The Devil is an Irishman

by Eddie Lenihan

  It was September again, humid, drizzly weather, no use for working in, though comforting to look out on. And that was what Jack was doing that Saturday morning, a faraway look in his eyes, when ‘Thud! Thud! Thump!’ – three loud knocks sounded – on the back door this time. Jack leaped almost a foot in the air, but steadied himself. Máire, who was knitting at the table, dropped her needles and cocked her head, listening, intent.

  ‘Ah,’ sighed Jack. ‘He’s here. I’d know that knock any-where. But what brings him creeping in that way, I wonder?’ – nodding towards the rear of the house. ‘Is it so he isn’t man enough to face us straight out?’

  He shuffled to the door, wrenched it open – and stepped back in mock surprise, then bowed.

  ‘Well, well! Look who’s after coming to see us, Máire. Our benefactor.’ He almost sniggered at his own cleverness but caught himself. ‘Come in, sir, an’ don’t be standing there in the rain. You could get your death.’

  The Devil’s eyes narrowed; a long sharp talon tapped Jack’s chest.

  ‘I won’t, or come in. You caught me once before, but you won’t do that again. Collect your stuff, whatever you have to bring, this minute. You’re coming with me, no more about it, an’ when I get you in my kitchen we’ll see how funny you’ll find it. I have special spits prepared an’ pointed even now, an’ plenty hands willing to turn you over a slow over a very hot fire.’

  Now it was his turn to smile, but it was a hyena’s grin, with nothing of humour in it.

  ‘So come on!’

  Jack threw him a disappointed glance.

  ‘Lord, but aren’t you the spiteful animal? No bit o’ pleasantry in you at all.’

  He turned away with a shrug.

  ‘What of it? I was expecting as much.’ He reached in under the table and brought out his travelling-bag.

  ‘What’s in that?’ snapped the Devil.

  ‘Only a few odds an’ ends I might need.’

  ‘Little you’ll want – especially in the way of heavy clothes. An’ don’t bring your overcoat, either,’ he chuckled dryly. ‘The climate you’re going to, you’ll hardly need it.’

  ‘’Tis a help to know that much, at least,’ Jack replied pleasantly, and then to Máire, ‘Slán go fóill, a dhuine. I’ll see you when I’ll see you, I s’pose.’

  There was time for no more, for the visitor clamped his hand on Jack’s arm, and thus linked he was escorted off briskly round the corner of the house.

  Máire rushed through the kitchen to the front door and dashed after them, pleading, ‘Please, sir, please don’t take him. He’s all I have. What’ll I do without him?’

  The Devil wheeled, let out a mighty blast of breath that whipped her off her feet and rolled her helter-skelter back to the door.

  Jack was impressed.

  ‘You have no shortage o’ wind, anyway.’

  ‘If you had to start as many fires as me every day, you’d have good wind, too,’ scowled the Devil. ‘Now, come on. I have more time spent here than you’re worth.’

  Jack only smirked and walked on, leaving Máire to collect her wits as best she might. But just as they were passing out the gate he dug in his heels, and pulled the Devil back.

  ‘Just one second,’ he begged. ‘Gimme a chance to take one last look at my oul’ garden, will you? Many’s the gallon o’ sweat I poured on it, to make it what you see there now. Take a close look at it. You have nothing like it below, that’s one thing sure. Am I right or wrong?’

  His tone of certainty nettled the Devil, but he stopped in spite of himself for a peep.

  ‘Look at all them rows o’ gooseberry an’ blackcurrant bushes there, an’ not a weed to be seen. D’you think that happens by itself? ’Twas these two hands that did it,’ and he held them up so that his companion might be in no doubts.

  ‘Very nice, I’m sure, but I’m not interested. Come on! We have enough time lost.’

  ‘One thing more, an’ we’ll be on our way then. Tell me, did you ever see a finer apple tree than that one there beyond in the corner, or better fruit than the stuff up there at the top of it?’

  ‘Indeed I did,’ sneered the Devil, looking closely at the tree.

  ‘I have more experience of apple trees than you think, smart lad. Oh, I can remember a day ... high walls ... an’ a fine strong woman ... her husband asleep ... That was one o’ the best day’s work I ever did.’

