The Killing Snows

by Charles Egan

  ‘I think I’m going to like your mother,’ Winnie said.

  ‘I knew you would. She’s very like you.’

  ‘Is that why you married me?’

  ‘Arra, what. Would you stop annoying me.’

  ‘Annoying you, is it? Isn’t it the only way to get you to talk?’

  ‘Don’t I talk enough?’

  ‘You never told me much about Nessy.’

  ‘I know, a ghrá. It’s just how I found it so hard to talk about.’

  ‘Your mother told me more about her. It was a terrible thing.’

  ‘I know. I was there when she died. It was awful. Did she tell you about everyone else though – Sabina, Aileen?’

  ‘Yes,’ Winnie said. ‘And Kitty.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Who indeed? Kitty, and stop pretending you didn’t hear.’

  ‘I’d hoped she wouldn’t tell you about that.’

  ‘You’d told me already. And any way you look at it, there’s Brigid. Kitty will want to see her, won’t she?’

  ‘I don’t know what’s going to happen now. I just don’t know.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll do my best by her, I promise you, Luke.’

  ‘I’m sure you will.’

  ‘I will. And while we’re talking of other girls, what about Sarah?’

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘I think you’ll be seeing a lot more of her.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘It’s just her and Pat, the way they talk. There’s something between them, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘Would you have a bit of sense. He’s only a young fellow, hardly nineteen. And she’s older than him. Anyhow, she’s from a different class, what could she see in Pat?’

  ‘You might be right. But I still think there’s something there.’

  The next morning, after Pat had left, Eleanor took Brigid out of her bed and set her on the floor. The child ran across the floor towards the table. She threw her hands onto Winnie’s knees. Then she looked into her face.

  ‘Not Kitty,’ she cried.

  There was a silence. Luke was the first to speak.

  ‘You’d better be careful, little Brigid. A girl could get into trouble saying things like that.’

  Winnie had taken Brigid up, and was holding her on her lap, facing her. Brigid put her hand up, feeling Winnie’s mouth and nose.

  ‘Not Kitty,’ she repeated.

  Eleanor walked around the table. She picked Brigid up. Holding the child in one arm, she pointed to Winnie with the other.

  ‘Of course she’s not Kitty, muttonhead. That’s Winnie.’

  ‘Winnie?’ the child asked.

  ‘Your new aunty. Aunty Winnie.’

  ‘Aunty Winnie?’

  Luke was looking out the window.

  ‘It’s going to be a grand day by the look of it.’

  ‘Aye,’ Michael said, ‘and there’s no point in wasting it while there’s work to be done. And don’t forget, you’ve got to see Gaffney.’

  The men left.

  An hour later, Aileen came in. Winnie noticed the craven look in her eyes. But she greeted her warmly, and Aileen’s mood began to change.

  Then Sabina came. ‘So this is Winnie. I’ve heard all about you.’

  ‘I’m sure you have. I hope at least the half of it was good.’

  ‘All of it was, at least what Ian told me. In fact, you know what? If he was a younger man, I’d be getting worried about him and you.’

  Brigid ran across the room again to where Sabina sat on a stool beside the fire. She pulled again and again at Sabina’s hand until Sabina stood, and followed her across the room. She brought her to Winnie, and pointed up.

  ‘Winnie is Kitty now. New Kitty.’

  ‘The notions they get,’ Eleanor exclaimed. ‘‘New Kitty’ indeed.’

  Luke walked past the quarry and out where the New Line of road towards Knockanure was being completed. Thin skeletons of men and women were still working, levelling off the surface and tamping it down. He thought of Lisnadee, but in some ways this was worse. These were his own people. He knew many of them, but he did not greet any of them. They were starving, and he was not.

  When he arrived at the old cottage, Gaffney was there.

  ‘Glad to see you again. Did they work you hard?’

  ‘No harder than here, Mr. Gaffney.’

  ‘You look tired.’

  ‘I haven’t been sleeping well.’

  ‘How’s it in Brockagh?’

  ‘Quieter than it was.’

  ‘Any trouble?’

