The Dirty Dust (45 page)

—Bloody tear and 'ounds, anyway, isn't that exactly what Blotchy Brian said …

—… “Do you think this is ‘The War of the Two Foreigners'?” is what I ask myself …

—Get your act together now, man …

—… It was my wife who filled in the papers for Paddy Caitriona … Cool down for feck's sake, Master! Back off, will ya! … Grand so, Master, if you say so. I know she was your wife … Hang on there, Master! Patience now! Like two dogs …

—… There were days like that, Peter the Publican. Don't try to deny it …

—… Paper under the roof, Caitriona. But Paddy is putting a slate roof on the house! … That's it, a two-storey house, Caitriona, bay windows and all and a windmill up on the hill for electricity … If you saw the government bull that he bought, Caitriona! All of ninety pounds. The cattle dealers are very happy. All the bulls around the place were a posse of pansies …

—Bloody tear and 'ounds, isn't that exactly what Blotchy Brian said: “The bulls have gone awful quiet since England put a stop to de Valera's cattle and since the Massacre of the Innocents …”

—And he has plans to buy a lorry to deliver turf. We could do with it badly in our own hole of a backwater. We don't have sign or sight of a lorry since Paudeen's was taken from him … I'm telling you, neighbour, five or six hundred pounds …

—Five or six hundred pounds! Anybody's pocket would be very lonely if that much was removed from it, Billy. Nearly as much as Nell got that time in the court …

—His pocket wasn't lonely at all, Caitriona, especially since he got the will …

—But Nell got the big fat wad of notes all the same …

—Bloody tear and 'ounds, didn't Blotchy Brian say that Paddy
Caitriona wouldn't recognise paper money any more than Fireside Tom would recognise the sweat of his brow, or …

—Wouldn't you think, Billy, with a whirlwind of notes like that flying around the place that somebody would remember to pay back the pound that I loaned to Caitriona …

—You little drizzling shit! …

—… The Postmistress's daughter told me as much … Calm down, Master! … It's a dirty lie, Master … I never opened any letter …

—Don't take a blind bit of notice of his ranting, Nora. Remember always that he was a noncommissioned officer in the Murder Machine … I won't have the opportunity to read any more of “The Sunset” to you again, Nora. I am far too busy with my new draft, “The Piglet Moon.” I got the idea from Coley. His grandfather could trace his family tree back as far as the moon. He spent three hours every night staring up at it, just like our ancestors. When the new moon rose his nostrils developed three different kinds of snot: one golden, one silver, and the good old dependable genuine solid Irish snot …

—… She told me, Caitriona, that Baba said that you were her favourite sister ever, and that you would have been grateful to her too, only that you died first …

—I did my best and I did my worst, Billy, but I failed to bury Nell …

—Be japers, Caitriona, neighbour, maybe it made no difference one way or the other. Paddy himself told me, and told the … the Mistress, that Nell left him a lot of bits and pieces that were never in the will. She'd only take half of Fireside Tom's land from him, and believe you me, Caitriona, not a Sunday passes without the priest saying a Mass for your soul and Jack the Lad's …

—For my soul, and Jack the Lad's …

—Bloody tear and 'ounds, didn't Blotchy Brian say that …

—For my soul, and Jack the Lad's …

—And Baba, and …

—… “The only comparison you could ever make with the gang
of Paudeen's daughters,” he said, “is that they're like the two scabby pups that I saw once with their eyes glued to a nag of a mule that was in the throes of death over in Bally Donough. One of them was yapping and yowling trying to keep the other away. It stressed him so much that he burst his whole guts out in a glob of gunk. No bother to the other dog, as soon as he saw that the mule was dead and had him all to himself, didn't he just up and away and left him there for the dead dog …”

—Looks like he missed that trick all right! He thought that his own family would get its paws on every crumb of the will! That I may be killed stone dead …

—I'll tell you no lie, Caitriona, neighbour, himself and his daughter aren't cosying up to Nell now as much as they used to …

—No harm in that … For my own soul and that of Jack the Lad …

—He can't make up his mind, Caitriona, whether to come or to go. He was anointed the other day …

