Conna in Crisis & The Marriage of Ulick (13 page)

Happy stayed calm—no easy task for him.

‘In your case, Mr. whoever you are, my fee will be 85 euro.’

‘Why?’ he demanded.

‘You’ve already wasted ten minutes of my time.’

‘That’s extortion,’ Crat thundered. ‘I shall have to consider issuing a summons against you and that other doctor.’

Happy stood up and towered above the little director.

‘You do that. Go to the A&E department in Galway hospital; you’ll have to wait about six hours. They will attend to you and only charge you 80 euro.’

‘You can’t refuse to treat me,’ he blustered.

Happy opened his door and stood holding it.

‘Now, get the hell out of here.’

*

T
here were very few phone calls to the Haven; this one was long distance and it was urgent. The Contessa took the call in the library; the caller was using a mobile phone. She listened in silence for a few moments.

‘Can’t you buy him off? We’ll discuss it when you’re over at the weekend.’

She hung up the phone. Ulick was due to arrive shortly. Dare she confide in him?

*

W
hen Crat returned to Turla Lodge Hotel—after his visit to the A&E Department in Galway Hospital—he found the car park full to overflowing. Incensed, after a painful lancing of his infected toe, he parked outside reception and marched into the hotel. A delighted Lurglurg greeted him; he wasn’t delighted for long.

‘Why isn’t there a space to park my car?’ he demanded so loudly that nearby guests looked up to see what the commotion was about.

The unfortunate abbot sighed—just when he thought things were looking up.

‘I’m so sorry, Sir, if you will kindly give me the keys I’ll have Brother Sean attend to it immediately.’

He handed over the keys.

‘Mark out a special parking space for my car; make sure no one else uses it. Have the car waxed and polished immediately.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Have your staff serve dinner in twenty minutes.’

He headed for the stairs, leaving a bewildered Lurglurg behind him.

*

W
hen Martin Sandys entered Paulo’s the following evening, he was livid. He slapped a copy of an English daily newspaper on the counter.

‘Have you seen this?’ he demanded.

‘I don’t buy English papers.’ Ulick replied.

‘The bastards are trying to fit me up, saying there are serious defects in the new Inverness airport.’

‘Did they name your company?’

‘As good as; an English PLC with an Irish Chairman.’

‘Let me have a look at it.’

Ulick took the paper and perused it slowly.

‘All innuendo, no substance. Surely the premises were passed out by the architects?’

‘It was; they’re going to sue that rag. I had the Dublin airport job in the bag until this appeared. Now, they tell me they will have to reassess the situation; what the fuck can I do?’

‘Send in an independent firm of architects to carry out an emergency inspection. In the meantime tell whoever you’re dealing with in the USE that this is a load of rubbish.’

‘I’ve already done that, but De Laka, the man I’m dealing with, has got very nervous.’

‘I’ll talk to Frankie in the morning; see if he can do anything.’

*

W
hen 6 JCB’s drove in the Galway road, Ulick wondered what Crat was up to now; when they drove out the Rath road, he knew. He rang Paulo, Martin Sandys and Battler Barry. ‘Round up the people and head for Ned’s line.’

A mile from the Rath, this monstrosity of a painting on the road—ordered by Ulick, painted by Ned McCann—who insisted the work was carried out to the order of Kingpa, the high King of Rath Pallas—was put there to prevent tourists tramping all over the sacred Rath.

The following sign stood at the side of the road:

“To pass this crocked line, if thou not a local be,

Will earn seven long years of bad luck, for thee.”

It was very effective; people knew better than to tangle with the leprechauns in the Rath.

By the time Ulick got to Ned’s line, it was being painted over. He approached the foreman, a big awkward looking man from Gort.

‘Stop this work immediately, and get the hell out of here.’

The big man looked embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry Mr. Joyc, but orders are orders.’

‘What orders?’

‘To remove the Rath; four hundred trucks are coming to take it away.’

‘Whose orders?’ he demanded.

‘That foreign fellow in Conna.’

Paulo, Martin and Battler joined them.

Ulick got stuck in immediately. ‘Do you not know the Rath is part of our National Heritage?’

‘All I know sir, is that I’ve been instructed to carry out the work.’

He left them and the JCB’s proceeded towards the Rath.

