Tales of the Bright, the Dark & the Bizzare

by Maurice Connolly

  “Oh I heard that one,” Ned smiles. “Not much corn where I come from, so that wouldn’t enter into it.”

  “You’re from Ardhallagh, you said. Is that the right pronunciation?”

  “That’s the place. Close enough to the White Mountain. And you’re from Bally— Bally—”

  “Ballymacken. It’s near Ferns. We’re not too far from each other then.”

  “No. This town would be a kind of halfway house.”

  “Would you know anyone from up my way?” Anna asks.

  “I had deal with a man from the Ferns side once. I’ll never forget it. Was there ever anyone belonging to you a cattle-jobber?”

  “No, no, not that I know of.”

  “Good, because this fella was a right whore’s ghost.” Ned is vehement as he continues. “He took me for a ride, no two ways about it. You see, he had these cattle at the mart that were drugged to keep ’em quiet. When I bought ’em I thought they were dead placid—walked up into the truck, no bother. But be the lovin’ Harry, when I got ’em home they went stone mad. They’d go for you and that’s no lie. They tore across fields, ditches, the river, halfways round the parish. I’ll tell you one thing, them cattle will stay with me forever.”

  “And that man too, I imagine. You couldn’t be up to them fellas. They know every trick.”

  “You can say that again. He had the head of a rogue, so I should have known. A curly head, like a shorthorn bull.”

  “I dealt with a few of them fellas myself.”

  “You did?” Ned sounds surprised.

  “I had to. I had no choice. A few of them are all right now, to be fair. They helped me out. You see, my father got a stroke and was laid up for years. I was the only one left to look after him. My mother passed away when we were small and my only brother is married and settled in Australia. Doing well for himself, I believe.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  ”My father died just six months ago. Maybe it’s too early to be doing something like this?”

  “Not a bit of it. So you’re on your own then? All alone?”

  “All alone is right. Paul, my brother, had no interest in farming. The land was willed to me. People keep telling me I should sell up and get out. But I don’t know. It’s my home and what would I do then? I don’t know anything else.”

  “That’s it—that’s the problem all right,” Ned agrees. “You’re kind of stuck with it no matter what way you turn.”

  “It’s an awful bloody thing—a stroke. One of the worst complaints there is, I’d say. Getting a heavy man in and out of bed is no joke, I can tell you that. My back was starting to give me no end of trouble.”

  “It must have been hard going, all right, no two ways about it.”

  “I knew by the look on his face that it broke his heart what he was putting me through. But sure he couldn’t help it—none of us could.” She gestures with futility. “That’s life, I suppose.”

  “No let-up at all?”

  “Very little. The neighbours were good, but then the place is fairly isolated and people have their own lives to live. Now and then I got a break from it. I used pay a woman to come in and give me a hand to get him on to the wheelchair, and back to bed again at night.”

  “Your health is your wealth, no matter what way you look at it.”

  “You can be certain sure of it. And people worry about all kinds of silly things. Anyway, he was my father and he was company. Now that he’s gone it’s a lonely vigil there on your own. That’s why I’m here this evening. Now you know the gist of my story. Tell me a bit about yourself then?”

  “Well, to be honest, there’s not a hell of a lot to tell. I have only the one sister who is married up in Galway. Ah, she moved up a bit in the world and got high notions about herself. She rarely, if ever, darkens the door now. It’s not good enough for her anymore. You know how snobby some people can get—even your own.”

  “Like myself—only the two of you?”

  “That’s it. And like yourself again, I live alone as you can gather. It can get you down at times, no doubt about it. A body needs a bit of company, and that’s the truth of it. Looking at the four walls! Sure, Christ above, ’tis enough to drive you cracked. You end up talking to yourself and behavin’ kind of queer.”

  “Kind of queer?”

  “Ah, you know.” Ned dismisses, waving hands.

  “Have you a big place?”

  “No, it’s not that big, but then again, it’s not too small—forty three acres.”

  “That’s not too bad. There’s only thirty one at home.”

  “Put ’em together and you’d be going somewhere,” Ned enthuses.

  “What’s the land like? Is it sound?” she inquires.

  “Well, a little on the high side. Grazing land, like. It’s powerful dry ground for wintering cattle.”

  “A comfortable house, I suppose?”

  “To tell the truth it’s not in the best of shape. I’m afraid I left things slide, so it’s gone to pot a bit. No use telling you otherwise.”

  “Maybe it could be worked on—restored back?” Anna suggests.

  “It would take time and money—a lot of it.”

  “At least you’re honest about it. That’s one trait I admire in people.”

  “Apart from that, there are no debts hanging over the place. That’s one good thing. I pay my way—always have.”

  “The same here. I hate owing money.”

  “The car I drive might be ten years old, but it’s paid for. That’s the way I am. But then, like lots of single men living on their own, maybe I drink a bit too much.”

  “Could you cut back on it do you think?”

  “If I had someone in life, or could see some good reason to cut back, I probably could. I’m sure I could.”

  “I don’t mind a man having the odd drink. But my father, God rest him, always warned me to be careful of any man who drank too much. It was the ruination of too many places, he said. He was able to name several farms that were drank out. The poor wife and children at home hungry, and the husband below in the pub and he not able to put a straight leg under himself.”

  “That’s a common enough story all right.”

  “Don’t get me wrong now—I’m not saying you’d be like that. Sure if you think you can control it.”

  “When you’ve only yourself to think about it’s easy to let yourself go.”

