Jack and the Devil's Purse (17 page)

‘Ach laddie, you’ve been dreamin! You fell asleep along the shore some place, the way you always wander on them rocks, and you’ve dreamed it.’

‘No, Mother,’ he said, ‘I never dreamed it.’

‘Well, I dinna ken,’ she says, ‘they tell so many tales about folk catchin mermaids. They say you can catch them and you tak off their tail and you can hide their tail or do whatever you can, but I dinna ken very much about it. But I’ll tell ye, gang along to yer auntie and tak some bits o’ messages down to her. I was going to send you down to her anyway. She’s older than me and she kens an awfa lot mair than me about these sorts o’ things. She’s been all her days at the sea, and if there’s anybody in the world can tell ye about mermaids and put that silly notion out o’ yer head, maybe she’ll help ye a wee bit.’

‘Okay, Mother,’ he says. And she could see by it he was kind o’ worried.

So she packs a wee basket with bits o’ things for her old sister, who was getting up in years, maybe in her seventies, gives them to Jack and Jack goes along the shore, his path to his auntie’s.

And when she got him away, ‘That silly laddie o’ mine,’ she says to herself, ‘God knows, maybe he did see a mermaid. Ach, it’s hard to believe, too, that there is such a thing as a mermaid. I heard his father, and a good sailor he was at one time, away for years, sayin that many’s a man had seen a mermaid. They decoyed sailors awa. But ach, I dinna ken. Anyway, he’ll forget it soon.’

But away Jack goes, travels along the beach to his old auntie’s. The old woman stayed on the shore and kept ducks, looked after and kept nothing but ducks. Up he goes. His old auntie was pottering about the house when he landed.

‘Oh it’s yersel, Jack,’ she said. ‘How’s yer mother keeping?’

‘No bad, Auntie. There’s two-three bits o’ things she sent down to ye.’

‘Aye, put them in there. And I’ll come in and mak ye a wee mouthful o’ tea.’

So Jack goes in, sits down at the fireside . . . and then puts a fire on for his auntie. She comes in, mutch on her head and a long frock on her. She sits down at the fireside and gives him something to eat.

‘Ye ken, I’m no very hungry, Auntie,’ he said.

‘Jack, I ken you better than that, son. What’s bothering ye?’

‘Ach well, Auntie, tell ye the truth, ye’ll maybe no believe me what I’m going to tell ye. But . . . I want to catch a mermaid.’

‘What? Laddie, do ye ken what ye’re sayin?’

‘Aye, Auntie, I want to catch a mermaid and I dinna ken how to catch her!’

The old woman sat for a long, long while. She thought. She said, ‘Laddie, did ye see a mermaid?’

‘Aye, Auntie, I’ve seen a mermaid,’ he said. ‘I’ve been seein her now for months, all summer. And she comes into this wee narrow lagoon, but when I go down she escapes back through it and I’ve nae way in the world to catch her.’

She says, ‘Laddie, ye ken, I half believe ye and I dinna believe ye.’

‘But, Auntie,’ he says, ‘between me and my father in the grave, I’m tellin ye the truth! I’ve seen a mermaid.’

‘Laddie, you’ve got to be careful what you catch in the seas round about here. There’s many and many a thing that naebody kens that I ken. There’s many a droll thing can be catcht in the sea! Well, if your mind’s made up, there’s only one way to catch a mermaid . . . you’ll have to go and search for Blind Rory the Net-maker. And he’ll mak ye a net to
catch a mermaid if it’s a mermaid you want. But I’m telling ye, laddie, for yer ain sake, ye’re better to leave well alone! Oh, I’ve heard stories o’ men catchin mermaids and hidin their tails and doin all sorts o’ things, but never nae good come out o’ it. It’s ay bad luck! Oh, they’re bonnie things when you see them, but they can also be a sheer lot o’ trouble to you.’

‘Auntie, I want to catch a mermaid!’ he said. ‘I’ve seen her, I love her and I want her.’

‘Well,’ said the old auntie, ‘let you be your own judge. You go and search out Blind Rory.’

‘But where am I goin to find Blind Rory?’

‘Well, the last I heard o’ him, he stays many, many miles awa fae here on the beach, him and his granddaughter. And he maks nets. He’s the man to see! I dinna ken if he’ll gie ye a net or no, or mak ye yin, or what ye can do. But for yer ain mind and for yer ain sense o’ peace or justice . . . go back and tell yer mother what I tellt ye, to forget the whole thing! And leave well alone.’

‘No, Auntie, there’ll be nae peace for me till I catch the mermaid.’

‘Well, well,’ she said, ‘son, please yersel. But I’m only advisin ye . . .’

