—If she didn’t say anything about it when she saw you were dying …
—She didn’t, Bríd …
—Maybe the Small Master would marry her …
—Or the Wood of the Lake Master, since the priest’s sister has jilted him …
—You’re a dote, Billyboy. Honest! Tell us if the Schoolmistress had any talk of getting married again …
—Oh! Is that really him, the blackguard, the ruffian, the lustful little letter-bag? Oh! Where is the ruffian? …
—This is a fine welcome into graveyard clay …
—By the docks, Master, don’t you remember I told you? Didn’t he die! …
—Ha! Where is he? …
—Now, Master, neighbour, calm down! Calm down! We were good neighbours above ground. Did I ever open a letter of yours? … Oh, Master dear, don’t lie! … Oh, Master, if that is so, I didn’t do it … The Postmistress could do whatever she pleased, but don’t accuse me of something I didn’t do, Master … Oh, that’s definitely a lie, Master! I didn’t give a letter of yours to anybody, I went straight to your house and handed it piping hot out of the bag into the palm of your hand. I’ll have you know, Master, it’s not every postman would do that! …
Oh, Master, Master, may God forgive you! It was not to see your wife that I came so promptly with the post. Oh, God forbid, Master, that such a thought would enter my mind! … Oh, Master, neighbour, don’t say that! Don’t tell a lie about her. She’s on the dark road of lies, and you’re on the bright road of truth …
Believe you me, Master, neighbour, I was very sorry about your death. You were a decent man to call in to. And you were worth listening to, Master. You had a fine flow of words about the affairs of life … Oh, Master, don’t say things like that! … Oh, Master! …
Not a day went by that I didn’t sympathise with herself on your death … Oh, my dear neighbour, will you for God’s sake stop that sort of talk! “It’s a great pity about the Big Master,” I used to say. “It’s not the same house at all, since he left. Believe me, Schoolmistress, I’m very sorry for you …”
… Patience, Master! Patience, Master! Can’t you listen to what I’m saying! “Billy the Post,” the poor thing used to say, “I know that. He was very fond of you …” … Aw! now, Master! Take it easy, Master! “I did my best for him, Billy, but he was beyond the doctors’ skill …” Oh, Master dear! My dear, dear Master! … “It’s like this, Billy, the Master was too good …”
… Aw! Master, don’t make a show of yourself in front of the neighbours! Remember, Master, you are the Sergeant-Major of learning, and you have to set a good example … Patience, Master! Oh, Master, you have me skinned and flayed. It’s a fine welcome into the graveyard clay!
—Do you need any spiritual assistance, Billyboy the Post? …
—Oh, the snouty lecher, he does …
—De grâce, Master! Control yourself. Billyboy is a very romantic person. Honest …
—You, yourself, Master, used to …
—Faith then, Master, I saw you! … In the school …
—It’s no wonder our children marry heretics and blacks …
—… To make a long story short, Master, it was Whit Monday. I had the day off. I went west along the road to have a little walk for myself …
… Now, neighbour, what harm was there in going for a walk? Only once in a blue moon did I get a chance to lower the mainsail … It wasn’t good for my health to walk east along the road, Master … Calm down! … When I was passing the gate of your house, she had the car out by the roadside. I pumped it up for her. What’s the harm in that, Master? It was neighbourly co-operation … “May the Lord have mercy on the poor Big Master!” says I. “He was so proud of that car.” “Billy,” said the creature, “the Big Master wasn’t destined to enjoy the comforts of this life. The poor Big Master was too good …” Oh, Master, it’s not my fault! … But hold on a minute, Master! Hear me out …
“Sit in, Billy,” she said. “You’ll drive the car for me. I need an outing after being down in the dumps for the past while. Nobody could possibly think of scandal. You’re an old friend of the family, Billy …” Control yourself, Master. Can’t you see everybody is listening! I didn’t think you were that sort of man at all! …
