The Devil is an Irishman

by Eddie Lenihan

  ‘There’s a sick man in this house, isn’t there?’

  He spoke in a deep voice. Máire started.

  ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘I smelt it miles back,’ he grinned, but without any trace of humour. ‘Now, woman, take me to his bedside. Talking here like this isn’t helping any of us.’

  ‘W-who are you, an’ why are you here?’ she stammered, but he paid no attention, only pushed past her, flung open the door of the sick-room and took one level look at the man on the bed.

  ‘Ah,’ he sighed, still grinning. ‘He’s gone. Finished.’ And there was something like satisfaction in his voice.

  Máire was about to cry out when he added suddenly, ‘Finished, unless ... unless ...’

  She stared, then whispered, ‘Unless what, sir?’

  ‘That’s for me an’ him to talk about,’ he replied grimly. ‘Go out, woman, an’ make a dreamall o’ tea. I’ll be with you shortly.’

  He showed her firmly to the room door, then closed it quietly behind her. He returned to the bed, sat close to the dying man and said: ‘Jack, you’re for the high jump. You know that, don’t you?’

  All Jack could do was nod, then with a great effort he whispered: ‘Only too well I know it. I’m in fierce pain.’

  ‘Ah! I’d well believe that. But I might have a bit o’ good news for you,’ smiled the visitor, ‘because, you see, there is a cure.’

  His smile grew wider as he said it.

  Jack tried to struggle up on his elbows, failed, then croaked: ‘Give it to me, please, sir ... for my poor wife’s sake even more than my own.’

  ‘I might do that, right enough,’ beamed the stranger, and then in a more sober voice, ‘but there’s a price I’ll have to charge. You can’t expect such a cure for nothing.’

  ‘I’ll give you anything I have,’ sobbed Jack. ‘Anything, as long as I wouldn’t die.’

  The visitor arose.

  ‘Hmmm. You’ll give me anything, will you? Lucky for you, then, that I’m a reasonable person. All I want from you ... is your soul.’

  The last word was like a rock falling on Jack’s head. He gaped up, looked straight into the eyes that were amusedly observing his every move, and knew at once who it was that stood before him: the Old One himself, none other than the Dark Lad. The Devil. He licked his lips. Only now did he notice that they were bone-dry. But he could say nothing for the moment. His mind was racing, though: ‘What’ll I do? I wish herself was here to advise me. But I’ll have to give him an answer ... an’, sure, what other answer could it be only “yes”? I don’t want to go to the Other Place before I have to. I know little enough about this world, not to mind the next one.’

  His heart was thumping, his hands shaking, by the time he found his voice and heard himself saying, ‘All right. I’ll give it to you. But I want something more than just my life for it. ’Tis worth more than that to you, I’m fairly sure.’

  The Devil gazed at him evenly.

  ‘Little men on their last legs should never try to drive hard bargains. But I’m a fair person as well as reasonable. What is it that you want besides?’

  ‘Seven years o’ health, wealth an’ happiness. What good would my life alone be if I couldn’t enjoy what’s left of it? If you can give me that much you can have my soul, an’ wel-come.’

  The Devil pressed his fingertips lightly together, pursed his lips and allowed his gaze to wander to the ceiling. There was a brief but deep silence. Then he snapped his attention back on to Jack, startling him, and said in his most pleasant manner: ‘That’s the way it’ll be, so. I like my ... companions ... to have a bit o’ spirit in ’em,’ and he tittered, as if he had unburdened himself of a very subtle joke, then reached down. The tip of his left forefinger touched Jack’s afflicted limb and in the space of a second all that had been a throbbing, pulsing mass of pain was quieted and soothed. The affliction, the poison, was banished in the blink of an eyelid.

  Jack was too astounded to attempt even a single syllable. Then, through that silence the Devil paced to the door, turned, and without the least explanation said, ‘I’ll be back. Seven years’ time. Be ready.’

  He walked out, a little smirk curling the corners of his mouth, and strode past Máire, who jumped back from the door, where she had been listening, as soon as he wrenched it open.

  ‘D-did you do anything for him, sir? Any chance of a cure?’

