In a recent post, I described how I'd bought a copy of "Exploring English", the old Inter Cert English school book.
Most of the short stories in it are really good, with the exception of Daniel Corkery's rather boring rural Ireland dirges... a bit too Dev-like for me, I'm afraid.
The one below, by master of the short story Frank O'Connor, is - in contrast - a masterpiece. Not bad at all for someone from Cork.
Maybe you'll remember it? Even as a kid it made a big impression on me. If you're reading it for the first time, lucky you.
Frank O’Connor: Guests of the Nation (1931)
At dusk the big
Englishman, Belcher, would shift his long legs out of the ashes and say "
Well, chums, what about it ? " and Noble and myself would say "All
right, chum " (for we had picked up some of their curious expressions),
and the little Englishman, Hawkins, would light the lamp and bring out the
cards. Sometimes Jeremiah Donovan would come up and supervise the game, and
get excited over Hawkins' cards, which he always played badly, and shout at him
as if he was one of our own, "Ah, you divil, why didn't you play the tray ?"
But ordinarily
Jeremiah was a sober and contented poor devil like the big Englishman, Belcher,
and was looked up to only because he was a fair hand at documents, though he
was slow even with them. He wore a small cloth hat and big gaiters over his
long pants, and you seldom saw him with his hands out of his pockets. He
reddened when you talked to him, tilting from toe to heel and back, and looking
down all the time at his big farmer's feet. Noble and myself used to make fun
of his broad accent, because we were both from the town.
I could not at the
time see the point of myself and Noble guarding Belcher and Hawkins at all, for
it was my belief that you could have planted that pair down anywhere from this
to Claregalway and they'd have taken root there like a native weed. I never in
my short experience saw two men take to the country as they did.
They were passed on to
us by the Second Battalion when the search for them became too hot, and Noble
and myself, being young, took them over with a natural feeling of
responsibility, but Hawkins made us look like fools when he showed that he knew
the country better than we did.
" You're the
bloke they call Bonaparte," he says to me. " Mary Brigid O'Connell
told me to ask what you'd done with the pair of her brother's socks you
borrowed."
For it seemed, as they
explained it, that the Second had little evenings, and some of the girls of the
neighborhood turned up, and, seeing they were such decent chaps, our fellows
could not leave the two Englishmen out. Hawkins learned to dance " The
Walls of Limerick," "The Siege of Ennis " and “The Waves of Tory " as well as any of
them, though we could not return the compliment, because our lads at that time
did not dance foreign dances on principle.
So whatever privileges
Belcher and Hawkins had with the Second they just took naturally with us, and
after the first couple of days we gave up all pretence of keeping an eye on
them. Not that they could have got far, because they had accents you could cut
with a knife, and wore khaki tunics and overcoats with civilian pants and
boots, but I believe myself they never had any idea of escaping and were quite
content to be where they were.
It was a treat to see
how Belcher got off with the old woman in the house where we were staying. She
was a great warrant to scold, and cranky even with us, but before ever she had
a chance of giving our guests, as I may call them, a lick of her tongue,
Belcher had made her his friend for life. She was breaking sticks, and Belcher,
who had not been more than ten minutes in the house, jumped up and went over to
her.
"Allow me,
madam," he said, smiling his queer little smile. "Please allow
me," and he took the hatchet from her. She was too surprised to speak, and
after that, Belcher would be at her heels, carrying a bucket, a basket or a
load of turf. As Noble said, he got into looking before she leapt, and hot
water, or any little thing she wanted, Belcher would have ready for her. For such
a huge man (and though I am five foot ten myself I had to look up at him) he
had an uncommon lack of speech. It took us a little while to get used to him,
walking in and out like a ghost, without speaking. Especially because Hawkins
talked enough for a platoon, it was strange to hear Belcher with his toes in
the ashes come out with a solitary " Excuse me, chum," or "
That's right, chum." His one and only passion was cards, and he was a
remarkably good card player. He could have skinned myself and Noble, but
whatever we lost to him, Hawkins lost to us, and Hawkins only played with the
money Belcher gave him.
Hawkins lost to us
because he had too much old gab, and we probably lost to Belcher for the same
reason. Hawkins and Noble argued about religion into the early hours of the
morning, and Hawkins worried the life out of' Noble, who had a brother a
priest, with a string of questions that would puzzle a cardinal. Even in
treating of holy subjects, Hawkins had a deplorable tongue. I never met a man
who could mix such a variety of cursing and bad language into any argument. He
was a terrible man, and a fright to argue. He never did a stroke of work, and
when he had no one else to argue with, he got stuck in the old woman.
