "all the same, we can't keep away from them," and so saying he began to move all his legs at once in the direction of the wall. "You can only die once," said he.
"If your wife was an ass she wouldn't eat you," said the ass.
"She'd be doing something else then," replied the spider, and he climbed up the wall.
The first man came back with the can of water and they sat down on the grass and ate the cake and drank the water. All the time the woman kept her eyes fixed on the Philosopher.
"Mister Honey," said she, "I think you met us just at the right moment."
The other two men sat upright and looked at each other and then with equal intentness they looked at the woman.
"Why do you say that?" said the Philosopher.
"We were having a great argument along the road, and if we were to be talking from now to the day of doom that argument would never be finished."
"It must have been a great argument. Was it about predestination or where consciousness comes from?"
"It was not; it was which of these two men was to marry me."
"That's not a great argument," said the Philosopher.
"Isn't it?" said the woman. "For seven days and six nights we didn't talk about anything else, and that's a great argument or I'd like to know what is."
"But where is the trouble, ma'am?" said the Philosopher.
"It's this," she replied, "that I can't make up my mind which of the men I'll take, for I like one as well as the other and better, and I'd as soon have one as the other and rather."
"It's a hard case," said the Philosopher.
"It is," said the woman, "and I'm sick and sorry with the trouble of it."
"And why did you say that I had come up in a good minute?"
"Because, Mister Honey, when a woman has two men to choose from she doesn't know what to do, for two men always become like brothers so that you wouldn't know which of them was which: there isn't any more difference between two men than there is between a couple of hares. But when there's three men to choose from, there's no trouble at all; and so I say that it's yourself I'll marry this night and no one else—and let you two men be sitting quiet in your places, for I'm telling you what I'll do and that's the end of it."
"I'll give you my word," said the first man, "that I'm just as glad as you are to have it over and done with."
"Moidered I was," said the second man, "with the whole argument, and the this and that of it, and you not able to say a word but—maybe I will and maybe I won't, and this is true and that is true, and why not to me and why not to him—I'll get a sleep this night."
The Philosopher was perplexed.
"You cannot marry me, ma'am," said he, "because I'm married already."
The woman turned round on him angrily.
"Don't be making any argument with me now," said she, "for I won't stand it."
The first man looked fiercely at the Philosopher, and then motioned to his companion.
"Give that man a clout in the jaw," said he.
The second man was preparing to do this when the woman intervened angrily.
"Keep your hands to yourself," said she, "or it'll be the worse for you. I'm well able to take care of my own husband," and she drew nearer and sat between the Philosopher and the men.
At that moment the Philosopher's cake lost all its savour, and he packed the remnant into his wallet. They all sat silently looking at their feet and thinking each one according to his nature. The Philosopher's mind, which for the past day had been in eclipse, stirred faintly to meet these new circumstances, but without much result. There was a flutter at his heart which was terrifying, but not unpleasant. Quickening through his apprehension was an expectancy which stirred his pulses into speed. So rapidly did his blood flow, so quickly were an hundred impressions visualised and recorded, so violent was the surface movement of his brain that he did not realise he was unable to think and that he was only seeing and feeling.
The first man stood up.
"The night will be coming on soon," said he, "and we had better be walking on if we want to get a good place to sleep. Yep, you devil," he roared at the ass, and the ass began to move almost before he lifted his head from the grass. The two men walked one on either side of the cart, and the woman and the Philosopher walked behind at the tailboard.
"If you were feeling tired, or anything like that, Mister Honey," said the woman, "you could climb up into the little cart, and nobody would say a word to you, for I can see that you are not used to travelling."
"I am not indeed, ma'am," he replied; "this is the first time I ever came on a journey, and if it wasn't for Angus Óg I wouldn't put a foot out of my own place forever."
"Put Angus Óg out of your head, my dear," she replied, "for what would the likes of you and me be saying to a god? He might put a curse on us would sink us into the ground or burn us up like a grip of straw. Be contented now, I'm saying, for if there is a woman in the world who knows all things I am that woman myself, and if you tell your trouble to me I'll tell you the thing to do just as good as Angus himself, and better perhaps."
