Jan Karon - In the Company of Others

Spontaneous applause. The poker club gave an all-thumbs-up; the scent of Seamus’s pipe smoke sweetened the air.

‘Anna says you’re after capturin’ me on paper. So, aye, I’m ready to be captured.’ William’s face was pink from the scrubbing, from the newness and pleasure of it all.

‘Can we watch?’ asked Debbie.

‘Well,’ said Cynthia.

‘Where d’you want me?’ asked William.

‘Right there in your chair, comfortable as anything.’

‘I see m’ fire’s been poked up. ’t would be Liam thinkin’ of that.’ William saluted Liam, settled himself by the checkerboard. ‘Can a man have his pint while gettin’ his likeness struck? I’ve a ragin’ thirst.’

‘There by your elbow, Da, ready and waiting.’

‘’t would be Seamus thinkin’ of that.’ William lifted his glass to Seamus, took a long draught, wiped his mouth with a handkerchief. ‘If you wouldn’t object, Missus Kav’na, would ye leave off th’ scar an’ touch up the oul’ nose? An’ if you’d be so kind, take a year or two off th’ eighty-some that’s accumulated while I wasn’t lookin’.’

‘Ah, no,’ said Maureen. ‘’t is her style to render th’ truth.’

‘Th’ truth,’ he said, glowering.

Cynthia was already sketching, her hand darting for this brush or that, the ferrule chiming against the water jar. He sank into prayer like a swimmer into familiar water.

‘If you’d like,’ Cynthia told William, ‘you may take off your coat and tie.’

‘You don’t care for me coat an’ tie?’

‘I like them very much, but wouldn’t you be more comfortable?’

‘A man wants a dacent coat an’ tie to get ’is face done up in a picture.’

‘You’re being painted by someone very famous at her drawing, Da. ’t is a privilege she’s givin’ you. Be a dote, now.’

William gripped the arms of the chair as if it might lift off and fly. ‘’t would be good to have a fag to settle me nerves. But I’m off tobacco since Jack Kennedy closed down indoor smokin’ an’ ran us to th’ tarmac in a drivin’ rain. Beggin’ your pardon, Missus, do I need to keep m’ trap shut?’ William drew forth the handkerchief, gave a honking blow.

‘You may talk up a storm, William, it’s the shadows I’m wrestling with.’

‘Talk about th’ good oul’ bad days,’ Maureen said to William.

‘I’ve but one thing to say about th’ oul’ bad days-if th’ current crop of young was to be up against it as we were, they’d perish with none left standin’.’

Seamus gave his white mustache a quick comb. ‘May I tell a joke, then, if it wouldn’t interfere with the proceedings?’

‘Please,’ said Cynthia. ‘We love jokes.’

‘I generally try to bring one down at th’ weekend.’ Seamus rose and buttoned the jacket of his butler’s garb, clasped his hands behind his back.

‘So. There was this gent from Ballyshannon who all his life was after ownin’ a BMW sport coupe. So when he retired, first thing he did was fulfill his dream. A few days after this mighty purchase, he was out for a spin an’ decided to see what it would do if he opened it up.

‘Ah, but you can guess what he saw in th’ rearview mirror.’

‘A Defender of th’ Peace of Ireland!’ said William.

‘Gent pulled over, knowin’ this was not goin’ to be a good thing. Th’ Gard gets off his motorcycle, comes up to th’ gent’s window, says, You know how fast you were goin’?

‘Gent says, Triple digits?

‘Gard gives him a tough look, says, Here’s what I’ll do. Tell me one I haven’t heard before an’ I’ll let you go.

‘Gent thinks a minute, says, My wife ran off with a Gard five years ago an’ I thought you were bringin’ her back.

‘Gard gets on his motorcycle, cranks th’ engine, says, Have a nice day.’

The poker club hooted, Maureen slapped her knee, the old man threw back his head and guffawed.

‘That’s it, William!’ said Cynthia. ‘Keep laughing!’

Absorbed by what she was doing, he watched her at her work and found himself suddenly happy. Dooley and Lace would manage, she had said. For now, that would have to be enough. His prayer for Cynthia floated beneath the surface of his thoughts-she could do this.

‘Don’t stop,’ she whispered, not looking his way. ‘We must keep William laughing,’ she said to the room. ‘Why don’t you tell an Uncle Billy joke, darling?’

‘Yes, please,’ said Anna.

‘Hear, hear,’ said Seamus.

‘The one you told at the funeral,’ urged his wife. ‘You remember.’

There he’d stood under the funeral tent in front of God and everybody, forgetting the punch line of Uncle Billy’s favorite joke. Miss Rose had called it to his memory in a squawk heard all the way to Main Street. He remembered, all right.

He followed Seamus’s lead and stood, buttoning his jacket.

‘Uncle Billy Watson was one of my best friends, and a type of uncle to everybody. He was born and reared in the mountains of North Carolina, where many Irish found a home after immigrating to America. I believe he told me his mother was a Flannagan. I know for a fact we’ve got Hogans and Rileys and O’Connors and Wilsons in our coves and hollers-some very gifted at playing the traditional tunes of their ancestors, by the way. Wish you could hear their fiddle music, Bella, and I wish they could hear yours.’

Bella moved from the window, silent, and sat next to Maureen.

‘Uncle Billy devoted most of his life to making people laugh. He believed that laughter doeth good like a medicine, as scripture says, and it must have done him a world of good, for he lived into his eighties.

‘I remember the day he called me at the church office and said, Preacher, I done fell off a twelve-foot ladder.

‘Good Lord, I said, did you hurt yourself, any bones broken?

‘No, sir, he said, not a dent. I only fell off th’ bottom rung.’

William laughed, raised his glass. ‘To Uncle Billy!’

‘Uncle Billy!’ said Seamus, raising his.

‘Uncle Billy was married to a fierce woman named Rose. Here’s something that may have had special meaning; I’ll try to tell it the way he told it.

‘Well, sir, a feller died who’d lived a mighty sinful life, don’t you know. Th’ minute he got down t’ hell, he commenced t’ bossin’ around th’ imps an’ all, a-sayin’ do this, do that, an’ jump to it! Well, sir, he got so dominatin’ an’ big-headed that th’ little devils reported ’im to th’ chief devil, who called th’ feller in, said, How come you act like you own this place?

‘Feller said, I do own it, my wife give it to me while I was livin’.’

A prodigious roar, he thought, considering the size of the crowd.

‘Give us another!’ cried William.

‘Well, sir, there was this census taker a-goin’ round, don’t you know. An’ he come to this house an’ he knocked on th’ door an’ a woman come to th’ door. He says, How many young ’uns you got an’ what are their ages?

‘Well, let’s see, she says, we got Jenny an’ Benny, they’re ten. We got, uh, Lonnie an’ Johnnie, they’re twelve, we got Timmy an’ Jimmy, they’re-

‘Census taker says, Hold on! You mean t’ tell me you got twins ever’ time?

‘She says, Law, no, they was hundreds of times we didn’ git nothin’.’

There was the light again in Anna’s eyes, and Maureen’s unhindered laughter. Applause, even.

William thumped his cane. ‘Another, if ye’d be so kind!’

He appealed to his wife, who was hammering away on the damp paper. ‘Um,’ she said, furrowing her brow. ‘The gas stove?’

He reeled it off, brought the house down. This was heady stuff.

Maureen wiped her eyes. ‘We’re starvin’ for entertainment.’