Tarry Flynn (22 page)

‘You're the cause of all the trouble,' declared the priest, catching him by the shoulder.

Tarry saw at a glance that all the respectable eyes in the vicinity of the door inside the hall were upon him, and every eye said the same thing: ‘Who is the half-wit?'

He was thrown out without ceremony to the loud laughter of the crowd outside. But home he would not go. Worse than this could not happen to him.

Two men from the nearest town whom Tarry knew crossed the road on their way to the hall to perform; they were dressed as Laurel and Hardy.

Within the hall he could now hear the start of what he had most hoped to take part in – the Question Time. Nobody in that hall would have had a look in with him in a competition of this kind and yet here he was cast out into exterior darkness. Again the curate appeared in the doorway of the hall. He said: ‘Anybody outside who hasn't a ticket must go away at once. Anyone who isn't away within five minutes will be forcibly driven off by the police.'

Old men nudged one another and said: ‘Are you coming?'

‘I suppose we're better.'

The crowd dribbled away and Tarry was left by himself waiting there in the hope that his companion would yet appear. The priest saw him and came out. ‘What are you doing here?' he snarled. ‘Did I not tell you to get away?'

‘I'm waiting for somebody, father,' he pleaded.

‘Flynn, I'm giving you another minute to make yourself scarce.'

A group of oily-haired young men, shop-boys and cattle-dealers and factory workers lounged in the doorway smoking and observing the peasant being shoved around.

How Tarry vowed destruction to society on that occasion. He would have struck the priest if he didn't know that to do so would be as good as committing suicide; those slick townsmen would pounce upon him in a flash.

‘Hook it, now,' said the priest.

‘Don't push me, I am going.'

‘Well, keep going, keep going.'

He moved away towards the village and as he did he could hear the giggle of the priest and the young men in the doorway.

‘Who is he?' one asked, and the priest said: ‘He's an idiot called Flynn.' There was more laughter at this and then the group in the doorway went inside.

At the corner of the public house many of the crowd who had been lounging around the hall waited. Tarry was too depressed to join them. He decided to return to the hall just for once. He might see Eusebius or some of the others who would be coming out for a mouthful of fresh air.

As luck would have it he ran into Eusebius on his way to the pump for more water.

‘God, these swanks drink the devil's amount of tay,' said Eusebius. ‘Do you know what' said he when he found that Tarry did not appreciate his joke, ‘I'm looking for you all night. Where did you go?'

‘Who's inside?' asked Tarry in desperation.

‘All the boys, all the boys.'

‘But what women?'

‘The usual. Have a fag.'

‘No. Wait till I hear.'

‘Take one of these cans and you can snaffle your way in.'

‘I wouldn't chance it. Father Markey's there and he'd only go for me.'

‘He'll be going off with the money shortly and you can get in when he's away.'

This was as good a proposition as any. But the priest would be coming back as soon as he had left the money safely in the Parochial House, and that would only take him ten minutes in the car. ‘Give me one of them cans, Eusebius.'

Going up to the door of the hall Tarry was elated and he was filled with goodwill towards Eusebius.

They left the cans of water in the little room off the doorway where a number of the local women, Molly included, were cooking for the artists and stewards. It was impossible to get past the crowd that jammed the doorway so Tarry had to be content with a perch at the back among the old men.

The concert was coming to an end by this time. Two little girls were tap dancing as the dancers danced on the films. In his happier moments Tarry would have been inclined to think this form of step-dancing vulgar, but so pleased was he to have got in at all that he thought it the most delightful entertainment.

He was settling down to enjoy himself and was putting his ego together again when the schoolmaster's son got up on the stage and announced that the next item on the programme would be a song by Mr. Christopher accompanied on the piano by Miss Mary Reilly.

Does your mother come from Ireland?
Sure there's something in you Irish…

There was a patriotic hush as Father Markey's brother rendered this song, everyone except Tarry thinking it patriotic in the extreme. Tarry had to hide his critical thoughts and look happy when the man sang as an encore:

The hills of Donegal
To me you ever call
In every wind that wanders o'er
The wide and lonesome sea…

In the loud applause that followed Tarry did not hear the voice of Father Markey as he returned. He inquired if anyone had rushed the door in his absence or if they had had any trouble. The answer being no he went into the cooking department and was loud in laughing conversation with the women in no time.

