Conna in Crisis & The Marriage of Ulick

by James Kilcullen

  ‘Yes, I mean no. This whole line of questioning is irrelevant.’

  Ulick smiled. ’We’ll leave that to His Lordship.’

  He addressed the judge. ’I have no further questions for this witness. Your Honour, I submit there is no case to answer and ask that you dismiss this action with costs in favour of my clients.’

  The judge looked down on Crat.

  ‘The logic of your approach suggests to me that you will wish to outlaw collective bargaining and require each individual employee to negotiate their own wages—perhaps daily or weekly—thus abolishing trades unions.’

  ‘We’re working on that, Your Honour.’

  The judge concealed his disbelief. ‘I’ve examined the two Directives you quote in this case. They are contradictory, and as such are unenforceable. I’m dismissing this action and awarding costs to the defendants.’

  The crowd cheered.

  Crat rose, angry now. ’I will appeal this case to the High Court, Your Honour; you cannot overrule USE Directives.’

  The judge’s eyes lit up. ‘I’ve just done that, Mr. Bur O’Crat. This court is now adjourned.’

  *

  Setanta cantered through Screbe and headed towards Roundstone; it was a fine sunny evening with a light westerly breeze. He stopped suddenly when, to his astonishment, there was Dandaboy sitting on the wall nearby, smiling broadly.

  ‘And where would you be going, my friend?’ he asked, as if he didn’t know.

  ‘I’m going to visit Woofy. Lovely place this Haven; the best of sumptuous food, better than Emma’s. But I wouldn’t tell her that.’

  ‘And good company,’ Dandaboy grinned.

  ‘Oh yes. The real action is at the weekends when they have visitors. I could tell you some hair raising stories.’ He looked at Dandaboy’s tightly cropped hair, ‘Well, maybe not.’

  Dandaboy grinned. ‘Go forth,’ and disappeared.

  *

  Taoiseach Frankie Carney travelled out to Conna where he was greeted affably by Ulick and Ozzy, in Paulo’s. Crat was disgusted; he never met the new Taoiseach and did not receive the formal official invitation to Government House to which he was entitled. Failure to make even a courtesy call on him—the local USE Director—was downright insulting. This new premier was clearly an illiterate, like the rest of them.

  Ulick drew himself up to his full height and addressed Paulo formally.

  ‘Garson, three pints here,’ he ordered.

  The other customers cheered. Paulo smiled shaking his head.

  ‘Don’t you start.’

  He drew the pints.

  Having won the election by a majority of twelve, Frankie had every reason to be pleased; curiously, he wasn’t. He sipped his pint in silence.

  ‘Can you do anything about this latest USE rubbish,’ Ulick asked him.

  He put down his glass.

  ‘You should hear the bullshit I’m getting back from our ambassador in Brussels. He’s been told not to worry, this is only a pilot scheme; if it doesn’t work it will be scrapped.’

  ‘And does he believe that?’

  ‘No and neither do any of the other ambassadors.’

  ‘What’s the game then?’ Ulick asked.

  ‘It’s no secret that for many years there are those in Brussels who want to abolish the farm subsidies; they’ve tried often enough. This fancy new scheme is designed to convince the people that life will be simpler and fairer. They’ve surrounded it with so much bullshit that they plan to pay the farmers less than they were getting under the CAP.’

  ‘How could they do that?’

  ‘There were fifteen different types of grants and income supplements to be had under the CAP. They were paid out in dribs and drabs; the farmers had no idea how much they were getting in total.’

  Ulick frowned. ‘What’s all this nonsense about filling out forms, in triplicate no less?’

  ‘It’s a diversionary tactic; demanding information the farmers haven’t got. You know what our farmers are like when it comes to filling forms.’

  Ulick nodded. ‘So, they will now receive less, spend half their time filling out forms and have to beg for it?’

  Frankie put down his glass.

  ‘Yes, but there’s more to it than that. If this works they plan to centralize practically all power; I wouldn’t be able to have a crap without written permission from Brussels.’

  Ulick frowned. ‘The courts won’t buy this rubbish.’