  He seemed lost in happy moments, until Jack interrupted him.

  ‘Well, if you like apples that much, wouldn’t it be a friendly thing to bring a handful of ’em home to your wife an’ young lads. You’re welcome to ’em as far as I’m concerned, so you won’t be stealing ’em if you take ’em.’

  The Devil hesitated and seemed amused by this notion. Jack could see that he was interested though undecided.

  ‘Sure, even if they don’t like ’em at home, wouldn’t a few of ’em keep us chewing on the journey?’

  The Devil’s tongue flicked his lips; his eyes lit greedily.

  ‘All right,’ he whipped. ‘But stand there an’ don’t stir.’

  ‘Anything you say,’ shrugged Jack, all innocence, as his companion vaulted the wall and streaked across towards the tree.

  ‘Make sure you get the ones up high. They’re juicier, an’ there’s no dust on ’em,’ Jack shouted, but the other needed no such counsel. His eye was already fixed on a cluster of shiny red fruit peeping from a collar of leaves three-quarters of the way up the tree. He stopped a few feet out, leaped at least three times his own height and snatched at them. But he got no further, neither up nor down, for as soon as ever his fingers touched them he stuck fast and no matter how violently he tried to shake himself free he could not.

  Jack, his elbows resting on the wall, was observing all this with growing amusement and in a few moments Máire joined him. They watched as the Devil swung, over and back, hither and yon, a stunned silence surrounding him.

  ‘Wouldn’t he make a lovely Christmas decoration?’ cackled Máire.

  ‘I’m not so sure o’ that,’ murmured Jack, more cautious. ‘Wait, an’ watch. He’s not finished yet.’

  And right he was, for with a howl and a twist the Devil attempted to break the branch. But try as he might he could make no impression on it. And the angrier he became the more violent grew his squirmings, the louder his cursings. Yet the apple he was clutching would not fall. And then, in pure flusterment, he struck out with his right hand to free his left – a costly error, for in an instant that hand was as solidly stuck as the other. He saw at once what the case now was, let out a piercing shriek and began a savage dance which sent showers of leaves to the ground, but not one apple.

  In the space of an hour he had exhausted himself, the tree was bare and Jack and Máire were as close to happy as someone else’s misfortune had ever brought them.

  ‘God forgive me,’ said Jack, ‘but wouldn’t it do your heart good to see that fellow stuck up there? He suits the place better than wallpaper.’

  The Devil heard him, as he had been intended to.

  ‘Let me down out o’ this, or I’ll ... I’ll ...’

  ‘You’re in no position to be making any threats now, boyo, so quieten your dirty tongue.’

  It was sheer luxury for Jack to be able to talk yet again to the Old One like this, and he was going to draw every last bit of pleasure from it while he might.

  ‘You’re staying there for as long as I decide. Come on, Máire.’ He beckoned her. ‘We’ll leave him to think about things for a while, an’ maybe when I talk to him again – oh, in a month or two, when the fine, frosty nights are in – he might have something to tell us that we’d like to know.’

  They walked away, slowly, soberly, back to the house, closed the door quietly and left the Devil hanging, foolish. But if they were expecting another outburst – as they surely were, for they hastened to park themselves inside the kitchen window – they were disappointed. Not a move from the tree. Never a sound. Only baleful, staring eyes and
... was it a hurt silence?

  Their annoyance quickly began to show, and Jack would have gone back out to taunt further, but Máire, wiser, said: ‘No. Leave him there a while. The less notice he gets the more he’ll look for. Isn’t that what the missioner used to say long ago?’

  Her advice prevailed, and all that day they went about their chores without another glance towards the garden. Night gathered, and as a bedtime farewell Jack came to the door, ever kind and concerned, and called into the dark: ‘Yoo-hoo, out there! D’you want anything before you settle ... ah ... down for the night?’

  A low snarl answered him together with a rasping suck that Jack recognised only too well. He slammed the door, not a second too soon.

  ‘Phlup!’

  A quivering green ball of slime hit it and began its slow burning trickle to the ground, stripping the paint as it went.

  ‘He’s a low curmudgeon, an’ no doubt about it,’ Jack scowled. ‘I’m in doubts that we’ll ever teach him manners.’

