It was after nine o’clock when they finally rose from the table. “You’ll stay the night, Nora, no point heading out now.” Peg looked at Nora earnestly. “There’s other people you should talk to who knew Matt, and besides, there’s the garden party tomorrow. Gerry Quinlan may well be there. Now there’s one to talk to, and God knows who else will be about. You may as well bide awhile, girl, now you’re here. You’re in no great hurry, are you?”
“No, not really.”
“Then you may as well stay.” Peg leaned into the table. “We’ll see this one out, once and for all, you and me.”
Nora nodded. “I’ll get my bag from the car before it gets too dark.”
Outside, the community was silent, the evening air still and breathless. When she listened carefully, Nora could hear the ocean tumble onto the beach and the faint rumble of pebbles being sucked away by the ebbing tide. Above her, the sky still reflected the softness of evening. To the southwest a single star, brazen and solitary, winked in the gathering dusk; thousands more peeped out intermittently, awaiting the cover of darkness. She thought about Leitrim and the blackness of the countryside at nighttime, how the sky, frequently laden with heavy rain clouds, would hang overhead like a sodden blanket hiding the brilliance of the stars. She turned away and reached into the car for her bag, making a mental note to have a look at the sky later on when the night was black. With a final glance upwards she headed back into the house.
Peg was not in the kitchen when she returned. She looked about, recalling her arrival that morning as she set her bag down on the floor by her feet. The house was now familiar, the people in the framed photographs no longer strangers. She went to the wall, peering closely at the image of Matt Molloy, trying to find something, anything, to latch onto. He was good-looking, for sure, but his eyes still looked lifeless. Was this how eyes looked in photos? She turned to the other pictures and found a sweet smile, a shy timid look, a strong challenge, a devilish twinkle from the man in uniform. She looked back at Matt Molloy and noticed again the ghost of a smile that barely touched the corners of his mouth. The face somehow seemed more engaging. “Hey, that’s better, a smile for your granddaughter.” It was hard to look at that cheerless face and still feel angry. The toilet flushed and she moved away from the wall, feeling a tad foolish.
Peg came in from the hallway. “We’ll have a little drink now,” she said. “I have one nights, before I go to bed. A small drop of whiskey helps me sleep. Will you have one?”
“That would be perfect.”
Peg reached into the cupboard below the sink and produced a half-full bottle of whiskey. “Bring a couple of glasses,” she called as she made her way to the table.
This woman was full of surprises. Nora, smiling to herself, reached for the glasses. “Big ones or small ones?”
“Well, not too small, girl, but we have to be respectable, in case we have callers. There’s some can smell a drop of liquor a mile away and they’d be here in a minute if they thought there was a drink to be had and maybe a bit of gossip to go along with it.”
She made herself comfortable at the table and poured two good measures of whiskey. They each added water and took a sip.
“Matt never took a drink, all the time I knew him,” she said, wiping a finger carefully along her lower lip as if anxious not to lose a drop. “Years ago, there was no liquor about except maybe Christmas time or the like. The men might have a bit of home brew then or maybe some partridgeberry wine. But even that he never touched. He told me that at one time it was a problem for him, but he always said that the finest drink was good whiskey and a little water. So when it come time I could afford to have a drink and could buy it to the store, I chose whiskey, like he said.”
“And you like it?”
“Indeed I do.” She lifted the glass to her nose and sniffed. “When I’m alone it takes me out of myself, lifts my mind. It’s company.”
“I suppose it’s lonely, being on your own?”
“Only nighttimes, and mostly in the winter. I know everyone in the community but they have their own families and they’re busy with their children and all that. People don’t drop by no more, like they used to in the old days.” She looked fondly at the child’s bouquet on the table. “Times I don’t see them too much. But that’s the way. I try to keep busy and mostly I manage.”
“So he had a problem with drink at one time?”
“Like I said, never while I knew him, but it seems that after he left the priests, he took to the drink pretty heavy. It’s funny the way things happen.”
She sipped her drink, taking her time, picking at a little spot on the glass with her fingernail. “Walking out the gates of the seminary in the middle of the night was one thing, but what to do then was another. He had no money, nothin’ much but the clothes on his back and, as he said, all he could do was head for home. He had the idea that he’d bring his mother around to lettin’ him put in again for the King’s Scholarship he’d won before he went away. He thought maybe they’d consider him again. That way he could get to the college and become a teacher. Well, I suppose it was an all right plan. Anyways he struck out for home, got a ride in the back of a train part of the way and then began to walk.”
