The Best of Frank O'Connor

by Frank O'Connor

  ‘Won’t I?’ asked the watchman ironically. ‘Won’t I just? There’s people comes here at every hour of the night, and am I going to have it said I gethered all the young blackguards of the city about me?’

  ‘I’d go mad with lonesomeness,’ Larry cried, his voice rising on a note of fear.

  ‘You’ll find company enough in the tramp’s shelter on the Marina.’

  ‘I won’t go, I won’t go! I’ll dodge behind the timbers if a stranger comes.’

  ‘You’ll do nothing of the kind,’ the watchman shouted, losing his temper. ‘Clear out now and don’t let me see your ugly mug again.’

  ‘I won’t go!’ Larry repeated hysterically, evading him by running round the brazier. ‘I’m frightened, I tell you.’

  He had plainly heard the sound of quick footsteps coming in his direction, and he was determined that he would stay. The watchman, too, had heard them, and was equally determined that he would go.

  ‘Bad luck to you!’ he whispered despairingly, ‘what misfortune brought you this way tonight. If you don’t go away I’ll strangle you and drop your naked body in the river for the fish to ate. Be off with you, you devil’s brat!’

  He succeeded in chasing Larry for a few yards when the footsteps suddenly stopped and a woman’s voice called out:

  ‘Anybody there?’

  ‘I am,’ said the watchman, surlily abandoning the chase.

  ‘I thought you were lost,’ the woman said, and her voice sounded in Larry’s ears like a peal of bells. He came nearer to the brazier on tiptoe so that the watchman would not perceive him.

  ‘Do you want tea?’ the watchman asked sourly.

  ‘Well, you are a perfect gentleman,’ the woman’s voice went on with a laugh. ‘Nice way to speak to a lady!’

  ‘Oh, I know the sort of a lady you are!’ the watchman grumbled.

  ‘Squinty!’ and now her voice sounded caressing. ‘Are you really sore because I left you down the other night? I was sorry, Squinty, honest to God I was, but he was a real nice fella’ with tons of dough, and he wanted me so bad!’

  Larry, fascinated by the mysterious woman, drew nearer and nearer to the circle of light.

  ‘It isn’t only the other night,’ the watchman snarled. ‘It’s every night. You can’t see a man but you want to go off with him. I warn you, my girl—’

  But his girl was no longer listening to him.

  ‘Who’s that?’ she whispered sharply, peering into the shadows where Larry’s boyish face was half-hidden.

  ‘Blast you!’ shouted the watchman furiously. ‘Aren’t you gone yet?’

  The woman strode across to where Larry stood and caught him by the arm. He tried to draw back, but she pulled him into the light of the brazier.

  ‘I say, kid,’ she said, ‘aren’t you bashful? Let’s have a look at you!… Why, he’s a real beauty, that’s what he is.’

  ‘I’ll splinter his beauty for him in wan minit if he don’t get out of this!’ the watchman cried. ‘I’ll settle him. He have the heart played out of me this night already.’

  ‘Ah, be quiet, Squinty!’ said the woman appeasingly.

  ‘I’ll be the death of him!’

  ‘No, you won’t.… Don’t you be afraid of him, kid. He’s not as bad as he sounds.… Make a drop of tea for him, Squinty, the poor kid’s hands are freezing.’

  ‘I won’t make tea for him. I have no liquors to spare for young ragamuffins and sleepouts.’

  ‘Aah, do as you’re told!’ the woman said disgustedly.

  ‘You know there’s only two ponnies,’ said the watchman, subsiding.

  ‘Well, him and me’ll drink out of the one. Won’t we kid?’

  And with amazing coolness she put him sitting on an improvised bench before the fire, sat close beside him, and drew his hand comfortingly about her slender waist. Larry held it shyly; for the moment he wasn’t even certain that he might lawfully hold it at all. He looked at this magical creature in the same shy way. She had a diminutive face, coloured a ghostly white, and crimson lips that looked fine in the firelight. She was perfumed, too, with a scent that he found overpowering and sweet. There was something magical and compelling about her. And stranger than all, the watchman had fallen under her spell. He brewed the tea and poured it out into two ponnies, grumbling to himself the while.

