Máirtín Ó Cadhain - Graveyard Clay - Cré na Cille

Oh, so that fellow is totally decomposed, Muraed … The Half-Guinea crowd told you he was decomposed? I thought, Muraed, you didn’t speak to the Half-Guinea crowd? Arrah, how else could he be but decomposed? A corpse couldn’t be any other way down there: a Half-Guinea grave. Is it any wonder! It seems to me, Muraed, there’s a peculiar smell coming up from the Half-Guinea Plot now and again. If I were you, Muraed, I’d leave them well alone …

What’s that shouting, Muraed? … The Half-Guinea crowd … Celebrating the election of their candidate. They’ll deafen the graveyard. The beggars! Thieving ill-mannered rabble! Oh, do you hear the goings-on of them! God bless us and save us! It’s a poor plight to be in the same cemetery with them at all. But, by God, I’m better pleased to see the Half-Guinea man elected than Nóra Filthy-Feet. If there was no alternative I’d have voted for him myself, to spite her …

— … There was such a day, Peadar the Pub. Don’t deny it …

— … That awful murderer who gave me a bad bottle …

— … A white-faced mare. At the Fair of St. Bartholomew I bought her …

— I remember it well. I twisted my ankle …

— … Hitler! Hitler! Hitler! Hitler! Hitler! Hitler!

— … A pity they wouldn’t bring my earthly remains …

— … It’s true for you. She’s the most cheerful woman in the graveyard till that silliness takes over …

— She had always intended to go back to the Plains of East Galway …

— She knew the cat-o’-nine-tails 9was waiting for her. Having put a gash in a poor old man’s head with the fire-crane …

— Maybe he deserved it. She says herself that he didn’t give her a moment’s peace since the day she married his son …

— … Permission to speak! …

— … But the funniest of all was to see them thatching the house for him.

— … That bright smile was on her face …

— May the devil pierce yourself and herself! On the devil’s hoofprints to hell with her! What use is her bright smile to me? You’re every bit as boring as this cheeky poet here. Bright smile! Doesn’t Road-End’s daughter have the same bright smile? May the devil pierce her, hasn’t she led my eldest son into temptation? She has his eyes bewildered or some damned thing. Totally bewildered! She’s in the Freemasons or some cursed thing. Trying to get a foot in on my big holding …

— … Wait till I tell you how I sold the Big Master the books … I went into Peadar the Pub’s. The Big Master wasn’t long in the place at the time. I made discreet inquiries about him. They weren’t particularly fond of him in Peadar’s. He only went in there once in a blue moon. He was a stingy fellow. But he was crazy about the Schoolmistress.

“I have it,” said I, “I have the bait to hook you, my boyo.”

“The World’s Finest Love-Stories,” says I to him. He went at them as greedily as a hungry suckler at the teat. “Five guineas for the set,” says I. “They’re very expensive,” says he. “What do you mean, expensive?” says I. “A half-guinea on the nail, and instalments to suit yourself. It’s a substantial set. You’ll never be ashamed to have them in your personal bookcase. Look at the paper! And they’re the top class of love-story. Have a look here at the contents: Helen and the Trojan War; Tristan and Isolde; The Fate of the Sons of Uisneach; Dante and Beatrice … You’re not married? … You’re not! … You’ve reached the age you are and never read these love-stories: about Helen, ‘ the face that launched a thousand ships and burnt the topless towers of Ilium ,’ and The Only Jealousy of Deirdre : 10

‘As Scotland’s nobles drank one day

With the Sons of Uisneach in friendly bliss,

From the daughter of Lord Bravesfort

Naoise stole a secret kiss …’

“Picture yourself, man … Down there in a creek by Galway Bay, a golden beauty in your arms and you not able to tell her one of the world’s finest love-stories …”

He began to waver. I tightened my grip. But the devil a bit of good that did. “They’re too dear for the likes of me,” says he. “Don’t you have any second-hand books?”

“We are a reputable company,” says I. “We wouldn’t put the health of our travellers or our clients at risk. Who knows but they might infect yourself or your wife? … I see. You’re not married. But you will be, please God, and that’s when you’ll realise what a set like this is worth. Sitting up late, the wind howling outside, yourself and the wife cosy by the fireside …”

Wasting my words I was …

I called in at the barracks. No one there but the Red-haired Policeman. “Books!” says he. “I’ve a roomful of them up there. I’ll have to burn them soon if someone doesn’t come looking for scrap paper.”

“What sort are they?” says I.

“Novels,” says he. “Rubbish … The dregs … But they kill the time for me all the same, in this flea-bitten place …”

We went upstairs. There was the world of books there. The dregs, as he said. The sort of trashy romances silly young girls devour. To tell the truth, most of them bore the name and surname of a nurse of my acquaintance in Brightcity. I took the best of them — the cleanest-looking ones — and I cut the front page out of each one of them. I did a tour of the other schools in the area and in a few days’ time I came back to the Big Master. I was sorry by now that I’d been so disparaging about second-hand books.

“I’m travelling away back west today, Master,” says I, “and I thought I might as well call on you again. I’ve a collection of romantic novels here. Second-hand. I bought them specially from a friend of mine in Brightcity who was selling his library, in the hope that they might suit you. They’ve been disinfected.”

The gaudy covers appealed to him, and the romantic titles: The Red-Hot Kiss, Two Men and a Powder-puff, Sunset Tresses …

“Two pounds, ten shillings to you, Master,” says I. “That’s exactly what I paid for them myself. There’s no profit for me in it, as they’re not company books. If you turn them down I’ll be out of pocket …”

The haggling began. He wanted to push me to the very limit. Eventually I told him to take it or leave it but that I wouldn’t part with them for less than two pounds. I got that much out of him, if only just. Of course they weren’t worth a damn …

— You knew the tricks of the trade, you boy you. But I knew them too. I never told you about this coup :

There were two sisters living near me. One of them was called Nell Pháidín. The other was called Caitríona. She’s here now. The two of them hated each other … Oh, you heard the story before? The devil a bit of me but headed off up to Nell’s one day. Her son’s wife was there too. I lectured them on insurance for children: that they would get so much money when they’d be of such an age, and so on. You know the tricks. The two of them were very suspicious. I showed them forms some of the neighbours had filled in. It was no good. “There’s no sharp practice in this,” said I, “but there’s a lot to be gained by it. Ask the priest …”

And so they did. Within two weeks I got the insurance on two children out of them. Then I held forth on insurance for the elderly: cost of funerals and so on. The old woman was willing to pay for her husband, Jack the Scológ … I came down to the other sister, Caitríona. She was on her own in the house.

“Look,” says I, “these forms were filled in by the woman up there, for her two children and the old man. I told her I was coming in here on my way down, but she made me promise not to …”

“What did she say? What did she say?” says Caitríona.