It was close to midday when he stepped off the train and into the sunshine. He set a good pace as he struck out along the road for home.
“Can I give ye a lift?” The call came from behind.
Matt Molloy stopped in his tracks. A long low wagon stacked with barrels of stout and drawn by a fine team of dray horses, their brasses gleaming bright in the sunlight, pulled up beside him. He read the gold-edged lettering on the side of the wagon: J. Arthur Guinness. A bead of sweat ran from under the brim of his black felt hat and settled on the end of his chin. He wiped it away hurriedly. Another followed. “Thank you,” he said, and without a second thought, he threw his almost empty suitcase onto the wagon and pulled himself up onto the seat beside the driver. The team of drays shifted restlessly.
“Whoa there!” The command was low and guttural. Huge fists, the fingers bristling with coarse black hairs, tightened on the leather reins. “Are ye right so?”
“Yes, yes, I am. Thanks.”
There was a sharp snap as the reins hit the horses’ rumps and the team pulled away. “Come from Dublin?”
“Yes.”
“And where would you be off to?”
“Cullen,” Matt said, looking away.
“I can take you as far as Strokestown and drop you by Rulky Bridge. It’s just a walk from there.”
“Thanks.”
The horse brasses jingled, the clip-clop of iron-clad hooves punctuated the silence of the countryside. Horse and driver had found a steady rhythm. Beneath the black cloth of his jacket, Matt Molloy’s shoulders relaxed slightly.
The driver gave him a sideways glance. “If you’ll take my advice, you’ll ditch that black rig-out. Here, give us that oul’ hat too. You’ll not be needin’ that where you’re goin’. Ye’re out, right? Jumped ship. The hat gives the game away.” He held out his hand.
Slowly Matt removed his black felt hat and handed it to his companion. Their eyes met for an instant, and then with a quick flick, the hat went sailing over the hedge and disappeared. The reins snapped. “Now while you’re at it, why don’t ye ditch that oul’ jacket too?”
Without a word, Matt began to remove the jacket, looking about as he did so for a place to lay it down.
“You can leave that there.” The driver patted the seat beside him. “By the way, the name’s Mattie Duggan. How about yerself?”
“Molloy, Matthew also.”
“Ah, go on! I don’t know about you but the Mammy called me after Matt Talbot, ye know, the holy fella who looks after the drunkards.” He laughed. “She thought he’d look after me too, in that department, keep me outta har’ums way. Piss poor job he’s done, I’d say, and me drivin’ a wagon for J. Arthur Guinness for a livin! Sure, isn’t that pullin’ the devil be the tail? How about yerself?”
“No, nothing like that, just a name.”
“Fair enough. So I suppose it’s off home now to face the music.”
“The music …” He reached for his jacket but a restraining hand touched his arm.
“Hold the head now and take it ’aisy. I’m not takin’ a run at ye but tis plain as the hole in a monkey’s arse, you’ve left the priests, right?”
There was no reply.
“What else is a young seminarian doin’ walkin’ the roads of Ireland, of a Wednesday mornin’, in the middle ’eh nowhere, lookin’ like he’s got the worries of the world on his shoulders.” He leaned over then, lowering his voice. “That’s why I’m after gettin’ ye to ditch the rig-out. There’s no need goin’ advertisin’ the fact, now, is there? Look at ye now, roll up them sleeves over the elbows and ye could be me assistant and no one ’id twig the differ.”
Matt Molloy began to roll up his white shirt sleeves, exposing his pale arms with their fine dark hair. “I’ve let her down again,” he blurted out without thinking. “I tried to make a go of it–”
“Now look here, son, I’m tellin’ ye now, the mothers of this world are the best and the worst of it,” he said with the conviction of a preacher. “Problem is, some of them just don’t know when the feckin’ job’s done. It’s simple as that.” He paused to take a deep breath and once more unleashed the leather reins onto the horses’ rumps. “Time comes when they have to be told where to get off.” The horses had picked up the pace and he now had to shout above the clatter. “I remember at school, when I was a young fella, one of the Brothers used to roar at us when we’d be slackin’ off: ‘Excelsior, gentlemen, onward and upward, and for the love of God, quit blamin’ the world for yer misfortune. Get off yer arse and do somethin’ about it.’ That used to spur us on for a while anyways. That’s what I’m sayin’ to you now. Don’t go lettin’ her rule the roost; otherwise you’ll never get to crow when it comes your turn. And wouldn’t that be a sorry state of affairs?”