The next announcement was that the hall had to be cleared for the dance and that only those with the special green tickets could regain admission without paying an extra half crown.

Tarry hurriedly searched his pockets. He had only two shillings and twopence. He would be only too glad to pay this sum to get to the dance though he didn't dance, for he wanted to see how the affair would end and he had a particular interest in one girl present.

But where would he get the extra fourpence? Fourpence wasn't much when a man had it but when he hadn't twopence was as hard to get as two pounds. How would he ask for it and whom? The men on the door might take the two and two and they might decide to make a show of him; and if Father Markey was there he would be sure to make a show of him and tell him to go home and frame his two and twopence.

Charlie Trainor going out in a gabble of conversation was too busy to stop. A man like Charlie, it seemed to Tarry, could tell by instinct when a man was trying to borrow him. He could ask his sister Bridie only he wouldn't give her the gratification. She wouldn't wait till morning to tell the mother about his ‘begging'.

He found Eusebius. ‘Eusebius, I wonder could you lend us fourpence till the morrow.' Tarry laughed as he said this just to show the ridiculosity of his asking such a small sum.

Eusebius hadn't a penny on him. He gave the last ha'penny he had for a packet of fags before he came in.

‘Throw them the two and two, it's good enough for them.'

‘Only give them the chance to laugh at me.'

‘If I had it you'd get it, Tarry, you know that.'

‘Oh, I know that,' said Tarry bitterly.

He watched the crowds re-enter for the dance and listened carefully to hear if any of the ‘hard chaws' of the place would try to make a bargain at the door as he often heard them doing. But on this occasion every man of them shelled out his half crown as if he were only too glad to do so.

It was clear to Tarry, and the priest was standing in the porch talking to the doorman, that if he tried to get in for the two and two he would only create a scene. So he made up his mind to wait outside and pick up as much of the pleasurable emotion of the dance as filtered through the windows and door. He would be satisfied now if the priest left him alone.

The dance was in full swing now.

Couples began to drift out and make for the graveyard. Among these he was almost certain he noticed Charlie and Molly. He had a mind to follow them and find out for sure, but at that moment Father Markey wandered out to the middle of the road and looked up and down, so Tarry stood in the shadow of the hedge and lay low. Some time later Eusebius came out for two more cans of water and Tarry ran out eagerly to speak to him.

‘How is it going on, Eusebius?'

‘A few nice bulling heifers in there, right enough.'

‘Who's Mary Reilly dancing with?'

Eusebius considered for a moment and then thought that as far as he could remember she wasn't there at all. ‘I don't think she waited for the dance. Why?'

‘Oh, nothing.'

‘A lot of the swanks didn't wait, you know.'

‘If I had that extra fourpence… '

‘Hardly worth your while now.'

It was after midnight, a beautiful starlit summer night. The belfry of the chapel stood out in the ghostly night light of the western sky. The white of women's legs could be seen straddled on graves. In the distance dogs barked and from the direction of Drumnay the hoarse voices of men going home echoed across the still night valleys.

Alone in the shadow of the hedge the thought of the farm came back to Tarry. His mother was the wisest of them all. He saw this night what would happen to a man who went down the banks. As his mother often said – ‘what the blackbird whistled to Paddy McNamee was true – have it or do without it.'

Eusebius wouldn't lend him a bare fourpence and he had it on him.

Tarry was planning the next day's work. He would not let his stuff go to loss in future. He promised himself to stop smoking. He threw away the butt he had in his mouth as a tribute to his promise.

One of the couples returned from the graveyard, the man with his raincoat wrapped over the heads of himself and the girl. Charlie had a raincoat just like that, but you couldn't be sure.

A briar bent down and touched him on the nose. The briars were friendly. He took it as a warning to move off a distance. If he were seen lingering there for long someone might say he was up to nothing good. If one of the bicycles were stolen he might be blamed.

A number of men who had been up in the public house returned to the hall half drunk. Among them was the priest's brother and Mary. If Tarry hadn't been fully engaged thinking of his farm and the hay which he had to rope the next day, he would have been more worried.

