The Dirty Dust (11 page)

“A round table, Caitriona?” I says. “But sure, nobody has a round table around here apart from rich people. Why wouldn't he just eat from an Irish table just the same as every other priest we ever had?”

“The last time he was up with Nell,” she says, “she had a silver teapot that Blotchy Brian's Maggie got in America. I'll get a loan of a silver teapot from Huckster Joan, as I want to be every bit as good as her, and better as well. The uppity slut!”

I gave her the pound. She bought the round table. Things were cheap that time. She laid out the priest's breakfast on it, and served tea in the silver teapot she got from Huckster Joan.

—By the oak of this coffin, I swear, Peter the Publican, that I gave Caitriona the pound, and I never saw one glimpse of it until the day I died, whatever Huckster Joan did with her teapot …

—You lied, you witch of the piddling potatoes. Don't believe her, my dear Peter. I stuffed every brass farthing of it back into her fist when I sold the pigs at the next St. Brigid's Day fair … What would you do with her? Your mother didn't often tell the truth either … I died as pure as the crystal, thanks be to God … Let it never be said that Caitriona Paudeen went to her grave owing as much as a red cent to anybody. Not like you, stingy Kitty of the pissy piddling potatoes. Your family left a heap of debts stringing after them everywhere. Who are you to talk! You killed yourself and your family with your piddling pissy potatoes … Don't believe her, Peter … Don't believe her … I gave her every brass farthing into the palm of her hand …

I didn't, you witch? … I didn't, is that it? …

Hoora, Margaret! … Margaret… . Did you hear what Kitty said? I'll burst! I'm going to burst! …

I am the Trumpet of the Graveyard. Hearken unto my voice to my voice. You must hearken to what I have to say …

For I am the voice that was, that is, and that ever will be. I was the first voice in the shapelessness of the universe. I am the last voice that will be heard in the scattering of the ultimate destruction. I was the gurgling voice in the first pregnancy in the first womb. When the corn is gathered in the barn, my voice will call the last harvester home from the Field of Time. For I am the son of the ancestor of Time and of Life and the governor of their household. I am the harvester, the stacker and the flail of Time. I am the keeper, the custodian and the key holder of Life. Listen to my voice! You have to listen …

There is neither time nor life in the Graveyard. Neither brightness nor darkness. There the sun does not go down, neither do floods roar, nor winds blow nor change bite. The day does not stretch out, nor are the Pleiades being hunted by Orion; neither does the living thing dress itself in the garb of Congratulations and Celebration. The glinting eyes of the child are not found there. Nor the simple blush of youth. Nor the rosy cheeks of the young girl. Nor the kind voice of the educated woman. Nor the innocent smile of the old person. Eyes, and blushes, and cheeks, and grins all get mashed into the one undifferentiated alembic mush of the clay. The flush of life does not have a voice there, nor does the voice have the flush of life, because there is neither flush nor life nor voice in the disinterested chemistry of the grave. There are only bones withering, flesh rotting and body
parts that were once alive now putrefying. There is only this earthen cupboard and the tattered suit of life to be gnawed by moths …

But above the ground there is the light and lively lissom lap of air. The full tide is begotten with gusto in the pulse of the shore. The grass of the meadow is like unto that which had a vessel of fresh milk poured upon it. Every bush and clump and field is like a royal serving girl gently practising her curtsey before she came into the presence of the King. The bird gives voice to his soft melancholy music in the garden. The eyes of the children are magicked by the toys that fall out of the wondrous garden of innocence. The torch of the revival of hope appears in the cheeks of the courageous young. The foxgloves which could be picked in the meadows of eternity light up in the shy cheeks of the young girls. The singular flower of the bright bush blooms in the gentle face of the mother. The youngsters with their ringing laughter are playing hide and go seek in the barnyards, while their high-pitched joy seeks to reach the summit of Jacob's ladder and return by it from Paradise. And the muttering murmur of lovers seeps out from the corners of the backroads like the waiflike whinnying of the wind through flower beds of cowslips in the land of youth.

