West, in the Foggy Valley

by Tadhg O'Rabhartaigh

  One night about a fortnight after that, the Greasai Rua left his shoemaking aside and he scurried across the road to have a few drinks in Seimin Ban’s house. There he found Seimin and his good wife sitting comfortably by the fire. Seimin had his pipe in his mantach/toothless mouth, and he was enveloped in the smoke.

  “Holy God,” the Greasai said as he delayed in the doorway, “he has the house polluted with that pipe. My advice to you woman of the house, is to hide that pipe on him, before he kills himself with it.”

  “He has the house destroyed smoking tobacco,” Sile said. “Even today Conn Mac Carty asked me who is smoking all the tobacco that is bought from him, as much as to say that I am helping him to smoke it.”

  “Did you see the couple going down in the direction of the river, just before dark?” the Greasai said, as he drew a chair for himself in between the two.

  “Maise, we didn’t,” Sile said. “Woods, I believe, and Una up there in the Gleann, you mean?”

  “I’m not talking about any other pair at this time,” the Greasai said. “They went down there a while ago, holding hands like two amadans/ fools. Dammit but neither of them have a splank of sense.”

  “Whatever about him,” Sile said, “she is ten times worse. Since he started working in that shop over there, no day passes that she doesn’t make two or three calls supposedly on business. You could get the two of them chatting across the counter, and you would not know which of them was from England, with the accents that she has.”

  “I don’t think any one understands his chat except herself,” the Greasai said. “Dammit if I know myself what rubbish he is saying half the time.”

  “I agree with you,” Seimin said. “He is often talking to myself here beside the fire, and I don’t know before God what he is saying. Sometimes he dies laughing in the middle of a conversation, and I am laughing with him, and me not knowing what either of us is laughing at.”

  “There is no harm in him,” Sile said. “It is an awful pity that he is the way he is about religion. You would think that he had no faults until he starts talking about religion. He would put the hair standing on your head, the awful man. He said that there is nothing at all in any of the religions except pisreoga / make-believe, and that there is no God. I asked Father O Ruairc if it was any harm to have the like of him in our house, and all he did was to laugh at me. He asked me if Seimin or myself might lose our religion at our age. Now what can you say to that?”

  “It is a wonder that he would not give advice to the girl who is keeping company with a young man of his kind,” Seimin said. “They tell me that there is no use for any of her family to be giving advice to her.”

  “Maybe she wouldn’t have much respect for the priest either? the Greasai Rua said. “I believe that the same girl will do as she pleases no matter what anyone else says. And it is an awful pity that she is as much away with the wind as she is, because she is the most beautiful girl who has come to the Gleann for a long time.”

  “It is not much good being beautiful,” Sile said. “Being a beautiful girl is of little use when she thinks of nothing else except beauty. She will have difficulty making her market in this Gleann, at any rate, I’m afraid.”

  “Many the man would desire the spree,” the Greasai said; “because I am convinced that her spree will not be small between Mac Alastair and all of them.”

  “In the name of God,” Sile said, “where is the man in this Gleann who would risk her? Where is the man who would put up with her, and with her silk stockings every single day of the week? God look on the creature who would have the misfortune of having her as the mother of his children. Silk dresses, and bright shinning shoes, and face powder are not much use in a place where there are cattle and pigs, and hens, and miners clothes.”

  “She will get sense yet,” the Greasai said. “Isn’t it often you have heard that the youth must chastise themselves? This life will give her plenty of sense, sister, as it has done with every single person. It doesn’t matter what nonsense is about her now, let her have her own way, because she has a generous heart behind it all. And I’m telling you now that the same girl will be a choice woman yet.”

  “I would say that you are speaking the truth, Greasai,” Seimin said.

  “I am afraid,” Sile said, “and very much afraid.”

  FATHER UI RUAIRC IS WORRIED

  It was Sunday night in the middle of the summer, and the mountains and lakes were looking good, as were the fields that were facing the sun. Marcus Mac Alastair was sitting out on his lawn with his wife and they were both enjoying the view.

  “Marcus love,” Triona said, I can see that you have a far away look in your eyes. Is it any harm to ask you what are you dreaming about?”

  “Och, Maise, dammit if I know for sure myself what I was dreaming about,” he said. “Many the thing passes through a persons head on a day like this. Tell me this, Triona: did you ever feel lonely the most time that you were exulted/happy?”

  “That often happened to me,” she said.

  “I am thinking that Padraig Mac Piarais was right with the story in the little sad poem that he composed on his way to his death.”

  “Are you thinking about The Wayfarer?” she said.

  “That’s the one,” he said. “He said that occasionally the delight that is in this world made him lonely too. But the reason for his loneliness he said was because he understood that the cause of the happiness in this life only lasts a very short time. I agree with his story. The sadness is a basis for all our delights, in a way that makes it clear to us that nothing endures in this life, not even life itself for that matter. That is the meaning of the whole story, I think.”

  “Marcus,” she said, “do you think that this fight will last much longer, in your opinion?”