  ‘We had a little at one of the sites. It quietened down fast enough though. The real trouble was people looking for food. No violence, no nothing, they were just always there. Following us everywhere, asking for food.’

  ‘What about the Soup Kitchens?’

  ‘Fine now, though they took long enough in the coming. They could have kept the Works open longer. We paid off everyone though, and closed them all down.’

  ‘What? The Works are shut.’

  ‘Weeks back.’

  ‘You closed the Works before the Kitchens opened?’

  ‘Not me, Mr. Gaffney. Castlebar. They opened the Kitchens weeks later. Lucky we had a Quaker Kitchen before that.’

  Gaffney shook his head. ‘And you let this happen?’

  ‘I had no choice. I just wasn’t given any supplies.’

  ‘What! Why?’

  There was nothing in Knockanure, and Castlebar wouldn’t supply us.’

  ‘But couldn’t you have kept the Works open.’

  ‘Strict instructions. Morton told me to shut down; wouldn’t hear any objections.’

  ‘Damn it, Luke, you should have written to me. We’d soon have sorted Morton out.’

  Luke looked up in surprise, hardly able to think of what to say next. ‘I didn’t think of that,’ he said at last. ‘I wouldn’t have thought you could.’

  ‘No,’ Gaffney said. ‘I suppose you wouldn’t. A pity.’ He smiled. ‘Not that it’ll matter to poor Morton now. Seems the Almighty got to him first.’

  ‘Yes,’ Luke said. ‘I’d heard that.’

  Gaffney looked out the door, drumming his fingers on the table. Outside the gangs were assembling for the Works.

  ‘Well, it seems like Morton had his way in Brockagh. But it isn’t going to happen that way here. If Castlebar try anything like that on us, there’ll be hell to pay.’

  ‘Yes, Mr. Gaffney.’

  Gaffney stood. ‘By God, I’m glad you’re back. There’s a hell of a lot to be doing here.’

  ‘But I’m not coming back,’ Luke said.

  Gaffney stopped dead, and looked at him, unbelieving. Then he walked back from the door, and sat on the corner of the desk.

  ‘You’re not coming back?’

  ‘That’s right. I’ve had too much of it. It’s bad enough the way they hate me in Brockagh, and it’s happened here too.’

  ‘They hate you?’

  ‘They do,’ Luke replied. ‘It’s easier for you. You don’t have to live here, but I do.’

  Gaffney looked at him in amazement. ‘But why would they hate you? You’re helping them, aren’t you? If you’re fair, why should they hate you?’

  ‘Nobody else sees it that way. Have you ever tried telling your own friends about fairness when you have to refuse them a ticket? And as for piecework – that’s just cruel, and I won’t have anything more to do with it.’

  Gaffney stood up again. ‘Look, you’re tired; we’re both tired. We’ll talk again.’

  One morning, when the men had gone out, Winnie and Eleanor were working alone.

  ‘This will be a new life for you,’ Eleanor said.

  ‘I know it will,
Mother, I’ve a lot to learn.’

  ‘You don’t have to call me Mother.’

  ‘Why not? That’s what Luke calls you, and you are my mother now.’

  Eleanor thought about it for a while. ‘Well, if I’m going to be your mother, I’ll have to be a good one. Many mothers don’t get on with their sons’ wives. They think they’ve stolen their sons from them. They hate them.’

  ‘But we’re not going to be like that,’ Winnie said.

  ‘No, we’re too much alike, you and me. And we’ve too much to be doing to be bothered hating one another.’

  ‘Keeping our men happy.’

  ‘Keeping them strong too. And they’ll need to be strong, the times that are in it.’

  They took their pails down to the well. Brigid came with them, holding Winnie’s hand.

  There were already six women at the well. Two of the older ones sat on the wall, the other four gathered around them, all talking in Irish. As Eleanor and Winnie approached, a silence descended. Eleanor said nothing either. She and Winnie passed between the women, filled their pails, and walked back to the road.

  ‘They don’t have much to say for themselves,’ Winnie said.