‘What are we going to do?’ Paulo asked.

By now a great crowd of people was headed towards them. They gathered around Ulick and the others. He addressed them.

‘We’ll form a human chain around the Rath; let’s go.’

Getting into their cars they drove past the JCB’s and spread out around the perimeter of Rath Pallas. Ulick took out his mobile and rang the Taoiseach; Frankie was livid.

‘I’ll ring Moxy; they can’t do this.’

The JCB’s arrived and lined up in front of the human chain. Seeing the situation, their leader rang his boss for instructions.

Ulick moved away from the line.

‘Where are you lad?’

Dandaboy was there immediately; only Ulick could see or hear him.

‘Why they want to destroy our home?’ Dandaboy asked tearfully.

‘I don’t know. We’re trying to stop it. Can you and your people take refuge somewhere else?’

‘Yes, but Kingpa say, if we go, we not come back; I not want to leave here. This has been our home for thousands of years.’

‘We’ll not let you down, lad.’

His mobile rang; it was Frankie, even more livid than before. He came straight to the point.

‘Moxy says it has nothing to do with him. I told him not to come back here.’

‘Can you issue a preservation order on the Rath?’

‘I’ll do that and have it delivered to you within the hour.’

Ulick put away his mobile and turned to Dandaboy, but the little man was gone.

Crat arrived later in his big Mercedes, accompanied by his troops; Ulick, holding the preservation order, confronted him outside the human chain.

‘You can’t destroy the Rath,’ he handed him the document; ‘The Taoiseach has issued this preservation order effective immediately.’

Crat glanced at the document then proceeded to tear it into little pieces.

‘The Prime Minister or government of this country has no jurisdiction in the area under my control. Remove these people immediately before I instruct the guards to clear the site.’

Ulick raised his voice. ‘We will defend the Rath to the last man and woman here.’

Crat gave the order, the guards moved in and, after a brief scuffle, carried the protesters away, but did not seek to keep them in custody. They stood a short distance away screaming their objections while the JCB’s dug into the high ditch surrounding Rath Pallas. Crat left immediately. A long line of empty trucks headed towards the site.

Ulick was dismayed. ‘We’d best go back to town; we’ve let down our friends.’

*

F
or the next five days, trucks laden with Rath Pallas powered through Conna on their way to a massive dump near Moycullen. Afterwards, Ulick and Paulo drove out to what was now an ugly hole in the ground. There was no sign of Ozzy; he didn’t make his usual Thursday night visit to Paulo’s. To the people of Conna this was the end; the Little People of Rath Pallas were gone and they wouldn’t be back. Utterly depressed, Ulick took Setanta for a walk in the woods.

*

E
lated by the destruction of the Rath, Crat drove slowly through Maam Cross on his way to Turla Lodge. He would now move to complete domination; get that damned animal into custody and hold a public execution. When the new Directives arrived he would be in a position to close the two shops, the restaurant and the butchers, but best of all, he could lock up Joyc for as long as he wished.

A mile from his hotel, he was suddenly stopped by four donkeys being driven along the road. He hooted his horn and waited for the owner to clear his way; that didn’t happen, the farmer ignored him completely. He stopped the car and got out.

‘Don’t you know who I am?’ he roared. ‘Remove those animals immediately.’

He was ignored. He couldn’t identify the man; he never looked at any of his subjects anyway. Little did he know that the owner of the donkeys was none other than Charlie Molloy, whose so called stipend he reduced to 135 euro the previous week. He continued to hoot his horn; to no avail. He had no option but to travel at two miles per hour until they came to the hotel entrance.

*

S
etanta was sitting quietly by the fire in Ulick’s house as the evening closed in. His master and Ella were away a lot these days; doing what, he didn’t know. Suddenly, his ears picked up; there was someone moving around outside. He raced to the window; six guards were closing in on the house.

‘Dan, Dan,’ he woofed but Dandaboy didn’t come.

It was true then, the Little People were gone. He’d have to make a run for it. They burst in the back door; Setanta charged, threw three of them aside and raced into the open where four men were waiting with a net. Trussed up, they put him in the back of a van and drove to the local barracks.

Sergeant Muldoon was incensed. ‘You can’t bring a dog in here.’

