John McGahern - By the Lake

Jamesie had great belief in two spoons he used for casting from the shore, an elongated piece of rough beaten copper Johnny had made before going to England and a red and silver spoon with a tiny amber eye he had found years ago hooked in a piece of driftwood. It was the long copper spoon he was using from the shore the day after John Quinn’s family had returned to England. With each cast he drew closer to the iron-roofed house under the great chestnut tree in the yard. Very few fish were ever caught in this part of the lake and the morning was too bright, but fish weren’t much on his mind. Not far away from where he sent the spinning copper out on the water was the bare rock to which John Quinn had led his first bride. Around the edges of the rock the sparse grass had turned red. There were clusters of wildfowl out on the lake and the swans were sailing around and feeding close in to the shore. Everywhere birds were singing. When Jamesie moved between the rock and the house, the old sheepdog came to the gate of the yard, gave a few half-hearted barks and went away. He could see hens pecking about in the dust of the yard around the big chestnut tree. If he advanced any further along the shore, he would begin moving away from the house. He knew he had only to wait.

The old sheepdog came first. While continuing to cast and reel in the copper spoon, Jamesie was able to observe John Quinn’s approach. He was still dressed in his wedding suit.

“John Quinn is one happy and contented man this bright morning,” Jamesie sang out as he drew close while reeling in and lifting the copper spoon from the water.

“It’s lovely to see good neighbours innocent and at peace and looking for something good for the table,” John Quinn said.

“You must be one happy man to be safely married again to a fine woman,” Jamesie was all smiles as he turned the attention around.

“I do my best to be happy and not live alone, as the Lord intended—‘Tis not good for man to live alone,’ He himself has said — but I don’t mind admitting that we have had a little setback that I’m hoping and praying will only be very temporary.”

“A setback?” Jamesie enquired incredulously. “A setback for John Quinn?”

“Yes, Jamesie. You could call it a setback but I’m hoping it’ll be only temporary, no more than a hitch or a small hiccup. It’s down in a holy writ that what God has joined together no man can put asunder. I was away on some cattle business yesterday evening and when I came back I found she had left for her own part of the country. All she left behind was a note and it wasn’t a love note.”

“Was there no signs or warnings?”

“No signs. No signs worth remarking. We had a most wonderful week, the children taking us everywhere and all happy and getting on wonderfully well together. Except one night when we were most content and peaceable after the usual love performance she turned to me and said, ‘John, I think I’ve made a big mistake.’ Women get strange notions like that from time to time, like children, and have to be humoured. I told her what you have to tell them on such occasions and when I heard nothing more thought it was the sweet end of that figary and we were back to happiness again.”

“Still, you must have had a great week in spite of everything, John Quinn?” Jamesie had known him over a lifetime. John Quinn had circled and wheedled and bullied many in search of advantage. Now he was being circled expertly.

“The children have done well for themselves and got on well in the world and wanted to do as good for their old father. They came in a great show of strength. Nothing was too much for them or too good. They brought us everywhere. Then we had the nights to ourselves. I don’t mind telling you, Jamesie, it was like being young again. It was youth come back again and it wasn’t wasted. We had the strength but not the know-how when we were young.”

“She was a fine woman,” Jamesie said.

“As fine as was ever handled, Jamesie, hadn’t to be taught a thing and was more solid and wholesome than a young woman. You could tell she had an easy, comfortable life and never got much hardship. She was as ripe as a good plum picked when it was about to fall off the tree. It was most beautiful. It was like going in and out of a most happy future.”

“You’re a terror, John Quinn. A pure living holy terror,” Jamesie cheered and John Quinn luxuriated in the rapt attention.

“Then this little slip-up came along and sort of went and spoiled everything but please God it’ll be soon rectified and everything will be back happy and everybody getting on wonderfully well together again.”

“I don’t doubt it. I can’t see John Quinn letting anything go without an almighty struggle. I don’t doubt it for a minute.”

“Even now I’m negotiating for a happy outcome. Once you marry you know you have rights as well as duties. It can’t be put away like a pair of old boots. It’s my belief anyhow that she won’t be got back to this part of the country. My plan is very plain and simple and I tell you man to man, Jamesie: if the mountain won’t go to Mohammed, then, it was always said, Mohammed has to go to the mountain.”

Jamesie went straight from John Quinn to the Ruttledges. There were no games of stealth, of ghosting into the house to listen. The trolling rod was left in the fuchsia bushes at the gate and he whooped and called out as he came in the short avenue and rapped with his palm on the glass of the porch. He could have been a small crowd returning victorious from a football match or a spectacular cattle sale. Kate was alone in the house and went to meet him in the porch. Ruttledge heard the commotion and came in from the fields.

“Finding it much easier now, thanking you very much for your most kind enquiry,” he called out mockingly as he threw himself down in the armchair, but then could contain his news no longer. “Gone!” he laughed out. “Gone. Out the gap. Gone!”

“Who’s gone? What’s gone?”

“A drink in the name of God before I die. John Quinn’s wife has gone. Skipped it before the children were right back in England, gone and left him, stranded as long as he ran. Hit it for her own part of the country.”

Over whiskey and water he went over the story at his ease, occasionally choking as he drank into his speech but more often banging his glass down to hoot with laughter. “I heard going to the boggy hollow described as many things in my time but never as ‘going in and out of a most happy future.’ Lord bless us. John Quinn is a living sight. He could think or do anything. He said it was like being young again and she tasted like a ripe plum picked from the tree. I’d give good money to know what the plum thought.”

“You’re a disgrace, Jamesie. You were leading him on.”

In answer, he cheered.

“Did she give no sign or warning?” Ruttledge asked.

“Oh yes. Oh — yes, but those like John Quinn are too bound up with themselves to heed. When they had done the love performance one night and were most happy and peaceful, she turned to him in the bed and said, ‘I think I may have made a big mistake.’ ”

“That’s the end. Imagine having to go to a place like Knock to find someone like John Quinn,” Kate said.

“Lots go and won’t be stopped,” Jamesie laughed. “Nature starts jabbing them. This tangle is far from over. Mark my words. John Quinn won’t be got rid of so easily.”

“What can he do?”

“Plenty. He’ll set the land for as high a price as he can ever get and head for Westmeath. ‘If the mountain won’t come to Mohammed then Mohammed has to go to the mountain.’ John Quinn may act daft but there’s not much daft at the back of the acting.”

“He’ll be turned away?”