  ‘Part of their plan is to sideline our courts. As I understand it, they will issue Directives giving their local directors the power to over rule our judges.’

  ‘What’s happening in the other nine areas?’ Ulick asked.

  ‘My information is that it’s working reasonably well, but that’s the usual Brussels bullshit.’

  ‘Frankie, is Moxy at the back of this?’

  ‘I don’t think so; this fuckology has been planned over a number of years. I rang him. He says it all comes from the top; nothing to do with him, the usual crap. That bastard has a score to settle.’

  The Taoiseach paused.

  ‘We have to find some way of stopping them.’

  *

  After midnight, Jody Fahy, Iggy O’Haire and Paulo, carried what looked like a canoe from the workshop—beside Maam Bridge—to a fishing boat tied up by the little pier. Not a word was spoken; they pushed off and rowed a short distance out into the lake before starting the motor. It was a calm night with a gentle wind blowing in from the south west. Paulo felt apprehensive; this was the first test of the Lough Corrib monster named “Madamor.” Jody cursed under his breath when the full moon suddenly emerged from behind the clouds. Iggy checked his remote control box again.

  They proceeded slowly to a point about half way between Cornamona and Conna. Jody stopped the engine lit a cigarette and suggested they wait until the water calmed down a bit. Paulo prepared his video camera.

  ‘Make sure you don’t get any of us on that fucking yoke,’ Iggy grunted. ’I don’t want to spend the next six months in Castlerea.’

  Jody examined the canoe again; then attached a rope to one end.

  ‘Right. Iggy, you help me to lift Madamor over the side; she’s heavy, we’ll have to handle her gently.’

  Iggy put aside his electrics and took one end of the canoe. Together, they lowered her gently into the water. Jody held the rope while Madamor began to sink slowly beneath the surface.

  ‘Now Iggy,’ he instructed, ‘Start your motor—very gently now, we don’t want her to run away.’

  ‘Is she down deep enough?’

  ‘I think so.’

  Iggy pushed a few switches and a whirring sound came from Madamor.

  Paulo—leaning over the side—started to record.

  ‘Seems OK,’ Jody remarked.

  ‘How long are we going to stay out here?’ Iggy asked. ‘It will soon be bright.’

  ‘Can you move her forward—just a little—very slowly now?’ Jody asked.

  ‘I’ll try.’

  Iggy pushed one of the switches.

  ‘She’s moving.’ Paulo called out. ‘I’ll start the video when she’s ten feet away.’

  At that moment a gurgling sound came from Madamor and large bubbles rose to the surface.

  ‘Fuck,’ Jody grunted. ‘I’m losing her.’

  He tried to hold on to the rope, but the weight was too much for him. He let her go.

  They sat there in silence for a few moments.

  Paulo grunted angrily.

  ‘Back to the fucking drawing board; we’re not giving up that easily.’

  Jody turned the boat around and headed back to base.

  *

  Madame found Director Crat in an angry mood. He waved a printout of an email from the Commissioner.

  ‘I asked him for a thousand troops and he’s only prepared to increase my present squad to twenty: he has no idea of the problems I have here. Says we have to cultivate the good will of our subjects.’

  She clucked
sympathetically. ‘I trust you will appeal to the Council, Director?’

  ‘I most certainly will.’

  She smiled to herself—not for the first time. Where did he expect to billet a thousand troops in such a small town? And what about the cost?

  She changed the subject.

  ‘Director, what are you going to do about the court verdict?’

  ‘I’ve lodged an appeal with the High Court and asked the Commissioner to issue a directive transferring the power to implement Directives to me. These matters have nothing to do with the Courts; the imbecile judges don’t understand the purpose and fairness of our carefully drawn up Directives.’

  ‘What are you going to do about Joyc?’

  ‘He’s the kingpin; he’s got to be removed. I’ve issued a summons charging him with violation of Public Order Directive 78643. There’s a mandatory minimum sentence of thirty days in jail. That will take care of him for a while.’

  He paused. ‘Have you found an excuse to close down the restaurant run by his mistress?’

  ‘I’m still working on it, Director: I can’t compare prices with other restaurants in the town because there aren’t any.’

