Conna in Crisis & The Marriage of Ulick (7 page)

The hearse stopped. Martin strode forward accompanied by Ulick.

Crat glared at Martin. ‘I told you this funeral could not take place until the paper work was completed to my satisfaction.’

Ulick reached into his inside pocket. ‘Take it easy, Martin.’

He handed the form to Crat.

‘This form is correctly completed by an officer of the Court.’ He handed it over. ‘Now, get out of the way before I ask Sergeant Muldoon to remove you physically.’

Crat examined the form; realised he was on a loser, but was determined to have the last word.

‘This form should have been returned to my office.’

Martin was itching to get at him.

‘Get out of the way.’

Crat stood aside. Martin muttered out loud. ‘That bastard doesn’t want to let us live or die.’

The cortege proceeded to the local Church.

*

U
lick was surprised to be invited to visit the Bishop of Galway, none other than Dr Barney Brennan DD, whom he hadn’t seen since the famous court action in which the worthy bishop failed to get possession of the Turla lodge Hotel and estate. Shown, by a young curate, into the bishop’s sumptuous palace overlooking Galway Bay, Ulick was invited to take a seat in the drawing room. Ten minutes later, as was customary to emphasise the difference in rank, Big Barney (as he was known to the less virtuous) entered, wearing a long black soutane. Ulick rose dutifully bowed and kissed his ring.

‘Thank you for coming to see me, Mr. Joyc, please take a seat.’

My Lord Bishop spoke slowly in an accent unknown to the natives. He never recognised Ulick as President; he didn’t accept that anyone in Hi-Brazil might even share his exalted pedestal. Ulick sat down; his Lordship sat opposite him.

‘Mr. Joyc, this is a very delicate matter in which I would appreciate your help.’

Ulick nodded. ‘Certainly, you’re Lordship.’

‘I have received a confidential letter from His Holiness.’

So had all the other bishops, but he didn’t consider it necessary to disclose that.

‘It seems a religious order has defrauded the Church of several million euro.’

Ulick looked puzzled; what could this possible have to do with him?

His Lordship continued.

‘In an organisation as widespread as our Church, it would appear that controls are not always as rigid as they should be; after all, we are servants of God not mammon.’

Ulick nodded and waited. He’d heard that one before.

‘A religious order of nuns committed a grave sin when they sold their convent—which wasn’t theirs—and disappeared with the proceeds.’

‘They must have had the deeds,’ Ulick remarked.

‘Yes, they had.’

‘It would be legal then, you’re Lordship.’

‘No, it’s not. That property was built with the contributions of the faithful, hundreds of years ago.’

‘Ownership is a moot point then. It would appear to depend on possession.’

His lordship shook his head.

‘Normally, perhaps, but His Holiness has made an order that the sale of any church or order property requires his written approval to be legal.’

‘How could this sale have taken place then?’

‘The order was made since the sale, but, and this is the important part, His Holiness has made it retrospective. We are therefore seeking the return of the proceeds of this sale, and I may say, the perpetrators of this crime will be excommunicated.’

Ulick would not be expected to know what “retrospective” meant. His Lordship expected his flock to behave like sheep; hadn’t they always!

Ulick replied calmly.

‘Can His Holiness back date an order?’

‘His Holiness can do as he wishes,’ he responded crisply.

‘But surely these nuns will contest a back dated order?’

‘They don’t know it’s back dated.’

I see, your Lordship. But how may I help you?’

‘There’s talk about the new owners of Hopkins Hotel near Roundstone. Could these be the nuns we’re looking for?’

Ulick smiled broadly. ‘I think I can put your mind at rest, your Lordship; these ladies are not nuns.’

His Lordship smiled for the first time.

‘I’m pleased to hear it, Mr. Joyc; when we find these nuns, and we will, we’ll have to act very discreetly. I wouldn’t want this mess in my diocese.’

Ulick was bemused as he drove back to Conna. The masters of spin. They were good, but then they’d been at it for two thousand years. Could the nuns’ story be true after all?

*

A
large number of Conna people travelled into Galway to attend the Circuit Court, in support of Mat Reilly and Shona Murray. Ulick took his place with his two clients while Crat led the prosecution with Madame sitting beside him. Judge John Ivers listened—with his usual inscrutable expression—while Crat quoted the Directives at great length. To everyone’s relief, he finally ended his long boring lecture with his submission.