  ‘Indeed they don’t. Eileen Walsh, she’s Eamonn Walsh’s widow. Luke had to refuse him a place on the Works. Gaffney had a rule about needing four children, and Luke couldn’t take him on. The other one beside her, that’s her sister. They’re always going on about how Luke and Pat could get jobs, even though they didn’t have any children at all.’

  As they started walking home, Winnie was surprised by the weight of the pails. After a hundred yards, she had to stop. Each of her palms had an angry red weal where the wire of the pail had cut into it.

  ‘I should have thought of that, alanna,’ Eleanor said. ‘Tomorrow we’ll take some rags to hold around the wire, though your hands will get used to it soon enough.’

  When they arrived home, Eleanor handed Winnie a clay pipe, and took another herself. Winnie was surprised. ‘I wouldn’t have thought you’d be able to buy tobacco.’

  ‘We’re not. But we’ve still a little bit left, hidden away where the fellows won’t find it.’

  They sat on the stools beside the fire. Eleanor took a twig, put it into the flames, and then held it across to Winnie.

  ‘Now, tell me this child, what happened up the mountains with Luke? Why will he not talk about it?’

  ‘I think it was too awful for him,’ Winnie replied. ‘We saw it bad enough in Brockagh, and I’ll tell you, that scared me. All the people, they were like skeletons, they were; begging us for food we couldn’t give them. But up the mountains, when the snows came, they weren’t just starving to death, they were freezing too. He was doing all he could, but what can you do when people drop dead right in front of you. They used to put the bodies over the horses every night, and bring them back to Knocklenagh for burying.’

  ‘I see,’ Eleanor said.

  ‘But it wasn’t only that, I think. There’s other things too, but he won’t tell me about them. He thought he was going mad, I don’t know.’

  Eleanor thought back to the time she had found him after Fergus’s attack. What was it then? Was it the same now? She decided to put it out of her mind.

  ‘So what now? What do ye think ye’ll do now?’

  Winnie sucked at the pipe, staring into the flames. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Luke is thinking of all sorts of things. Even America.’

  ‘America!’

  ‘Yes. And please, don’t say that to anyone.’

  ‘Of course not, child. But why?’

  ‘It might be the only way. I don’t know.’

  America, Eleanor thought. She had always reckoned it was going to be America. Winnie was talking as if there was still a choice, but what choice was there? Luke would leave the farm and take Winnie with him. But what of Carrigard? Pat would have what he always wanted. If he still wanted it. She wondered about that.

  And Kitty. What about Kitty? Kitty did not come. She did not come that day, nor the following week. Many evenings, Eleanor thought about it. In some ways, it was just as well. Introducing Winnie to Kitty could be difficult, and she had no idea how it would turn out. Again she began to miss Kitty and her fund of stories. She thought of going over to Brennans’ to see if she could talk to her, but on reflection, she reckoned that might cause more trouble. She wondered if perhaps she would have to consider Kitty as belonging to the past, but this made her sad. She did not know what to do. In the end, she would be overtaken by events.

  Luke walked up to the rath one evening, and sat on a rock, looking out on all the settlements he knew, stretching out the Knockanure Road and behind that up to the Mountain. Gort mór, Abhann an Rí, Lios Cregain, Cnoc rua, Currach an Dúin, Áth na mBó, Craobhaín, Gort na Móna, Árd na gCaiseal, Sliabh Meán, Baile a’ Cnoic.

  Most of the cabins had thatched roofs, but here and there he could see black gaps like rotten teeth, where the thatch had collapsed. Many cabins had smoke coming from rough chimneys, or streaming out through the doors. Many more had no smoke and no sign of life.

  ‘What did Gaffney want?’

  Luke spun around, surprised. ‘You shouldn’t have come up on me like that, Father. I wasn’t expecting it.’

  Michael sat down beside him.

  ‘Well, go on.’

  ‘He wanted me to work with him again. Help him with piecework, and closing the Works down, I think. After that, God knows.’

  Michael took up a twig, and idly twisted it in his fingers. ‘We should be able to do it well enough. I worked the farm on my own for long enough, I’ll do it again.’

  ‘There’s no need. I’m not joining him.’