  ‘You know he have no right to set down there,’ he was saying. ‘Nice trouble I’d be getting into if someone came along and seen a … seen a woman of the streets and a young reformatory school brat settin’ be the fire.… Eh, me lady?… Oh, very well, very well.… This’ll be put a stop to, this can’t go on forever.… And you think I don’t know what you’re up to, huh? Hm? No, no, my dear, you can’t fool an old soldier like me that way. This’ll be put a stop to.’

  ‘What are you saying, Squinty?’ the woman asked.

  ‘Oh, don’t mind me! Don’t mind me!’ The watchman laughed bitterly. ‘I don’t count, but all the same this’ll be put a stop to … there’s your tea!’

  He handed her one of the ponnies, then retreated into his watch box with the second. Inside he fumbled in his pockets, removed a little parcel of bread and butter, and tossed her half, which she deftly caught and shared with Larry. Larry had begun to feel that miracles were a very ordinary thing after all.

  ‘Get outside that, kid,’ she said kindly to Larry, handing him the ponny of boiling tea. ‘ ’Twill warm up your insides. What happened you to be out so late? Kissed the girl and lost the tram?’

  ‘Me ould fella’—’ said Larry, sipping and chewing, ‘me ould fella’ – locked me out! Bad luck to him!’ he added with a startling new courage.

  ‘Oh, ay, oh, ay!’ commented the watchman bitterly from his box. ‘That’s the way they speaks of their fathers nowadays! No respect for age or anything else. Better fed than taught.’

  ‘Never mind him, darling,’ said the woman consolingly. ‘He’s old-fashioned, that’s what he is!’

  Then as Larry made a frightened sign to her, she laughed.

  ‘Are you afraid he’ll hear me? Oh, Squinty doesn’t mind a bit. We’re old friends. He know quite well what I think of him – don’t you, Squinty?’ Her voice dropped to a thrilling whisper, and her hand fondled Larry’s knee in a way that sent a shiver of pleasure through him. ‘Will you come home with me, darling?’ she asked, without listening to the watchman’s reply.

  ‘Oh, I know, I know,’ the latter answered. ‘Nice name this place’ll be getting with you and all the immoral men and boys of the city making your rondeyvoos here. Sailors … tramps … reformatory school brats … all sorts and conditions. This’ll be put a stop to, my lady. Mark my words, this’ll be put a stop to. I know what you’re saying, I know what you’re whispering. It’s no use, my dear. You can’t deceive me.’

  ‘I was only asking him if he’d e’er a place to stop.’

  ‘And what is it to you if he haven’t, my lady?’

  ‘God help us, you wouldn’t like your own son to be out here all night, catching his death of cold or maybe dropping asleep and falling stupid in the fire.’

  ‘I wouldn’t like me own son to be connaisseuring with the likes of you either.’

  ‘He might meet with worse,’ said the woman, bridling up.

  ‘And where would you bring him?’

  ‘Never mind where I’d bring him! I’d bring him a place he’d be welcome in anyway, not like here.’

  The watchman suddenly changed his tone, becoming violent, and at the same time conciliatory.

  ‘You wouldn’t leave me here lonesome by meself after all you promised me?’ he cried.

  ‘I won’t remain here to be insulted either.’

  ‘He can stay, he can stay,’ said the watchman submissively. ‘I won’t say a cross word to him.’

  ‘He’d rather go home with me,’ said the woman. ‘Wouldn’t you, darling?’

  ‘I would,’ said Larry decisively.

  ‘Don’t you go! Don’t you go, young fellow!’ shouted t
he watchman. ‘She’s an immoral woman.… Oh, you low creature,’ he continued, ‘aren’t you ashamed of yourself? Leaving me lonesome night after night, and chasing off with any stranger that comes the way. Last time it was the dandy fellow off the Swedish boat, and now it’s a common brat that his own father won’t leave in.’

  ‘Now, now, don’t be snotty!’ said the young woman reprovingly. ‘It’s not becoming to your years. And if you’re good maybe I’ll come round and see you tomorrow night.’

  ‘You’ll say that and not mean a word of it!’ exclaimed the watchman. ‘Oh, you low creature. You haven’t a spark of honour or decency.’

  ‘Come on home, darling, before he loses his temper,’ said the woman good-humouredly. She rose and took Larry’s hand, and with a loud ‘Good-bye’ to the watchman, guided him on to the roadway. As she did so there came the sound of heavy footsteps thudding along the wooden jetty. The woman started nervously and pushed Larry before her towards the shadow of the timber.