‘Your Honor, I therefore ask the court to order the closure of these two premises and impose a substantial fine on the defendants.’

The judge looked down at Ulick.

‘Mr. Joyc.’

Ulick rose.

‘Your honour, I would like Mr. Bur O’Crat to take the stand.’

‘Very well,’ the judge responded.

Crat objected. ’This case is absolutely clear cut; there is no need for further discussion. It’s entirely unacceptable that I take the stand.’

The judge looked down on him. ’That’s for me to decide. Kindly take the stand.’

Crat rose.

‘Your honour, as a senior member of the USE I do not need to take the oath; I always tell the truth.’

‘Well then, you won’t mind taking the oath; let’s get on with it.’

Reluctantly, he took the stand and the oath.

Ulick rose. ’Mr. Bur O’Crat, you have stated that it is contrary to the competition directives that two traders should sell the same apples at the same price?’

‘That is correct.’

‘Yet, when they sell the apples at different prices, you accuse one of them of profiteering?’

‘That is correct.’

‘Do you not think there is a contradiction here?’

‘I’m not paid to think, sir: I’m paid to enforce the directives.’

‘I see. You have nine colleagues holding similar positions to yours in the USE?’

‘That is correct.’

‘Do you all receive the same salary?’

Crat looked at the judge. ’I refuse to answer that question; it is irrelevant.’

The judge looked sternly at him.

‘Answer the question.’

‘It’s not a valid question, your Honour.’

‘That surely is for me to decide. Answer the question.’

Reluctantly. ’Yes.’

Ulick smiled. ’You all receive the same salary. So, you are all in breach of the Competition Directives.’

‘I don’t accept that. The responsibilities are not comparable.’

‘In what way.’

He began to look a bit rattled. ’My responsibilities may be more onerous than those of my colleagues.’

‘So, you should be paid more.’

‘Yes, I mean no. This whole line of questioning is irrelevant.’

Ulick smiled. ’We’ll leave that to His Lordship.’

He addressed the judge. ’I have no further questions for this witness. Your Honour, I submit there is no case to answer and ask that you dismiss this action with costs in favour of my clients.’

The judge looked down on Crat.

‘The logic of your approach suggests to me that you will wish to outlaw collective bargaining and require each individual employee to negotiate their own wages—perhaps daily or weekly—thus abolishing trades unions.’

‘We’re working on that, Your Honour.’

The judge concealed his disbelief. ‘I’ve examined the two Directives you quote in this case. They are contradictory, and as such are unenforceable. I’m dismissing this action and awarding costs to the defendants.’

The crowd cheered.

Crat rose, angry now. ’I will appeal this case to the High Court, Your Honour; you cannot overrule USE Directives.’

The judge’s eyes lit up. ‘I’ve just done that, Mr. Bur O’Crat. This court is now adjourned.’

*

S
etanta cantered through Screbe and headed towards Roundstone; it was a fine sunny evening with a light westerly breeze. He stopped suddenly when, to his astonishment, there was Dandaboy sitting on the wall nearby, smiling broadly.

‘And where would you be going, my friend?’ he asked, as if he didn’t know.

‘I’m going to visit Woofy. Lovely place this Haven; the best of sumptuous food, better than Emma’s. But I wouldn’t tell her that.’

‘And good company,’ Dandaboy grinned.

‘Oh yes. The real action is at the weekends when they have visitors. I could tell you some hair raising stories.’ He looked at Dandaboy’s tightly cropped hair, ‘Well, maybe not.’

Dandaboy grinned. ‘Go forth,’ and disappeared.

*

T
aoiseach Frankie Carney travelled out to Conna where he was greeted affably by Ulick and Ozzy, in Paulo’s. Crat was disgusted; he never met the new Taoiseach and did not receive the formal official invitation to Government House to which he was entitled. Failure to make even a courtesy call on him—the local USE Director—was downright insulting. This new premier was clearly an illiterate, like the rest of them.

Ulick drew himself up to his full height and addressed Paulo formally.

‘Garson, three pints here,’ he ordered.

The other customers cheered. Paulo smiled shaking his head.