  ‘All we can do is wait an’ see,’ Máire added, though without much conviction. Yet oddly enough, morning showed a wholly different slant to the affair, and a side of the Devil’s character that Jack would never have suspected. A bellow from the road-gate started it.

  ‘Hi! Jack! Are you in there?’

  It was Jeremiah Horan, their next-door neighbour, on his way to the creamery. But he was going nowhere at that moment, only standing by his donkey, a look of confused wonderment in his face as he stared in at the apple tree.

  Jack appeared at the back gable-corner, not willing to take the front-door route again, especially by light of day. Too risky, he thought.

  ‘I’m here,’ he shouted back at Jeremiah. ‘What d’you want?’

  ‘Nothing, only to know what in the name o’ Heaven is this thing here hangin’ from your tree.’

  Jack laughed, then frowned.

  ‘I’m afraid that lad isn’t there in the name o’ Heaven, whatever else.’

  ‘But who or what is he, at all?’

  By this time several other neighbours had gathered, jabbering, pointing, all excited. Jack’s courage rose with their numbers and he soon felt brave enough to join them. More and more questions, while all this time the subject of their curiosity hung there before them, silent, unmoving.

  ‘I can tell ye very little at this time,’ was all Jack would say, and since they were well acquainted with phrases like this from their County Councillors they were satisfied in a sort of grudging way. But not entirely.

  ‘There’s something odd about this whole thing,’ declared a man of the O’Hallorans noted for his piety. ‘I think maybe it’d be no harm to tell the parish priest about it,’ and he began to hurry away.

  Jack saw the Devil’s jaw drop, his eyes widen.

  ‘Aha,’ he grinned, sensing a bargain waiting to be speedily struck. O’Halloran was hardly out of sight when he whispered hastily to Jeremiah: ‘Look, Jerry, listen to me. ’Tis important you don’t ask no questions, only do what I’ll tell you, an’ as quick as you can.’

  Horan nodded, impressed by his friend’s tone and the urgent look in his eye. ‘Talk on.’

  ‘Take away this crowd, will you? Anywhere, as long as ’tis a distance from here. An’ do it this minute. Please.’

  Horan shrugged his hands, a ‘what can I do?’ look on his face.

  Jack thought fast, plunged his hand in his pocket and pulled up a cloth purse.

  ‘Here,’ he gasped, thrusting it into his friend’s grasp. ‘What’s in this’ll buy pints galore for ’em, an’ anyone else ye meet along the road too. An’ have a few yourself. Go on, quick, before I change my mind. They’ll follow anyone anywhere when drink is mentioned.’

  How right he was was instantly proved when Jeremiah came to life, tossed the purse in the air and cried, ‘Well, well, boys! A sight the like o’ this, ’twould give a man a thirst, what? Come on! Down to the pub, quick. I’m buying the drinks, whatever ye’re having. Double if ’tis whiskey.’

  Dumbfounded though they all were – for neither he nor anyone else had funds enough to be standing rounds of drink out of the blue like this – they raised a ragged whoop of delight and asked no questions. A man’s word was his bond; the offer had been made. How it was to be paid for was none of their concern.

  They scuttled off in a happy cluster, all except Jack.

  ‘I’ll join ye in a while, maybe. I have a few small bits an’ pieces to do here around first. But ye could do something for me.’

  ‘Whatever you ask,’ said Jeremiah.

  ‘Tell the priest, when ye’re passing the presbytery, to bring plenty of holy water with him if he’s coming,’ and he threw the Devil a knowing look. They were no more than gone when he stepped briskly to the wall.

  The Devil spoke before he could say a word. ‘What’s that you said about holy water?’

  There was a note of panic in his voice, though he tried to hide it.

  ‘Ah, just that ’tis better to have all the tools o’ the trade if you want a job done properly.’

  A short silence.

  ‘O’ course, you needn’t be here when he arrives,’ Jack added, helpfully.

  ‘But amn’t I stuck here to this ... this ... How can I escape in time before he comes?’

  Jack seemed amazed.

  ‘Oh, if that’s all that’s wrong with you, why didn’t you talk up sooner?’

  ‘Why? Can you do something for me?’

  ‘O’ course I can. An’ I’d be glad to. Anything to oblige an old friend.’