But the shake of the old man is taking its toll. The young man's bones are stiffening. The grey wisps are blending with the gold in the hair of the woman. A paleness like of serpent's slime is invading the clarity of the child's eye. Questions and querulousness nibble at joy and the carefree spirit. Weakness is beginning to banish strength. Despair is overwhelming love. The shroud is being woven by the baby blanket, and the grave is being prepared instead of the cradle. Life is paying its dues to death …

I am the Trumpet of the Graveyard. Hearken unto my voice! You must hearken to what I have to say …

—… Hoora! Who is that? Who are you? Are you my son's wife? Didn't I tell you she'd be here at her next birth? …

—John Willy, no less—unless they have to christen me again in
this dive—that's what they called me in the place I came from. The heart …

—John Willy. Oh my God. They're putting you down in the wrong grave, Johnny. This is Caitriona Paudeen's grave …

—Isn't that how it is in this graveyard, my dear Caitriona. But, I can't talk to the living. There's something at me. My heart …

—What kind of funeral did I have, John Willy?

—Funeral? The heart, Caitriona! The heart! I was going to get the pension. I didn't hear a whisper. I drank a sup of tea. I toddled down to the Common Field to get a basket of potatoes. When I was letting them down when I got home the strap ripped and it came down arseways. It gave me a jolt in my side. I was left completely breathless …

—What kind of funeral did I have, is what I'm asking?

—The heart, may God help us! The heart was weak, Caitriona. I had a dodgy heart …

—Fuck you and your heart! You have to forget about that shite here …

—I know but the heart is a poor thing Caitriona. We were making a new pen for the colt that we bought just after Christmas. We were nearly finished except for the last bit. I myself wasn't able to give that much help to the youngfella, but nonetheless, he'd appreciate it. You wouldn't give a damn, only the weather was great for the last while …

—Weather! Last while! They're two things you won't have to worry about here, John Willy. You were always a bit of a lazy layabout. Tell me this much! Why are you not taking a blind bit of notice of me? Did I have a big funeral? …

—A fine big funeral!

—A fine big funeral, John Willy, did you say? …

—A fine big funeral. The heart …

—Listen, get stuffed and forget your heart unless it was going to do you some good. Do you hear me? You have to give up that old guff. Nobody will listen to that kind of crap here. How was my altar?

—A fine big funeral …

—I know that, but what about the altar? …

—A fine big altar …

—What altar, I'm asking. Don't be such a dour puss all the time. What altar?

—Peter the Publican had a big altar, and Huckster Joan, and Maggie Frances, and Kitty …

Don't I know it! And that's what I'm asking you. Wasn't I aboveground myself that time? But what altar did I have, me, Caitriona Paudeen? Altar! Seventeen pounds, or sixteen pounds, or fourteen pounds? …

—Ten pounds twelve.

—Ten pounds! Ten pounds! Now Johnny, are you certain it was ten pounds, not eleven pounds, or twelve pounds, or …

—Ten pounds, Caitriona! Ten pounds! A fine big altar, by God. Not a word of a lie, it was a fine big altar. Everyone said it was. I was talking to your sister Nell: “Caitriona had a fine big altar,” she says. “I never thought she'd come as much as two or three pounds close to it, or four either.” The heart …

—Bugger and blast your heart! Give it over, Johnny, for chrissake! … Were the Hillbillies there? …

—I'm telling you, that's what she said: “I never thought she'd come as much as two or three …”

—The Hillbillies weren't there?

—The Hillbillies! They heard nothing about it. Paddy was to tell them about it: “Ara,” Nell says, “why would you be dragging them making them walk all the way down here, the poor creatures.” I swear that's what she said. The heart. A dicey heart …

—Isn't it a terrible pity that your heart wasn't a poison lump stuck in Nell's gob! Were the Glen Booley crowd there? …

—Not as much as a toe of them.

—The people from Derry Lough?

—Huckster Joan's cousin was being brought to the church the other day … You wouldn't mind only we have that weather now for quite a while, and we were working away on the pen …

—Chalky Steven wasn't there, then? …

—We bought a foal after Christmas …

—May God be good to you, Johnny, but don't let the people buried here think you haven't a smidgen of sense more than that! … Was Chalky Steven there or not?