  ‘There are many restaurants in Galway city.’

  ‘That is true Director, but we cannot bring Galway into the reckoning just yet.’

  ‘I will ask the Commissioner to extend our area of responsibility.’

  *

  Unaware he was scheduled to don a yellow suit with arrows painted on it; Ulick joined Ozzy for a quiet drink in Paulo’s. They were surrounded by unhappy farmers looking at the miserable amounts now being received.

  “We’re getting less now than from the CAP and we have to beg for it.” one complained loudly.

  ‘He’s got twenty troops to back him up,’ another added.

  ‘Much good that will do him; the locals refused them accommodation. They are being put up in the army barracks in Galway.’

  When Paulo served their drinks, Ulick leaned towards him and lowered his voice.

  ‘I hear we have a monster in the lake.’

  ‘Shush,’ Paulo cautioned, ’not yet.’

  ‘Is there any chance we’ll have him before the annual march?’

  Paulo temporised. ’I hope so. Is it true you are hiring the Gulliver model for the day?’

  ‘Yes. Martin Sandys is arranging transport for us. We’ll need eight strong men to move him along: he’s nearly sixty feet tall.’

  ‘Will you follow the usual route?’

  ‘We will that; assemble at the Maam Cross end and march through the town to the carnival field beside Ned’s line. O’Duffy’s carnival is coming again this year.’

  Martin Sandys joined them.

  ‘Thanks for all your help with the funeral.’

  ‘It was a well deserved tribute to a great lady,’ Paulo replied.

  ‘That’s what friends are for.’ Ulick remarked. ‘What are you drinking?’

  ‘The drinks are on me, Paulo,’ he announced turning to Ulick.

  ‘How are we going to get that little hoor out of our town?’

  ‘It’s not going to be easy; he has the might of Brussels behind him.’

  ‘There has to be a way, Ulick.’

  ‘I agree, but we haven’t found it yet.’

  ‘I do hear,’ Martin grinned wickedly, ‘That you’re a regular visitor at the Haven.’

  Ulick was unfazed, but not prepared to give any information. He merely smiled. ‘I have to look after my clients.’

  ‘Some fucking clients,’ Martin remarked.

  ‘I do hear they’re nuns,’ Paulo remarked.

  ‘Some fucking nuns,’ Martin grinned.

  With that, Madame entered, stood at the far end of the bar and addressed Paulo.

  ‘Barman, be good enough to serve me a large whiskey with water.’

  Paulo did as ordered.

  She cast her eyes towards Ulick and Martin but they rested on Ozzy who was petrified. She marched towards him, her usual iron expression softening into a smile.

  ‘Ozzy, you haven’t come for your stipend?’

  Not knowing what to do, he smiled innocently.

  They were interrupted by the noisy entrance of Crat, waving a poster in his right hand.

  ‘Is Joyc here?’ he demanded angrily.

  Madame turned back to Ozzy; he was gone.

  ‘Where is Ozzy?’ she demanded while Crat approached Ulick.

  ‘Ozzy, who’s he?’ Ulick asked.

  ‘You saw him—he was standing right beside you.’ she accused.

  Ulick shook his head. ‘You must be seeing things.’

  ‘No, I am not seeing things.’ She screamed.

  Crat stood before Ulick and waved the poster in his face.

  ‘What is the meaning of this?’ he demanded.

  Ulick took the poster; it was one of many, advertising the annual celebration march.

  ‘What’s your problem? We hold this march every year.’

  ‘You have not applied for my permission,’ he roared at him.

  ‘So, we have to have your permission?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Ulick shrugged. ’Is that all? I’ll apply tomorrow.’

  ‘Too late. Under Directive 64859 your application should have been submitted to me in triplicate a month ago.’ He paused. ‘This march will not take place.’

  Martin Sandys saw red.

  ‘Now you listen here to me Mr. Crap, Crat or whatever you call yourself. This march will take place as scheduled and you would be very unwise to try to prevent it.’

  ‘I will deploy my troops if I have to,’ he screamed.

  ‘You do that.’

  He marched out of the bar followed by a very puzzled Madame.