  He made no reply, only stalked out the front door. She leaped towards the room, and what she saw stopped her in her tracks, for there was Jack putting his two legs out onto the floor as he might on any ordinary morning, seeming to be not one bit the worse for his late illness.

  She stared at his hand. It was as sound as if nothing had ever been the matter with it. She dashed back to the front door and looked up and down the road. But there was no one in sight. The road was bare and empty for as far as she could see. Amazed, she turned again and began to fire questions at Jack: ‘What did the man do? Did he say any prayers? How did he ...?’

  ‘I know no more than yourself, woman. I was so surprised at what was happening that I didn’t even get a chance to ask him his name.’

  He did not mention to her the bargain he had made, nor his near certainity as to the identity of the ‘doctor’.

  ‘But what of it? Haven’t I my health again, an’ that’s all that matters.’ After a little pause he added, ‘An’ I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if our luck began to change for the better. ’Tis well coming to us.’

  Máire nodded, happy to agree, for after what she had just witnessed anything seemed possible. But she was no fool, and in quiet moments began to put the facts of the case into some kind of order for herself. Also, she had heard stories of cures like this before now from the old people. And in all these tales the magic came from one of only two places ...

  Yet she hoped for good times ahead and put her fears from her as best she could.

  AND SO IT CAME to pass as the ‘doctor’ had promised; their fortunes changed. Legacies came their way from relatives they never even knew they had. England began another of its wars somewhere and the price of hay and cattle doubled as a result, and then doubled again, all in the space of weeks. A large leather purse was left on their doorstep one December night with a brief note: ‘Conscience-money. I owed your father this.’

  All these and more saw to it that within the year they were wealthy beyond their wildest dreams.

  Their neighbours were dumbfounded, of course, but since Jack and Máire were free with what had come their way so freely, no one asked too many questions.

  ‘What’s good for one is good for all,’ they nodded wisely, bending the old saying to fit the bright new circumstances.

  And so the time passed, all the more quickly because it was spent so deliciously, until the seven years had gone by without Jack and Máire noticing. In fact, the awakening, when it came, was rude and sudden. They were at their dinner one day in the month of September, savouring the usual (by now) fine food, when the servant-girl – another of the additions of fortune – entered, curtsied and said: ‘There’s a man at the door, sir, and he says he wants to talk to you.’

  ‘Tell him I’ll be with him when I’m finished here,’ growled Jack, unwilling, as always, to interrupt a meal if he could at all avoid it.

  The girl went out, but was back in a moment.

  ‘He says it can’t wait, sir. He has to see you, an’ now.’

  Jack flung his knife and fork to the table and rose with a snarl: ‘By the Lord God, he’d better have a good reason for this, whoever he is,’ and stumped to the door. The sight that greeted him there stopped him dead in his tracks: it was none other than his benefactor, the ‘doctor’, and he was smiling out of his swarthy face. But Jack, to his credit, recovered himself instantly and without more delay held out his hand as if in welcome.

  ‘Muise, how are you, oul’ friend? You wouldn’t be hungry by any chance, would you? ’Cos if you are, you’re at the right place. The dinner i
s on the table. You must have smelt it. Come on in, an’ have a bite to eat.’

  Máire, drawn by the voices, hurried out, only to let a little squeak out of her when she saw who was there.

  ‘Oh, merciful God, Jack, run! Run, or he’ll carry you!’

  Jack silenced her with a careless backward wave of his arm.

  ‘Run? Indeed I won’t run! Will you have sense, woman? What way would that be to welcome a guest?’

  He turned again to the Old Lad.

  ‘You’re sure you won’t eat a bite?’

  ‘I am. An’ what’s more, I’m in a hurry. So, be coming on with me now, like a good man. We have a journey in front of us, you an’ me, an’ trouble or delay is the last thing any of us want, surely.’

  ‘All right,’ said Jack. ‘If you’re in a rush I won’t be the one to hold you here.’

  He beckoned to Máire. ‘Make a drop o’ tea for our friend here, an’ I’ll just go up in the room an’ pack a few little bits an’ pieces for the road. I’ll be back shortly.’