His mother would find a big change in him tomorrow. No more nonsense. The land. He began to hum a poem that was in one of his school books.

Oh the summer night has a smile of light
As she sits on her sapphire throne.

The words applied to this night. The hills silhouetted against the horizon of pale stars belonged to a world where men like the men whom Tarry knew did not exist. The scent of the woodbine and the richer smell of the potato-stalks came across the valley and he knew something that made a man happy in the midst of desolation. Another group now began to congregate around the door of the dance hall to see the swanks emerge.

Larry Finnegan was there and Tarry could not help thinking that he, an old married man, was hardly waiting merely to see the dancers come out. Two of his own daughters were at the dance but it was unlikely that he would be watching them. No, there was only one thing could have kept him out of his bed and that was the chance of getting a kick at Tarry.

It turned out that the Finnegans did not want to injure their case by an attack on Tarry and the result was that they fell between two stools.

The dancers poured out from the hall.

Tarry watched the girls happy in the knowledge that the only one he really cared for had no boy friend with her. It seemed almost too good to be true. Eusebius did not appear though Tarry waited till the last person had come out. He was about to go home when staring sharply into a gap in the hedge where bicycles were stacked he saw Eusebius drag his bicycle out and after that a girl's machine. Without pretending that he saw his friend, Eusebius took the two bicycles and went off in the opposite direction. The girl's bicycle was Mary Reilly's; he could tell the whirr of its free-wheel.

Tarry was too tired to feel the worst pains of jealousy; and he was inclined to be glad that it was Eusebius who was leaving the girl home. Eusebius was a decent fellow whatever else he was – and he was sure to bore the girl.

I'll bet, mused Tarry as he went home, that Eusebius will talk poetry to her. He was experienced enough to know that only those who did not feel the spirit deeply could make it pay romantic dividends.

With loving hands he was drawing the light American rake
round the last of the hay cocks, his mind relishing the thought that a finer built cock of hay than the one he had just headed and roped he had not seen for a long time. All the seventeen cocks were well built – and the right well-saved hay it was; those cocks wouldn't take a bit of hurt if they were left out for a month. He stood out from the cock and ran his eye up and down the sides of it. A grand job. There would be about seven hundredweight of hay in every cock. He dropped the rake and pulled out a wisp of the hay and sniffed it.

May alive, that
was
hay. The cow that would be fed on that wouldn't take a founder – she would not.

The shame and degradation of the night before was being buried in a pile of fresh sweet-smelling hay. What might he care about a bunch of ignorant fools that would hardly know when they'd have their fill eaten. He was in the best of form; he never felt as fit in his life.

What about putting up a high jump?

He stood the fork in the hard ground and put the rake standing while he made a thumb-rope of the hay. He took pride in his skill at making a thumb-rope. As he drew the hay out of the cock and twisted it with his thumb and with a second movement wound the rope into a ball, he knew that as well as knowing the magic that was in the world he could show the best of the farmers a thing or two.
There
was a thumb-rope and a half, as thin as a plough-rein – Aw, man!

He made the rope the cross-bar of the high jump at a height which reached the third button of his waistcoat – or where the third button would be if he were wearing his waistcoat. It couldn't be less than four feet ten or eleven. If he could get over that jump he'd be in good form.

He slipped off his boots and danced about gingerly on the silvery stubbles. The ground was a bit too hard for jumping, but two or three tries couldn't kill him. On his first attempt he failed. He knew he could do it. There was nobody about. Nobody could see him here – except by a miracle, the Bradys – so he took off his trousers and knotted his shirt between his legs. He built his will up till his imagination towered over the jump. He knew he could
do it now. Lovely, lovely, he said to himself as he crossed the jump cleanly and came down on one leg facing it. He let himself sprawl away to get the full pleasure out of his feat. He raised the rope. This time he would try a jump the height of his chin. If he could get over that one he might well say he was in form. How about taking off the shirt? It wasn't very heavy but it hobbled him somewhat about the legs. He was stripped to the skin. Before making the attempt he searched the thin places in the hedge and scanned the point of McKenna's hill to make sure that no one was looking.