An Irish Country Doctor (39 page)

"I'd never have guessed," she said with a smile, as the sounds of the pipes, Arthur's oooowl, and a burst of applause echoed from the back of the house. "Can I come?"

"In a minute." He pulled her to him and kissed her in O'Reilly's surgery, beside the rolltop desk, the swivel chair, the patients' seat with the uneven legs, the old examining table. He was kissing her in a room that in three weeks had become as familiar to him as his old bedroom back in his folks' house in Bangor. And he might as well have been kissing her on the far side of the moon, so lost was he in her kiss. Their lips parted. She moved back. "Now," she said, and he noticed that she was, like himself, a little breathless. "What about that party?"

"Follow me," he said, and still holding her hand, he led her through the house and into the kitchen where Kinky was lifting yet another tray of pastries from the oven.

"Mrs. Kincaid, I'd like you to meet Patricia Spence."

"We met at the front door, so." Kinky put the tray on the counter and shook off her oven mitts. "Nice to meet you, Miss Spence. Now, I've work to do, so run along with the pair of you." 

"Right," said Barry, heading for the back door. Barry looked from Kinky to Patricia and back to Kinky. He saw something in her eyes, something unknowable, and he knew that whether it was second sight or woman's intuition he understood that she'd been right all along. It would be all right. He tugged on Patricia's hand. "What can I get you from the bar?" he said, holding the back door open.

He barely noticed Lady Macbeth slip past him out into the sunlit back garden.

Happy Days Are Here Again

Barry forced his way to the drinks queue. "Sorry about the scrum," he said. "What would you like?"

"Beer, please."

"If we ever get to the head of the queue," Barry said, watching two men who were in a heated argument blocking the further progress of those waiting behind.

"Not at all, Sammy. It's my turn to pay." 

"Your head's cut. You bought the last ones, so you did." 

"I never did."

"Did too, you great glipe."

"D'you wanna step out of this here tent and call me a glipe?" 

"Ah, for God's sake, your mother wears army boots." O'Reilly, stripped down to his rolled-up shirtsleeves, appeared and thrust his way to the head of the line. He grabbed each of the belligerent parties by a shoulder and roared, "You, you daft buggers, quit your argy-bargy. If you want to fight, get to hell out of my garden, or else one of you pay up and both of you shut up." His voice rose by what Barry thought must have been ten decibels. "And then get to hell out of the way before all these other folks die of thirst." 

"That's Doctor O'Reilly," Barry said to Patricia. 

"Is he really such an ogre?"

Barry shook his head as O'Reilly roared, "Pint, Barry, and what's your friend having?"

"It's not your turn," the man who would have been next in line complained.

O'Reilly did not dignify the remark with a reply. He fixed the complainant with a glare that Barry thought would have done justice to the mythical basilisk, whose glance could turn a man to stone. The protester blushed and muttered, "Sorry, sir. I didn't recognize yourself."

"Rank," O'Reilly roared, "has its privileges. Now, Willy. Two pints, and what for your friend, Barry?"

"A beer," Barry yelled.

"A beer," O'Reilly echoed. "No, you goat. A pint, not one of those piddly little glasses." He juggled three pint glasses between his hands and drove a way through to Barry and Patricia. "Here you are." He gave each a glass. "Fingal, this is Patricia Spence."

O'Reilly smiled at her and extended his hand. "She's far too good for the likes of you, Laverty. How do you do, Miss Spence?" 

She took his hand. "I'm very well, thanks."

"Good," said O'Reilly, waving his free hand in a circle. 

"And what do you think of the party?"

"Very nice," she said.

"I'll tell you," said O'Reilly, lowering half of his pint in one swallow, "parties are like those rockets the Americans and Russians fire into space. Once they leave the launching pad they either soar for a few moments, then wobble and blow up, or with ever-increasing speed they roar off into the ionosphere, out into space, and head for the stars."

"I think that's called escape velocity," Barry offered. 

"It is," said Patricia. "A rocket has to achieve a critical rate of speed to overcome the gravitational pull of the earth." 

"Patricia's an engineer," Barry explained.

