He was unconcerned about the newspaper headlines screaming for his arrest for the alleged attack on the President’s life. When the Commissioner rang—somewhat agitated—he reassured him; it was all lies. There were no witnesses; he could rely on his troops and Madame was absolutely trustworthy. He wouldn’t need to fall back on his diplomatic immunity.
*
At six in the evening, as was his custom, Crat strode into Paulo’s packed pub; hadn’t those people anything to do except drink? He noticed that Ulick was sitting in his usual place, but the “President” made no effort to acknowledge his presence. He was beaten and he knew it. In another twenty four hours he would be behind bars, and not just for thirty days.
‘Garson, a gin and tonic here,’ he thundered.
Paulo approached him carrying what looked like a large pad.
‘Please fill in this form in triplicate, Sir and I’ll let you know when you may be served,’ Paulo remarked casually, putting the pad down in front of him.
Crat’s eyes blinked; he couldn’t believe this, scarcely looked at the form.
‘Are you mad man?’ He roared. ‘Is this some kind of joke? Serve my gin and tonic immediately.’
Paulo shook his head. ‘No joke, sir. It’s regulations. Fill in the form in triplicate; I should be able to serve you in about two days.’
The great man was trying to come to grips with this nonsense. He drew himself up to his full height.
‘I’m the one who gives the orders around here.’
‘Not any more, sir.’
He held up the pad. ‘Who issued this rubbish?’
‘The Conna Civilians Council, sir.’
Infuriated. ‘There is no such authority.’
‘There is now, sir.’
Crat ripped the pad in two. ‘I’ll put the lot of them in jail for seeking to usurp my lawful authority.’
Paulo was quite calm. ‘As you’ve said yourself, sir, the law is the law.’ He took another pad from under the counter. ‘This is the law now, sir.’
The customers cheered loudly as he left.
Not unduly upset by this madness, Crat drove his Mercedes down to Ferdy’s petrol station. He would close down that damned pub in the morning; if necessary, he would close down the whole damn town. Pulling in, he opened the cap of the petrol tank and was about to release the nozzle when he discovered it was locked. Ferdy approached carrying a pad.
‘Please fill in this form in triplicate, sir, and I’ll let you know when you may get a fill.’
Crat’s eyes opened wide. ‘Has the whole world gone mad? I haven’t enough petrol to get me to my hotel.’
Ferdy sounded sympathetic. ‘Sorry, sir.’
‘Don’t you run a taxi service?’ he demanded.
‘Yes, sir, but you would have to fill in a form for that service too.’
It was beginning to dawn on the great man that this wasn’t an isolated revolt. His troops had already left for the night; in the morning, he would send them into Galway to purchase his requirements. He would soon put an end to this nonsense. He drove back to the office.
In the meantime, Madame called on her hairdresser, Nora Coyle.
‘Nora, I wish to make an appointment for a wash and set tomorrow afternoon.’
She smiled apologetically, producing the questionnaire. ‘I’m sorry, Madame, you have to fill in this form in triplicate and I’ll let you know when I can fit you in.’
‘Form, what form, where did this come from?’ She looked at it disdainfully. ‘The Director didn’t tell me about it.’
‘It’s from the CCC Madame.’
‘What’s the CCC?’
‘It’s the Conna Civilians Council.’
Madame became angrier. ‘There’s no such authority; we are in charge here. We are the law, we must be obeyed.’
She left without another word; went to the local Pharmacist, Jenny Hines and selected a few items. When offered the questionnaire, she used some very bad words, left and returned to the office.
Crat was waiting for her.
‘What are we going to do, Director?’ she asked.
He was completely unfazed. ‘I’ll attend to this ridiculous revolt in the morning. Haven’t those fools got any wit?’
He paused. ‘Have you enough petrol in your car to get me back to my hotel?’
‘I think so, I filled it up yesterday.’
‘Good.’
Madame kept her thoughts to herself.