To make a long story short, Master, the place was deserted, apart from the two of us. If you’ve ever been to Promontory Pier at that time of day, Master, you know there’s hardly a more beautiful spot on earth. The lights were being lit on the headlands and uplands across the bay. I felt, Master … Oh, for God’s sake, Master, have a bit of decency! …
… To make a long story short, Master, she told me that her love for me was deeper than the sea … Oh, have patience, Master! Be patient! Ah, Master, I was certain you weren’t that sort of person …
… “God be with this time four years ago!” she said. “Myself and the poor Big Master were here, looking at the lights and the stars and at the glimmering on the seaweed …” Oh, Master dear, you’ll give yourself a bad name! Calm down! … “The poor Big Master,” says I. “The Big Master,” she said, “he was a great loss. But he was too good for …” Master, Master, neighbour, why don’t you hear me out! …
“Whom the gods love, Billy,” she said, “dies young. Musha, Billy, he was terribly fond of you …” What could I do, Master? …
—Now, Master! Máirtín Pockface saw …
—Faith then, you were screwing her, Master …
—… What would you do yourself, Master, if you were in my position there at Promontory Pier, and the two of you looking at the lights, at the stars, and at the glimmering? … Oh, calm down, Master! … To make a long story short, Master … Now, Master, neighbour … Oh, control your impatience, Master dear … Why are you turning nasty on me? I didn’t deserve that from you …
To make a long story short, Master, she sent for three doctors from Dublin for me … I’ve never, in all my life, seen the likes of you, Master! Why are you taking it out on me, Master? Nobody who knew you above ground would believe you’d be going on like this …
“What happened to the Big Master won’t happen to you if I can help it,” she said … The blessings of God on you, Master dear, calm down. You’ll disgrace yourself. And you a schoolmaster and all …
… To make a long story short, Master, I had a piercing pain in my side and kidneys. I got a little relief in the evening: relief before death. She sat on the side of the bed and held my hand … God bless us and save us! Will you look at the commotion he’s making now? How could I control her? …
… To make a long story short, Master: “If it is fated that you should not recover, Billy,” she said, “my life won’t be life to me without you …” Oh, Master, don’t be so vindictive … Even if she did marry again, would it be my fault? … Have patience, Master! …
… To make a long story short, Master, I was on the plank-bridge to eternity when she shouted in my ear: “I’ll bury you decently, Billy,” she said, “and whether my life is long or short after you …” Calm down, Master! Leave me in peace, for God’s sake, Master! … But my peace is gone forever, I believe … Oh, if only she’d thought of burying me anywhere in the graveyard but stuck like a counterfoil to this lunatic. But she couldn’t help it, the creature. She didn’t know what she was doing … Oh, easy on now, easy on, Master!
—Bloody tear and ’ounds for a story, didn’t Big Brian say when Billyboy took ill: “That little pipsqueak is for the clay soon,” he said. “By gad, he’ll be lucky to get a burial at all. If he were up in Dublin, he’d most certainly be shovelled into the rubbish bin. But your woman will make a clean sweep of it and bundle him down on top of the Big Master in that hole back there. The two will tear one another apart like two dogs with their tails tied together …”
—… My misfortune and affliction! … Big Brian was right … Two dogs with their tails tied together … Upon my soul, it was true for him! … Our tails were tied, Billyboy …
—It’s true for you, Mas
ter …
—We were bounding about, wagging our tails and fawning, till we were trapped and consumed by the lights, by the stars, by the phosphorescence, by the vows. Oh! Billyboy, we mistook the glimmering light for the ever-burning candle …
—That is so true for you, Master …
—We thought we’d have the starry kingdom of heaven for a wedding present; that we’d drink at the harvest-home festival where the wine would never sicken you …
—Oh my, how romantic! …
—The whole lot of it, Billyboy my dear, was only a delusion, brought on by our own consuming egos … We were captured. Our agile tails were tied … Billyboy, my dear friend, she was only a female version of the Narrow-striped Kern3 who played the trick that suited the moment. “I’m one day in Rathlin and another day in the Isle of Man …”