  The Devil smiled, a doubtful little smile. His innocence did not extend as far as a belief in free gifts, but he still said: ‘Do it, so ... I’d be thankful for it.’

  Such an admission hurt, but there would be time later for a squaring of accounts.

  ‘Well, now ...’ Jack hesitated, ‘there is a small thing – just a little detail, you know – that you might oblige us with.’ When the Lad did not reply he continued. ‘You remember, I’m sure, the seven years o’ health, wealth an’ happiness you gave us last time.’

  The Devil’s narrowed eyes showed that he did, all too clearly.

  ‘Now, if you could see your way to giving us the same again, only for fourteen years this time, you could be down off o’ that place like so,’ and he snapped his fingers.

  It was clear for the first time that hanging from his arms was beginning to cause him discomfort. He looked suddenly like someone who wanted in the worst way to scratch his nose, his ear or a place equally impossible. His jaw began to twitch, and his legs to tremble.

  ‘Think about it if you want,’ advised Jack, ‘but don’t take too long. The priest’ll be here soon,’ and then, as if apologising, ‘But sorry. I was forgetting, you have a better view from up there than I have down here. You’ll see him coming yourself.’

  He turned towards the house.

  ‘We’ll see you soon. An’ I hope you make the right decision. They tell me our man here, God bless an’ keep him, is a terror entirely when he gets the holy water into his fist. Good luck to you when you meet him.’

  ‘Stop where you are!’

  The Devil’s mind was fully made up if his voice was any sure guide.

  ‘I’ll do it. Only let me down out o’ this.’

  ‘You’ll do what?’ asked Jack mildly.

  ‘I’ll give you what you ask. Only release me now!’

  ‘An’ what is it we ask?’

  Jack felt at that moment what a great barrister, or at least commissioner of oaths, had been lost in him.

  ‘Fourteen years o’ health, wealth an’ happiness.’

  ‘For who?’

  ‘Yourself an’ your ... wife, o’ course,’ panted the Devil. He was becoming exasperated, his eyes constantly on the road by the presbytery now.

  ‘So you’re giving me an’ Máire fourteen years o’ health, wealth an’ happiness? Is that guaranteed?’

  ‘It is. ’Tis! Now, let me off out o’ here before I change my mind.’


  His voice was rising dangerously. It would be stupid to push him any further, Jack knew.

  ‘That’s fine, so. Go back to where you came from, an’ may luck go with you.’

  He did not say which kind of luck he had in mind. Nor did the Old One wait to ask. He dropped like a sack of wet turf and lay dazed a moment. But only for a moment. He sprang up and fled without even a look back, his arms still stretched stiff above his head. He had seen what Jack could not: the black shape of the priest flapping towards them, a book in one hand, a bottle in the other and a crowd at his heels.

  Jack was sitting on the wall when they arrived, sucking a blade of grass, the very picture of contentment. No one paid him much heed until there could be no doubt that the thing in the tree was there no longer. Only when this was certain did the priest address him, and in words not altogether friendly, either.

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Where’s who, Father?’ asked Jack innocently.

  ‘You know well what I’m talking about. Don’t mind pretending otherwise. I’d know it from your face.’

  ‘I’d love to help you, Father – if I had any way o’ doing it. But, sure, when you won’t tell me ...’

  The priest’s eyes flashed. He was not a man who liked being made a fool of, especially in public. And there was a danger of that now, as he noted only too well in the eager faces all around.

  ‘Go on out o’ here, all o’ ye,’ he ordered suddenly, raising his hands as if to scatter geese. ‘Myself an’ this man have a bit o’ business to transact. Private business. So be going, now – but thanks for all the help’ – this last as a little sop to their disappointed looks as they shuffled off, muttering.

  Jack was still chewing away, untroubled, when the priest turned again, his Sunday sermon face severely in place.

  ‘Now,’ he said evenly, ‘I want to know, an’ I’m putting you on your word as a Christian to tell me the truth, who was it above in the tree that they were telling me about? Was it who I think it was?’

  ‘I’d say so,’ Jack replied simply.

  ‘In the name of ...’ He caught himself. ‘Don’t you know from your catechism that you’re supposed to have no dealings at all with that lad?’