Read Online The Teapots Are Out and Other Eccentric Tales from Ireland by John B. Keane - Free Book Online

welcome warmth. In this happy state he departed the Anglers’ Rest and sauntered, at leisure, to the river side. Twilight hung between the river and the sky. In all too short a time darkness would envelop the scene and the magical fleeting moments of transition would be no more. Already the shadows were expanded to their fullest. Any moment now the last pale threads of evening would vanish into the dark tapestry of night. Jimmy Bowen proceeded apace towards his favourite tree. The world stood still or so it seemed. The mottled water moved soundlessly on. Jimmy Bowen stopped, arrested in his tracks by what seemed to be a female form standing under the wide branches of the sycamore. His heart fluttered. His breathing quickened. He peered prayerfully through the half-light, advancing slowly. There was no mistaking the form. It was definitely that of a woman. A flimsy headscarf adorned her averted head. A white mackintosh covered her slender frame. This cannot be, Jimmy Bowen told himself and yet the creature is there, living and breathing as sure as darkness is descending. He harrumphed delicately lest he startle her. She turned suddenly and in a thrice she was in his arms. All at once Jimmy Bowen knew that something huge, something altogether monumental had been missing from his life until that moment. The embrace lasted an eternity or so Jimmy thought. In reality it ended after half a minute. He dared not look at her face. He risked a hasty glance and was pleased with what he saw in the darkness. Her features were somewhat angular but pleasantly defined. A solitary tear or what he took to be a tear glistened on her cheek under the weak moonlight. This was to be expected. They had both waited for too
long a time. He was equally overcome even if there was no tear to prove it. Gently he took her by a hand that melted immediately into his. Slowly they returned along the way he had come. Mrs Malone looked up apprehensively when the door opened. She always did. A pub was a pub and you never knew when a troublemaker might put in an appearance. The relief showed on her face when Jimmy Bowen entered. This was wiped away altogether and replaced by genuine amazement when she beheld his companion.
    â€˜Sweet, Sacred heart,’ she addressed her customers, “tis Mousy Miller and she without her specs.‘
    All within earshot turned to stare. A hush fell over the bar. Mrs Malone allowed her eyes to focus on Jimmy Bowen. There was a sort of glow to him. He still stood beside the doorway in a total trance, Miss Miller by his side. It was as though they were waiting for somebody to direct them. There was a word somewhere for the way Jimmy Bowen looked. Mrs Malone could not bring it to mind at once. Moonstruck, that was it, moonstruck.
    After a while one of Jimmy’s cronies arose and located seats for the pair.
    â€˜I declare but she looks downright attractive,’ Mrs Malone confided to the customer nearest her. ‘A bit too much make-up maybe but, still and for all, attractive. You’d hardly know her.’
    At the counter Jimmy dawdled happily for a moment or two.
    â€˜I’ll have a Jameson,’ he said.
    â€˜And Miss Miller?’ Mrs Malone put the question.
    â€˜Miss Miller?’
    â€˜Behind you.’
    Jimmy Bowen turned slowly and directed all his fading
energies towards a hard look at his companion.
    â€˜Dammit if she isn’t a dead ringer for Miss Miller.’ He threw the observation over his shoulder to Mrs Malone.
    â€˜Ask her what she’s having.’ Mrs Malone’s exasperation was beginning to show. Still Jimmy refused to budge. He just stood there with his back to the counter, happily if perplexedly contemplating his new-found love.
    â€˜What are you having, dear?’ Mrs Malone called.
    â€˜Sweet sherry if you please,’ came the demure and immediate reply.
    â€˜Dammit if she don’t talk like her as well.’ For the first time a note of alarm registered