Ned is feeling the strain. Squeezing his eyes shut, he shakes his head in an effort to stop the hall floor tiles swimming beneath his feet, and pushes the front door shut behind the last straggling sympathiser. Returning to his chair beside the coffin, he grimaces as another knock sounds on the window.
“Sorry, Ned,” a voice calls from the darkness outside. “I didn’t say anything when I was here earlier, but I was wondering if you’ll be doing the all-night vigil.”
“Come in; who have I at all?” Ned enquires holding the door fully open.
“I’m Shay Collins! I was here earlier – with my uncle: Jack Sheehan.”
“Of course you are. Come in; come in and welcome.” The young man allows himself to be ushered inside the improvised mortuary.
“If you haven’t got someone to sit with you, I’d…”
“I have you now,” Ned’s eyes brighten, “wouldn’t you be that little city boy who used to come to Jack and Nell for the summer holidays? You’d be Kit’s son!”
“That’s right, I…”
“You’re young Séamus – called after your granddad. Sit down there, young Séamus; I must let the old dog out, he’s been locked in the shed all day and he’s not used to being confined.” Shay does as he is bid, silently occupying one of a pair of comfortable looking armchairs beside the empty fireplace. The eerie silence of the waking room is suddenly coloured by the muffled exchange of greetings between man and dog from beyond the window. At the sound of the door reopening, Shay automatically gets to his feet, only to face his host’s admonishment.
“Sit down; sit down, young Séamus. I’m gasping for one mouthful of tea; but maybe you’d prefer a dropeen?” His calloused fingers encircle the neck of a half-full Jameson bottle.
“No, I’d prefer tea…honestly…” Shay adds. Two shaggy eyebrows rise in disbelief before, finally nodding, Ned heads off to rattle about in the kitchen, and soon returns carrying a tray laden with thickly-cut ham sandwiches, buttered spotted dick, sponge cake, and mugs of steaming tea.
“I have it figured now,” Ned places his burden on a delicate looking card table, “You’ll be the Shay that flew back from London with the coffin. When I heard ‘twas was young Shay, I was thinking it might be one of the Sheas from behind Toor. Kit was a grand woman, God be good to her. Those were hard times for a woman in trouble. The family tried to pack her off to some convent in Dublin, but she dodged her contact at Heuston Station and… but sure you know the story better than me… So tell me, how did you know Mick?” Ned tears a chunk from a sandwich and stuffs it into his mouth; Shay takes a sip from his mug while preparing his reply.
“Mick is my partner’s – well, my partner’s mother, Eileen, was his housekeeper…” Ned swallows noisily, surprise dancing in his eyes.
“His housekeeper; so, he never married at all?” Disappointment clouds the weathered features.
“But…” Shay tries to interject but Ned isn’t listening.
“Ah, ‘twas over a woman that he left in the first place. He’s the man that should have had the farm; he was the eldest and was doing a strong line with a girl from the village, but the old people didn’t think her good enough for this place. Oh no, the old lad went off and arranged a match with a Kelly girl from across the valley. There was only her and a brother in the family, so she’d be coming with a good dowry. We were turning hay below in the badger’s inch when the old lad broke the news to Mick. There was a most unmerciful row; what they didn’t say to each other was nobody’s business; I was hoping the old lad wouldn’t lash out because Mick had a dangerous temper. Like game cocks, they were, circling each other for a good minute or two: the old lad’s fists opening and closing by his sides; Mick with the pitchfork held at an angle across his body. The father must have seen the look in Mick’s eyes because, all of a sudden, he shook his head, turned his back, and lit the butt of a fag; Mick swung around, flung his pike into the headland and made for the house. I vowed there and then that if I ever had bad news for Mick, I’d first make damn sure that there were no dangerous tools within reach.” Ned pauses, his eyes focussed on the face of his dead brother.
Uncertain whether or not to comment, Shay nibbles on a piece of sponge. Ned washes his sandwich down with a deep swallow of tea and resumes as though with the same breath.
“I wanted to follow him but the old lad said to leave him be – that he’d see sense once he’d calmed down – but that was the last that either of us ever saw of Mick. It was a few days before we realised that we were missing a half dozen lambs from the mountain and, about a week later, I met his girlfriend in the village and she told me that Mick had written to her from England and he’d promised to send her the fare as soon as he could.”
“Did she go over?”
“Indeed, then, she did not. She ended up marrying young John-the-jobber from west of the village. They later bought the pub, raised two boys and a girl, and have over a dozen grandchildren. Mick never did send the fare.”
“Life got in the way?”