A very nervous Lurglurg was waiting for the Director in reception, with a number of questionnaires in his hand. The air of activity through his full hotel was most agreeable. That he was about to perform an unchristian act, bothered him, but not nearly so much as the tongue lashing he knew he would receive from Sir. To make matters worse, the car park was full and someone had the audacity to park in the great man’s reserved space.
It would be fair to say the Director, tired, hungry and frustrated—no petrol to be had at Maam Cross, only those damned forms—burst—like a hurricane—through the swing doors into the hotel reception. Madame, who was trying to park her car, was forgotten.
He made straight for Lurglurg who, by now, was wondering why he took this job.
‘Landlord, serve my dinner in my suite immediately.’
Lurglurg handed him a questionnaire.
‘I’m sorry Sir,’ he was too, ‘but you have to complete this form in triplicate and I’ll let you know when you may dine.’
Crat exploded; he hadn’t heard the worst yet.
‘Are you mad man; I’m a guest in the hotel and I demand immediate service.’
Lurglurg took a deep breath.
‘You may stay tonight, Sir, but in the morning you will have to complete another questionnaire in triplicate and I’ll let you know when you may return to the hotel.’
He took an even deeper breath.
‘I’m afraid it won’t be tomorrow night, Sir.’
Madame entered and quickly took in the scene.
Lurglurg felt obliged to show some Christian charity.
‘I could manage some sandwiches and coffee.’
‘I’ll have my dinner or nothing,’ the Director roared.
‘I’m sorry, Sir, but I have to obey the law.’
‘What law? I’m the law in Connemara.’
‘Not any more, sir.’
The Director headed for the stairs; Madame stayed.
‘I’ll have the sandwiches and coffee,’ she spoke politely, a major departure for her.
Lurglurg smiled. ‘I’ll have them served in your room, Madame.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Please don’t tell anyone.’
She nodded. ‘Do I have to leave tomorrow too?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
A large noisy group passed out through reception.
‘Where are they going at this hour,’ Madame asked.
‘They’re taking the midnight monster cruise from Maam Bridge.’
*
Crat’s troops—all twenty of them—were driven back to their billet in Hi-Brazil’s army headquarters in Renmore, near Galway city. They were looking forward to their usual evening dinner and some entertainment in the mess; they would be disappointed. Quickly disarmed by a detachment of local troops, they were marched into the barracks and lined up in front of General Alan Murphy, the C-in-C of the Hi-Brazil army. The astonished men began to realise this wasn’t an exercise.
General Murphy glared angrily at them.
‘You are all under arrest and will remain in custody until you are formally arraigned in Court.’
Their leader, Major Vlad Boscof, a big rough looking man—not of the brightest—stepped forward.
‘What are we charged with?’ he demanded.
‘You are charged with the attempted assassination of our President.’
‘You have no jurisdiction over us; we’re USE troops. We were just following our orders; release my men immediately.’
The General turned to Captain Oliver Browne. ‘Lock them up; if the
y try to escape: shoot them.’
Still protesting, they were marched to the cells.
Afterwards the Captain approached the General.
‘When will we put them before the court?’
He smiled. ‘Whenever Ulick Joyc instructs us.’
*
The Contessa rang Ulick, apologised for late hour and asked him to visit her. He sensed it was urgent. Leaving Paulo’s, he drove out to the Haven. Admitted immediately, Ali showed him to the sitting room. Gina came forward and hugged him.
‘Thanks for coming so quickly, U-lick. I know you’re very busy. I want to talk to you. Would you like a drink?’
‘Just a coffee, please.’
‘Please take a seat; I’ll ask Ali to fetch some coffee.’
She spoke briefly on the phone and then sat down opposite him.
‘Are you getting rid of that awful little twerp?’ she asked.
‘We’re trying to, but it’s early days yet.’
Ali served the coffee and left them.