‘Don’t you start.’

He drew the pints.

Having won the election by a majority of twelve, Frankie had every reason to be pleased; curiously, he wasn’t. He sipped his pint in silence.

‘Can you do anything about this latest USE rubbish,’ Ulick asked him.

He put down his glass.

‘You should hear the bullshit I’m getting back from our ambassador in Brussels. He’s been told not to worry, this is only a pilot scheme; if it doesn’t work it will be scrapped.’

‘And does he believe that?’

‘No and neither do any of the other ambassadors.’

‘What’s the game then?’ Ulick asked.

‘It’s no secret that for many years there are those in Brussels who want to abolish the farm subsidies; they’ve tried often enough. This fancy new scheme is designed to convince the people that life will be simpler and fairer. They’ve surrounded it with so much bullshit that they plan to pay the farmers less than they were getting under the CAP.’

‘How could they do that?’

‘There were fifteen different types of grants and income supplements to be had under the CAP. They were paid out in dribs and drabs; the farmers had no idea how much they were getting in total.’

Ulick frowned. ‘What’s all this nonsense about filling out forms, in triplicate no less?’

‘It’s a diversionary tactic; demanding information the farmers haven’t got. You know what our farmers are like when it comes to filling forms.’

Ulick nodded. ‘So, they will now receive less, spend half their time filling out forms and have to beg for it?’

Frankie put down his glass.

‘Yes, but there’s more to it than that. If this works they plan to centralize practically all power; I wouldn’t be able to have a crap without written permission from Brussels.’

Ulick frowned. ‘The courts won’t buy this rubbish.’

‘Part of their plan is to sideline our courts. As I understand it, they will issue Directives giving their local directors the power to over rule our judges.’

‘What’s happening in the other nine areas?’ Ulick asked.

‘My information is that it’s working reasonably well, but that’s the usual Brussels bullshit.’

‘Frankie, is Moxy at the back of this?’

‘I don’t think so; this fuckology has been planned over a number of years. I rang him. He says it all comes from the top; nothing to do with him, the usual crap. That bastard has a score to settle.’

The Taoiseach paused.

‘We have to find some way of stopping them.’

*

A
fter midnight, Jody Fahy, Iggy O’Haire and Paulo, carried what looked like a canoe from the workshop—beside Maam Bridge—to a fishing boat tied up by the little pier. Not a word was spoken; they pushed off and rowed a short distance out into the lake before starting the motor. It was a calm night with a gentle wind blowing in from the south west. Paulo felt apprehensive; this was the first test of the Lough Corrib monster named “Madamor.” Jody cursed under his breath when the full moon suddenly emerged from behind the clouds. Iggy checked his remote control box again.

They proceeded slowly to a point about half way between Cornamona and Conna. Jody stopped the engine lit a cigarette and suggested they wait until the water calmed down a bit. Paulo prepared his video camera.

‘Make sure you don’t get any of us on that fucking yoke,’ Iggy grunted. ’I don’t want to spend the next six months in Castlerea.’

Jody examined the canoe again; then attached a rope to one end.

‘Right. Iggy, you help me to lift Madamor over the side; she’s heavy, we’ll have to handle her gently.’

Iggy put aside his electrics and took one end of the canoe. Together, they lowered her gently into the water. Jody held the rope while Madamor began to sink slowly beneath the surface.

‘Now Iggy,’ he instructed, ‘Start your motor—very gently now, we don’t want her to run away.’

‘Is she down deep enough?’

‘I think so.’

Iggy pushed a few switches and a whirring sound came from Madamor.

Paulo—leaning over the side—started to record.

‘Seems OK,’ Jody remarked.

‘How long are we going to stay out here?’ Iggy asked. ‘It will soon be bright.’

‘Can you move her forward—just a little—very slowly now?’ Jody asked.

‘I’ll try.’

Iggy pushed one of the switches.

‘She’s moving.’ Paulo called out. ‘I’ll start the video when she’s ten feet away.’

At that moment a gurgling sound came from Madamor and large bubbles rose to the surface.

‘Fuck,’ Jody grunted. ‘I’m losing her.’

He tried to hold on to the rope, but the weight was too much for him. He let her go.

They sat there in silence for a few moments.

Paulo grunted angrily.