“By God, those are the very words he used in his letter!”
“So he did write?”
“Not to her; he wrote to me just before last Christmas, asking if he could come back. I told him he was welcome, of course, for a long as he wanted… that I was only here on my own…”
“He was in good shape then, but he went down a lot in the last few months.”
“What was it that he died of in the end?”
“That’s the odd thing about it. He got a touch of ‘flu in January and just never seemed to get over it. The doctor said that there was nothing seriously wrong with him. He…”
“Took to the bed and stayed there?” Ned says with the ghost of a grin. Shay nods; Ned emits a little hollow laugh, gets to his feet, and moves to the head of the coffin. “He was more like the father than either of them would admit. The old lad did the very same thing. It wasn’t long after Mick took off, he decided not to get up one morning and that was it. Tom continued to work the place, getting his orders from upstairs every morning.”
“Tom?”
“Didn’t Mick ever mention Tom? Tom the third, he liked to call himself. He was a year younger than Mick, and the rivalry between them was something cruel. Tom resented Mick’s status as firstborn. Mick was called after the old lad’s father, as was the custom in those times; Tom’s name came from the other grandfather, rather than his own father. All the same, the old lad never called Tom anything but Sonny, but we daren’t call him that. He was a big strong lad, bigger and tougher than Mick, not to mention myself. If either of us called him Sonny, we’d suffer. ‘My name is Tom, I’m Tom the third! My father is Tom, my grandfather was Tom and I’m Tom – Tom the third!’ But Mick was quick witted, a lot sharper than Tom; Mick christened him Tom the Turd and poor Tom didn’t know the difference. Ah, they were the days.” Ned continues to look at the corpse for a moment before fingering the beginnings of a tear from the corner of an eye.
“What became of Tom?” Shay prompts, aware of the awkward silence.
“A shorthorn bull did for Tom – his own bull. If I’d been around, I’d have made him take the dog, but I’d just gone back to university…”
“University?”
“University College Cork. I spent two wonderful years there, and had just gone back for my third when Tom came to grief. Like I was saying earlier, the old lad had taken to the bed so there was nothing for it but for me to come home and work the farm. I was studying dairy science, and I had a definite turn for it, but…”
“That was really bad luck, if…”
“Ah sure, that’s the way. There are times when I think that if it wasn’t for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all. I suppose you went to university, young Séamus?”
“Yes, I qualified in Dublin.”
“You were well equipped for England so. When your likes go over, you get the shirt and tie jobs; back in my day, ‘twas the pick and shovel…” From somewhere in the dark distance comes the faint, breathless call of an amorous bull.
“So what do you think of your uncle’s new house? It must be a big change from your summers in the old place. It’s hard to believe it but that house is built ten years now. I remember because they were roofing it about the same time as I bought those seven acres by the river. It was in the pub in the village that your uncle Jack asked me about the land. When I confirmed that I’d bought it, he was clearly taken aback. ‘What are you buying land for at this hour of your life?’ he says, ‘it’s not like you’d be thinking of getting married or anything,’ he had that gamy look in his eye. Well, I had to smile to myself. There were himself and Nell, with neither chick nor child, and they building that big new house, so I said to him. ‘You’d never know… if I met the right woman…’ Well, that stopped Jack in his tracks. He took a long pull from his pipe before leaning closer to me, confidential like, and he says without batting an eye, ‘there’s none of them right!’ Hah, wasn’t that Jack for you?”
“He was a lucky man that Nell didn’t hear him.” Shay quips.
“You can hum that, young Séamus; you can hum that in any key you like!”
“I really loved my summers in that old house. It was a bit of a pain having to draw water from the well before you could have your breakfast, but I’ll never forget that huge loft with the little gable window looking back at the bend of the river. Even in still summer nights, the old boards would constantly squeak and creak, and if there was any bit wind, the whole place would groan and shiver like an old wooden sailing ship. I used to lie there with my eyes shut, pretending to be Jim Hawkins in Treasure Island and when I’d finally fall asleep, I’d be off in another adventure with Long John Silver, Captain Flint, and the rest of the crew on The Hispaniola. I remember one night when there was a thunderstorm. It was only a few days after I’d arrived, so it must have been early July. Thinking I’d be frightened, Nell invited me to sleep with her, but there was no way that I wanted to leave the attic. As the thunder grew closer, I stationed myself at the window to watch the world light up and then witnessed the most wonderful sight I’d ever seen. Huge jagged fingers of blue flame seemed to dive into the river as the room shook to the echo of the explosion. I must have waited an hour after that, hoping for a repeat, but the storm had moved on. The next morning I was off down to the river before anyone else was awake. I could feel the cold damp of the grass brush against my knees and I’ll never forget the fresh fragrance of the clear air…” Shay breaks off, suddenly aware that Ned’s chin had sagged onto his chest.