—It won't make him any younger! He's twice my age …

—My own … Mistress took a jaunt up to see him. Do you know what message he sent back with her? …

—The hard and bitter word unless he has totally changed … I swear …

—My own uncle never received any spiritual assistance from the time I was looking after him, or do you think, Billy, that he says the Rosary? …

—Bloody tear and 'ounds, isn't that what he said …

—What he said to the Mistress was this: “You'll tell Billy the Postman,” he said, “if he pops off before me to tell them all back there that that I'll be on my way flying in no time at all. He'll tell Redser Tom that I'll take the lump out of his throat, if he didn't bother to take my advice …”

—Neither herself nor anyone else ever managed to put one over on somebody else because of what I said, Billy. And I have to tell you too that that all the graves are riddled with holes …

—… “He'll tell Black Bandy Bartley to strike up a bar of a ballad as soon as he hears I'm on my way …”

—“And ho row there Mary, with your bags and your belts …”

—“Marty John More had a young one

And she was as strong as any man …”

—… “He'll tell Greedy pint-guzzling Guts that I'll crack the willow whip on the hide of his old crock of a donkey for being ready and waiting in my field of corn, especially since she started Curran making his pilgrimages to the courts …”

—Bloody tear and 'ounds, Billy, go on, keep going …

—… For my soul and for …

—That's what he said, neighbour. But if he did my … the Mistress never told me about it …

—Bloody tear and 'ounds, what's the point of making a Redser Tom of himself! If it's going to rip, let it rip. “And he'll say to my own little darling, Caitriona,” he'll say, “that they were sending for the long tubes of the fire brigade to quench me after the scorching I got from the geyser in Dublin, but that I'm not in any way scared now of its boiling water …”

—Ababoona! Ababoona! Black Bandy Bartley! Billy my friend! How do we know they won't dump the ugly waster … the stuff-nosed … stoopy slanty-shouldered … yob, down on top of me … Oh, go away Billy dear, I don't believe he ever washed himself in Dublin … Bury him next to me! Like fuck they will! They have their glue! … The room … The grin … “You can have Blotchy Brian, Caitriona …” Oh, Billy, I'd burst, I swear I'd burst, I'd burst …

—Don't worry your noggin about it, Caitriona, neighbour. Everything will be fine.

—But just look where they buried you, Billy …

—The poor creature didn't really know what she was up to … Back off, Master! Take it easy! … Don't take a blind bit of notice of him, Caitriona. That leech is as fresh and as clingy as the ivy …

—That kind of stuff doesn't matter in the end. Holy Mary, Mother of God, the Earl's little black boy wouldn't disgust me as
much … What's this now, Billy? Another body coming in! Sacred Heart of Jesus, Billy my good friend, suppose it's him. Shut up a minute and listen! …

—How are you all cutting! Are you plugging away? John Kitty from Bally Donough has just arrived …

—See where he's buried …

—The Great Professor of Futurology of the Western World is dead and his prophetic skull is laid down at Bandy Bartley's feet …

—Bloody tear and 'ounds, his skull could do with an extra pillow alright.

—Tell us now, John Kitty, what do you think of the old life now, or do you think that the prophecies will come true? …

—I'll keen for you now, John Kitty, as is only right and proper for your calling and for your fame … Ochone and Ochone Oh!

—… Ara, get up the yard, John Kitty! All that bullshit talk about Red Ball O'Donnell! Will England get blasted to bits and be blown away in a storm of ashes in this war? Is that in your prophecy? Hey, Black Bandy, Give him a jab of your toe in his prophetic skull …

—Oh Billy my dearest! … I'm going to have no peace here six feet under in the dirty dust …

—Don't let it bother you, Caitriona. The priest has arranged to make a completely new map of the graveyard. Top of the Road's old one was bitching away recently. “Weren't things bad enough for the twattish twerps of Clogher Savvy,” she says, “but now they have to go and put their rotting legs across the sensitive stomach of the old boy himself …”

—I'm telling you, no coffin or blanket will last too long on that corpse! See the way he stole my mallet! …

—… But Caitriona dear, you'll have the cross up over you anyway …

—I wish they'd hurry it up, Billy! I wish they'd hurry it up before the witch herself is dead …