He met his match in
her, for when he tried to get her to complain profanely of the drought she gave
him a great comedown by blaming it entirely on Jupiter Pluvius (a deity
neither Hawkins nor I had ever heard of, though Noble said that among the
pagans it was believed that he had something to do with the rain). Another day
he was swearing at the capitalists for starting the German war when the old
lady laid down her iron, puckered up her little crab's mouth and said:
"Mr. Hawkins, you
can say what you like about the war, and think you'll deceive me because I'm
only a simple poor countrywoman, but I know what started the war. It was the
Italian Count that stole the heathen divinity out of the temple of Japan.
Believe me, Mr. Hawkins, nothing but sorrow and want can follow people who
disturb the hidden powers."
A queer old girl, all
right.
II
One evening we had our
tea and Hawkins lit the lamp and we all sat into cards. Jeremiah Donovan came
in too, and sat and watched us for a while, and it suddenly struck me that he
had no great love for the two Englishmen. It came as a surprise to me because I
had noticed nothing of it before.
Late in the evening a
really terrible argument blew up between Hawkins and Noble about capitalists
and priests and love of country.
"The capitalists
pay the priests to tell you about the next world so that you won't notice what
the bastards are up to in this," said Hawkins
"Nonsense, man !
" said Noble, losing his temper.
"Before ever a
capitalist was thought of people believed in the next world."
Hawkins stood up as
though he was preaching.
"Oh, they did,
did they? " he said with a sneer. "They believed all the things you
believe---isn't that what you mean? And you believe God created Adam, and Adam
created Shem, and Shem created Jehoshophat. You believe all that silly old
fairytale about Eve and Eden and the apple. Well listen to me, chum! If you're
entitled to a silly belief like that, I'm entitled to my own silly belief - which
is that the first thing your God created was a bleeding capitalist, with
morality and Rolls-Royce complete. Am I right, chum?" he says to Belcher.
"You're right,
chum," says Belcher with a smile, and he got up from the table to stretch
his long legs into the fire and stroke his moustache. So, seeing that Jeremiah
Donovan was going, and that there was no knowing when the argument about
religion would be over, I went out with him. We strolled down to the village
together, and then he stopped, blushing and mumbling, and said I should be
behind, keeping guard. I didn't like the tone he took with me, and anyway I was
bored with life in the cottage, so I replied by asking what the hell we wanted
to guard them for at all.
He looked at me in
surprise and said: "I thought you knew we were keeping them as
hostages."
"Hostages? "
I said.
"The enemy have
prisoners belonging to us, and now they're talking of shooting them," he
said. " If they shoot our prisoners, we'll shoot theirs."
"Shoot Belcher
and Hawkins?" I said.
"What else did
you think we were keeping them for? " he said. " Wasn't it very
unforeseen of you not to warn Noble and myself of that in the beginning?"
I said.
"How was it?
"he said. "You might have known that much."
"We could not
know it, Jeremiah Donovan," I said. "
How could we when they were on our hands so long?"
"The enemy have
our prisoners as long and longer," he said.
"That's not the
same thing at all," said I.
"What difference
is there? " said he.
I couldn’t tell him,
because I knew he wouldn't understand. If it was only an old dog that you had
to take to the vet's, you'd try and not get too fond of him, but Jeremiah
Donovan was not a man who would ever be in danger of that.
"And when is this
to be decided?" I said.
"We might hear tonight,"
he said. "Or tomorrow or the next day at latest. So if it's only hanging
round that's a trouble to you, you'll be free soon enough."
It was not the hanging
round that was a trouble to me at all by this time. I had worse things to worry
about. When I got back to the cottage the argument was still on. Hawkins was
holding forth in his best style, maintaining that there was no next world, and
Noble saying that there was; but I could see that Hawkins had had the best of
it.
"Do you know
what, chum?" he was saying with a saucy smile." I think you're just
as big a bleeding unbeliever as I am. You say you believe in the next world,
and you know just as much about the next world as I do, which is sweet
damn-all. What's heaven? You don't know. Where's heaven? You don't know. You
know sweet damn-all ! I ask you again, do they wear wings? "
"Very well,
then," said Noble. "They do. Is that enough for you? They do wear
wings."
"Where do they
get them then? Who makes them? Have they a factory for wings? Have they a sort
of store where you hand in, your chit and take your bleeding wings? "
"You're an
impossible man to argue with," said Noble. " Now, listen to me ---"
And they were off again.