  ‘Here, kid,’ she whispered, ‘we’ll go round by the timbers and up the Park. Hurry! Hurry! I hear someone coming.’

  The steps drew nearer, and suddenly she dropped Larry’s hand and crouched back into the shadows. He heard a quick, stifled cry that terrified him.

  ‘Oh, Sacred Heart, he seen me!’ she said, and then in a tense, vicious whisper she cried to the unseen, ‘May the divil in hell melt and blind you, you clumsy Tipperary lout!’

  ‘Is that you I seen, Molly?’ a jovial voice called from the darkness, and a moment later Larry saw the glint of the fire on an array of silver buttons.

  ‘Yes, constable, it’s me,’ the woman answered, and Larry could scarcely recognize her voice for the moment, it was so unctuous, so caressing. But again came the fierce mutter beside him, ‘Bad luck and end to you, y’ould ram, what divil’s notion took you to come this way tonight?’

  ‘Are you alone?’ the policeman asked, emerging from the shadows.

  ‘No, constable,’ she sniggered.

  ‘Is there someone with you?’

  ‘Yes, constable … a friend.’

  ‘Oh, a friend, is there? And what’s your friend doing out at this hour of the night?’ He strode across to Larry and shook his arm. ‘So you’re the friend, me young hopeful? And what have you here at this hour of the night, huh?’

  ‘He was seeing me home, constable, and I took a bit of a weakness so we sat here a while with Squinty.’

  ‘Answer me!’ thundered the policeman to Larry. ‘And don’t try to tell any lies. What have you out at this hour?’

  ‘Me father’ – gasped Larry, ‘me father – locked me out – sir.’

  ‘Mmmm. Your father locked you out, did he? Well, I’m thinking it wouldn’t do you any harm to lock you in, d’you hear? How would you like that, eh?’

  ‘Bah!’ grunted the watchman.

  ‘What did you say, Squinty?’

  ‘I said right, constable. Right every time! If I’d me way with that sort of young fellow I’d make drisheens of his hide.’

  ‘And what about you, Molly?’

  ‘He’s a friend of mine, constable,’ the woman said ingratiatingly. ‘Let him go now and he won’t do it again. I’m finding him a place to sleep – the poor child is perished with the cold. Leave him to me, constable. I’ll look after him for the night.’

  ‘Aisy now, aisy!’ the policeman interrupted heavily. ‘We’re all friends, aren’t we?’

  ‘Yes, constable.’

  ‘And we want to do the best we can by one another, don’t we?’

  ‘Yes, constable.’

  ‘I’ve a word to say to you, so I think I’ll take your advice and let the boy go. Squinty will keep an eye on him, won’t you, Squinty?’

  ‘You may swear I’ll keep an eye on him,’ the watchman said viciously.

  ‘That’s all right then. Are you satisfied now, Molly?’

  ‘Yes, constable,’ she said between her teeth.

  ‘The same place?’

  ‘Yes, constable.’

  She turned on her heel and went off slowly along the quay. The darkness was thinning. A faint brightness came from above the hill at the other side of the river. The policeman glanced at it and sighed.

  ‘Well, it’s a fine day, thanks be to God,’ he said. ‘I had a quiet night of it, and after this I’ll have a grand sleep for myself. Will you try a drop, Squinty?’

  ‘I will then,’ said the watchman greedily.

  The policeman took a flask from his pocket and drank from it. He handed it to the watchman, who took another swig and gave it back to him. The policeman held it up to the fire. He closed his left eye and whistled brightly for a few moments.

  ‘There’s a taoscán in it still,’ he commented. ‘I suppose you don’t drink, young fellow?’

  ‘I don’t,’ said Larry sourly, ‘but I’d drink it now if you’d give it to me.’

  ‘I will, I will,’ said the policeman laughing. ‘And I after taking your girl from you and all. ’Tis the least I might do. But never mind, young fellow. There’s plenty more where she came from.’

  Larry choked over a mouthful of the neat whiskey and handed back the empty flask. The policeman drew out a packet of cheap cigarettes and held it towards him.

  ‘Wish me luck!’ he said.

  ‘Good luck!’ said Larry, taking a cigarette.

  ‘Fathers are a curse anyway,’ said the other confidentially. ‘But I mustn’t be keeping me little pusher waiting. So long, men.’