He was ignored. ‘Our orders are to put this animal in a cell, to be kept there until he is exterminated,’ the big swarthy leader insisted.

Setanta wasn’t best pleased with these prospects. But what really pissed him off; he wouldn’t be able to keep his date with Woofy.

Sergeant Mick Muldoon rang Ulick—he was in Galway with the Taoiseach—and gave him the news.

*

I
n the morning, Crat arrived at his office full of the joys of life. He had the animal in custody and the Directives he required would be delivered the following day. Then, he would show them who was in charge. Eight of his guards were lined up outside the office. He was expecting trouble over the animal; curiously, there was none. Joyc didn’t even call to protest. The illiterate people of this desolate area were learning and about time too.

He was unconcerned about the newspaper headlines screaming for his arrest for the alleged attack on the President’s life. When the Commissioner rang—somewhat agitated—he reassured him; it was all lies. There were no witnesses; he could rely on his troops and Madame was absolutely trustworthy. He wouldn’t need to fall back on his diplomatic immunity.

*

A
t six in the evening, as was his custom, Crat strode into Paulo’s packed pub; hadn’t those people anything to do except drink? He noticed that Ulick was sitting in his usual place, but the “President” made no effort to acknowledge his presence. He was beaten and he knew it. In another twenty four hours he would be behind bars, and not just for thirty days.

‘Garson, a gin and tonic here,’ he thundered.

Paulo approached him carrying what looked like a large pad.

‘Please fill in this form in triplicate, Sir and I’ll let you know when you may be served,’ Paulo remarked casually, putting the pad down in front of him.

Crat’s eyes blinked; he couldn’t believe this, scarcely looked at the form.

‘Are you mad man?’ He roared. ‘Is this some kind of joke? Serve my gin and tonic immediately.’

Paulo shook his head. ‘No joke, sir. It’s regulations. Fill in the form in triplicate; I should be able to serve you in about two days.’

The great man was trying to come to grips with this nonsense. He drew himself up to his full height.

‘I’m the one who gives the orders around here.’

‘Not any more, sir.’

He held up the pad. ‘Who issued this rubbish?’

‘The Conna Civilians Council, sir.’

Infuriated. ‘There is no such authority.’

‘There is now, sir.’

Crat ripped the pad in two. ‘I’ll put the lot of them in jail for seeking to usurp my lawful authority.’

Paulo was quite calm. ‘As you’ve said yourself, sir, the law is the law.’ He took another pad from under the counter. ‘This is the law now, sir.’

The customers cheered loudly as he left.

Not unduly upset by this madness, Crat drove his Mercedes down to Ferdy’s petrol station. He would close down that damned pub in the morning; if necessary, he would close down the whole damn town. Pulling in, he opened the cap of the petrol tank and was about to release the nozzle when he discovered it was locked. Ferdy approached carrying a pad.

‘Please fill in this form in triplicate, sir, and I’ll let you know when you may get a fill.’

Crat’s eyes opened wide. ‘Has the whole world gone mad? I haven’t enough petrol to get me to my hotel.’

Ferdy sounded sympathetic. ‘Sorry, sir.’

‘Don’t you run a taxi service?’ he demanded.

‘Yes, sir, but you would have to fill in a form for that service too.’

It was beginning to dawn on the great man that this wasn’t an isolated revolt. His troops had already left for the night; in the morning, he would send them into Galway to purchase his requirements. He would soon put an end to this nonsense. He drove back to the office.

In the meantime, Madame called on her hairdresser, Nora Coyle.

‘Nora, I wish to make an appointment for a wash and set tomorrow afternoon.’

She smiled apologetically, producing the questionnaire. ‘I’m sorry, Madame, you have to fill in this form in triplicate and I’ll let you know when I can fit you in.’

‘Form, what form, where did this come from?’ She looked at it disdainfully. ‘The Director didn’t tell me about it.’

‘It’s from the CCC Madame.’

‘What’s the CCC?’

‘It’s the Conna Civilians Council.’

Madame became angrier. ‘There’s no such authority; we are in charge here. We are the law, we must be obeyed.’

She left without another word; went to the local Pharmacist, Jenny Hines and selected a few items. When offered the questionnaire, she used some very bad words, left and returned to the office.