“Grandfather,” Peadar said, “when will I be going to draw my hutch?”
“You are time enough for another year love,” the old man said, as he looked kindly at the boy.
“You will have long trousers then, Peadar,” Una said.
“Even if I have,” Peadar said, “isn’t it time for me? Of course I wasn’t thinking that they were going to put them on you, Uinin?”
Maise what would I be doing with them, black eyed Peadarin?”
“Wouldn’t they be handy for you when you are riding the Greasai’s old donkey behind the school house?”
“Who said I was on the Greasai’s donkey or any other donkey for that matter? Una said, blushing more than usual.
“I hope you did nothing of that kind, love?” the old woman said. “You will disgrace yourself, love. If you fell from the back of that donkey, you could break your back or your neck.”
“On top of the chimney is the next place you will find her.” Triona said.
“What about the long thin man?” Una asked. What about the fishing rod from Inis Colman, sister? He could look down the chimney without ever going up to it.”
But Triona had her back turned towards them and she was washing the dishes on the table, and she did not let on that she heard this chat.
“I bet that silenced you, Mrs. Mac Alastair!” Una said attacking again.
“Maise, Una, sister,” the old woman said, “what kind of chat is that from you? Don’t you know very well that Mac Alastair would not marry a poor tenant girl, the likes of our Triona; and any way, don’t you know that she couldn’t marry a Protestant?”
“How do you know that she will not turn for him,” Una said, putting her tongue out roguishly behind Triona’s back.
“I believe that is what you will do when the time comes for you!” Triona said.
“Arah, leave that kind of nonsensical chat behind you,” Feargal said. “Would we be long collecting the price of a cow, between all of us, granddad?” Feargal asked. “It is a poor thing to be depending on only one cow, and it will take a long time before that calf out there is carrying a calf herself.”
“Maise, I’m a long time thinking of the same thing myself.” Conor Mor said. “Out here in April, cattle will be cheaper and we might have enough saved by then to buy a fairly good cow.”
“Of course we will not have to sell the lambs?” Una said.
“Maise do you hear that chat?” Peadar said. “I can guarantee that my lamb will not be sold, at any rare.”
“No lamb will be sold,” Feargal said. “We will keep all the sheep until we have a good herd on the mountain.”
“Good boy, son,” the old man said. “There is money to be made from sheep and no cost going with them. They tell me that Marcus Mac Alastair has a big herd, up on the mountain”
“He bought more since November,” Feargal said. “He has fifty sheep on the mountain now and a couple of rams.”
“I forgot,” Triona said, “he was talking about the sheep in Ballinashee today. He asked me to tell Peadar that he would pay him four shillings a week to herd them.”
“Did he say that?” Peadar asked, “Four shillings a week! And all I have to do for him is to go up the mountain every evening! And of course there is seldom an evening that I don’t do that anyway. Are you joking me, Triona?”
“No joke at all, man,” Feargal said. “I heard him saying it.”
“On my word you are in luck, Peadarin!” Una said. “Who can compare with you now?”
“That is great news,” the old woman said. “Four shillings a week will be a great help.”
“It is great for sure,” Big Conor said. “God is helping us in a lot of little ways in recent times. Triona, sister, pass me down that flute.”
The waves were rough repeatedly attacking the banks around Inis Colman that night; and there was a thin eerie sound from the bare branches of the trees around Mac Alastair’s house. Both Nansai Ban and old Nabla were very busy from sunrise that morning, getting everything ready for the big feast on the following day; when the supper was over, the dishes washed, and the floor swept, the pair sat down beside the fire, very tired but well satisfied with themselves.
“The master has a good drop drank tonight,” Nabla said, and she removed the lid from a box of snuff.
“Marcus is not far behind him,” Nansai said; “which is seldom. He had a good drop drank when he returned from Ballinashee at dusk; and a fair drop more drank since.”