—“A day in Islay and a day in Cantyre,” my dear Master and neighbour …
—Exactly, Billyboy my dear. That woman is not worth a biting word or a moment’s worry. Billyboy, my dearest friend, she found two silly dogs who let themselves be captured and their tails tied …
—That is so true for you, my dear Master …
—Billyboy, my dear, our pleasant burden from now on, instead of being hard on our tails, is to be gentle and neighbourly with one another …
—Good man yourself, Master! Now you’re talking, neighbour! Peace and quiet, Master. That’s what matters most in the graveyard clay, Master: peace and quiet. If I’d known that she’d bury me cheek by jowl with you, I’d never have married her …
—I don’t give a red curse what anybody does! No matter how she behaved, that was a hell of a mean, low-down thing for you to do, you blackguard, you thief, you ruffian! Into the gas chamber you should be shovelled, you windbag, you swine, you …
—Now, Master dear, calm down, calm down! …
4
—If I’d lived another while …
—It was a fair exchange for you …
—If I’d lived another while myself …
—It was a fair exchange for you …
—I’d be getting the pension on the following St. Patrick’s Day …
—Another three months and I’d be in the new house …
—God help us forever and ever! If I’d lived another while, maybe my heap of bones would have been brought back east of Brightcity …
—… I would have married in two weeks’ time. But you stabbed me through the edge of my liver, you whetstone of murder. If I’d lived another while, I wouldn’t have left a One-Ear Breed alive …
—I’d have taken the Woody Hillside land off my brother. Mannion the Counsellor told me I would …
—I thought I wouldn’t die till I got even with Road-End Man about my seaweed …
—Oh! May the devil pierce him! If I’d lived another while, I’d go in to Mannion the Counsellor and make a secure will. Then I’d turf the eldest son out to hell and get a wife for the other son, Tom. Then I’d serve a summons on the porter-swilling Glutton about his donkeys, and if I got no satisfaction in court, I’d drive spikes through their hooves. Then I’d keep watch before daybreak till I caught the Road-End crowd in my turf stack, and I’d serve an almighty summons on them … And if I got no satisfaction in court, I’d get a few chunks of dynamite from the big boss. Then …
—I’d have the law on Peadar the Pub’s daughter …
—Bloody tear and ’ounds, I’d get a fine pleasant ride in Nell Pháidín’s motor car …
—I’d see The Setting Sun in print …
—If I’d lived another while, I’d rub … what was that name you had for it, Master? … yes, methylated spirits, on myself …
—By the oak of this coffin, I’d pursue Caitríona for my pound …
—God would punish us, Cite …
—I’d stamp my whole body like a love-letter with Hitler’s emblems …
—The Postmistress said the other day that the Irish Folklore Commission and the Director of Statistics asked her for the records she kept, over forty-five years, of the number of little crosses in every letter. Fifteen was the Big Master’s average number, and seven was how many Caitríona always put in her letters to Big Brian: one for his beard, one for his crooked shoulder …
—… Patience! Patience, Master dear! …
—… Don’t believe him, Jack …
—I’d have gone to England to earn money and to see the West Headland crowd … I heard there’s a plague of them on the streets of London now, with white jackets … and monocles …
—I’d travel the world: Marseilles, Port Said, Singapore, Batavia. Honest …
—Qu’il retournerait pour libérer la France …
—If I’d lived another while, you wouldn’t have caused my death, you ugly Siúán. I’d take my ration cards elsewhere …
—… I’d have gone to your funeral, Billyboy the Post. I owed it to you to be at your funeral …
—I’d have keened you softly and sweetly, Billyboy …
—… I’d lay you out, Billyboy, as neatly as a lover would lay out his first love-letter …
—If I’d lived another while, I’d have asked her to bury me in another graveyard … Master, neighbour, calm down, calm down! But listen to me, Master! Two dogs with their tails tied …
—… I’d drink porter, of course, and a springtide of it …
—… The game would have been ours. I had the Nine and my partner had the fall of the play. Bad luck to the mine, if it didn’t blow up at the wrong moment! …
