Conna in Crisis & The Marriage of Ulick (11 page)

‘It’s different this time; I can do more good here.’ He paused. ‘You didn’t bring a little bottle with you by any chance?’

Dandaboy opened his little jacket and extracted a half bottle of Jameson and a glass.

‘That’s more like it, lad.’ He smiled as he poured himself a glass and put the bottle on his little table.

In the distance they could hear someone coming down the hallway.

‘When you come home?’ Dandaboy asked.

‘I’ll let you know, lad.’

As the door opened the little man disappeared. Joe entered carrying a tray.

‘Lunch, Mr. President,’ he put the tray on the table; his eyes opened wide when he saw the bottle and glass.

‘Where did they come from?’ he inquired.

Ulick grinned. ‘I don’t know, they weren’t there a minute ago. Like a snort?’

*

F
rom early morning the Main Street in Conna was cordoned off with Crat’s armed troops very much in evidence. No vehicles were allowed in or out. The faithful trooped to Mass in the old stone church near the bridge. Church leaders roundly condemned the unnecessary interference with a peaceful march. It would be fair to say—in the absence of their President—the people were despondent but defiant.

Crat—smiling confidently, dressed in a grey business suit, white shirt and black tie—strutted up and down the street; Napoleon style. He was accompanied by Madame, looking sprightly and about ten years younger with her new hair-do. Wearing a new black suit at least four sizes too small for her ample figure, she was looking forward to her TV appearance.

By midday the TV crews from HBTV began to arrive; they would cover the day’s events for USETV. Greeted affably by Crat they placed their cameras by the bridge, facing the Maam Cross road.

Reporters and their cameramen assembled in Paulo’s for a few drinks before the action—if any—commenced. The morning papers condemned Ulick’s incarceration and the siege of Conna, but saw little hope of the march proceeding. After a showery breezy night, the sun was shining high in the sky.

Crat watched the natives—stupid people—head out the road towards their assembly point. Today, he would assert full control over those uncivilised natives and show the people of Europe—on live TV—how to maintain law and order. He was thrilled at the prospect; he planned it well; everything was in place; nothing could go wrong. Having Joyc locked up was inspirational.

*

M
artin Sandys joined Ozzy for a quiet drink in Paulo’s crowded pub. He sensed the air of defiance in that crowd and hoped it wasn’t all coming out of a bottle.

Paulo put up two pints and stopped to talk.

‘Did you get your Gulliver, Martin?’

He nodded. ‘We were stopped on the Galway road and turned back.’

‘So we won’t have the big man?’

‘We’ll have him all right. We took him around by Costello; he’s currently sitting in the woods out the road a bit. He’ll lead the parade.’

‘You’ll need ten strong men to move him.’

‘I have them all lined up.’

‘I wish Ulick was here,’ Paulo added.

‘So do I, but the Taoiseach is coming.’

Martin Sandys took charge of the march preparations; Frankie Carney, accompanied by his government ministers, was greeted with a great cheer when he joined them. As the TV coverage showed clearly; the government and people of Hi-Brazil were behind the people of Conna. Thousands of protests were pouring into HBTV in Galway. In the interests of safety, outsiders were urged to stay away from Conna. Ulick Joyc was sitting quietly in his cell in Galway jail, watching events on TV.

Gulliver was put standing up in the centre of the road, facing the town, with eight strong men holding the tie ropes. Four men, in relays of two, would move his big legs forward slowly. A gigantic figure, all of 60 feet tall, he would be followed by Martin Sandys, Taoiseach Frankie Carney, his ministers, Battler Barry and Paulo, a lone trooper carrying the national flag, the town band and its seven hundred inhabitants.

Captain Oliver Browne, head of the countries tank force—two survivors of the 39–45 war—located one at the Galway road end; his own, on the crooked bridge at the Connemara end, effectively creating a barrier between the people and Crat’s heavily armed troops who were patrolling the Main Street. He knew how volatile these situations could become.

A big outgoing native of Cong, he loved to fish and shoot in Connemara. His concern was to ensure the safety of the locals. Two days earlier he met Taoiseach Frankie Carney in Galway and suggested the march be rerouted to avoid the town. No, Frankie decided; that would be handing victory to Crat.

Crat, carrying his baton, strutted around hoping the TV cameras were picking up his best profile. This would be Waterloo for those stupid peasants. His victory would be watched by his superiors on live TV. Unprepared to share his moment of glory, he ordered Madame to return to the office. Understandably, she was furious.