—It will have been worth waiting for, Caitriona. Everyone who has seen it says it is absolutely beautiful. The priest himself came hot foot to look at it, and the Junior Master was there, and my … the

Mistress, they were all there the same Saturday having a good gawk at the inscription in Irish …

—Did you say that Billy, did you tell that to Nora Johnny and Kitty and Redser Tom? … Oh, Billy dear, if it's not on me …

—It will be, Caitriona. Don't let that bother you one bit, my good neighbour. It's been ready for ages, but they were just waiting to stick your own one and Jack the Lad's up together …

—My cross and Jack the Lad's cross going up together …

—Fireside Tom's cross is holding them up now …

—My cross and Jack the Lad's …

—Everyone says, Caitriona, that your one is much nicer than Kitty's, or Nora Johnny's, or even Huckster Joan's …

—My cross and Jack the Lad's …

—It's nicer than Jack the Lad's too, Caitriona. My … the Mistress says she'd prefer it to Peter the Publican's …

—It's of Connemara marble so, Billy?

—I couldn't say that for sure, neighbour. It was bought in McCormack's yard in the Fancy City anyway.

—Bloody tear and 'ounds, how could that gom know anything seeing as that he couldn't raise his head from his pillow for yonks past? …

—If it's not Connemara marble, Billy, it won't be worth a tinker's curse or a gypsy's grunt as far as I'm concerned …

—I thought that all the Connemara marble was all used up …

—Shut your hole, you grabber!

—It's of Connemara marble!

—It's not of Connemara marble!

—I'm telling you it is of Connemara marble!

—I'm telling you it's not of Connemara marble!

—McCormack's never have Connemara marble. Only Moran's have it now …

—Ara, away out of that, what's the point of going on about it? Didn't Nora Johnny's and Kitty's come from there, and weren't they all of Connemara marble! …

—And Breed Terry's …

—And Huckster Joan's …

—I certainly did hear, Caitriona, neighbour, that Nell had ordered a cross of Connemara marble for herself …

—The Big Butcher from the Fancy City came to my funeral. He often said he had plenty of time for me because his father had plenty of time for my father …

—… Nora Johnny's cross is of Connemara marble …

—… I was twenty and I played the ace of hearts …

—… Kitty's cross …

—…
La liberation
…

—… Breed Terry's cross … Huckster Joan's cross …

—I was the first corpse in the graveyard. Don't you think that the oldest resident in the place should have something to say? Let me speak! Let me speak! Let me sp—… !

—Let him speak!

—Go on ya good thing! Off you go! …

—… Nell's cross …

—Go on! …

—Go on, you headbanger! …

—… Is not Connemara marble …

—… After you nearly bursting your guts for thirty-one years getting permission to speak …

—… Too true for you, Master! Now you're talking! Two dogs …

—… Neither my cross nor your cross, Jack the Lad …

—… You're allowed to talk now, but it seems you're happier to keep your gob shut …

—… Neither my cross nor your cross is Connemara marble …

M
ÁIRTÍN
Ó C
ADHAIN
was born in an Cnocán Glas, Cois Fharraige, Connemara, in 1906. He was educated locally, and a scholarship allowed him to become a National School teacher. On graduating from St. Patrick's College, Drumcondra, Dublin, he returned to Connemara, where he taught in local schools, including Camas and, later, Carnmore. During the Second World War he was interned in the Curragh camp in Kildare for membership in the proscribed Irish Republican Army (IRA). He subsequently became a translator in Dáil Éireann, and Trinity College Dublin appointed him lecturer in Irish in 1956, naming him professor in 1969. He died in 1970. He is best known for his novel
Cré na Cille
(1949); his short story collections include
Idir Shúgradh agus Dáiríre
(1939),
An Braon Broghach
(1948),
Cois Caoláire
(1953),
An tSraith ar Lár
(1967),
An tSraith Dhá Tógáil
(1970), and
An tSraith Tógtha
(1977). Another novel,
Athnuachan
(1997), and a piece of continuous imaginative prose,
Barbed Wire
(2002), were published posthumously.