*
“You know something,” Rory Murphy confided in Wee Sean Darcy. “I’m beginning
to think they plan to keep us drinking until we pass out and forfeit the game.”
Wee Sean leaned back against the cart, feeling the pinch of unfinished
wood against his skin. “One more person calls me old or short, I swear I’ll
crawl under the cart with the dog and sleep it off.” The giant slept, curled on
this back with his paws in the air, his snores catching up in his floppy lips
and jowls, and whistling over his front teeth.
“Are you beginning to feel your age, Wee Sean?”
“Every time one of these young bucks reminds me how far we walked, and
how badly m’bones must ache.”
Brendan Kelly pushed in. “I think Jerry is going to take on Eustace and
the bunch of them on his own. Has it been that long that I could forget how
irritating these buggers are?”
“Jerry shouldn’t think of going it alone,” Wee Sean growled. “I want
m’chance to show Eustace what an old man can do when he has to.”
Jeremiah Corrigan, caught up in the midst of Naughtonby’s sporting crowd,
and members of the Innisfen squad, stood nose to nose with Kevin Eustace.
Although their words were lost, it was obvious that Jerry angered with
Eustace’s bragging. The other, big bellied, bearded and with a nose swollen and
bubbled, rocked back and forth, bumping his belly against Jerry’s. Corrigan
looked to be straining. Without backing down to Eustace, he tried to avoid the
other’s contact as well. At last he charged off, leaving Eustace, hands tucked
in trousers, still rocking, and smiling broadly at him.
“I’m tired and I’m hungry,” Jeremiah Corrigan charged, as he joined his
mates. “And these buggers are trying to tell me I haven’t had enough to drink.”
He passed on a jug to Wee Sean. “You think you can drink all night and play
football in the morning, Little Man?”
“If I had big thumbs,” Wee Sean commented running his hand over the mouth
of the jug, “I wouldn’t have to spit.”
“Terrible pity it is to waste good poteen,” Brendan Kelly offered with a
smile.
A moment or two passed before Jeremiah Corrigan smiled. “Pity.”
* * *
The tide rolled in, and calm waves washed the rocks beneath the cliffs on
the Backside. A solitary figure in military dress, dented helmet, cracked
spectacles and twisted bayonet proudly marched the length of the strand. At
either end, he came to attention and ceremoniously switched his rifle to the
opposite shoulder. Occasionally, when a wave hit a rock hard, spray shot
skyward, falling down and through the figure with his rifle.
“Major, please, “ Bridey begged from the edge of a dry rock. “I’m begging
ya, please. Himself is promising not to be making comments on that subject. And
I promise. M’self and Mrs. Keenan can make him behave.”
He ignored her, continuing his march
“I do remember you, ya know. Not from the dun. I mean from our last life
time together. You were Brendan’s friend. M’friend. You were a woman then and bloody married to
himself, ya know…”
No comments:
Post a Comment