Before leaving Galway, Frankie phoned the DG and asked him to instruct Crat to allow the march take place peacefully. It wasn’t as if the people of Conna were doing anything illegal; the condition regarding notice could be waived. Frankie was surprised at his reaction: Crat had the Council behind him. He wouldn’t interfere, although he hoped the day would pass without incident.

It was clear that this was one battle the people of Conna couldn’t win. A team of ambulances from Galway University Hospital was parked out the Galway road; paramedics entered the town quietly. Conna GP’s stood by. The clinic in Moycullen prepared to take in casualties. The people of Conna—as everyone knew—would put up a good fight: however pointless.

Having Ulick put in jail was seen as a clever move by the arrogant Crat. The TV crew took wide shots of the town, including Crat strutting around Napoleon style. Millions of people, at home and abroad, watched with interest. Tension increased as the day progressed.

Unseen, Dandaboy and Setanta sat on the bridge wall—high above the deep waters of the river—watching events. The big dog was worried; Dandaboy looked pensive.

‘What you going to do, Dan, Dan?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know.’

Gulliver, now standing tall, came around the tree lined corner some four hundred yards from the bridge; he was moved forward slowly, step by step. Everyone followed. The band started to play “The West’s Awake.” Captain Browne sat quietly in the turret of his tank. Crat moved closer to the bridge. Millions watched and waited.

Suddenly, a great roar erupted from the natives of Conna; the TV cameras zoomed in on the front of the parade. A smiling Ulick Joyc, greeted affably by the entire community, was now leading the march. The roaring continued and became even louder when word of Ulick’s appearance spread through that great crowd. Gulliver marched on.

‘How you do that?’ Setanta asked.

Dandaboy merely smiled, but he still looked pensive.

Crat screamed at Captain Browne. ‘Arrest Joyc.’

‘Do you want a massacre on your hands?’

‘The law must be upheld,’ Crat screamed at him.

‘My orders are to stop this march peacefully,’ he retorted angrily.

Setanta looked at Dandaboy with increasing adulation.

‘What happen now, Dan?’

‘I don’t know.’

It can’t be said that Setanta believed this.

On they came, slowly, towards the bridge, with Gulliver wavering high above them in the light breeze. Ulick’s presence buoyed up his people, but how could they get past the tank? That same question was occupying his great mind; he hoped Dandaboy—as so many times in the past—would come to their rescue. But how could the brave little man move that bloody tank?

On they came, until Gulliver stood wavering twenty yards from the tank. Crat screamed at the Captain. ‘Open fire, don’t let them pass.’

The captain, busily looking for a bloodless solution, called down to his gunner.

‘Joe, put a shell through that big bastard’s chest, well above the heads of the people.’

‘Yes, Captain.’

There was silence for a few moments; Gulliver stood there, towering above the people; the TV cameras zoomed in on the harmless looking giant; everyone waited. Then, the tank fired a single shell; it ripped through Gulliver’s chest, out through his back and disappeared into the western sky. The people gasped. Silence followed.

The big figure wavered; great gusts of wind were heard evacuating his punctured body; the tie ropes were abandoned. He stood there for all of ten seconds; then fell slowly forward, his big head hitting the roadway in front of the tank, his long arms stretched out by his side.

Crat marched forward triumphantly, holding a megaphone.

‘This is an illegal march. Disperse immediately, and return to your homes. Law and order will be maintained at all costs.’

The people screamed defiantly at him.

Setanta noticed it first; Gulliver’s fingers started to twitch; his great hands began to move slowly forward until they were level with his shoulders; he pushed against the roadway, raising his big head slowly. The crowd gasped—Ulick smiled—while Crat took several steps backwards and screamed at Captain Browne. ‘Open fire.’ The captain ignored him. Slowly, Gulliver got to his knees; then, under his own steam, stood up and glared at the offending tank. Everyone gasped. The holes in his body had disappeared.

Setanta was ecstatic. ‘That was a bloody good one, Dan, Dan.’

He grinned. ‘Wasn’t it.’

Gulliver let out a mighty roar; put his big hands on the front of the tank and began to push it backwards.

‘Open fire,’ Crat screamed. ‘The law must be upheld.’

He was ignored.

