James Plunkett - Strumpet City

‘I’ll go with you,’ Pat said.

‘What about you?’ Mulhall asked Fitz.

Pat said: ‘Fitz can’t. He’s on shift work tomorrow.’

‘You can tell him we’ll stand by you if we’re needed,’ Fitz said, ‘but it’s mad.’

‘That’s the stuff,’ Mulhall said, satisfied.

‘What about you?’ Pat asked Hennessy.

Hennessy sighed and said:

‘The unfortunate fact is that I’ve never been in any job long enough to join a union.’

The voice of a singer drifted in through the closed doors, a hard yet tuneful sound, which distracted Mulhall’s attention.

‘I know who that is,’ he said.

A shadow appeared on the glass, fumbled with the knob and shuffled in. It was Rashers. He blinked in the light. The dog beside him gave a short bark, recognising Mulhall before Rashers did.

‘Are you looking for money or drink?’ Mulhall asked.

‘Either or both,’ Rashers said, agreeably.

The damp air had condensed on his beard and made his rags smell. Mulhall introduced him and invited him to sit down. Rashers did so gratefully.

‘What brings you round this way?’ Hennessy asked.

‘Money or drink,’ Rashers said. Mulhall bought a pint for him and Rashers shook sawdust from a saucer spittoon and poured some of the drink into it for the dog. The dog lapped greedily. Rashers drank to the company.

‘Here’s my special blessing to you,’ he said.

‘Take the porter but keep the blessing,’ Mulhall said. ‘God knows what way a blessing from Rashers Tierney would work.’

‘Have the blessing,’ Rashers said, ‘There’s great virtue in it today.’ He put his pint down and addressed them generally.

‘I had the height of luck today. A young clergyman gave me a shilling. So I had a feed of soup and spuds in the St. Francis Dining Hall, and a cup of cocoa with a cut of bread. I could hardly waddle from there to here.’

He fumbled under his coat.

‘Any one of you gentlemen want to see today’s paper?’

Hennessy held out his hand.

‘Where did you get that?’

‘In one of the bins.’

‘It’s escaped the weather,’ Hennessy said, turning over the pages critically and noting that they were crisp and dry.

‘This was a very classy kind of bin, with a lid on it. And so big you’d be able to take shelter from the rain in it. That’s what I said to the priest who gave me the shilling.’

Hennessy, who had put on his spectacles, now lowered the paper and said to the company:

‘It says here there’s a thousand pounds reward for anyone who gives information or finds the Crown Jewels.’

Mulhall said:

‘Now we know why Rashers spends his days looking in dustbins.’

‘I’ll give you another bit of information to save you the trouble of reading it,’ Rashers said. ‘There’ll be no more paying in pubs.’

He found he had drawn the full attention of the company. Hennessy lowered the paper; Mulhall put down his drink; Fitz looked first at Rashers and then at Farrell. Farrell leaned across the table.

‘What was that?’ he asked.

Surprised at the interest he had aroused, Rashers explained.

‘The shipowners agreed with Larkin last night to bar the stevedores from paying the dockers in public houses.’

Everybody looked at Farrell.

‘You ought to slip down to the hall,’ Mulhall said.

‘I’d do it right away,’ Pat urged.

There was a great happiness in Mulhall’s face. He had not expected that the belief he expressed in Larkin would be so quickly justified. Farrell rose uncertainly.

‘If you’ll excuse me . . .’ he began.

He was torn between the importance of the news and the fact that he was proposing to leave before taking his turn to buy the company a drink.

‘Go on,’ Fitz urged, ‘don’t be standing on ceremony.’

Farrell went, and Rashers, staring after him and scratching his head, asked:

‘What the hell have I done on your friend?’

‘You’ve earned your pint, Rashers,’ Mulhall answered.

Fitz smiled. He, too, felt the stirring of a new, slightly incredulous hope.

Hennessy and Rashers were the last to leave. They were both unsteady. At Chandlers Court Rashers sat down on the wet steps, cleared his throat and began to sing. Hennessy remembered his wife.

‘For God’s sake—stop it,’ he appealed.

‘All right,’ Rashers agreed, ‘but sit down beside me and we’ll have a chat.’

‘I daren’t—not with this rheumatism.’

‘I’ve offered you the cure.’

‘I’m not giving you tuppence. I’ve spent more than enough already.’

‘Please yourself. There’s many a carter will be glad to get a good ’cello string for tuppence.’ A thought struck Rashers.

‘Who was the young fellow that was with us?’

‘The dark young fellow?’

‘Certainly,’ Rashers said.

‘Fitzpatrick. He’s thinking of tying the knot.’

‘Ah. Getting married. It’s a contagious notion between two opposites.’

‘He works in the foundry.’

‘He stood me a pint, so God give him luck.’

‘And do you know where he hopes to live?’

‘Tell me.’

Hennessy jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the hall of 3 Chandlers Court. Rashers looked unbelieving.

‘No,’ he challenged.

‘When the Kennys move out.’

This was news to Rashers.

‘They’re off to America in a fortnight. I’d like to go myself.’ Another thought struck him.

‘Suppose you found the Crown Jewels or something—would you go to America?’

‘I’d often a wish to go to France.’

‘The French have a queer way of living,’ Rashers said. ‘Very immoral, by all accounts.’

‘I’d like to see the vineyards.’

‘Isn’t porter good enough for you?’

‘It’s the grapes. Lovely green clusters.’

‘Some of them is black.’

‘Did you ever taste grapes?’

‘Every morning at breakfast,’ Rashers said, putting on a grand accent, ‘and twice of a Sunday.’

‘Grapes is the loveliest things you ever tasted,’ Hennessy said.

‘Wasn’t I reared on them,’ Rashers insisted.

‘I worked on a job in a kitchen in Merrion Square,’ Hennessy explained, ‘and the oul wan there was never done eating grapes. For a fortnight I had grapes every day because I used to lift a few off the table. I’ve always had a wish for grapes since then.’

‘Were they black or green?’

‘Black.’

‘Them is for invalids,’ Rashers said, knowledgeably.

‘I’d better go up,’ Hennessy said.

But Rashers was in a mood for conversation.

‘Sit down, can’t you,’ he appealed.

‘I wouldn’t risk it. The pain in me back is desperate.’

Rashers fumbled under his coat and took out the ’cello string. He screwed up his face until the beard covered it completely and said in sudden love of all mankind:

‘Here, you can have it.’

‘I couldn’t take it,’ Hennessy said.

‘Amn’t I offering it to you for nothing.’

‘No. I couldn’t deprive you.’

Rashers cursed violently.

‘You’re a contrairy bloody man,’ he shouted. ‘I proffered it to you for tuppence and you wouldn’t venture the money. Then I offer it to you for nothing, for the sake of neighbourliness and friendship, and begod, you say you couldn’t take it. Have you rheumatism at all?’

Hennessy looked behind nervously.

‘Keep your voice down,’ he pleaded.

If you didn’t eat so many bloody grapes,’ Rashers said loudly, ‘you wouldn’t have rheumatism.’

Hennessy panicked and said:

‘All right. I’ll sit down to please you.’

The steps felt wet. After a while Hennessy shivered and drew his coat about him with his hands. They sat talking in low voices, Hennessy to sober up a little before facing his wife, Rashers because it was hardly less comfortable than his room and had the advantage of company of a kind. The dog sat with them too, its head turning from one side to the other as occasional footsteps approached and passed.