John McGahern - Creatures of the Earth - New and Selected Stories

‘O’Reilly got Rachael to take his lad in her mouth,’ Ryan said. ‘Then he wouldn’t let her spit it out.’

‘Spit what out?’

‘What’s in the bucket?’ He gestured towards the bright steel container on the floor of the VW where the straws were kept in liquid nitrogen.

‘They say it’s fattening,’ I said to hide my own shock.

‘Not half as fattening as in the other place.’ I was unprepared for the huge roar of laughter my words induced.

‘What do you mean?’

‘O’Reilly’s in a white fright. He’s got Rachael up the pole.’

‘Then he’ll marry her.’

‘Not unless he has to. Cronin told me that he spent all last week applying for engineering jobs in South Africa. It seems they’re building lots of bridges in South Africa.’

‘But he has a permanent job to go to in Galway as soon as the bridge finishes. He’s been boasting about it long enough.’

‘He could go if he married Rachael, but it mightn’t be so easy if he refused to do the decent. News travels.’

We’d come to the first of the plain ugly cottages the government had built on these twenty-acre farms. They were all alike. A woman met us, showed us to the cow, gave Ryan a basin of hot water, soap, a towel to wash and dry his rubbered arm afterwards. She responded to my few questions with deep suspicion, fearful that I was some government official sent out to check on grants or the speaking of Irish.

These people had been transplanted here from the seaboard as part of de Valera’s dream; lighthouses put down on the plain from which Gaelic would spread from tongue to tongue throughout the land like pentecostal flame. Used to a little fishing, a potato patch, grass for a cow between the rocks, they were lost in the rich green acres of Meath. A few cattle were kept knee-deep in grass, or the land was put out on conacre to the grain contractors who supplied the mill — and the men went to work in England. It was dark by the time we’d finished. The last call had to be done by the light of a paraffin lantern.

‘What will Rachael do if O’Reilly ditches her?’ I asked as we drove back.

‘What does any girl do? She has to nail her man. If she doesn’t …’ He spread his hands upwards underneath a half-circle of the steering wheel. ‘You might as well come to the Ball. It’ll be twice as much fun now that we know what’s afoot.’

‘I’ll not go. For me it’s just another reason to stay away.’

The dress suits came in flat cardboard boxes on the evening bus the Friday of the Ball. Tulips came in similar boxes for the altar. O’Reilly changed into his suit as soon as he came home from work and went to the hotel to have drinks with subcontractors on the bridge. There had plainly been a falling out between him and Cronin. Ryan and Cronin waited till after tea to change. They’d never worn dress suits before and were restless with excitement, twisting themselves in mirrors, laughing nervously as they paraded in front of the McKinneys. They found time slow to pass while waiting to pick up their girls. Ryan was bringing the girl who took the calls in their office.

I went with them to the Midland Bar, where we had three rounds of hot whiskeys. Still it wasn’t late enough to leave when we got back, and they went alone to some other bar, this time taking their cars. O’Reilly had taken his car to the hotel. I’d meant to read, but when left alone I found that I wasn’t able to because of the excitement and the whiskey. I was half tempted to go back up to the Midland’s with old Paddy McKinney when he went for his nightly jar, and glad when Mrs McKinney came in soon afterwards to join me at the fire.

‘You didn’t go to the Ball after all?’

‘No. I didn’t go.’

‘You may be as well off. Old Paddy was a great one for dances and balls in his day, would never miss one. And he got me. And I got him. That’s all it ever seems to have amounted to,’ she said with vigorous incomprehension. Later, I tried to ask her if she’d let me have O’Reilly’s room when he left, but she’d give no firm answer, knowing it’d be easier to let the room than to fill the bed in the upstairs room, and, as if to make up for her evasion, she made delicious turkey sandwiches and a big pot of tea instead of the usual glass of milk and biscuits.

The screeching of a car to a violent stop beneath the window woke me some time in the early hours. A door banged but I could hear no voices. A key turned in the front door. I sat up as footsteps started to come up the stairs. O’Reilly opened the door. His oiled hair was dishevelled as was the suit and bow.

‘I want you to convey a message for me when they return.’ He had to concentrate fiercely to frame the words.

‘Where are the others?’

‘They’re still at the Ball. I abandoned them there.’

‘Is Rachael there, too?’ I asked cautiously.

‘The last I saw of her she was dancing with Cronin. Cronin made a speech. He got up on the stage for a special request and took the microphone. It was most embarrassing. One should never associate with uncultivated people. I decided that the gentlemanly thing to do was to leave at once on my own. So I’m here.’ He stood solid as a stone on the floor, but it was obvious from the effort of concentration and small hiccups that he was extraordinarily drunk.

‘Tell them that I’m not to be disturbed. Tell them not to go banging on the door. The door will be locked.’

‘I’ll tell them.’

‘I’m most obliged. I’ll recompense you in due course.’

I heard him move about for a little while downstairs. Then his door closed.

The others were so long in coming that I was beginning to think they must have met with some accident. They made much noise. I heard them try O’Reilly’s door several times, calling out before they came upstairs. Cronin was wild with drink, Ryan just merry and foolish.

‘Bloody O’Reilly got home. He’s locked the door.’ Cronin staggered violently as he spoke.

‘He was up here,’ I said. ‘He asked not to be disturbed when you came home.’

‘Not to be disturbed.’ Cronin glared.

‘I’m just giving the message.’

‘That’s the notice he has hung on the doorknob,’ Ryan giggled.

‘I made a speech,’ Cronin said. ‘A most impressive speech.’

‘What sort of speech?’ I asked as gently as possible in the hope of diverting the drilling stare.

‘That it was the bounden duty of every single man to get married. Of course I was referring to O’Reilly in particular, but it had universal significance as well. To show that I was serious I proposed that I myself be married immediately. This week if possible.’

Any temptation to laugh was out. It would be far too dangerous.

‘Of course you make no effort to get married. You just lie here in bed,’ he continued. The stare would not be diverted, and then suddenly he jumped on me in the bed, but his movements were so slow and drunken that all I had to do was draw my knees upwards and to the side for him to roll across the bed out on the floor the far side. This was repeated three times. ‘Make no effort. Just lie there,’ he kept saying, and each time the breathing grew heavier. I was afraid the farce could go on for some time, until, rising, he caught sight of himself in the wardrobe mirror.

‘I’ve never seen myself in a dress suit before. I am most impressed. Instead of giving it back, I think I’ll buy it. I’ll wear it in my professional capacity. The farmers will be most impressed.’ Dress suits seemed to be having a formalizing effect on speech.

I used the diversion to rise and dress. Then another car drew up outside. Looking out the window, Ryan, who all this time had stood there grinning and smiling, said, ‘Rachael’s back. She’s looking to get O’Reilly to drive her home.’