There was no reply.
“What you need is a drop of the pure to straighten you out,” he said with a new air of joviality. “I always says, Never go into battle without powder in your musket. I tell ye now what we’ll do. We’ll stop for a quick one before I drop ye off at the bridge and that’ll get ye fired up and ready to take herself on. What do ye say?”
“I have no money.” His head began to flip back and forth as if seeking a way out.
“I’ll buy you a pint, son.”
It had been a long day and he was thirsty. The situation at home had also begun to play on his mind. “All right so.”
“Now, that’s the spirit, son.”
“Nora, my dear, that was the beginning of it. Himself and Mattie Duggan got drunk that day and that’s how he was when he arrived home. Of course he liked how he felt, liked his newfound courage. He spoke his mind and liked having the guts to do so but once it wore off, he was back to being himself, but by and by, things got out of hand.”
“What about the scholarship?” Nora asked.
“That didn’t work out or he never tried; I’m not too sure which, but anyways he settled for whatever work was about, just so as he’d have money enough to get out of the house and go to the bar of an evenin’. There were rackets all the time. His only joy back then was his few books.” She took a deep breath. “By and by, the mother took things in hand and hooked him up with Sadie Dolan, the one he married: that’s your grandmother. The mother and the young one’s brother, Mickey Dolan, set it all up.”
Nora drew in a quick breath. She could barely fathom what she was hearing. So this Sadie Dolan was her grandmother. She’d never heard the name spoken before. She said it again, under her breath. It didn’t rest easy with her. “Mickey Dolan.” She said that name. Already she hated it. She hated the very sound of it.
Peg forged ahead, speaking rapidly, her voice strong, tinged with a hint of bitterness. “Indeed she wasn’t that much of a young one, seven years older than Matt, she was. She’d been passed over in the marriage department, it would seem, and Matt, not knowin’ too much what he was about, was easily led. God love him, he was only a youngster at the time, twenty-one years old.”
She poured another drink, held the bottle out to Nora, saw the quick nod and poured.
“One night a few months after they’d met, the Dolan woman tells him she’s in the family way and there’s nothin’ for it but that he do the right thing by her and get married. Yes, my dear, he was on the hook and hauled over the side before he knew it. Just like that!”
“Stupid fool!” Nora could no longer contain her irritation.
“And if he were standing here in the room this minute, you know something? He’d say exactly the same thing. He told me one time, ‘Peg,’ he said, ‘I’m a clever man by all accounts, but I’m a fool.’ I was shocked he’d say such a thing but I soon come to know what he was talking about. It had to do with plain old common sense. Ordinary things, little problems you’d have from day to day. Oftentimes he just couldn’t decide what was the best thing to do, so in the end he’d head off and do something right foolish. Same when it come to the big things! My dear, he’d look at the facts, up and down and round about, again and again, enough to drive you right cracked, but still he wouldn’t know what to be at.”
“Reminds me of my father,” Nora said bitterly.
Peg picked up her glass and studied the contents for a moment. “I’m sorry to have to be sayin’ all this to you, Nora. It can’t be too nice to be hearin’ all this old stuff, but still and all, it has to be said.” She took another sip of her whiskey and hurried on. “Whatever the reasons, he managed to get himself hooked up to a wife in a hurry.”
“And a child!” Nora was thinking of her father, the stalwart Catholic family man, conceived out of wedlock, without love. She stared into her glass.
Darkness had slipped quietly into the room, closing tightly around the two women. In stark contrast against the sky and the sea, the black headland appeared large and brooding. A trickle of silvery light dodged playfully on the water.
“It wasn’t even that simple.”
Nora’s head came around with a start. “What do you mean?”
“There was no child, not then anyways. The child didn’t arrive for twelve months or more after they married.”
“What?”
“The way it was, Matt didn’t even realize that the time had passed for the child to be born. Until one night in the bar, didn’t he hear talk from behind a wooden partition. Two women were hard at it, talkin’about him. Tis high time she dropped that youngster,’ one was saying. ‘Sure, wasn’t she up the pole way before they ever went near the altar?’ ‘Aye, indeed. I’d say she’d want to be puttin’ a bit of a spurt on or that babby’ll be arrivin’ with whiskers on!’ When Matt heard that, it was only then it came to him that he’d been fooled and that everyone knew but himself.”