  ‘So long,’ said Larry and the watchman together.

  The policeman disappeared between the high walls of timber, and Larry sat by the brazier and recklessly lit his cigarette. The watchman, too, lit his pipe, and smoked silently and contentedly, spitting now and again out of sheer satisfaction. The faint brightness over the hill showed clearer and clearer, until at last the boy could distinguish the dim outlines of riverside and ships and masts. He shivered. The air seemed to have become colder. The watchman began to mumble complacently to himself within his box.

  ‘Ah, dear me,’ he said, launching a spit in the direction of the brazier, ‘dear me, honesty is the best policy.… Yes, my lady, honesty is the best policy after all, that’s what I say.… I told you I’d (spit) put a stop to your goings-on, my lady; your (spit) Swedish skippers and your dandy boys, and now you’re quiet enough, my lady.… Now you’re quiet enough.’

  Larry rose.

  ‘Where are you going now?’ asked the watchman sourly.

  ‘I’m going home,’ said Larry.

  ‘Stop where you are now! Didn’t you hear what the policeman said?’

  ‘I don’t care what the policeman said. I’m going home.’

  ‘Home? Aren’t you afraid?’

  ‘What would I be afraid of?’ asked Larry contemptuously.

  ‘Ah, my boy,’ said the watchman with fierce satisfaction, ‘your old fella’ will hammer hell out of you when he gets you inside the door!’

  ‘Will he?’ asked Larry. ‘Will he now? I’d bloody well like to see him try it.’

  And whistling jauntily, he went off in the direction of the city.

  THE MAJESTY OF THE LAW

  OLD DAN BRIDE was breaking brosna for the fire when he heard a step on the path. He paused, a bundle of saplings on his knee.

  Dan had looked after his mother while the life was in her, and after her death no other woman had crossed his threshold. Signs on it, his house had that look. Almost everything in it he had made with his own hands in his own way. The seats of the chairs were only slices of log, rough and round and thick as the saw had left them, and with the rings still plainly visible through the grime and polish that coarse trouser-bottoms had in the course of long years imparted. Into these Dan had rammed stout knotted ash-boughs that served alike for legs and back. The deal table, bought in a shop, was an inheritance from his mother and a great pride and joy to him though it rocked whenever he touched it. On the wall, unglazed and fly-spotted, hung in mysterious isolation a Marcus Sto
ne print, and beside the door was a calendar with a picture of a racehorse. Over the door hung a gun, old but good, and in excellent condition, and before the fire was stretched an old setter who raised his head expectantly whenever Dan rose or even stirred.

  He raised it now as the steps came nearer and when Dan, laying down the bundle of saplings, cleaned his hands thoughtfully on the seat of his trousers, he gave a loud bark, but this expressed no more than a desire to show off his own watchfulness. He was half human and knew people thought he was old and past his prime.

  A man’s shadow fell across the oblong of dusty light thrown over the half-door before Dan looked round.

  ‘Are you alone, Dan?’ asked an apologetic voice.

  ‘Oh, come in, come in, sergeant, come in and welcome,’ exclaimed the old man, hurrying on rather uncertain feet to the door which the tall policeman opened and pushed in. He stood there, half in sunlight, half in shadow, and seeing him so, you would have realized how dark the interior of the house really was. One side of his red face was turned so as to catch the light, and behind it an ash tree raised its boughs of airy green against the sky. Green fields, broken here and there by clumps of red-brown rock, flowed downhill, and beyond them, stretched all across the horizon, was the sea, flooded and almost transparent with light. The sergeant’s face was fat and fresh, the old man’s face, emerging from the twilight of the kitchen, had the colour of wind and sun, while the features had been so shaped by the struggle with time and the elements that they might as easily have been found impressed upon the surface of a rock.

  ‘Begor, Dan,’ said the sergeant, ‘ ’tis younger you’re getting.’

  ‘Middling I am, sergeant, middling,’ agreed the old man in a voice which seemed to accept the remark as a compliment of which politeness would not allow him to take too much advantage. ‘No complaints.’

  ‘Begor, ’tis as well because no one would believe them. And the old dog doesn’t look a day older.’

  The dog gave a low growl as though to show the sergeant that he would remember this unmannerly reference to his age, but indeed he growled every time he was mentioned, under the impression that people had nothing but ill to say of him.