“May God bless my poor man,” Nabla said: “the pair of shoes he had for me are very stylish altogether; and it wasn’t enough for him to buy the shoes, he had to buy the stockings as well. It’s not fair, inside a shop buying white stockings. He is the best that ever was here.”
“There is absolutely no pride that ever was in him,” Nansai said. “Where is the man, high or low, who would go into a shop and buy a dress for a girl, either?”
“I would say that the same dress cost a good penny,” Nabla said. “It is the best of poplin. What way was the master the last time you went into the parlour?”
“He seemed great to me,” the girl said. “He asked me if I would drink a glass of wine.”
“All the same,” Nabla said, “he failed a lot lately. I’d say myself that there is some sickness gnawing at him for a while, some sickness that he his trying to keep hidden. And he won’t last much longer, take it from me.”
“He is failing all right,” the girl said, “and his appetite is also failing for some time. I notice that he is not as sharp as he used to be. I think lately that he is getting a bit forgetful.”
“Maise, he was a strong tough man once,” Nabla said;” but I’m afraid all the spirits he drank are getting the better of his health now. I am in this house for almost thirty years, and I know how addicted he was to drink. That man drank enough spirits, pet, to sail a boat. He was so accustomed to whiskey that it couldn’t make him drunk. I often saw him merry, of course; but I haven’t yet seen him staggering, or getting sick. It is often I heard his poor wife telling him that he would put himself into an early grave with the drink. And do you see, he is alive after her. May she have eternal Rest, she was a lady-similar to Marcus, in her ways.”
“Was the master good to her, Nabla?”
“Well he was-and he wasn’t. You know yourself the little habits he has. Well, he was always the same, and he was the same with her as well, before she was long here. He did not mind giving her short answers, and she only asking him a simple question. I heard him venting his anger on her more than once. But I never heard her giving him a back answer. She would just smile at the grossest words he said to her. She was friendly, the creature, and she had great patience, just like Marcus. She was the Irish breed, but her people turned Protestant in the olden times. That is the truth, love; and as sure as I have this box of snuff in my hand, Marcus will be a Catholic yet. And I hope in God that I will not die before I see it.”
“I think I have a small drop too much drank, son,” Mac Alastair said. “But what harm? It is Christmas night, and who knows that we won’t be under the sod this time next year? Put another drop in this glass for me, Marcus. I wouldn’t satisfy the whiskey to get the better of me, something which it has never been able to do so far. Marcus, no body ever saw me drunk yet, and no one ever will. It is nice to be able to carry your drink, Marcus.”
The pair was sitting on big leather sofas by the fire in the parlour. The older man was wearing his good flannel clothes, his spectacles up on his forehead, and his feet buried in his slippers. He looked as if he had a lot of spirits drank. Marcus was also merry. He was scattered looking and his eyelids were closing on him in spite of himself. The older man took a sip from his glass and he drew on his pipe.
“Marcus,” he said, “ you have good work done at the mine this year, great work! But you are getting far too friendly with the people from Gleann Ceo. I’m telling you to stop that nonsense now. I never had anything to do with them good or bad. I kept them far away
from me and I was reluctant to greet them. My dear man, they will overcome you. Mac Alastair made them respect him, son. On my soul, I did; and my advice for you is to do the same trick, or they won’t have the respect of a dog for you.”
“They are a little bit rough,” Marcus said, “but they are good natured. They have a wild streak in them, but they have generous hearts. The person who is good to them, they will be good in return. If they had a middling way of life, and educated as they should by right, they would be the best people in the world. As workers they are the hardest and the most loyal that I have ever seen.”
“Marcus, son, that is only a young man’s dream. Every young person thinks that there is nothing in the world except happiness, that there is no bad in anyone. Take the advice of an old man who has come through life: be on the alert for everyone, because I don’t believe that you will ever find a person in whom you can put all your trust. The joy that you see in any person is only false, like a cat when it is purring: false happiness to put you off your guard; the happiness of the cat when he is playing on you. To be unfriendly with the world is the best way to be- to be able to walk through the whole lot of them and not to care whether you see them or you don’t. That is what I always did, son, and my advice to you is to do the same. Are you falling asleep, man?”