  *

  Maggot Murphy was extremely distressed when he arrived at Ulick’s office; so much so that, first of all, he was put sitting down and handed a whiskey. The heavily built youngish town butcher was normally well known for his wit and affability: not today.

  ‘Ulick,’ he began when his speech returned, ‘That bloody bitch—Madame Ass or whatever they call her—has closed me down. Says the premises are in breach of some bloody Directive or other. What am I going to do?’

  ‘Let me look into it, Maggot.’

  He rang through to his secretary.

  ‘Get me a copy of the Directive under which Maggot was closed down—it will be on the Internet.’

  *

  Toby Moore really enjoyed his work at the Haven. He supervised the six ground staff and paid their wages—in cash—every Friday at noon. On Thursdays they cleaned the pool; Friday mornings they trimmed the lawns and tidied up the grounds. Toby drove into Conna and collected the week’s groceries and drink list in Paulo’s. They left, as did Toby, at noon and did not return until Monday morning.

  Some things puzzled him; that wouldn’t be difficult. On Mondays the house was very quiet; the ladies—he couldn’t call them nuns—were resting or, as they said themselves, meditating. They took turns to fly to London or Paris later in the week. They returned with lots of shopping bags. Oddly enough, he was allowed drive them to and from the airport, but his offer to do the Friday and Sunday runs was politely refused.

  Living in the midst of so many beauties was a bit trying for a randy young man with his reputation. Ali, the tan coloured beautiful little Tunisian, he found particularly attractive, although he wouldn’t have refused any of them. She was in charge of the kitchen, always wearing very short dresses; was it just whenever he was around? It was obvious she liked him, making the coffee when he arrived in the mornings and, on occasion, inviting him to lunch.

  One Wednesday afternoon when most of the others were away, he arrived back from Conna to find her swimming alone in the pool. He stood at the side admiring her; she swam close and looked up at him.

  ‘You’re beautiful, Ali,’ he breathed.

  She smiled up at him. ‘Toby, fetch my towel.’

  When she left the pool he put the towel around
her and began to dry her back.

  ‘Take me upstairs,’ she grinned.

  ‘That I will.’ He lifted her up and carried her towards the stairs. Woofy, who was nodding off by the pool, raised her head and nodded understandingly.

  Toby carried her down the long blue carpeted hallway to her luxuriously furnished bedroom overlooking the sea. She giggled happily, pulling down his head to kiss him.

  At this time, Dandaboy, the other observer, left—in disgust. So, it seems nuns do after all.

  Later, driving home, a very happy Toby realised that Ali told him she came from Tunisia, but that’s all she told him. However, she wanted to know all about him. When he was leaving she looked up at him with those big shining seductive eyes and said: ‘You will come again.’

  ‘That you may count on.’

  *

  After careful consultation with Ulick, Battler submitted his “crap list” as he called it. Crat examined it thoroughly handed him another list.

  ‘Complete this list in triplicate and submit it to me one week from today.’

  He then made out a voucher and put it on the table before his less than admiring subject. It was for 425 euro.

  Battler picked it up.

  ‘What the fuck is this about? I spent my 500 euro.’

  Crat didn’t even look up.

  ‘On Sunday last your were observed fishing on the lake where you caught four brown trout. I estimate their worth at 75 euro. Good day.’

  He rose—infuriated. ‘Did your snivelling informer not tell you I donated those trout to the Clinic in Moycullen?’

  ‘That’s not relevant.’

  ‘One of these days you won’t be relevant.’

  He made his way to Ulick’s office.

  ‘What are we going to do with that little bastard?’

  He shook his head in dismay. ‘I don’t know.’

  *

  Setanta wandered around the house; Ulick had travelled into Galway to see Frankie Carney. Ella was busily running her restaurant and home baking shop. He heard a noise outside. Looking out the window he observed a number of Crat’s troops closing in on the house. He didn’t like this.

  ‘Dan Dan,’ he called.

  Dandaboy was there in an instant.

  ‘What we going to do?’ Setanta asked him.

  ‘We go for run in the country.’

  ‘How we going to get out of here?’ Setanta asked as the troops came closer.