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Authors: Jeannette Haien
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she made a shifting, energetic gesture and asked, “Could you tell me the time please, Father?”
He read his watch aloud to her.
“Kathleen Martin and Maeve O’Callaghan are coming on the hour with the others,” she said excitedly. “Catherine McPhillemy, God keep her, got them for me.”
He took in her maddening gladness at having Kathleen and Maeve to keen for Kevin. She knew—ah! he knew she knew; he’d said it from the pulpit a hundred times or more—of his disapproval of professional keeners. “Banshee lamentation,” he’d labelled the practice, “that robs a wake of its true grief and turns it wild.”
Had she not heard the words, or was he, as a priest, so little to her she felt no need to give him mind? And to spring it on him like this, as a fact of imminent occurrence, causing him this itch of pique, nettle that she was, sitting there before him, her excitement all unhidden, and himself cut by a blade of sudden hurt and the question as suddenly formed in his mind: Am I, then, less to her than I would wish to be?
“Father?” she ventured timidly. “You look struck.” Her eyes, as his own met them, were soft and anxious, enormously proximate and warm. “You’re all right, Father?”
“ All right? ” he surprised himself by calling out, “When I’ve just learned I’m to look forward to a headache and to being deafened by the howling of she-wolves?”
She hooted, “Father!” and to his astonishment let out a high peal of a girlish giggle. “Father!” and again, the alluring giggle: “What a thing to say of Kathleen and Maeve!”
“Their baying ,” covering his ears with a wild gesture (surely he’d gone crazy) and positively enjoying her delight at him as a sufferer.
“And them only wanting to keep the wake lively!” she defended through her laughter. “Father!”
And himself, then, giving over to laughter steeped in irony, for to Enda, of course (he should have known), keeners howl louder of life than of death.
He said at last, smiling, mocking despair: “Whatever’s to be done with you?”
She ducked her head: “Ah now, Father—”
Then, calming: “But there’s plenty of time still for you to tell me more,” and, picking up: “Was Mr. Dunne surprised when you and Kevin decided to leave?”
“Oh, that he was indeed,” she answered readily, her mood quieting to match his. “He offered Kevin more in wages and said he’d speak to Mrs. Bowler too about a bit more for myself, made a point of asking us if we felt we’d been wronged in any way. Kept at us, you know. But Kevin stood firm. When he saw we were bent on going, he told us he was sorry to lose us and if we ever changed our minds and decided to come back, he’d always make a place for us.” She smiled proudly.
“You’d considered of course what you’d do next?”
“We had,” she said definitely. “Whenever we’d the chance, we’d talked of little else.”
“And?”
“Well, we had it in our hearts to be near the sea again….” Her face took on a ruminative look. “That we’d grown up close by it, I don’t know, it was in our blood, the smell of it and the fogs…. I know fogs put some people off. Take poor Eileen McCafferty now, fogs are a torment for her, nothing but ghosts in them as far as she’s concerned. That’s from her dad’s drowning, of course….But for Kevin and myself growing up, whatever variety and lift there’d been to our days had come from the sea, the clouds blown in and the storms and fogs, and then those grand days of a bright sun and wind that’d make us feel like lambs, running and cuffing each other, nothing able to tame us, not even our dad raising his arm to us and pointing to the work still to be done….” She smiled. “So we figured to move in stages southwest from Ballymote, towards the coast.”
“And?” his eyes fixed on her.
“I still can tell you these forty-eight years later the main places we passed through, and myself nor Kevin not ever
He read his watch aloud to her.
“Kathleen Martin and Maeve O’Callaghan are coming on the hour with the others,” she said excitedly. “Catherine McPhillemy, God keep her, got them for me.”
He took in her maddening gladness at having Kathleen and Maeve to keen for Kevin. She knew—ah! he knew she knew; he’d said it from the pulpit a hundred times or more—of his disapproval of professional keeners. “Banshee lamentation,” he’d labelled the practice, “that robs a wake of its true grief and turns it wild.”
Had she not heard the words, or was he, as a priest, so little to her she felt no need to give him mind? And to spring it on him like this, as a fact of imminent occurrence, causing him this itch of pique, nettle that she was, sitting there before him, her excitement all unhidden, and himself cut by a blade of sudden hurt and the question as suddenly formed in his mind: Am I, then, less to her than I would wish to be?
“Father?” she ventured timidly. “You look struck.” Her eyes, as his own met them, were soft and anxious, enormously proximate and warm. “You’re all right, Father?”
“ All right? ” he surprised himself by calling out, “When I’ve just learned I’m to look forward to a headache and to being deafened by the howling of she-wolves?”
She hooted, “Father!” and to his astonishment let out a high peal of a girlish giggle. “Father!” and again, the alluring giggle: “What a thing to say of Kathleen and Maeve!”
“Their baying ,” covering his ears with a wild gesture (surely he’d gone crazy) and positively enjoying her delight at him as a sufferer.
“And them only wanting to keep the wake lively!” she defended through her laughter. “Father!”
And himself, then, giving over to laughter steeped in irony, for to Enda, of course (he should have known), keeners howl louder of life than of death.
He said at last, smiling, mocking despair: “Whatever’s to be done with you?”
She ducked her head: “Ah now, Father—”
Then, calming: “But there’s plenty of time still for you to tell me more,” and, picking up: “Was Mr. Dunne surprised when you and Kevin decided to leave?”
“Oh, that he was indeed,” she answered readily, her mood quieting to match his. “He offered Kevin more in wages and said he’d speak to Mrs. Bowler too about a bit more for myself, made a point of asking us if we felt we’d been wronged in any way. Kept at us, you know. But Kevin stood firm. When he saw we were bent on going, he told us he was sorry to lose us and if we ever changed our minds and decided to come back, he’d always make a place for us.” She smiled proudly.
“You’d considered of course what you’d do next?”
“We had,” she said definitely. “Whenever we’d the chance, we’d talked of little else.”
“And?”
“Well, we had it in our hearts to be near the sea again….” Her face took on a ruminative look. “That we’d grown up close by it, I don’t know, it was in our blood, the smell of it and the fogs…. I know fogs put some people off. Take poor Eileen McCafferty now, fogs are a torment for her, nothing but ghosts in them as far as she’s concerned. That’s from her dad’s drowning, of course….But for Kevin and myself growing up, whatever variety and lift there’d been to our days had come from the sea, the clouds blown in and the storms and fogs, and then those grand days of a bright sun and wind that’d make us feel like lambs, running and cuffing each other, nothing able to tame us, not even our dad raising his arm to us and pointing to the work still to be done….” She smiled. “So we figured to move in stages southwest from Ballymote, towards the coast.”
“And?” his eyes fixed on her.
“I still can tell you these forty-eight years later the main places we passed through, and myself nor Kevin not ever
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