  The Devil could hardly refuse a request so innocent and padded into the kitchen, letting an approving eye roam over the warm comfortable room that he had indirectly provided. Jack stepped to the bedroom door.

  ‘Look, big man, wouldn’t you sit yourself down while you’re standing? The road’ll be long enough in front of us.’

  The Devil glanced about, saw Jack’s rocking-chair by the fire, its arm-rests shiny from years of happy fingering, and sat down without another word or thought, while Máire pottered busily about the tea-making.

  Jack, meantime, was standing just inside the room door, tittering behind his fingers, his eyes dancing. Slowly, carefully, he counted to fifty, then shook himself, cleared his throat noisily, and stepped back into the kitchen.

  ‘Well, I’m ready any time you are, big man. Are you coming, or waiting for the tea?’

  The Devil smiled, swung himself forward, and tried to rise from the chair. But no matter how he pulled, growled, strained or snarled, not an inch could he raise himself. He cursed, swore, dragged a bit more, then collapsed backward, frustrated.

  The next half-hour was something between frightening and funny for Jack, Máire and the servant as they watched and listened to the rising tide of vile abuse and more and more frenzied movements. Every trick the Devil knew – and they were many – was tried to shift himself from the chair, or the chair from the floor, but they failed, each and every one. His trousers were the first casualty, followed closely by hair and skin from strategic parts of his person, but no matter how close he came to escape there was always some piece or other that refused to part company with that accursed seat. And so at last he fell back, baleful, panting, exhausted.

  Jack sat quiet on a three-legged stool at the other side of the hearth, a wide, sympathetic smile decorating his face. In the charged silence he leaned across, his hands dangling between his knees.

  ‘Yerra, aren’t you the foolish lad to be tiring yourself out like that, an’ maybe injuring yourself, too? An’ all for nothing. ’Cos you’re going nowhere.’

  The Devil sprang him an evil glare, then broke into an-other bout of frenzied tugging, teeth bared, snarling.

  Jack leaned back, sighed as if weary, but secretly enjoying every iota.

  ‘There’s no teaching manners to some people, I s’pose. But whatever about that, I can tell you bad news now: you won’t move one inch out o’ that chair until you get permission from me.’

  The Devil stopped.

  ‘Permission? What d’you mean, you give me permission?’

  From the tone of his voice it was obvious that there was something here he did not understand.

  ‘Just what the words mean. That’s all,’ smiled Jack pleasantly. Then he added, ‘An’ I’ll give no such permission until I get a little favour in return.’

  The Devil must have suspected what was coming for he did not reply, merely glowered, his lips twitching.

  Jack continued evenly. ‘That little morsel of a favour is seven more years of wealth, health an’ happiness. No more. Well, what d’you think?’

  A deep silence settled on the kitchen. The servant-girl stood frozen, her mouth gaping, fish-like. Máire picked her nails nervously, as if afraid that her man had over-reached himself. But he only smiled, whistling a soft little tune.

  ‘I’m waiting,’ he crooned at last, mocking. His tone was not lost on the Devil. Curling his lip, he sucked up something greeny, ugly from the depths of his insides, then ‘Pthu!’ – it landed, quivering and slimy on the toe of Jack’s boot, where it began to hiss and splutter.

  ‘All right,’ said Jack, watching the disgusting object intently, ready to fling off the boot should that be necessary. ‘If that’s the way of it, maybe you’ll think again after a year or two here at the hearth on your own. C’mon, Máire. We’ll move out o’ here this day an’ close up the place entirely. No one’ll know he’s in it, an’ I’ll bet you there isn’t many a one that’ll miss him, the low cabaire.’

  He was speaking now as if they, both of them, were quite alone. She was only too relieved to go along with the suggestion, and turned on her heel.

  ‘Stop! Wait!’ gritted a voice through clamped teeth as they pulled the door behind them. Jack shoved his head back in, no longer smiling.

  ‘Tell me, true this time, what is it you really want?’ the lad inside hissed.