  “It is difficult to say,” he said. “Maybe these bad guys, the Black and Tans, will bring an end to it sooner than we think. They are talking in America and in other places about the great work that is happening throughout the country; and maybe the British will be shamed into making some sort of a deal with us eventually. But if they do something like that, it will be against their will, and very few people are expecting that we will get total freedom from them.”

  “Isn’t it a wonder that some other mob from Droim Dhilliuir did not make another effort to attack this Gleann?” she said.

  “Don’t worry that they haven’t done it yet,” he said. “It was not for their holidays that a further fifty of them arrived last week. I am told that there are quite a few Black and Tans among them lately. It is my opinion that they are convinced that there are hundreds of young men in this Gleann, and they do not want to attack until they are strong enough to circle us for sure. Don’t you see for yourself what is written in the papers about us now and again; impregnable mountain fortress, the little mountain republic remains unconquered, burly miners of gleann ceo hold out. They are fully convinced that we are hundreds strong and that we are a mob of devils. We need to be extremely careful, or some morning they will descend from the top of the mountain and believe me they will not be at half strength when they do.”

  “God look on us,” she said. “I believe they will capture all the men.”

  “They will capture all the young men, at any rate,” Marcus said. “We have no more than fifty men in our company, and we would not be able to do them much harm, if they attacked in a circle from the mountain. What we could do is to go into hiding; and there are a good few men sleeping over night in the cave lately. Some more of them are sleeping in the mine. No soldier from the Republican Army is sleeping in his own house for a while, except for these who are not far from the cave. The sentries are watching until morning, you know, and the minute they get the first glimpse of the enemy approaching it is easy to get the news to every single man. The group in the mine can escape out the back way and come down the ravine as far as the river; and when they are at the river they can escape into the cave un-noticed. They cannot be seen escaping down the ravine und
er the shelter of the hawthorns, and no one will be able to see them escaping into the cave either. Of course they will have to defend the mouth of the mine against a throng of men for a long time; but I am afraid that the enemy will make full use of the mine. That is where the conflict will be.”

  “What can they do if they are caught in the cave?” she asked.

  “If that is our destiny,” he said, “I think that we will support each other. When we come out of that cave to surrender to them, the guns will be red in our hands and the last bullet spent.”

  She understood from his expression and his voice at that moment that he had no intention whatsoever of surrendering to them.

  “If they kill you, love,” she said, “what will I do and the two children? Think about me left here a widow and two orphans?”

  ”If they come upon us in the cave,” he said, “I am very much afraid that you will be a widow, no matter how the story goes. If I do not fall on the bank of Abhann an Eas, I believe that the hangman will bury me in Mountjoy. But Triona, sister, I am not expecting that they will capture us in the cave at all. No one except ourselves, knows that the cave is there; and I am convinced that there is no traitor in our midst. And it is most unlikely that they will discover the same cave by accident.”

  She combed back his wisps of fair hair with her fingers.

  “If you fall in the fight,” she said, “a song will be composed about you, and you will never be forgotten in Gleann Ceo. We will erect a Celtic Cross over the grave, and we will engrave your name in it in Ogham Chraobh/Script Writing. And I will not give the enemy the satisfaction of shedding a tear over your body. I will vent my anger and my grief alone away from the world.

  Marcus glanced down at the lonesome grave -yard that was within the walls of the old monastery on the banks of Loch Eala. He laid his hand on his wife’s shoulder.

  “Triona,” he said, “isn’t it a lonesome thought to be stretched down yonder on a glorious evening like this?”

  “My poor soldier,” she said, “he is dreading the death.”

  What was in her heart was far from the pleasant appearance she was displaying. Her greatest worry was that he would suspect the terror she had in her heart. Her heart would not allow her to glance in the direction of the graveyard; and she knew that if this kind of conversation lasted much longer between them, that she would have difficulty hiding the tears. But just then the priest Father O Ruairc, who had been fishing on Abhann an Eas sauntered up the slopes towards them. She gave a thousand thanks to God in her own mind.

  The priest came as far as them on the lawn, wearing his usual pleasant smile. His hair was always beautiful and silky and the look in his eyes was consoling.

  “Maise haven’t I little sense,” he said, “killing myself against these slopes and you two sitting at your ease here having saol na mhadaidh bhain/ the life of Reilly? It is not often your kind search me out for a visit?”

  “Maise since you just mentioned it, Father,” Triona said, “we had decided to drop in to you after the tea. If you stay long enough to join us, we will be with you yet.”

  “Don’t be in any hurry with the tea,” Fr. O Ruairc said. “I would like to talk to yourself and Marcus here about a question that is worrying me.”

  “All right Father,” she said.”

  “I don’t like putting this question to you of course,” he said. “But after all I think that maybe you are the ones who can best rectify it. What do you think about this company keeping that Una is doing with Wallace Woods?”

  The three of them looked at each other. Marcus was the first to speak.

  “We had intended to bring the same question to your attention, Father,” he said.

  “The case would not worry me,” the priest said, “if there was any chance that he would convert to Catholic. But what I am hearing is that he doesn’t believe in God, the awful man. They tell me that he ridicules every religion.”

  “What you heard about his faith is true, Father,” Marcus said. “He is a confirmed atheist.”