The young man would have liked to say a lot against this advice; but he knew that the punch was getting the upper hand, and that if he began to bare his anger he might regret it. He also noticed how much the old man was failing. Maybe he was not going to live much longer; and he thought it was as well to let him have his way. He knew full well that he would not be able to change his laws or his stubbornness at the end of his days. It would only be a waste of effort. And he also thought that it would not be to his credit to be involved in an argument with his father on Christmas night. He arose from the sofa sluggishly, put his back to the fire, and stretched himself.
“Go up to bed, pet,” his father said. “Your eyes are closing.”
“I think I will take your advice,” the son said.
DEATH OF MACALASTAIR
Seimin Ban came out from the darkness of the mine, and he shaded his eyes for a minute against the strong sunlight. He glanced over at the men who were sweating while shovelling the coal into the carts that were there from Droim Dhilliuir, from Ballinashee, from Drumkeeran, from Roscommon, and a lot more places. But he only just glanced. Seimin was in a hurry at this time. He had just received a message from his wife to get permission from Marcus, and to hurry out as fast as he could. He knew only too well that Sile would not get him away from his jobs for an unimportant reason; and he was both anxious and excited as he drew towards Eoin an Droighead’s house, on his way to his own house.
“What’s wrong?” he said before he was half way through the door.
“A letter which has just arrived now from the master,” she said. “Something he wants you to do. Throw off them old clothes and get yourself ready smartly.”
“A letter from the master?” Seimin said. “In God’s name what does he want from me?”
“Surely to God, you haven’t done anything wrong,” she said, as she put some soft water in a basin for him.
“Maise what would I do wrong?” poor Seimin said. Is it possible that he is going to take the foreman’s job from me, and to give it to his son to do my jobs.? Only God knows what he wants from me…”
There were only a couple of lines in the letter:
“Inis Colman
4/7/1912
Dear Seimin,
I have a need to see you today, and as soon as you get this message, leave your work and come here to me.
Riocart/Richard Mac Alastair.”
“Could it be about Nansai that he wants me?” Seimin said, when he had the letter read and re read.
“Maise what problem would he have with Nansai?” Sile said. “On my soul but that is nice talk from you! Hurry up I tell you, and don’t spend the day looking at that old letter. Do, man, and eat this bite before you go.”
Poor Seimin’s moustache and jaws began to twitch, but he never said a word. He drank a mug of tea, but he had no interest in the bread. He had too much on his mind. He continued to finger the bread for a few seconds after all the tea was gone.
“Here!” Sile said, as she began to clear the table. Get up out of that, man, and off you go in the name of God. Rise!”
Seimin blessed himself with the holy water and he set out for Inis Colman. He could hear the sound of the engines from the mine and it seemed to him that they were on the same beat as his own heart. He stared out in front of him towards Inis Colman and it looked as if a thick forest was growing up out of the waters of Loch Eala, and the poor fellow shivered.
But he continued walking just the same, smartly and purposely, and he never found until he was at Martan’s house on the banks of the island. Martan’s boat happened to be there and he put it on the water and off he went.
Out in the garden at the back of the house he found Mac Alastair. He was wearing a sun hat and he picking onion bulbs.
“You didn’t waste much time,” he said, straightening himself and putting his hands to his waist.
“I came as fast as I could, sir,” Seimin said, standing in front of him as a soldier would stand before an officer.
Mac Alastair sought out a garden seat under the shade of a tree and he eased himself down on it sluggishly.
“Sit down, Seimin,” he said. “I believe you are tired after your walk this hot evening.”