  Michael broke the twig between his fingers. ‘You’re not!’

  ‘I’ve had enough of it – here and in Brockagh. I’ll be damned before I start forcing piecework on our own people and starving them when the Works close.’

  For a long time, Michael said nothing. Then he pointed to a cottage a hundred yards away. ‘You heard about old Roughneen, died of fever a few days back. His wife’s got it now.’ He pointed to the cottage beside it. ‘The McGlinns, dead of hunger and fever, all except Matt. He’s gone to America now.’

  Luke looked at his father in horror. But Michael went on. He pointed further down the Knockanure road. ‘Liscreggan over. Hunger and fever, they died like flies. It’s better now, but they took a terrible beating.’ He nodded towards the Mountain. ‘Árd na gCaiseal, the half of them died of hunger. They didn’t wait around for it in Sliabh Meán though, they took themselves off, every single one of them together, walking to Dublin and Liverpool and God knows where, there’s not one of them left. Baile a’ Cnoic, that’s where your mother’s people came from…’

  ‘STOP IT.’

  Michael turned around, and stared at him in surprise.

  Luke stood up. ‘I’ve had enough,’ he whispered.

  He started to walk down towards the house. Michael followed, breaking the twig into smaller and smaller pieces.

  Next day, after the Works had closed, Gaffney came to the Ryan house carrying a brown leather satchel. Michael brought him in, and the three men sat around the table.

  ‘I was thinking of what you were saying the other day,’ Gaffney said to Luke. ‘I can understand it too. Piecework is tough. Selection too. That can’t be easy for any man who has family and friends around. But we’ve no choice. We have to get the work done.’

  ‘Then let other people do it,’ Luke said.

  Winnie and Eleanor, both of whom were sitting by the fire, looked across in surprise. There was a silence.

  ‘I will,’ Gaffney said at length. ‘I’ll let other people deal with matters like that, but I still need you. So I’ve a suggestion to put to you. You can take it or leave it, but I’d ask you at least to listen.’

  He leant
down to the satchel, took out all the papers, and passed them across to Luke.

  ‘You told me about Brockagh yourself, and how they closed the Works before the Kitchens opened. Well, I told you it wasn’t going to happen like that here, and I am determined it will not. You know yourself what it’s like dealing with Castlebar. Fine, Morton is gone, but even so we have to fight them every inch of the way. It’s not just for badness, it’s that they have far too much to be doing, and there’s not enough food anyhow. So who is going to get that food? He who shouts the loudest. We have to have all the requisitions ready, we’ve got to have our arguments ready, we’ve got to be able to go and pick up the supplies when they’re available. I’m responsible for it all now. Kilduff, Carrigard, the Mountain, the whole damned lot. It’s going to be a rough summer. Have you seen how few potatoes are planted? Even without the blight, there’s not going to be enough, and the Works are going to be over. What’s going to happen then? People have to be fed, one way or the other. That’s my responsibility now.’

  He stood up, and pointed across the table to Luke.

  ‘And yours.’

  Luke said nothing.

  ‘Fine,’ Gaffney went on, ‘I’m going to make it easy for you. I’m not asking you to supervise the Works, I’ll handle that. As you said yourself, they can hate me, but I’m not worried about it. When this is all over, I’ll be back in Dublin. So I’m prepared to protect you here, not have you doing the nasty work. But I’m not prepared to do everything myself. I need you too. I need you to help me to feed the people. Your own people.’

  ‘Go on,’ Luke said.

  ‘Two things. First, we have to have all the requisitions done. What I want you to do is to work out what’s needed for the Kitchens, do the requisitions, and make sure they’re right. I don’t want to have to check them, and I know with you I won’t have to. Then when you’re finished, take them over to Castlebar, and argue our corner with them. I need someone for that who’s able to think on his feet. If there’s one kind of food they don’t have, we’ll take another, whatever they’ve got. But we’ve got to get it. And don’t take any excuses from them. Demand what’s yours by right. The price of corn is way down, and it’s pouring into Westport. But if we don’t get it, there’ll be no Kitchens here, and the people will starve.’