It was long after
midnight when we locked up and went to bed. As I blew out the candle I told
Noble. He took it very quietly. When we'd been in bed about an hour he asked if
I thought we should tell the Englishmen. I didn't, because I doubted if the
English would shoot our men. Even if they did, the Brigade officers, who were
always up and down to the Second Battalion and knew the Englishmen well, would
hardly want to see them plugged. "I think so too," said Noble. "
It would be great cruelty to put the wind up them now."
"It was very
unforeseen of Jeremiah Donovan, anyhow," said I. It was next morning that
we found it so hard to face Belcher and Hawkins. We went about the house all
day, scarcely saying a word. Belcher didn't seem to notice; he was stretched
into the ashes as usual, with his usual look of waiting in quietness for
something unforeseen to happen, but Hawkins noticed it and put it down to
Noble's being beaten in the argument of the night before.
"Why can't you
take the discussion in the proper spirit? "he said severely. "You and
your Adam and Eve ! I'm a Communist, that's what I am. Communist or Anarchist,
it all comes to much the same thing." And he went round the house, muttering
when the fit took him : "Adam and Eve! Adam and Eve! Nothing better to do
with their time than pick bleeding apples ! "
III
I don't know how we
got through that day, but I was very glad when it was over, the tea things were
cleared away, and Belcher said in his peaceable way: "Well, chums, what
about it? "We sat round the table and Hawkins took out the cards, and just
then I heard Jeremiah Donovan's footsteps on the path and a dark presentiment
crossed my mind. I rose from the table and caught him before he reached the
door.
"What do you
want?" I asked.
"I want those two
soldier friends of yours," he said, getting red. "Is that the way,
Jeremiah Donovan?" I asked.
"That's the way.
There were four of our lads shot this morning, one of them a boy of sixteen."
"That's
bad," I said.
At that moment Noble
followed me out, and the three of us walked down the path together, talking in
whispers. Feeney, the local intelligence officer, was standing by the gate.
"What are you
going to do about it?" I asked Jeremiah Donovan.
"I want you and
Noble to get them out; tell them they're being shifted again; that'll be the
quietest way."
"Leave me out of
that," said Noble, under his breath. Jeremiah Donovan looked at him hard.
"All right,"
he says. " You and Feeney get a few tools from the shed and dig a hole by
the far end of the bog. Bonaparte and myself will he after you. Don't let
anyone see you with the tools. I wouldn't like it to go beyond ourselves."
We saw Feeney and
Noble go round to the shed and went in ourselves. I left Jeremiah Donovan to do
the explanations. He told them that he had orders to send them back to the
Second Battalion. Hawkins let out a mouthful of curses, and you could see that
though Belcher didn't say anything, he was a bit upset too.
The old woman was
for having them stay in spite of us, and she didn't stop advising them until
Jeremiah Donovan lost his temper and turned on her. He had a nasty temper, I
noticed. It was pitch-dark in the cottage by this time, but no one thought of
lighting the lamp, and in the darkness the two Englishmen fetched their
topcoats and said good-bye to the old woman.
"Just as a man
makes a home of a bleeding place, some bastard at headquarters thinks you're
too cushy and shunts you off," said Hawkins shaking her hand,
"A thousand
thanks, madam," said Belcher, "A thousand thanks for everything
"---as though he'd made it up.
We went round to the
back of' the house and down towards the bog. It was only then that Jererniah
Donovan told them. He was shaking with excitement.
"There were four
of our fellows shot in Cork this morning and now you're to be shot as a
reprisal."
"What are you
talking about?" snaps Hawkins. "It's bad enough being mucked about as
we are without having to put up with your funny jokes."
"It isn't a joke,"
says Donovan. "I'm sorry, Hawkins, but it's true," and begins on the
usual rigmarole about duty and how unpleasant it is. I never noticed that
people who talk a lot about duty find it much of a trouble to them.
"Oh, cut it out!"
said Hawkins.
"Ask Bonaparte," said Donovan,
seeing that Hawkins wasn't taking him seriously.
"Isn't it true, Bonaparte?"
"It is," I
said, and Hawkins stopped. "Ah, for Christ's sake, chum!"
"I mean it,
chum," I said.
"You don't sound
as if you meant it."
"If he doesn't
mean it, I do," said Donovan, working himself up.
"What have you
against me, Jeremiah Donovan?"
"I never said I
had anything against you. But why did your people take out four of your
prisoners and shoot them in cold blood?"