  ‘Just what I said,’ replied Jack. ‘I’m not a greedy man. Only gimme seven more years o’ health, wealth an’ happiness for myself an’ my wife here an’ I’ll be satisfied. That isn’t much to ask now, is it, from the likes o’ yourself that has all the time in the world on his hands?’

  ‘We’ll see how much when your day o’ reckoning comes,’ muttered the Devil grimly.

  ‘What’s that you’re saying?’

  ‘I said all right, you have it. Seven more years. Not a day more, not a day less. Just like you said yourself. Now let me out o’ this.’

  ‘Oh, you can go any time you want to,’ smiled Jack. ‘Don’t think we’re holding you at all.’

  With that, the Devil rose, cautious now, fearful of doing further damage, but when he saw that he was indeed free he paused, pointed a dangerous finger at Jack and hissed, ‘I’m going. But I’ll be back. Oh, never fear but I’ll be back. An’ when I do, I’ll ...’

  Jack laughed towards Máire.

  ‘Could you believe it, but he don’t want to go? He must like us better than his own crowd below at home.’

  Delicately, as if walking among pieces of broken glass, the Devil padded out, muttering obscenities as he went, as well as threats: ‘Oh, but my turn’ll come ... an’ that’ll be the sorry day for ye ... Never forget that!’

  And he was gone.

  They stood a few moments staring at each other, as if they could not believe the business finished so tamely.

  ‘That wasn’t so bad, was it?’ breathed Jack. Máire could only shake her head and laugh, long and heartily.

  ‘I never thought you had it in you to get rid o’ him,’ she said firmly, relief showing in every word. ‘But who is he, an’ what brought him back after all that time?’

  Jack considered. Now might be as good a time as any to come clean.

  ‘Sit down,’ he said quietly, and then called the servant-girl.

  ‘Make that drop o’ tea, will you, an’ bring it here to us?’

  When that was done and she had been sent about her duties in the yard he looked his wife in the eye.

  ‘I wouldn’t tell you a lie, Máire, an’ there’s no use in running from the truth. ’Tis like this ...’ and he explained to her quietly, simply, all that had been transacted between him and the man at the graveyard as well as the bargain he had sealed with the ‘doctor’ for his soul.

  She listened, in a way he had never known her to do before, and when his last word faded and a clammy silence had gathered again in the room she looked across at him mournfully. ‘I had a fair idea that ’twas him that was in it, the Dark
Lad. There’s no escaping him. You know that, don’t you?’

  Jack tried to look on the bright side.

  ‘Well, there’s no use having the bad word all the time. God is good, an’ even if He turns the blind eye to us, we’ll think o’ something.’

  Máire, if she was shocked by his shaky faith, did not say so, but she was noticeably silent for the rest of that day. And the next. In fact, it took a fortnight, several visits to the chapel and many lighted holy-candles before she would consent to enjoy their renewed good fortune. Even when she did so there was an extra emphasis on good deeds and charitable works, as if they might soften the blow when it came.

  Jack was engaged in less spiritual chores: he bought a strong new scraps-bag – largest size – in Limerick’s most fashionable store, as well as a fist of mothballs, brought it home and presented it to Máire.

  ‘There you are, now. Empty the old one an’ give it here to me.’

  Mystified, she did so, and he folded it and placed it in their bedroom wardrobe, empty except for the mothballs.

  After that he had one thing more to do: see to it that the old apple tree in the garden should want for no loving care that he could lavish on it. If they had had a son he could have been no more pampered than that tree was in the days, months and years that followed. In fact, the more time that passed, the closer Jack’s daily routine centred on it until Máire began to feel neglected in spite of all her good works and the crowds of burly beggars and hardy supplicants that dogged her every generous step nowadays. She said so, too, in no uncertain terms. But, ‘I’m doing this as much for you as for the tree, if you can believe that,’ was his reply every time. Many a day she thought of cutting it down herself, or of ordering one of the many strong mendicants who infested the yard to do so, but something in Jack’s manner as he tended it always made her change her mind at the last minute.

  And so the months wore on, one plodding doggedly, inevitably in the tracks of the one before, until the seven years were no more.