—Not a bit of him, but Paddy said he was talking to him on the fair day, and he said to him: “Most certainly, Paddy Lydon,” he said, “I would have burst my gut to go to the funeral. I wouldn't let it be said …”

—“‘That I didn't go to Caitriona Paudeen's funeral, even if I had to crawl there on my two knees. But I never heard a hint of it until the night she was buried. A foal with …'”

Chalky Steven, he's a total crap artist! … What was my coffin like?

—Ten pounds, Caitriona. A fine big altar.

—Are you gabbling on about the coffin or the altar? Why don't you just listen! … What price was my coffin? A coffin of …

—The very best coffin from Tim's place, three half-barrels of stout, and poteen flowing. Twice as much booze as was needed. Nell said that to him, but there was no talking to him, he had to have the three half-barrels. We were swimming in the stuff. Even if I was the oldfella there, I drank twelve mugs of it that night, not to mention the amount I had the night you were brought to the church, and the day of the funeral. To tell you the whole truth, Caitriona, despite all the respect and affection I have for you, there's no way I would have drunk all that much if I knew that the heart was a bit dicey …

—You didn't hear that Patrick said anything about burying me somewhere else in the cemetery?

—I got a little dart in my side, and it clean took my breath away. It was the heart, God help me …

—You can keep that to yourself, Johnny. Listen to me. You didn't hear that Patrick said anything about burying me …

—You'd have been buried anyway, Caitriona, it didn't matter how much was drunk. Even if I was the one with the dicey heart …

—You are the most useless codger ever since Adam took a bite
out of the apple. Did you or did you not hear that Patrick said anything at all about me being buried somewhere else in the cemetery?

—Paddy was going to bury you in the Pound Place, but Nell said that the Fifteen Shilling Place was good enough for anyone, and that it was a real pity for a poor person to go into debt.

—The harridan! She would say that, wouldn't she! She was in the house, then?

—A fine handsome foal we bought after Christmas. Ten pounds …

—Did you pay ten pounds for the foal? You already said that ten pounds was paid for my altar …

—Your altar got ten pounds certainly, Caitriona. Ten pounds, twelve shillings. That was it exactly. Blotchy Brian turned up just as the funeral was turning at the top of the road, and he was trying to give Paddy a shilling, but he wouldn't take it. That would have been ten pounds thirteen, if he had taken it …

—He was trying to stuff it down his craw. Blotchy Brian! If the ugly old duffer was looking for a woman, he wouldn't be so slow … But listen to me, John Willy, listen to me … Good man! Was Nell at the house?

—She didn't leave it from the time you died until the time you went to the church. She was serving the women in the house the day of the funeral. I went into the back room to fill a few pipes of tobacco for the shower from Gort Ribbuck, they were far too wary to come in from the road. Myself and Nell started to talk:

“Caitriona's a lovely corpse, may God have mercy on her soul,” I says myself. “And you laid her out so beautifully …”

Nell shoved me into the corner out of the way: “I don't really want to say anything,” she said. “After all, she was my sister …”

I swear, that's what she said.

—But what did she say? Spit it out …

—When I was lowering it down going through the town, I got a little dart in my side. Took my breath away, didn't have a puff left. Not even a puff! The heart …

—Sweet Jesus help us! Yourself and Nell were ensconced in the
corner and she said something like: “I wouldn't really like to say anything, John Willy. After all, she was my sister …”

—I swear that's what she said. May I never leave this place if that is not what she said: “Caitriona was some whore of a worker,” she said, “but she wasn't really as clean, may God have mercy on her soul, as everybody else. If she was, she would have been laid out beautifully. Just see how dirty this shroud now is, Johnny. Look at the smudges on it. Aren't they a disgrace. Wouldn't you think she could have had her laying out clothes scrubbed and ready, and set aside. If she had been laid up for a long time, I wouldn't mind. Everyone is noticing those splotches on the shroud. Cleanliness is very important, Johnny …”

—Glory be to God! Jesus, Mary and Joseph! I left them as clean as crystal in the corner of the coffin. My daughter-in-law or the boys mucked it up. Or the gang who laid me out. Who laid me out anyway, Johnny?