‘U-lick,’ she began, ‘I told you about the orphanage I was brought up in, and Sister Maria who was so good to me. I kept in touch with her after I left to become a model. Every year, I took her on vacation—once to the Holy Land—and when the orphanage fell on hard times, I provided much needed funds.’
She paused; he was wondering where this was going but remained silent.
‘Three weeks ago, I received an urgent phone call from Sister Anne, telling me that Sister Maria was seriously ill. I flew to Zurich immediately and took a taxi to the house by the lake, shared by the remaining members of the orphanage. She was calm and serene and made little of her illness; hugged me as usual and put me sitting down beside her bed. Left alone we talked.’
“Gina,” she began, “Forgive me, I should have done this long ago, but I was afraid I would lose you; I know how much you resented being abandoned by your parents, and knowing what you did, you were quite right.”
‘She rested for a moment.’
“My late father was an eminent medical consultant; my dear mother, a nurse. They were strict but loving parents. My two younger brothers, Nico and Ricardo are doctors.
When I was eighteen, I registered as a medical student at the University of Florence. There, I met and fell in love with a young army officer, Roberto Pontini, who was training to become an orthopedic surgeon. It was wonderful. After two years—such happy years—we decided to tell our parents and start planning our wedding. Then, Roberto was called up for duty and sent to the Lebanon at short notice.”
‘She paused again.’
“Three weeks later, I learned that he was killed, with two of his colleagues, in an action near Sidon. I was completely devastated. A week later I discovered I was pregnant with you.”
‘I was so shocked; I took her in my arms and burst into tears. Mother, mother, mother you’ve been with me all this time. And me blaming you. I loved you even when I didn’t know.
Tears flowed down her lovely face.’
“Gina, love, I couldn’t tell my parents; I don’t know if they would have insisted on an abortion, they certainly wouldn’t have let me keep you. I dropped out of college, joined the order and, with the help of mother Sophia, arranged to have you here and kept you close to me.”
‘Mother, you gave up your whole life for me. She smiled. She was getting tired now.’
“For you and my beloved Roberto.”
‘She took my hand.’
“I’ve had a wonderful life; your father wanted us to have many children, but it wasn’t to be.”
She paused.
‘I’m elated, humbled, thrilled and I feel so guilty. I haven’t come to grips with it yet. It’s like being born again; to have such a wonderful mother, a name and a family. And poor dear father. I was introduced to my uncles who were very surprised; they welcomed me and introduced me to their families.
I sat with mother for her last two weeks; she was so happy, looking forward to seeing my dear father again. She gave me his photo, a tall handsome young man in an army uniform; she never had any contact with his family. She was so serene at the end. We laid her to rest in the local cemetery. I visited my father’s family tomb in that extraordinary cemetery in Milan. Someday, I’ll visit his family, but I’m not ready for that yet. Ulick, I’m still in a state of shock.’
Tears flowed down her beautiful face. Ulick got up and took her in his arms.
‘What a beautiful revelation; what a wonderful mother. I’m delighted for you.’
She dried her eyes and smiled.
‘It may take time, but some day, I’ll have them buried together; she would like that.’
Ulick drove back to Conna in a very thoughtful mood.
*
Taoiseach Frankie Carney switched on his recorder before he took the call from a very affable Moxy. Ten o’clock, he had just arrived at his office. He knew there would be a call from Moxy; he also knew what Moxy wanted. The new purchasing system in Connemara was highlighted in the morning’s papers and TV news. It was pointed out that such was the population explosion in Connemara; the local citizens had to introduce a system of rationing. Like many a tale, it was a good one.
‘Frankie,’ Moxy began, ‘I’m having some problems in Conna.’
‘Surely not, Moxy, I thought your man had everything under control out there.’
‘Well, it seems the locals have withdrawn all services.’
‘I’m not surprised, Moxy. Your man destroyed part of our national heritage that was protected by a preservation order issued by my government. The Attorney General has issued a warrant for his arrest, and is considering charging him with the attempted murder of our President.’