"Is that a fact?" O'Reilly remarked. "Good for you. Escape velocity? Well, the last time I saw Seamus Galvin he was definitely flying, but poor old Mr. Coffin's succumbed to earth's pull. He's asleep in the vegetable patch."

"I thought he was a Pioneer," Barry said.

"He is, but I've a notion that Constable Mulligan has been spicing Coffin's tea up a bit."

"
It was only the men from Crossmaglen that put whiskey in my tea?
" Barry enquired, in the words of an Ulster song. 

"Probably vodka," O'Reilly said. "He'd be less likely to taste that. Anyway. It's cheered him up, and the rest of the assorted multitude seem to be having a grand old time. Just look at them." Barry surveyed the scene.

Seamus Galvin swayed gently in time with the music. He and a couple more Ballybucklebo Highlanders were piping for sets of dancers. Not a man among them wore a jacket or a tie. The fiddler and his small ensemble stood closer to the house providing the backup for half a dozen men who, arms round each other's shoulders, were well on their way into what Barry vaguely recognized as one of the later verses of "
The Rocky Road to Dublin.
" Doreen stood close by, belting away with her spoon on Hughey's tin tray. Barry heard her yell, "Do you want another pint?" And Hughey's reply, "What the hell are you going on about, woman? I want another pint."

Sonny and Maggie were back in their deck chairs under the apple tree.

"Begod," said O'Reilly, nodding toward them, "the pair of them are like Adam and Eve in the Garden."

"All we need is the serpent," Barry said.

"I didn't invite Councillor Bishop and he's the only snake St. Paddy didn't drive out of our wee country," O'Reilly remarked, looking wistfully at his now empty glass. "Now, Barry," he said, "before the worthy Seamus drinks himself utterly beyond redemption, I think it's time we got any formalities over and done with." 

"What formalities?"

"It's the Galvins' going-to-America party. Someone should say a few words."

"Right," said Barry, glancing to the tarpaulin-covered heap at the end of the garden and remembering that Willy had said it was a surprise gift for O'Reilly. "What do you want me to do?" 

"Get hold of that friend of yours, Mills. Between the pair of you, take one of the smaller tables from the tent and cart it up to the house end of the garden." He eyed Barry's glass. "And give that to me. You'll be too busy to drink it."

"Right," said Barry, handing over his drink and looking around for Jack Mills.

"Now, Miss Spence . . ."

"It's Patricia."

"Patricia . . . come with me," said O'Reilly. "I want you to meet Arthur Guinness. Then I'll find you a chair."

Barry found Jack, who apologized profusely for having misplaced Barry's earlier drink. From the flush on his friend's cheeks Barry reckoned he had a fair idea where the pint had gone. He explained to Jack what was required, pried him away from the blonde, and did his best to carry out O'Reilly's instructions. They lugged one of the smaller tables to the end of the garden to make an improvised dais in front of the rows of chairs. O'Reilly appeared, holding Kinky by the arm and would hear none of her protestations. "There you are, Kinky Kincaid," he said, "and there you'll stay." Jack's blonde and Patricia had deck chairs of honour beside Maureen in a chair and Barry Fingal Galvin in his pram. Jeannie Kennedy and the want-to-be-weds, Susan MacAfee and Colin Brown, found spots on the grass.

"Would the Ballybucklebo Men's Choral Society care to join us?" O'Reilly roared. The fiddling and whistling stopped, and the singers drifted across the lawn. "Nip over and bring Seamus, will you, Barry?"

Barry skirted the apparently tireless dancers. "Seamus." He tugged at Seamus's sleeve. "Seamus."

Seamus stopped his pipes and raised a questioning eyebrow. "Doctor O'Reilly would like everybody to gather round up there." 

"Right, sir." Seamus giggled. "I'll see to it."

From the corner of his eye Barry caught a glimpse of Lady Macbeth sidling into the now empty marquee; then he made his way to where the entire congregation stood rank upon rank, waiting expectantly for the next part of the proceedings. Now that the piping had stopped, all that could be heard was a gentle murmur of conversation, the clattering of a spoon on a tin tray, and a woman's voice shouting, "The doctor's going to say a few words." To which came the audible reply, "I don't give a bugger what the out' fart's going to say, I want another pint."

