Conna in Crisis & The Marriage of Ulick (12 page)

‘Here in the midst of such beauty there is peace and quiet; we are far removed from the world and its cares.’ Not for long.

Paulo began to laugh. ‘As long as I live, I’ll not forget the sight of Gulliver marching down Main Street. He looked so angry. It’s being shown on HBTV every day since. The people in Galway are making a fortune showing him to the public at a euro a time.’

Ulick raised his bottle. ‘Here’s to you, Dandaboy.’

*

A
rriving at Maam Bridge, Crat was met by ten of his troops, fresh from their Waterloo. While Dandaboy and Setanta watched—unseen—they boarded one of the bigger fishing boats—as did the unseen—and set out on the lake. Setanta was itching to get his big teeth into Crat’s posterior; Dandaboy kept his hand on the noble wolfhound. Crat stood at the rail scouring the lake with his binoculars; Madame stood stiffly nearby, holding her camera.

Jody wasn’t enjoying this trip, but the boat was hired and he had to go along with it. He wasn’t in any hurry to find Ulick and Paulo. Two of Crat’s worthy warriors stood behind him at the wheel. He chugged along at half speed, passing a number of boats with intent fishermen who passed no heed of them.

Suddenly, Crat screamed. ‘I see them, over there to the left.’

Putting aside his binoculars, he entered the wheelhouse—very excited now—and stood with Jody.

‘Ram them,’ he ordered.

He reacted calmly. ‘I’m not ramming anyone.’

‘You do as I say; I’m in command of this boat.’

Jody was angry now. ‘Not any longer you’re not; I’m turning around and going back to base.’

Crat turned to one of his men. ‘Take the wheel.’

‘Like hell you will,’ Jody shouted.

Quickly overpowered, he was removed from the wheelhouse.

Dandaboy shook his head. ‘Time to go, Setanta.’

‘Where we go?’

‘We go to Ulick’s boat.’

‘How we go?’ he asked nervously.

‘We walk.’

‘I can’t walk on water.’

‘It’s all right; it has been done before.’

‘Not by me.’

‘I keep a good grip of you—come on.’

Dandaboy eased him over the side of the boat; then leapt on to his back.

‘Go, Setanta, go,’ he ordered.

Gaining confidence, he raced across the short distance and leapt into Ulick’s boat.

Ulick and Paulo looked at them in astonishment, but there wasn’t time to explain. Dandaboy pointed at the big boat bearing down on them.

‘Bad man going to crash into boat.’

A worried looking Setanta and Paulo looked on. Ulick started the engine.

‘We’ll outrun him.’

They headed away quickly; their pursuers increased speed.

It soon became clear they couldn’t hope to outrun the bigger boat. As it came closer, they could see Crat, standing in the bow. His troops opened fire. Bullets began to plop into the water all around them. Dandaboy leaned over the side. The bigger boat was so close now he could hear Crat shouting to his men. Madame was standing beside him.

Suddenly, the waters of the lake began to churn up mightily; the boat rocked violently from side to side; they hung on for dear life. Out of all that agitation, a gigantic animal with a long neck, and two big dancing eyes, emerged from the waters. With a great gurgling sound it spurted water down upon them.

Dandaboy stood up and pointed. ‘No, Manamann, not us, them.’

He gurgled again and disappeared below the surface. When he resurfaced he poured a mighty gusher of water on the pursuing boat.

‘That’s a bloody good one, Dan, Dan.’ Setanta bared his teeth in a big smile while he shook himself.

Ulick and Paulo were dumbfounded.

Drenched, Crat raced to the shelter of the wheelhouse; Madame hung on grimly to the rail. The terrified troops dropped their guns and grasped the sides of the boat. Manamann continued to blast the vessel with increasing volumes of water; each time nodding his head at Dandaboy and gurgling with delight. He was really enjoying this. Dandaboy grinned back at him.

The big vessel came to a stop with mountains of water pouring off it; it stood there for a while. Released now, Jody took the wheel. He started the engine and headed back towards base. Dandaboy waved to Manamann; he chortled once more before disappearing beneath the waters of the lake.

Mystified, Paulo shook his head. ‘Bloody hell, we’ve spent months trying to invent a monster and one here all the time.’

Ulick turned to Dandaboy. ‘Where did he come from?’

He smiled. ‘Manamann live in the lake; he not appear again.’