“God in heaven, don’t tell me his own mother was part of that deception? Surely not, who could do the like of that?”
“Who’s to know?” Peg’s index finger came up in a cautionary gesture. “Remember, that was a long time ago. Back then there were few questions asked and there were even fewer answers given.”
“What did he say, Peg? What did he do?” Nora leaned forward, insisting on the truth. “Did he think that his mother knew all along?” She waited, exasperated. “Don’t tell me he never asked, never confronted her or that Mickey Dolan or the wife?”
“He did what Matt usually did in those days. He got himself drunk and headed for home.”
“A double blessing, is a double grace,” he announced with Shakespearean flourish as he flung open the kitchen door and tried to focus on the image of his mother and his wife both busy by the hearth. The words were barely out of his mouth when a down draft from the open chimney sent a thick belch of black smoke back into the room.
The mother was by the door in an instant and with a quick shove pushed him out of the way and shut the door. He lost his balance and toppled over.
“A fine state you’re in and you with enough drink in ye to flatten a sailor. Get up outa that. Yer a disgrace to yer country.”
“Ah,” he muttered, attempting to get to his feet, “enterprise … great pitch and moment…lose the name of action. Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, now there’s the bucco had the right idea when it came to dealing with the women.”
“For the love of God, Matt, would ye quit yer cod actin’ and get to yer feet. Get up outa that. Whatever it is yer blatherin’ about, makes no sense to me. Get up, will ye.” A strong young arm caught hold of him and urged him to his feet.
“Ah wife! The fair Ophelia. ”
“Mother of God, you’re gone cracked in the head with all that oul’ rubbish you’ve been readin’. Here, catch a hold of me.”
“Is it my wife has come to help her husband in his hour of need? Thank you, madam.” His hand touched the tight curve of her swollen belly and he let it linger there for a moment.
She tensed, tightened her grip on his arm and then continued to pull him upwards. “Look, over there, Matt, by the fire. My brother Mickey, he’s been here tonight with a little cradle was mine once. It could do with a cleanin’ but it’ll be grand for the child.”
He steadied himself, turning slowly in the direction she was pointing. A rough wooden cradle sat on the floor by the hob.
“Now isn’t Mickey Dolan the great fella? Knew exactly when to turn up trumps!” He moved unsteadily across the room, stopping for a moment to size up this new treasure and then bending over, he peered into the empty cradle.
“Now there’s a fine looking youngster if I ever saw one, and would you look at the size of it!” He moved closer, making little clucking noises. “Now, tell me, wife,” he continued. “How is it that our little babby has whiskers?”
There was a hollow silence in the kitchen. The two women glanced quickly at each other.
He straightened up and turned to smile, a strange baleful smile, first at his mother then at his wife. “How is it,” he repeated, taking on a menacing tone, “that this babby has whiskers?”
“It was a bit of a miscalculation,” his wife rushed to explain, “a wee biteen of a mistake, with the time, is all.”
He moved in closer, peering into her eyes, his whiskey breath in her face. “Confess yourself to heaven / Repent what’s past, avoid what is to come, / And do not spread the compost on the weeds, / To make them ranker. ”
“Jesus in the garden! Do we have to stand around here all night listenin’ to this oul’ gibberish? Your wife told ye, she made a mistake. Don’t ye understand or do ye want it straight from the Holy Ghost himself … in several languages?”
He whipped around to face his mother, eyeball to eyeball. “Beware of entrance to a quarrel; mother dear / But being in, / Bear’t that the opposed may beware of thee. ”
His mother stared back, cutting straight through the glazed eyes. She held the stare for a moment then turned away and reached for the Tilley lamp. Holding the light high, she leaned forward, bringing her face close to his. “Yer an eejit, Matt Molloy, of the first order.”
The fire spat in the grate.
“I’m goin’ to bed. There’s some of us have a day’s work to do come mornin’. Go on to bed, Sadie, ye need yer rest, and leave our very own Shakespeare here to himself.”
His eyes followed his wife as she moved away and disappeared behind the curtain into the shadow of their bedroom.
Peg looked into Nora’s startled eyes. “Your father was born not long after that. Not a happy situation, I’ll allow. But that’s how it was, how your grandfather told it to me.”