‘I ken ye mean well, Auntie, but it’s gotten wi me that I get nae peace o’ mind till I catch this mermaid.’

‘But, son, what are ye goin to do with the mermaid after ye catch it?’

He says, ‘Auntie, she’s a young woman, the bonniest young woman I’ve ever seen in my life. And all she’s got is a fish’s tail – the rest o’ her is perfect.’

‘Ah,’ she said, ‘I ken. I heard my great-granny, your great-great-granny, telling me stories when I was a wee infant years ago that there were yin man that catcht a mermaid
wonst. And he was a sair punished man. So I’m advisin ye, Jack, for yer ain good, to go back to yer mother and forget all about it!’

‘No,’ he said, ‘Auntie! I’m no goin to forget all about it.’

‘Oh well,’ she says, ‘please yersel. Anyway, there a couple o’ dozen o’ duck eggs. Tak them up to yer mother when ye go back. And go and please yersel. Ye’re a young man, ye’re twenty years of age and there’s nae use o’ me tellin ye anything. Ye canna put an old head on young shoulders, so you do what ye want to do and come back and tell me how you got on. And if there’s any help that I can gie ye, remember I’m always here!’

‘Right, Auntie!’ he said. He bade her farewell and away he went. He travelled back, back home and up to his mother. Mother was in the house.

‘Well, Jack,’ she said, ‘ye’re hame.’

‘Aye, Mother, I’m hame.’

‘How did ye get on? Did ye see yer Auntie Maggie?’

‘Aye,’ he said, ‘I seen her.’

‘And what did she tell ye? Did she knock some sense into yer head?’

‘No, Mother, she never knocked nae sense into my head, or she never knocked nane out o’ it. She tellt me a lot o’ things, but . . . she tellt me, Mother, to gang and seek out Blind Rory.’

‘Aha,’ says his mother, ‘that’s a job alane – seekin out Blind Rory the Net-maker! Some folk says he works with the Devil.’

‘Well,’ he said, ‘if he works with the Devil surely he can mak me a net. I’ll pay him for it. I’ve a few shillings in my pocket.’

‘Well look, Jack,’ she says, ‘you’re the only son I’ve got. And since your father dee’d you’re the only help I’ve ever
had. And I dinna want to see naethin comin ower ye. I couldna tak it if onything happened to ye. But if ye want to go and seek out Blind Rory ye’ll have to travel into the next town and through that to the next town, fifty-odd miles awa fae here, places I’ve never been in my life. But anyway, the last I heard, my old sister tellt me that some wanderin sailor tellt her, that Blind Rory stays in some kind of cave, him and his grand-daughter, near some town.’

‘Well well, Mother,’ he says, ‘I’ll no get nae peace o’ mind till I go and find out for myself.’

So next morning Jack got up early. His mother packed him a wee bundle of whatever he needed to carry him along the road, his coat and his bit o’ meat in a bundle for himself. And he flung it on his back and away he goes. On he travels, he travels and he travels and on and on and on. Comes night-time he kindles a wee fire, makes himself a bite to eat and lies down to sleep at the back of a tree. He does the same the next day and the next day till he comes to the first town. And by good luck it is a fishing town. Jack never was here before, the place is all strange to him. And he sees an old man sitting on a summer-seat, a seat at the side o’ the shore. He walks up to the old man.

‘Excuse me, old man,’ he said, ‘I’m lookin for a man they cry Blind Rory the Net-maker. He’s supposed to be no far fae here.’

The old man took a good look at him, scratched his head, ‘Ah laddie, laddie,’ he said, ‘what are ye wantin Blind Rory for? I thought the likes o’ you would hae mair sense to keep awa fae folk like that! Do ye no ken the legend that Blind Rory works with the Devil? All these shipwrecked sailors and things that’s done in the sea, they say Blind Rory’s the cause o’ it. He wrecks boats and things for the sake o’ gettin the stuff off them when they come in wi the tide.’

‘Ach,’ says Jack, ‘I dinna believe them stories. I’ll see for mysel.’

‘Well, I’ll tell ye,’ says the old man, ‘I’m an old sailor mysel. And ye’ll gang on twenty-five mile to the next town, and when ye get there go down to the beach. And right close to the waterside ye’ll come to a wee white house, and that’s my old brother. Tell him I sent ye and he’ll help ye!’

‘Good,’ says Jack, and he bade the old man farewell.

Away goes Jack and he travels and he travels and he travels on. He comes to the town and walks through the town, walks along the beach and he comes to the wee white house. He walks round to the front o’ the house and there’s an old bended man with a long grey beard sawing sticks at the front o’ the house.

‘Hello!’ says Jack.

‘Hello!’ says the old man. ‘What can I do for ye?’