Ulick grinned. ‘He doesn’t need to. Once word goes out, Connemara will be full of tourists.’

*

B
ack in his office, after a shower and quick change of clothes, Crat sat down with Madame.

‘I’ve instructed my troops not to talk about the monster. I don’t want the area overrun by tourists. There is no evidence, except the photographs you took. Let me have the film; I’ll destroy it.’

‘I’m sorry Director, the camera fell overboard. It’s at the bottom of the lake; no one will ever find it.’

‘Good.’

‘It cost me four euro.’

‘Now,’ he continued, ‘Have that Galway public works contractor, Fahy, come to see me tomorrow.’ He paused. ‘Are there any doctors in this town?’

‘Are you ill, Director?’ she sounded concerned.

‘It’s just an infected toe,’ he replied dismissively.

‘Best have it attended to immediately, Director, I have a cousin who lost his leg through neglecting a sore toe. I’ll get you the name of a local doctor.’

*

N
ews of the Lough Corrib monster spread like wild fire throughout the country; journalists rushed out to Conna and started interviewing anyone prepared to talk to them; others hired motor boats in Galway and headed up river. TV cameras scanned the surface of the lake, awaiting the next appearance. It was reported that international media people were seeking accommodation throughout Connemara. A great air of excitement and expectation pervaded the area.

Crat’s dogmatic denial—on live TV—that there was a monster, was ignored. Ulick and Paulo considered the situation carefully.

‘For once Crat has played into our hands,’ Ulick remarked after watching the live interview.

‘Why do you say that?’ Paulo asked.

‘We know there’s a monster in the lake, but that’s too cut and dried. It would be better if people think that possibility exists; that would retain the magic and curiosity for decades to come.’

‘Like Lough Ness?’

‘Exactly.’

Later, with Paulo standing beside him, Ulick faced the TV camera and his old friend, journalist Nick Fenton, senior news commentator in HBTV in Galway. Nick, who lived in Moycullen, was a keen fisherman and a frequent visitor to Paulo’s. Instead of his casual tee shirt and grey slacks—he was on camera—the sprightly elderly journalist wore a check blazer, black shirt and a collar and tie.

‘Mr. President, (Ulick was always so addressed in public) can you tell us what you saw on the lake today?’

He appeared doubtful, even a bit puzzled.

‘Well. Nick, it all happened so quickly, I’m still a bit puzzled myself. We were being pursued by Crat’s boat at the time; it was scary, his troops were shooting at us. He was trying to ram our boat. Anyway, there was great commotion below the surface, followed by powerful spurts of water cascading down on both boats. In all that confusion I was convinced I saw a monster.’

‘Could it be a phenomenon of nature?’

He looked doubtful and spoke slowly.

‘I suppose it could, but, at the time, I had no doubt at all. Like I say it was all very sudden and confusing; we feared for our lives.’

‘Mr. President, where would this creature have come from?’

‘If such a monster exists, it must live in the lake.’ He paused for a moment.

‘I remember hearing rumors as a child. The old people believed that a monster lived in the lake, but we never took them seriously.’

The journalist turned to Paulo.

‘What do you recall, Mr. Kelly?’

Paulo looked directly at the camera and tried to keep a straight face.

‘It was just as the President says, Nick.’

Nick turned to the camera. ‘There you are folks. Could it be that a monster lives in Lough Corrib? Time will tell. I’ve fished in these waters for many years and never saw anything unusual.’ He paused. ‘I’m greatly concerned that an attempt has been made on the life of our President and Paulo Kelly; this is a matter for the authorities.’

Recording completed, he told his cameraman to take the tape back to the studio for the six o’clock news.

Afterwards Ulick invited Nick to join him for a drink. The worthy journalist sank his pint and turned to the other customers.

‘With due respect to our President; I haven’t seen such a load of crap since the big fair day in Maam Cross.’

*

D
erek Walden-Smyth and Georgio Caplio met privately for dinner after a successful meeting of Prime Ministers at the Imperial Hotel in Lisbon. Georgio planned an early night; his beautiful secretary was waiting for him at the Esteril Hotel. Derek was flying back to London immediately afterwards in his executive jet, where a certain young lady was waiting for him at a Heathrow hotel.

The DG said little until they reached desert.

‘Georgio,’ he announced with great pleasure, ‘I have been offered a knighthood by His Majesty; I will be going to Buckingham Palace to receive it next month.’