  “Maise that is an awful pity,” the priest said, “a fine manly boy who is doing his work honourably. According to what I hear everyone likes him.”

  “No one has any fault to find in him,” Marcus said, “except the fault that we are discussing; and of course that is fault enough, especially for himself. He used to take pride in his atheism at the beginning, until he realized that people did not like his talk. He doesn’t talk about it at all now.”

  “Do you think that his kind of talk will effect Una’s mind in any way?” the priest said.

  “I don’t expect it will,” Triona said. “For a girl who is away with the wind as much as she is, she has plenty of faith. And I would find it difficult to believe that she would pass any heed of Wallace Woods, or of any other Wallace, for that matter. She has no intention of marriage, whatever about him. She is only passing the time in his company, she says, and I think that she is telling the truth. We gave her advice twenty times, not to be making a fool of herself, keeping company with a young man who has no intention of marrying her, and that she could not marry, but we might as well have been talking to that tree down there. Her brothers advised her; the old pair advised her; but they would have been as far on if they remained silent. Our Una is as she ever was.”

  “Would it be any good for me to go as far as her about this ?” the priest said.

  “Do as you wish, Father,” Triona said; “but I am afraid that she will do what she pleases herself after it all.”

  “Maybe I would do more harm than good,” the priest said. “I will leave things as they are for another little while, to see what God will do.”

  “Unless I am very much mistaken,” Marcus said, “it won’t be very much longer until we see that she is tired of Woods. She fell out with him three times since he came here. My bet is that you will see her married to Pol an Greasai yet, even though she is showing little interest in him now. She knows that he is crazy about her all the time, and that all she has to do is wink at him and he will come to her any time. She can see that he has a new house built at the Droighead, and she also knows that he has a lot of money saved to put with whatever he gets from the Greasai. Be sure that when Pol is choosing a woman for his new house, that Una will be the first woman he asks; and believe me Una will not let him go in search of any other woman.”

  “You could be right,” the priest said.

  “Maise God look on the bold Pol,” Triona said, “if it is his lot to spend his life with our Una. He will have his own purgatory.”

  “She is the most beautiful woman in the Gleann,” the priest said; “and she could be the wisest woman yet. We have seen it before.”

  SEIMIN BAN IN DISTRESS

  Five or six days passed and a lovely evening came that would tempt one to go for a long walk. It so happened that around the Droighead was lonely enough that night, because all the young people were dancing in a loft in the Gleann and only the older people were at home. Conn Mac Carty and Wallace Woods were also in the loft; and it happened that Seimin Ban and his wife were sitting one in each corner, and they had the house to themselves. It was getting close to bedtime; and they were thinking about saying the Rosary, when they heard the anguished cry of a woman outside. That cry put the heart jumping in Seimin Ban. He jumped towards the door in his socks. He was in that much of a rush that he was not able to save himself in time from what happened to him. The old lady who was keeping house for Eoin an Droighead, met him at the door. She was running in her bare feet and her hair was down. The two bumped into each other, and Seimin got such a fright that he fell on his behind on the floor, and the old lady fell on top of him.

  “God protect us,” Sile an Cairn said. “What is wrong?”

  No sooner was the old lady on to her feet than she roared out again.

  “Eoin,” she said, “he is after falling out of his standing.”

  Out with Seimin and the two women after him. The Greasai Rua and his wife were in Eoin’s hous
e ahead of them. Eoin was lying motionless on the hearth-flag.

  “He has had a stroke,” the Greasai’s wife said.

  “God protect us!” Sile said. Bring him up and put him lying down. I am going for the priest.”

  They only had Eoin up the stairs and settled in the bed when Sile was back with the priest, Father O Ruairc. Eoin revived a little before the priest was too long there. He opened his eyes and he made an effort to talk; but it was obvious that he had lost his speech. When they were leaving the room the priest glanced back at Seimin.

  “Seimin,” he said, “take my pony and trap and go to Droim Dhilliuir as fast as you can for the doctor.”

  “All right, Father,” Seimin said, still in his stockings. He escaped out the door and he was proud that he was chosen to do the errant. He thought that the priest believed that the pony would be safe from harm going out in the night with Seimin in charge.

  “Go as fast as you possibly can,” the priest said, and “God be with you.”

  “It wasn’t long until Seimin was sitting in the priests trap and the pony was knocking sparks out of the road to Droim Dhilliuir. The moon had just risen from behind Sliabh an Iarann, and Seimin had not much need for the two lamps that he had lighted at the front of the trap.

  The doctor was at home, and he was on his way to bed. He was the doctor that Eoin always attended with his ailments.

  “I was expecting that this is how he would go,” he said, when Seimin told him the story. “I am afraid that there isn’t much I can do for him now, but I will go up just the same. You go ahead, I will be along after you.”

  Seimin was coming across the Shannon bridge when the doctors car passed him by. He continued on around by the top of Loch Eala, and he gave an odd glance towards Inis Colman. He was afraid of his life that he would see a light on it, or something even worse maybe. Approaching the crossroads at the foot of the Gleann, he heard a lorry behind him coming from Ballinashee, with music and the sound of drunken men.