“Maise, there is no loss on me, sir; I could not be much better! There is a power of coal coming out these times, sir, the likes of which I have never seen before. It is in ferocious demand, sir. They are taking it away, sir, as fast as it is coming out of the mine.”
“Just so,” Mac Alastair said, “That is good news. But it is not about the mine that I want to talk to you this evening, but about another matter which is annoying me. I want to ask you a few questions about my son. Do you understand me?”
“I understand, I understand, sir” Seimin said, and he was doing his best to convince the other man that every word no matter how small it was would be regarded as precious.
“Tell me the truth without adding to it, or taking from it.”
“Anything that I can tell you sir, I will.”
“Good enough,” Mac Alastair said, as he reddened his pipe. “Are you able to tell me where does Marcus spend his time in Gleann Ceo when he is not in the mine?”
“Maise there are a lot of places where he could be, sir,” Seimin said. “He is often in the Greasai Rua’s house, and in Eoin an Droighead’s house. He takes an odd trip out on the Bradshleibhe/mountain, and he is often fishing in Abhann an Eas. Of course he is often in the priest’s house as well.”
“What is he doing in the priest’s house, do you know?”
“Bees, that’s what takes him there, sir, bees. There is a lot of work with bees, sir. Himself and the priest are always in the garden, studying bees. The priest has a book written about bees, you know. He is constantly watching them, examining them, and handling them. They tell me that he is an expert on bees. Isn’t it funny work, sir? Bees! Devil the likes of the humming than is in that garden. They would deafen your ears, sir. The priest standing there, sir, the top off the beehive, a fog of bees all around him and he not worried in the least about their sting no more that if he had leather skin on him. I would not go near them, sir, for all the gold in the world.”
Mac Alastair was thinking, that he was on his best trying to hoodwink him with his story about the bees. He made a little noise in his throat.
“I am afraid,” he said, “ that the boy from this house is learning more from the priest than just bee-keeping. Does he go there often?”
“Well, he often spends a big part of the evening there, sir. Of course people are saying that Marcus is thinking about turning Catholic. But it would be a foolish person who would pay heed to the stories of people half of the time, sir.”
> Mac Alastair was silent for a very long time. Poor Seimin did not know what to say or to do, in the end he got his pipe and began to fill it. He glanced a few times on the other man, and he thought that he did not look too well, at that time. Mac Alastair’s had poison in his voice, when he spoke again.
“Does he go into the Church at all?” he said. “The truth now or you will regret it.”
He terrified Seimin with his voice and his face. He thought about the oak tree that was behind the island, the cursed tree where poor creatures were hanged from its branches in the year of the French. It was this man’s grandfather who had done the awful deed.
“He is in it the odd time, sir,” the poor fellow said.
“Is the priest in the Church with him?”
“I don’t know,” Seimin said. “I myself did not see Marcus in the Church except on one occasion. One evening I was inside doing the Stations of the Cross, he came in. But it was not the priest who was with him but a girl from the Gleann.
“A girl from the Gleann! Mac Alastair said. “What girl from the Gleann?”
“The daughter of Conor Mor Guildea’s sir,” Seimin said.
“Is that right now,” Mac Alastair said, and it was difficult to know from his voice whether he was vexed or pleased. “How did he happen to be in the company of this girl?”
“Well, it is like this, sir,” Seimin said; “himself and herself are great for a few years. I am not saying that means anything; only that they are often together here and there. An odd time he takes her on the bike to Ballinashee, or places like that. Of course people are saying that there might be a wedding as a result of these things. But of course as I said before, sir, no one would pass heed of the things people say?
“Did he go on his knees in the Church that evening?”
“Well he did, he did, sir.”
There was another big long silence.
“What age is this girl?”
“Triona Guildea? I believe she in or about twenty one, sir.”
“Herself and the priest are on their best trying to convert him!” Mac Alastair said and he jumped to his feet. “They are trying to get a grip on my mine and on my land lordship.”
West, in the Foggy Valley Page 8