“More tea?” Ned asks, suddenly jerking back to full wakefulness.
“Not for me, thanks. Ned, can I ask you something personal about… ah… why you did buy that land?” Ned shows no surprise at Shay’s query.
“It’s a straight question so I’ll give you a straight answer, but it’ll be morning before I’ll be able to show you. Many a man would think I’m gone senile but after listening to your stories about the old house, I’ve a feeling you might understand. Remember you mentioned the view from that little gable window of your room? Well, you know as well as I do that those few acres aren’t fit for much more than the wild creatures – the insects, birds and little animals that shelter there. But that ground could grow trees, and at the time it came up for sale, everybody was planting trees. Timber was all the rage, the new cash crop, there were people planting trees everywhere. Now there’s no one likes trees more than me, but can you picture what would happen if that ground was bought by someone who decided to plant it? What good would I get from any amount of money in the bank if I was deprived of my view of the river for the rest of my years – be they long or short? But enough of my maudling; you were a mighty young lad for standing on a cock of hay, I used to love to see you coming up from the river when we were at the harvest.”
“I enjoyed it, but think you always paid me more than I was worth.”
“Young Séamus, it’s a fool’s advice I’m going to give you now, but wherever life takes you from this night, you must never again confuse any amount of payment with your own worth. When you were just a little biteen of a boy, splashing across the ford below to come up here to stand on the hay, you were keeping our dream alive. Jack’s dream, Nell’s dream, Kit’s, your own mother’s dream, my dream and the dreams of my brothers who are now gone. Listen to me, Séamus, when I was the age that you were then, there were three children in this house, there were four Carmodys to the east, there were about seven Grogans beyond the bridge and the five Sweeney girls at the cross. Over your way, there were four Dillons, six McCarthys, the three Sullivan families, and all the Sheas, not to mention your Jack’s – your mother’s family. Today there’s not one child from these two townlands going to the village school, and there’s hardly a woman under the age of fifty in the entire valley. Fair enough, the few of us that are left have more money than our parents had, and a lot more trees, but no children… no future… Pick the price and the value out of that! Will you take a drink now, young Séamus? There’s stout and beer in the kitchen.” Ned is already on his feet, heading towards the hallway.
“No thanks, I’m fine; you work away yourself.”
“Do you take a drink at all?” Ned flops back onto his armchair.
“I enjoy the odd pint on a night out but…”
“Ah, when I was your age I could drink it, or I would have if I could have afforded it. That’s the irony of it: I can afford it now, but the old body can’t handle it. Did Mick take a drink?”
“Oh, yes, he enjoyed a drop of brandy in the evenings, not in the pub but at home… in Eileen’s house.”
“I always thought that he’d turn up some day with a family in tow. He had an eye for the girls, and they for him. Little did I think that he’d come back in a box.”
“You’ve done very well by him – the wake and everything.”
“No, he made all the arrangements with the undertakers himself, ages ago; they knew more about him than I did!”
“He didn’t give you much personal information in that letter so?”
“No, all he said was that he wanted to see the place again, I thought he meant a visit rather than to come back for good. He gave me the impression that he had roots over there and I was hoping that maybe there was a woman… Do you hear that? The thrush is singing. Draw them curtains, like a good boy, and I’ll show you why I bought those few acres of bog.” Shay obliges and whistles softly at the sight that greets him.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to whistle, I meant no disrespect…” A dismissive gesture from Ned neutralises the moment. “It’s the windows – in Jack’s house; they’re reflecting the rising sun. I remember as a child, looking across here in the evening and thinking that this house had golden windows, and now I realise that my own gable window was just as golden every morning while I was fast asleep!”
“And look at the river, boy. That’s why I bought that bit of land; it’s that view that keeps me going…”
“If you have cows to milk, I could give you a hand.”
“No need; the suckling calves do the milking for me these days. No, you go on; you’ve done more than enough already, I…”
“Ned, there’s something else, something I haven’t told you. On the night Mick died, Eileen told us that he was Deirdre’s father, Deirdre – Eileen’s daughter – my fiancée.”
“What? And he never married Eileen; the mother of his own child, what…?”
“Ned, I’m sorry; I should have told you sooner, but I thought you knew… Mick couldn’t marry Eileen; Mick couldn’t marry anyone; Mick was our parish priest!”
LatinosUSA 
Deja un comentario