Lorrie Moore - 100 Years of the Best American Short Stories

The boy said, “I never thought to see this day,” and put the money in his pocket. Rosaleen said, “I don’t even know your name, think of that!”

“I’m a blight on the name of Sullivan,” said he. “Hugh it is — Hugh Sullivan.”

“That’s a good enough name,” said Rosaleen. “I’ve cousins named Sullivan in Dublin, but I never saw one of them. There was a man named Sullivan married my mother’s sister, my aunt Brigid she was, and she went to live in Dublin. You’re not related to the Dublin Sullivans, are ye!”

“I never heard of it, but maybe I am.”

“Ye have the look of a Sullivan to me,” said Rosaleen, “and they’re cousins of mine, some of them.” She ordered more coffee and he lit another cigarette, and she told him how she had come out more than twenty-five years past, a greenhorn like himself, and everything had turned out well for her and all her family here. Then she told about her husband, how he had been head-waiter and a moneyed man, but he was old now; about the farm, if there was some one to help her, they could make a good thing of it; and about Kevin and the way he had gone away and died and sent her news of it in a dream; and this led to the dream about Honora and here she was, the first time ever a dream had gone back on her. She went on to say there was always room for a strong willing boy in the country if he knew about horses, and how it was a shame for him to be tramping the streets with an empty stomach when there was everything to be had if he only knew which way to look for it. She leaned over and took him by the arm very urgently.

“You’ve a right to live in a good Irish house,” she told him. “Why don’t ye come home with me and live there like one of the family in peace and comfort?”

Hugh Sullivan stared at her out of his glazed green eyes down the edge of his sharp nose and a crafty look came over him. “’T would be dangerous,” he said. “I’d hate to try it.” “Dangerous, is it?” asked Rosaleen. “What danger is there in the peaceful countryside?” “It’s not safe at all,” said Hugh. “I was caught at it once in Dublin, and there was a holy row! A fine woman like yourself she was, and her husband peeking through a crack in the wall the whole time. Man, that was a scrape for ye!”

Rosaleen understood in her bones before her mind grasped it. “Whatever—” she began, and the blood boiled up in her face until it was like looking through a red veil. “Ye little whelp,” she said, trying to get her breath, “so it’s that kind ye are, is it? I might know you’re from Dublin! Never in my whole life—” Her rage rose like a bonfire in her, and she stopped. “If I was looking for a man,” she said, “I’d choose a man and not a half-baked little…” She took a deep breath and started again. “The cheek of ye,” she said, “insulting a woman could be your mother. God keep me from it! It’s plain you’re just an ignorant greenhorn doesn’t know the ways of decent people, and now be off—” She stood up and motioned to the man behind the counter. “Out of that door now—”

He stood up too, glancing around fearfully with his squinted eyes, and put out a hand as if he would try to make it up with her. “Not so loud now, woman — it’s what any man might think the way ye’re—”

Rosaleen said, “Hold your tongue or I’ll tear it out of your head!” and her right arm went back in a business-like way. He ducked and shot past her, then collected himself and lounged out of reach. “Farewell to ye, County Sligo woman,” he said tauntingly. “I’m from County Cork myself!” and darted through the door. Rosaleen shook so she could hardly find the money for the bill, and she couldn’t see her way before her, hardly, but when the cold air struck her, her head cleared, and she could have almost put a curse on Honora for making all this trouble for her…

She took a train the short way home, for the taste of travel had soured on her altogether. She wanted to be home and nowhere else. That shameless boy, whatever was he thinking of? “Boys do be known for having evil minds in them,” she told herself, and the blood fairly crinkled in her veins. But he had said, “A fine woman like yourself,” and maybe he’d met too many bold ones, and thought they were all alike; maybe she had been too free in her ways because he was Irish and looked so sad and poor. But there it was, he was a mean sort, and he would have made love to her if she hadn’t stopped him, maybe. It flashed over her and she saw it clear as day — Kevin had loved her all the time, and she had sent him away to that cheap girl who wasn’t half good enough for him! And Kevin a sweet decent boy would have cut off his right hand rather than give her an improper word. Kevin had loved her and she had loved Kevin and, oh, she hadn’t known it in time! She bowed herself back into the corner with her elbow on the windowsill, her old fur collar pulled up around her face and wept long and bitterly for Kevin, who would have stayed if she had said the word — and now he was gone and lost and dead. She would hide herself from the world and never speak to a soul again.

“Safe and sound she is, Dennis,” Rosaleen told him. “She’s been dangerous but it’s past. I left her in health.”

“That’s good enough,” said Dennis, without enthusiasm. He took off his cap with the ear flaps and ran his fingers through his downy white hair and put the cap on again and stood waiting to hear the wonders of the trip; but Rosaleen had no tales to tell and was full of homecoming.

“This kitchen is a disgrace,” she said, putting things to rights. “But not for all the world would I live in the city, Dennis. It’s a wild heartless place, full of criminals in every direction as far as the eye can reach. I was scared for my life the whole time. Light the lamp, will you?”

The native boy sat warming his great feet in the oven, and his teeth were chattering with something more than cold. He burst out: “I seed sumpin comin’ up the road whiles ago. Black. Fust it went on all fours like a dawg and then it riz upon and walked longside of me on its hind legs. I was scairt, I was. I said Shoo! at it, and it went out, like a lamp.”

“Maybe it was a dog,” said Dennis.

“’Twarn’t a dawg, neither,” said the boy.

“Maybe ’twas a cat rising up to climb a fence,” said Rosaleen.

“’Twarn’t a cat, neither,” said the boy. “’Twarn’t nothin’ I ever seed afore, nor you , neither.”

“Never you mind about that,” said Rosaleen. “I have seen it and many times, when I was a girl in Ireland. It’s famous there, the way it come in a black lump and rolls along the path before you, but if you call on the Holy Name and make the sign of the Cross, it flees away. Eat your supper now, and sleep here the night; ye can’t go out by your lone and the Evil waiting for ye.”

She bedded him down in Kevin’s room, and kept Dennis awake all hours telling him about the ghosts she’d seen in Sligo. The trip to Boston seemed to have gone out of her mind entirely.

In the morning, the boy’s starveling black dog rose up at the opened kitchen door and stared sorrowfully at his master. The cats streamed out in a body, and silently, intently they chased him far up the road. The boy stood on the doorstep and began to tremble again. “The old woman told me to git back fer supper,” he said blankly. “Howma ever gointa git back fer supper now ? The ole man’ll skin me alive.”

Rosaleen wrapped her green wool shawl around her head and shoulders. “I’ll go along with ye and tell what happened,” she said. “They’ll never harm ye when they know the straight of it.” For he was shaking with fright until his knees buckled under him. “He’s away in his mind,” she thought, with pity. “Why can’t they see it and let him be in peace?”