Ulick led his people forward. Setanta was so excited; he stood up on the narrow wall and started to leap up and down. Dandaboy joined him, grinning with delight. Setanta forgot where he was; stumbled and fell—with a great splash—into the waters below, becoming visible as he did so. Everyone cheered while the town’s favorite dog swam to the bank and climbed up on to the crowded roadway. They laughed with delight and the release of tension while Setanta shook himself and scattered water on those nearest to him.

Ulick patted him on the head. ‘I knew you were around somewhere; where is Dandaboy?’

Setanta nodded towards the bridge.

‘Open fire.’ Crat screamed again at the captain.

Gulliver pushed the tank back slowly. The armed troops retreated fearfully. Captain Browne had enough; he ordered his driver to swing free of Gulliver’s massive hands.

‘Where are you going?’ Crat screamed at him.

‘I’m getting the hell out of here and I suggest you do likewise.’

He shouted to his driver. ‘Back to base Joe, at full speed.’

Laughing, cheering, shouting, the people streamed across the bridge, followed by the band, playing “Galway Bay.” Left to face the approaching triumphant natives, Crat dropped the megaphone, and, white faced, raced, in a most undignified manner to the safety of his office; as seen by millions of people throughout the USE. Madam expressed sympathy with her master, whilst privately taking great pleasure in his humiliation.

Crat’s troops dropped their arms and ran for their lives. Gulliver marched up the Main Street, followed by the people of Conna, and stood outside Crat’s office. A megaphone was handed to Ulick.

‘Today, Mr. Crat, the people of Conna have shown you the courage and resolve that built this great country. We don’t need you or your directives here. Tell your masters we are an independent people; we will not be bullied; leave our town and don’t come back.’

A great cheer greeted his comments. Battler shook him by the hand.

‘We have him on the run, President,’ he announced happily.

Ulick grunted sourly. ‘Not while he’s in our town.’

*

U
nbowed, Crat rang the jail in Galway; to be informed that Joyc was still in custody there. He screamed into the phone. ‘That’s impossible. Look at him on your TV screen. He’s leading an unlawful mob here in Conna.’

The reply was terse. ‘Come in and I’ll show him to you.’

Crat slammed down the phone and turned to his deputy.

‘We’ve got to get that dog and Joyc; our success here depends on it.’ He paused. ‘How could Joyc be here and in jail at the same time?’

She shook her head. ‘I do not know. They talk about a Rath outside the town where little people live. They call them leprechauns.’

‘That’s impossible.’

‘Isn’t it impossible that Joyc be in two places at the one time, and what about the disappearing dog?’

‘Maybe you’re right.’

He would never concede that she might actually be right.

‘What will you do about it?’ she asked.

He made up his mind. ‘We’ll destroy that damn Rath.’

*

A
few days later, Crat marched boldly into his office.

‘I’ve got him.’ he announced proudly.

‘Who?’ Madame asked.

‘Joyc. The mayfly—whatever that is—is up. He’s fishing on the lake. I’ve ordered a boat to meet us at Maam Bridge.’

‘I thought he was in jail?’ She asked.

‘He was released last night.’

‘On what charge this time?’ she inquired.

‘Leading an illegal parade; we have him on video.’

‘But the police swear he never left the jail?’

‘This won’t be a matter for the courts. I will have the necessary authority under one of the new Directives.’

She remarked sarcastically. ‘I look forward to hearing you have him in custody again.’

She would exact due vengence for being kept in the office on Sunday, regardless of being saved the embarrassment of displaying—to the people of USE—her ample figure fleeing from the monster.

‘Madame, I will need your assistance this time. Bring your camera.’

An onlooker, and there was one, might have difficulty making sense out of this conversation. But Dandaboy got the important bit: Ulick was in danger.

When Crat, with Madame sitting beside him, drove out of Conna for Maam Bridge, in his shining new Mercedes, he was unaware he had two back seat passengers: Dandaboy and Setanta.

*

I
t was a cloudy day; a number of keen fishermen were making the most of the excellent fishing conditions on Lough Corrib. Ulick and Paulo took one of Jodi’s motor boats. Out from early morning, they were sustained by a mound of ham sandwiches prepared by Nan and a case of Guinness that was shrinking fast. With half a dozen fine brown trout—for which the Corrib is world famous—in the bag, they relaxed, chewed on a sandwich and downed another bottle of stout each. Ulick looked around at the beauty of Connemara; current problems temporarily put aside.