Georgio leapt up. ‘That is fantastico. Many congratulations my friend. This calls for Champagne.’ He raised his voice. ‘Waiter.’

‘It must remain our secret for the present,’ Derek reminded him.

‘Of course, of course, but is fantastico.’

As they finished the Champagne, Georgio suddenly remembered.

‘De Laka wants to give the Dublin airport contract to Sandys Construction PLC.’

The DG responded angrily.

‘He can’t do that; I promised it to Zack Dela Rosa.’

Georgio pursed his lips. He understood and wondered how much Zack Dela Rosa had offered the DG.

‘We have to be careful with De Laka, my friend; he is looking very carefully at all new contracts. It seems Sandy’s price is lowest; he did a very good job of the Inverness airport.’

The DG insisted.

‘I can’t go back on my promise to Zack. Get De Laka to defer a final decision for a week or two. Then send one of your journalist friends to Inverness; find something wrong with that damn airport, write a scathing article about it and high light it in the media.’

‘What if nothing wrong?’

‘There’s always something wrong with new developments; it’s all a matter of presentation.’

Georgio stood up. ‘As you say something always wrong. Leave it to me.’

They shook hands and parted.

*

M
adame, anxiously awaiting the new Directives, decided to carry out further checks. Going first to Matt Reilly’s she found that apples were 15c each—she bought one and got a receipt; in Shona Murray’s they were also 15c—she asked for one. Shona smiled sweetly at her.

‘I’m sorry Madame, we don’t sell apples.’

She picked one up. ‘What’s this then?’

‘That, Madame, is an ubel; can’t you read the sign?’

‘That’s an apple, I tell you.’

‘And that’s an ubel, I tell you, Madame. How many would you like?’

Furious, she stalked out of the shop, almost knocking down a customer in the process. Returning to the office, she consulted the list of products sold by a supermarket. There were no ubels. Delighted, she wrote out a summons, returned to the shop in triumph and trust the document into Shona’s hand.

‘You are not authorised to sell ubels.’

She smiled. ‘I’m not selling ubels, Madame.’

She picked up an apple. ‘What’s this then?’

‘That, Madame, is an abel—it’s looks like an ubel, and it tastes like an ubel, but it’s an abel.’

She took 15c from her purse. ‘Give me one and a receipt.’

She picked up an apple. ‘That will be 20c Madame.’

She glared at her. ‘A little while ago these were 15c; how dare you now ask for more.’

She smiled agreeably. ‘That was for the ubels, Madame. The abels are dearer.’

Her anger and color increasing, she took another 5c from her purse.

‘You will be hearing from me when this is analysed in our laboratory.’

As she departed, Shona muttered to herself. I hope you know what you’re doing, Ulick.

*

U
lick stood with Paulo—outside his pub—and watched the convoy of cars drive slowly in the Galway road.

Paulo grinned. ‘Manamann certainly brought this place to life. Jody rang a while ago; all his boats are chartered for the next month. Turla Lodge and all the other hotels are full. Lurglurg says it’s a miracle.’

Ulick looked across the road; Crat was standing outside his office looking angrily at the procession. Not even the great Director would dare try to arrest Ulick in public.

‘How are we going to get that bastard out of Connemara?’ Paulo asked.

‘I don’t know.’

*

C
rat decided to consult local GP, Dr Harry Littleton. An elderly man, a keen sportsman, an excellent doctor, his patients called him “Happy” because he was so grumpy—a man’s man who took no nonsense from no one. Crat bounced into his secluded little surgery in a side street near the church, walked past the secretary as if he owned the place, entered the doctor’s room and sat down opposite the doctor.

Happy looked up. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘You know who I am.’

Of course he did.

‘No, are you a patient of mine?’

He was incensed, but his toe was really painful now.

‘I have come to consult you professionally, but before I do so, I need to know your charges.’

Happy looked surprised: he wasn’t really. He had already received a phone call from his younger colleague, Dr Ruth Jennings. Rising, he went to his secretary’s office. ‘Birney, have you a copy of the Associations charges?’

She rose and took the list off the notice board. ‘Here you are doctor.’

Returning to his office, he handed it to Crat, who studied it closely.

‘I see here doctor that my visit will cost me 60 euro; the other doctor in this town quoted the same figure. Are you not aware that that’s contrary to the USE’s competition Directives?’