  “I suppose it is. Those long winter nights on your own, without a soul to talk to, can be a heavy burden. Especially those nights from mid-November on, when it’s dark at half four.

  “Another thing,” Ned states emphatically, “the countryside is after changing dramatically. There are people going nowadays, girl, who’d slit your throat for money to buy drugs.” He realizes he may have made a mistake. “Look, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to frighten you. Your house, maybe, is not as isolated as mine.”

  “I know what you mean. Sometimes, all right, I imagine I hear noises at night. I’d feel frightened, get up, go down to the kitchen and put on the kettle. I could be sitting there at half three in the morning, drinking tea, listening to the wind moaning on the gable-end of the house—like the banshee herself. I think I heard her once too.”

  “Ah no, I wouldn’t say you did now.”

  “Off in the distance—a weird, wailing sound.”

  “I thought the electricity got rid of the banshee and the like. What you heard now was an old vixen fox.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You can be sure of it. Or maybe a randy old tomcat on the prowl—them fellas can sing quare tunes.”

  Anna sighs, “No matter how you look at it it’s hard on a woman, isn’t it?”

  “It is, it is, in lots of ways.”

  “For instance, unlike you, I couldn’t ramble down to the pub for a drink or a game of cards. Stories would start flying around about me—that easy woman, down the lane.”

  “Ah no, things are not like that anymore. Attitudes have changed—espe
cially about those kind of things.”

  “I don’t know about that. That’s a subject I want to talk to you about. I told you I spent all those years looking after my father—even before that I had led a sheltered life. I never went out much. It means I have no experience of men… if you know what I mean? I don’t know like… like how I’d react to a man.” Ned looks a bit flustered. “That aspect worries me. How about you?”

  “How about me?” Ned’s eyes have widened.

  “You know. Have you much experience of women? You know… that other part of it?”

  Ned gulps at the Guinness, spilling some down his front. “What… what exactly do you mean like?”

  “Ned, I have no experience of… of…” She whispers, “of the intimate side of a relationship between a man and a woman.”

  “To tell you the God’s honest truth, I was never intimate with a woman myself either.”

  “You weren’t?”

  ”Apart from a bit of kissing and cuddling. That’s about the size of it.”

  They look at each other. Anna starts to smile. Ned too.

  “I don’t know what I’m smiling at,” Anna says. “Maybe it’s not the most important thing in the world.”

  “No, it’s not. But listen, we’d want to keep that part of the conversation to ourselves.”

  “God, we will. Who would we tell it to?” She smiles again. “If you could have seen the look on your face. I think I took you by surprise?”

  “You took me a bit off guard all right.”

  “But what I said was true—I might as well have been brought up in a convent.”

  “And me in a monastery.”

  They both start to smile again, their smiles developing into outright laughter at the absurdity of their situation. However, their mutual revelation and the mirth it engendered has defused any lingering reservations between them.

  “Anyway,” Anna says, “it’s nice to be able to talk about things.”

  “It is, without a doubt.”

  Ned, in a relaxed frame of mind, is starting to feel guilty about downing whiskey and stout whilst Anna sips at a glass of orange. He suggests that they go for a walk, it being such a nice evening. This is proving something new for him.

  They go out and stroll down the street. Ned goes into a sweetshop and purchases two ice-cream cones. They walk across the bridge, turn left and avail of the lengthy walkway down by the glistening river. A sizable number of locals are enjoying this facility also.

  An open confession is supposed to be good for the soul. Ned and Anna discuss various episodes of their past lives. Ned says he had gone out with a few girls down the years but the relationships always seemed to fizzle out. He thought better about mentioning Joan Kiely as he felt it might be inappropriate.

  A few power-walking, arm swinging, serious looking girls march towards them. They stand one-side to let the determined girls pass by.

  Ned loves the soft lilt to Anna’s voice. They suddenly realize they have walked a considerable distance and do an about turn. Back close to the town they sit on a bench and watch some graceful swans. Ned brings up the condition of the farmstead again.

  “If you put your mind down to it no problem is insurmountable,” Anna says.

  As the shadow of darkness descends on the town Ned feels a surge of happiness course through him. This was a feeling he hadn’t experienced for a long, long time.

  Eventually they arrive back to where Anna has parked her car. Ned, anxiously and nervously, asks Anna would she meet him again, “maybe next Friday evening—at this very same spot?”

  Anna takes his hand in hers, gives it a tight squeeze and says, “I will, of course.”

  As he walks back to Barrett’s pub there is an extra spring to Ned’s step. He feels seven foot tall.

  Arriving back he enters the hallway, but doesn’t open the door to the public bar as he automatically did heretofore. No, he bounds up the stairs to the bedroom he has become so was familiar with. He becomes aware of the sounds from below—the sudden burst of laughter and the loud voices as some point was debated. It didn’t tempt him now. The inner joy to his soul is too profound. He undresses down to his vest and underpants and slips in to bed. He smiles as he thinks of Anna adding that comforting, reassuring ‘of course.’

  The following morning Frank Barreett is surprised that Ned hasn’t come down for the usual boiled egg, tea and toast breakfast. He goes up to call him, but the bedroom door is open. He goes in and is surprised to see that the bed has been made and the room tidied. He is more surprised still when he spots the fifty euro note on top of the bedside locker and the unopened naggin bottle of Power’s whiskey pressing it down.

  “Begod,” Frank said, rubbing his chin, “that’s a big change.”