Barry jostled through the throng and stood behind Patricia's chair. He put a hand on her shoulder and she turned and smiled up at him. "Here," said Jack from behind the blonde's chair. "Look what I found." He handed Barry a pint of stout.

"Thanks, mate." Barry took the glass and watched as O'Reilly hoisted his bulk onto the unsteady table. He spread his arms to his sides, hands cocked up, fingers splayed. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are here today to bid farewell to three of Ballybucklebo's more illustrious citizens. Seamus and Maureen and wee Barry Fingal are off to start a new life in the New World." 

"Will Seamus be working?" a voice enquired from the depths of the crowd.

"I will, so I will," Seamus yelled back.

"Mother of God," said the voice, "miracles still do happen."

"Now," said O'Reilly, "you all know I'm a man of few words--" 

"And the Pope's a Presbyterian," a man called. 

"Watch it, Colin McCartney," O'Reilly said. "I have my eye on you."

"How many of him do you see, Doctor sir?" someone else asked. Barry laughed long and hard with the rest of the crowd, but stole a look at O'Reilly's nose. Florid as ever. The big man was taking the ribbing in good part.

When the hubbub died down, O'Reilly continued. "All right, fair play. But all I want to say today is every one of you that has a glass to lift, hoist it with me and wish the Galvins a safe journey and a grand new life." He held his own glass aloft. "To the Galvins." 

"The Galvins" echoed back from the crowd.

"May God bless them and all who sail in them," Fergus O'Malley roared and sat down with a heavy bump.

"Jesus," said O'Reilly. "There's one at every hooley that wants to be the centre of attraction. If this was a wake, Fergus wouldn't be happy unless he was the corpse."

"Corpse? Where?" asked a clearly befuddled Mr. Coffin, just awakened from his slumbers.

"Never mind," said Constable Mulligan, taking the undertaker's arm. "Just sit you down there on the grass like a good gentleman." 

"Come on, Seamus. Speech!" Donal Donnelly shouted. "Speech! Speech!"

O'Reilly beckoned to Seamus. "Up here, boyo, and give us a few words of wisdom." O'Reilly leapt from the table. 

"Right." Seamus had to be helped to climb up. He swayed, and Barry immediately thought back to the afternoon in the Mucky Duck following the birth of the Galvins' baby. "Said it before . . . an' I'll say it again. Best couple of doctors in Ireland. Best village in Ireland. Best country in the whole world." Seamus's voice cracked.

"Whoops," said O'Reilly, who had moved beside Barry. "Next thing he'll say is . . ."

"I don't want to go to America," Seamus said, a tear dripping from one eye. "Don't want to go at all. Leave all my friends. . . ." 

"Told you," said O'Reilly.

"We're going. The week after next," Maureen announced. "Doctor O'Reilly's holding the cash, and the tickets are ordered. Me and Barry Fingal's going anyhow."

"And I'm coming with you, love," Seamus announced, blowing her a sloppy kiss.

"You've a job to do right now, Seamus Galvin," Maureen said, handing her husband a parcel.

"Right. Right. Nearly forgot." Seamus held the parcel over his head. "This here's for Doctor Laverty." The crowd applauded. "You'se folks is very lucky he came to work with Doctor O'Reilly." 

"Hear, hear!" yelled Cissie Sloan.

Barry knew he was grinning fit to bust.

"Go and get your present," Patricia whispered. Barry, glass in hand, walked to the table.

"Here you are, Doc." Seamus bent forward and handed Barry the gift.

"Open it," said Seamus.

Barry ripped off the paper. Inside was a burnished aluminium box. When he opened the lid he could see it was full of beautiful, hand-tied flies. He knew he should say something, but a lump was in his throat. He nodded and turned away. He felt he was being ungracious, but didn't trust himself to speak.

He took a deep breath before facing the crowd and saying, "Thank you, Seamus and Maureen. Thank you all." He struggled to find something more appropriate to say, but his thoughts were interrupted by a sharp, deep bark and a screech that sounded as if there were a banshees' convention in O'Reilly's back garden.