—… I’d have the law on the murderer for giving me poison. “Take two spoonfuls …”
—So would I, even though I never cared for splitting hairs with Mannion the Counsellor. By the docks, my friend, I’d have the law on him nevertheless. He told me to turn to whiskey. He did, indeed, my friend. If I’d stayed on the porter I’d be alright. I never had an ache or a pain …
—… If I’d lived, I’d have had a bit of luck with the crossword some week. And of course I’d have great insurance coups in Jack the Scológ’s. I’d put “Eternal Death to the Simplified Spelling” for my nom-de-plume on the next Sweepstake ticket …
—… “A Bright Smile Now, Nurse” is what I’d put …
—“Headland Harbour” is what Billyboy wrote …
—I’d go to the pictures again. Honest to God, I’d love to see that woman with the fur coat. It was an exact copy of the coat Baba Pháidín used to wear till the soot fell on it in Caitríona’s …
—That’s a damned lie, you slut! …
—Spare me the lash of your tongue, Caitríona. Peace and quiet is what I want. I didn’t deserve your snarling …
—… If I’d lived another while! If I’d lived another while, then! What would I do? What would I do, then? Only a wise man would say …
—If I’d lived till the election meeting, I’d contradict Cosgrave. I’d tell him they were sent over as mere envoys, and that they exceeded their authority …
—I lived, thanks be to God, till I told de Valera up to his face that they were sent over as plenipotentiaries. I told him up to his face. I told him up to his face. I told him up …
—That’s a damned lie, you did not! …
—I remember it well. I twisted my ankle …
—… If you had lived another while, you’d see all the young women of Donagh’s Village smoking clay pipes. That’s what they’re doing since cigarettes got scarce. They say crushed dock leaves and nettles are great in clay pipes …
—If you lived to be as old as the Yew or the Hag of Beara,4 you wouldn’t see the last flea swatted on the hillocks of your own village …
—If the Postmistress had lived another while …
—She had no need to. Her daughter inherited her ways very well …
—If I’d lived another while …
—What would you need to live for? …
—I’d see the sod over you, for one thing …
—If Tomás Inside had lived?
&
nbsp; —He’d migrate once again …
—He’d turn to the porter again …
—He’d chase Pádraig Chaitríona’s cattle off his patch of land …
—Nell’s cattle, more likely! …
—If Caitríona had lived …
—Oh, to have buried that pussface before her …
—If I’d lived, I’d administer spiritual assistance. If I’d lived another week, even, I’d have up-to-date information for Caitríona …
—Big Colm’s daughter, you used to skip your Family Rosary in order to eavesdrop at closed doors, to see if the neighbours said theirs …
—… I’d go to Croke Park to see Concannon …
—Billyboy the Post saw your ghost there after the All-Ireland final and you whingeing and whining …
—… I’d have finished the stable during the fine weather, and the colt wouldn’t have died …
—Oh, didn’t everyone in the village see your ghost! …
—… I wouldn’t believe there’s any such thing as a ghost, Red-haired Tom …
—Some people would say there is. Some people would say there isn’t. It’s a wise man would …
—Oh, indeed, there are ghosts. God forbid that I’d lie about anybody, but I saw Curraoin chasing Glutton’s donkeys and Road-End’s cattle out of his oats, and him a year dead.
—The first cause of death for Billyboy the Post was when he saw the Big Master searching in the top of the press in his own kitchen, the day after he was buried …
—… Calm down, Master! Oh, calm down. Calm down! … I never shaved myself with your razor. I beg you as my friend and protector, Master, listen to me a minute! Two dogs …
—Road-End Man was seen …
—Faith then, as you say …
—Oh, he would be! Stealing my turf he was, for certain …
—Or lump-hammers …
—They say, God help us, there isn’t a night that a phantom aeroplane isn’t heard in the Middle Harbour since the Frenchman came down there …
—Arrah, that’s a real aeroplane going to America from Ulster or from Shannon …
—Do you think I wouldn’t recognize a real aeroplane! I heard it clearly, when I was gathering red seaweed there late at night …
Graveyard Clay- Cré Na Cille Page 33