Moxy was horrified.
‘You can’t arrest a USE Director.’
Frankie continued. ‘We have already arrested his troops. They will be held in custody pending the outcome of the Attorney General’s investigation.’
Moxy gasped.
‘Frankie,’ he was almost begging. ‘We can sort this out. Drop all charges. Order services to be resumed and I won’t have to go to the DG.’
Frankie continued calmly.
‘Moxy, you’re talking about the man who disobeyed our laws, tried to assassinate our President and told me I have no jurisdiction in Connemara.’
Moxy became more persuasive.
‘Frankie, this scheme is working very well in every other country; I wouldn’t want it to fail in our country.’
Frankie smiled to himself. So, it’s our country after all.
‘Moxy, I’m afraid I can’t help you. I’ve been concerned about the disharmony your scheme has been causing in Connemara for some time now. On the advice of our Attorney General, my government has decided to accept the democratically elected council of Conna as the lawful authority.’
Moxy was getting really desperate.
‘Can’t you supply the necessities of life?’
‘I think you should talk to Ulick Joyc.’
Here ended the discussion.
*
For the first time since he was elevated to Brussels, Moxy rang his successor, Manny Higgins. Now, Manny mightn’t be the brightest, but he wasn’t that thick either. He had a good teacher.
‘Moxy, it’s good to hear from you.’
‘Manny, I want you to do me a great favour. Hire a taxi, collect Director Bur O’Crat and his assistant at Turla Lodge Hotel and check them into a hotel in Galway.’
He smiled to himself; Ulick had already briefed him.
‘I’m sorry, Moxy, I can’t do that.’
‘Why not man?’
‘Moxy, the people here in Hi-Brazil have a new name for your Director; it’s “Captain Boycott.” You know what that means.’
Moxy was dismayed.
‘You can’t just starve them.’
‘Why not? They’re trying to starve the people of Connemara.’
‘I’ll talk to the DG. There must be some way of solving this problem.’
&n
bsp; *
With their entire luggage, Crat was driven into Conna by Madame. In an act of rare generosity, she had shared her sandwiches and coffee with him the previous night; but they did not receive breakfast in the hotel. He was surprised to find that his office was closed; later he would learn that as an act of mercy the Council had provided transport to Galway for his back up staff. They were receiving normal facilities there.
Madame rushed into his office.
‘It’s on the TV news; our troops have been arrested in Galway and will be charged with the attempted murder of Joyc.’ She paused.
‘A warrant has been issued for your arrest.’
She was enjoying this.
‘They can’t touch me,’ he responded furiously. ‘I’m the authority here; I make the law.’
During the night, he decided he wouldn’t send his troops into Galway for supplies; he would declare Martial Law and commandeer whatever he needed from the local community. That plan was now in ashes.
Madame, always anxious to be helpful, made a suggestion.
‘Director, why don’t I drive into Galway and buy whatever we need?’
‘That’s just what I was deciding.’ He responded, not prepared to give her the credit.
‘I’ll leave immediately.’
Checking to make sure she had all her personal effects, she left the office, sat into her car and drove out the Galway road. If she got to Galway, she would stay there. A mile from the town she was stopped at a CCC check point and—having entertained the guards to the riot act in two languages—was turned back.
Undeterred, she drove out towards Maam Cross; she would take the coast road into Galway. Another check point—same result. She drove back into Conna and parked outside the agency. She was livid and almost out of petrol. It was beginning to dawn on her that they were trapped; Crat, stupid little man that he was, had seriously underestimated the locals; it was all his fault.
Ned whipped out his little book and began to write a parking ticket. She ignored him.
Unconcerned, Crat telephoned Moxy and demanded intervention at the highest level. When he eventually put down the phone, he turned to Madame, who was busily making coffee.
Conna in Crisis & The Marriage of Ulick Page 11
