Liam O'Flaherty - Land

After the two men had passed into the hut, the gulls settled once more on the brink of the cliff. Soon there was a long white row of them standing there in silence, like soldiers on parade, high above the sea.

Late that afternoon, Julia McNamara saw Father Francis go through the village in Raoul’s carriage, on the way to Manister Lodge. As if on purpose to annoy her, Raoul drove past her father’s house at a snail’s pace. Peering down from her bedroom window on the second floor, she saw the two men in earnest conversation. They had their heads close together like bosom friends. She also saw the priest’s belongings on the carriage floor. That made it clear to her that he was going to be Raoul’s guest at the Lodge.

She threw herself face downwards on her bed and wept bitterly for some time after they had passed. Then she stopped crying and stared at the wall fixedly for more than an hour, with the tips of her fore-fingers between her teeth. Her mind was void of thought most of that time. Now and again, however, she realised poignantly that the reconciliation between Raoul and Father Kelly would surely spoil her plan for turning the people against the St. George family. She drove her teeth sharply into the flesh of her fingers whenever this thought tormented her.

The village carpenter came into the shop next morning, to buy nails and timber, while she was serving behind the counter. He was a red-haired man called O’Rourke. He had a very gloomy disposition, due to being afflicted with a club foot. That morning, however, he looked gay and excited. Julia became curious to know what had roused such a surly fellow.

“Were you left a fortune?” she said.

“No, then,” said O’Rourke, “but I heard that a black sheep is returning to God’s fold and sure that’s great news any morning.”

“What black sheep would that be?” Julia said.

“Mr. St. George sent for me this morning,” O’Rourke said, “and asked me to mend his summer-house. It’s that small wooden building that’s been lying in ruins for years, down by the sea at the western end of the Lodge grounds. He said Father Kelly is going to live there, as soon as I get the roof and the floor put in order. When I was leaving, Annie Fitzpatrick invited me into the kitchen for a cup of tea. She told me that Mr. St. George wanted to give Father Kelly the best room at the Lodge, but that the holy man himself preferred to be in the summer house, where he’d have more freedom to do penance at any hour of the day or night that came into his head, without having to take other people into consideration and with little or nothing in the way of furniture to bother him. But that’s only the toe-nail of what she told me.”

He leaned across the counter towards Julia and added in a dramatic whisper:

“The black sheep that’s returning to God’s fold, Annie said, is no less a person than Miss Lettice. She’s going to become a Catholic as soon as Father Kelly has finished teaching her the catechism. Then she’ll marry Michael O’Dwyer. Glory be to God, isn’t that powerful news?”

Julia fell down in a faint. She had to be taken upstairs and put to bed. She remained prostrate for three days, refusing to touch any solid food and unable to get even a wink of sleep. Whenever she closed her eyes through exhaustion, acute remorse of conscience caused her to become wide awake at once. She absolutely refused to see a doctor.

“I’d rather die,” she said, “than have a man lay hands on any part of me.”

On the morning of the fourth day, her parents were astonished to see her come downstairs for breakfast, humming a gay tune.

“I want to have the wedding as soon as possible,” she said to them.

“Lord save us, child,” her mother said, “but I don’t know whether I’m coming or going, on account of the way you behave. Ever since you agreed to marry Jim Clancy, you have refused to discuss a date for the wedding. Now you want to have it at once.”

“Leave her alone, woman,” Bartly cried excitedly. “Say nothing for fear she might change her contrary mind.”

He ran out of the house without waiting to put on his hat. He consulted Clancy and the parish priest. They both agreed to have the wedding on Tuesday of the following week.

“It’s settled now,” Bartly said in triumph on his return home. “You’ll get married this time, Julia, even if I have to kick you on the knees and back you into the church like an obstinate horse.”

“Have no fear,” Julia said. “I’m going to carry my cross without complaint.”

The village people were intensely annoyed by her behaviour during the six days that preceded the wedding. They all knew of her hopeless love for O’Dwyer. Yet they saw her go abroad with a radiant smile on her face, just as if her most tender dreams were about to come true. She spent long hours each evening on her knees by the altar rails in the parish church, gazing in rapture towards the statue of the Blessed Virgin.

“The conceit of her,” they said, “pretending that she’s happy, when we know well that Jim Clancy is poison to her.”

It was not through vanity that Julia behaved like that. Just as she had feared, when she saw Father Francis go to the Lodge, the people had veered away from her and returned to Raoul. The very same crowd that stoned Ahearn at her instigation was now ready to stone herself. Such extreme fickleness was merely a sign that the popular frenzy had reached its climax. The lovelorn creature understood it to be the work of the Devil. So she was joyously offering her broken heart strings to God as a holocaust, in order to frustrate the Devil’s plans.

As she went to the altar on her wedding day, those present in church whispered to one another that they had never seen a happier bride. They certainly had never seen a lovelier one. During the ceremony, she made the responses in a clear and fervent tone, as if every fibre of her being were in complete accord with her promise to love Clancy. It was only when he took her in his arms that she was seen to stiffen and go pale. She quickly recovered. Again she looked radiant as she walked back to the village on her husband’s arm, at the head of the procession.

Late that night, according to the custom still prevalent, her mother and two aunts took her upstairs while the wedding feast was still in progress. They undressed and bathed her. When she was tucked into bed, they gave her a glass of strong wine, sprinkled holy water on her face and left the room on tip-toe. She lay motionless for a little while, listening to the rain that had just begun to fall outside on to the dusty square and to the faint sound of fiddle music that reached her from the parlour. Then she heard a roar of tipsy laughter and there were heavy footsteps on the stairs. She gasped and sat up rigidly against the pillows. The ecstasy of martyrdom forsook her. She fully realised the horror of the fate that she had brought upon herself.

Presently the door was thrown open and her husband came into the room. He was a young man of splendid form, tall, with broad shoulders, kind blue eyes, rosy cheeks and curly yellow hair. He was noted in the district for his good nature and his shyness. He closed the door after him very gently and came to the foot of the bed. He stood there for a little while, with a broad grin on his bucolic face, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Finally, he took a crushed flower from the buttonhole of his new black suit. He twirled the stem around and around between his fingers. Then he came to the head of the bed and offered it to Julia. She was staring at the ceiling with parted lips, as if unaware of his presence. She made no movement to accept the flower. His face slowly darkened. Presently, he stepped back a pace, threw the flower angrily to the ground and cursed under his breath. He began to undress hastily. When he was stripped to his small shirt, he locked the door, put out the light, got into bed and possessed her with utmost violence.