‘Well,’ says Jack, ‘to tell ye the truth, I’ve come from the neighbouring town and I met an old man who said he was your brother.’

‘Oh aye,’ he said, ‘my old brother, oh aye. I haena seen him for years. But anyway, what have ye come to see me about?’

‘Well, to tell ye the truth, old man, I’ve come to see ye – could ye help me?’

‘Ah well,’ says the old man, ‘by the looks o’ you, a young strong powerful man, ye dinna need nae help fae the likes o’ me!’

‘Ah but,’ says Jack, ‘the kind o’ help I want, I canna do it for mysel. I want to ken where’s Blind Rory.’

‘Blind Rory?’ says the man, ‘What are you wantin him for? Ye ken it’s even bad luck to speak about Blind Rory in this place, never mind gang and see him!’

Jack says, ‘I want him to mak me a net.’

‘Oh,’ says the old man, ‘he’ll mak ye a net. He’ll mak ye a
net, but it’s what ye get in the net after ye get it! I ken many stories about folk that bought nets fae him here and . . . droll, droll things happen to them. His nets is good, but it’s what you catch in them . . .’

‘Well, that’s what I want,’ says Jack. ‘I want a net to catch a mermaid!’

The old man says, ‘What age are ye?’

‘I’m twenty.’

‘Oh, ye’re twenty. What age do you think I am?’ the old man says to him.

‘Ah,’ Jack says, ‘ye’re an old man about sixty or seventy.’

‘I’m ninety! And I’ve seen an awfa lot o’ mair years than you. And I’m telling ye, don’t ever try and catch a mermaid! Because it’s bad luck. Ye’re too young to get bad luck at yer time o’ life.’

Jack says, ‘Look, old man, are ye goin to tell me or are you no goin to tell me where can I find Blind Rory? I’m no wanting nae mair o’ yer stories. I’m sick with you and your brother and my mother and my auntie all tellin me the same thing! Can you no let me think mysel what to do for a while?’

‘Well,’ says the old man, ‘you have it your way. Go along that beach there and go round the first big clift face to the second clift face, and then the third clift face you’ll come to a bay. And somewhere in that bay – there’s nae road to it – ye’ll find a cave, and in that cave is Blind Rory with his grand-daughter.’

‘Right,’ says Jack.

‘But I’m tellin ye, it’s a long, long way and it’s a sheer clift all the way, so you’d better watch yerself!’

‘I’ll watch mysel,’ says Jack.

He goes back to the town and he buys two-three messages to help him on his way, and away he goes. He wanders on
and he wanders on up this wee clift and down this wee clift, round this wee bay and through this wee path. He wanders here and wanders there till he goes round the first clift, round the second clift, round the third clift right down till he comes to the third bay, till he’s that tired he has to sit down on the sand with his back against a rock. And he must have been sitting for about an hour when he sees this bonnie red-headed lassie with her hair down her back running down along the beach.

Jack saw her and he ran after her.

When she saw him coming she tried to make off, but he was faster than her and he catcht up with her. She turned around to him and she was like a wildcat.

She said, ‘What do you want off me, leave me alone! Youse folk . . . we keep to wirsel, we don’t want—’

‘Wait, wait, wait, lassie,’ he said, ‘wait! I dinna want to do ye nae harm. I’m no here to touch ye.’

‘Well, what do you want off me? I never interfere with nobody in this world, so leave us alone.’

He said, ‘I want to see your grandfather.’

The lassie stopped, ‘What do you want to see my grandfather for?’

He said, ‘I want to get a net fae him.’

‘Oh aye! Well if that’s all ye want, you’d better come wi me.’ So the lassie walked along the shore and he followed her up this path to this clift face.

She said, ‘Stand there!’ an opening hung with canvas in the face of the clift.

Jack must have stood for about five minutes and he heard arguing and chatting and speaking inside this big monster cave. He could hear the voices echoing away back into it. But anyway, the lassie came out, ‘Ye can come in seeing you’ve come this distance.’ In goes Jack.

When he landed inside this cave it was the same as if you were going into the biggest dining hall you ever saw in your life. This place was huge, just like a monster house. And it was all hung with all the fishing things under the sun, stuff that was salvaged from boats that went down. There were barrels and boxes and nets and creels and everything under the sun that was needed for fishing. And sitting on a stool in the middle of the floor beside this big fire was the biggest old man that Jack had ever seen in his life. And his hair was down his back and it was fiery red, so was his beard. And he was stone blind. When he spoke his voice rumbled right through the cave inside.

‘What can I do for ye, boy?’ he said. ‘Come forward, boy, where I can hear ye closer. And what do ye want of me?’

‘Well,’ Jack said, ‘I’ve come a long way. You’re Blind Rory, known as Blind Rory.’