"That is very interesting," said the Philosopher. "What kind of things do you know best?"
"If you were to ask one of them two men walking beside the ass they'd tell you plenty of things they saw me do when they could do nothing themselves. When there wasn't a road to take anywhere I showed them a road, and when there wasn't a bit of food in the world I gave them food, and when they were bet to the last I put shillings in their hands, and that's the reason they wanted to marry me."
"Do you call that kind of thing wisdom?" said the Philosopher.
"Why wouldn't I?" said she. "Isn't it wisdom to go through the world without fear and not to be hungry in a hungry hour?"
"I suppose it is," he replied, "but I never thought of it that way myself."
"And what would you call wisdom?"
"I couldn't rightly say now," he replied, "but I think it was not to mind about the world, and not to care whether you were hungry or not, and not to live in the world at all but only in your own head, for the world is a tyrannous place. You have to raise yourself above things instead of letting things raise themselves above you. We must not be slaves to each other, and we must not be slaves to our necessities either. That is the problem of existence. There is no dignity in life at all if hunger can shout 'stop' at every turn of the road and the day's journey is measured by the distance between one sleep and the next sleep. Life is all slavery, and Nature is driving us with the whips of appetite and weariness; but when a slave rebels he ceases to be a slave, and when we are too hungry to live we can die and have our laugh. I believe that Nature is just as alive as we are, and that she is as much frightened of us as we are of her, and, mind you this, mankind has declared war against Nature and we will win. She does not understand yet that her geologic periods won't do any longer, and that while she is pottering along the line of least resistance we are going to travel fast and far until we find her, and then, being a female, she is bound to give in when she is challenged."
"It's good talk," said the woman, "but it's foolishness. Women never give in unless they get what they want, and where's the harm to them then? You have to live in the world, my dear, whether you like it or not, and, believe me now, that there isn't any wisdom but to keep clear of the hunger, for if that gets near enough it will make a hare of you. Sure, listen to r
eason now like a good man. What is Nature at all but a word that learned men have made to talk about? There's clay and gods and men, and they are good friends enough."
The sun had long since gone down, and the grey evening was bowing over the land, hiding the mountain peaks, and putting a shadow round the scattered bushes and the wide clumps of heather.
"I know a place up here where we can stop for the night," said she, "and there's a little shebeen round the bend of the road where we can get anything we want."
At the word "whoh" the ass stopped and one of the men took the harness off him. When he was unyoked the man gave him two kicks: "Be off with you, you devil, and see if you can get anything to eat," he roared. The ass trotted a few paces off and searched about until he found some grass. He ate this, and when he had eaten as much as he wanted he returned and lay down under a wall. He lay for a long time looking in the one direction, and at last he put his head down and went to sleep. While he was sleeping he kept one ear up and the other ear down for about twenty minutes, and then he put the first ear down and the other one up, and he kept on doing this all the night. If he had anything to lose you wouldn't mind him setting up sentries, but he hadn't a thing in the world except his skin and his bones, and no one would be bothered stealing them.
One of the men took a long bottle out of the cart and walked up the road with it. The other man lifted out a tin bucket which was punched all over with jagged holes. Then he took out some sods of turf and lumps of wood and he put these in the bucket, and in a few minutes he had a very nice fire lit. A pot of water was put on to boil, and the woman cut up a great lump of bacon which she put into the pot. She had eight eggs in a place in the cart, and a flat loaf of bread, and some cold, boiled potatoes, and she spread her apron on the ground and arranged these things on it.
The other man came down the road again with his big bottle filled with porter, and he put this in a safe place. Then they emptied everything out of the cart, and hoisted it over the little wall. They turned the cart on one side and pulled it near to the fire, and they all sat inside the cart and ate their supper. When supper was done they lit their pipes, and the woman lit a pipe also. The bottle of porter was brought forward, and they took drinks in turn out of the bottle, and smoked their pipes, and talked.
The Crock of Gold Page 7