He took Hawkins by the
arm and dragged him on, but it was impossible to make him understand that we
were in earnest. I had the Smith and Wesson in my pocket and I kept fingering it
and wondering what I'd do if they put up a fight for it or ran, and wishing to
God they'd do one or the other. I knew if they did run for it, that I'd never
fire on them. Hawkins wanted to know was Noble in it, and when we said yes, he
asked us why Noble wanted to plug him. Why did any of us want to plug him? What
had he done to us? Weren't we all chums? Didn't we understand him and didn't he
understand us? Did we imagine for an instant that he'd shoot us for all the
so-and-so officers in the so-and-so British Army?
By this time we'd
reached the bog, and I was so sick I couldn't even answer him. We walked along
the edge of it in the darkness, and every now and then Hawkins would call a
halt and begin all over again, as if he was wound up, about our being chums,
and I knew that nothing but the sight of the grave would convince him that we
had to do it. And all the time I was hoping that something would happen; that
they'd run for it or that Noble would take over the responsibility from me. I
had the feeling that it was worse on Noble than on me.
IV
At last we saw the
lantern in the distance and made towards it. Noble was carrying it, and Feeney
was standing somewhere in the darkness behind him, and the picture of them so
still and silent in the bogland brought it home to me that we were in earnest,
and banished the last bit of hope I had.
Belcher, on recognising
Noble, said: "Hallo, chum," in his quiet way, but Hawkins flew at him
at once, and the argument began all over again, only this time Noble had
nothing to say for himself and stood with his head down, holding the lantern
between his legs.
It was Jeremiah
Donovan who did the answering. For the twentieth time, as though it was
haunting his mind, Hawkins asked if anybody thought he'd shoot Noble.
"Yes, you
would," said Jeremiah Donovan. "No, I wouldn't, damn you!"
"You would,
because you'd know you'd be shot for not doing it.”
"I wouldn't, not
if I was to be shot twenty times over. I wouldn't shoot a pal. And Belcher
wouldn't - isn't that right, Belcher? " "That's right,
chum," Belcher said, but more by way of answering the question than of
joining in the argument. Belcher sounded as though whatever unforeseen thing
he'd always been waiting for had come at last.
"Anyway, who says
Noble would be shot if I wasn't ? What do you think I'd do if I was in his
place, out in the middle of a blasted bog?"
"What would you
do?" asked Donovan.
"I'd go with him
wherever he was going, of course. Share my last bob with him and stick by him
through thick and thin. No one can ever say of me that I let down a pal."
"We had enough of
this," said Jeremiah Donovan, cocking his revolver. "Is there any
message you want to send? "
"No, there
isn't."
"Do you want to
say your prayers?"
Hawkins came out with
a cold-blooded remark that even shocked me and turned on Noble again.
"Listen to me,
Noble," he said. "You and me are chums. You can't come over to my
side, so I'll come over to your side. That show you I mean what I say? Give me
a rifle and I'll go along with you and the other lads." Nobody answered him.
We knew that was no way out.
"Hear what I'm
saying?" he said. "I'm through
with it. I'm a deserter or anything else you like. I don't believe in your
stuff, but it's no worse than mine. That satisfy you?"
Noble raised his head,
but Donovan began to speak and he lowered it again without replying.
"For the last
time, have you any messages to send?" said Donovan in a cold, excited sort
of voice.
"Shut up, Donovan!
You don't understand me, but these lads do. They're not the sort to make a pal
and kill a pal. They're not the tools of any capitalist.”
I alone of the crowd
saw Donovan raise his Webley to the back of Hawkins's neck, and as he did so I
shut my eyes and tried to pray. Hawkins had begun to say something else when
Donovan fired, and as I opened my eyes at the bang, I saw Hawkins stagger at
the knees and lie out flat at Noble's feet, slowly and as quiet as a kid
falling asleep, with the lantern-light on his lean legs and bright farmer's
boots. We all stood very still, watching him settle out in the last agony.
Then Belcher took out
a handkerchief and began to tie it about his own eyes (in our excitement we'd
forgot ten to do the same for Hawkins), and, seeing it wasn't big enough,
turned and asked for the loan of mine. I gave it to him and he knotted the two
together and pointed with his foot at Hawkins,
"He's not quite
dead." he said. "Better give him another," Sure enough, Hawkins's
left knee was beginning to rise. I bent down and put my gun to his head; then,
recollecting myself, I got up again. Belcher understood what was in my mind.
"Give him his
first," he said, "I don't mind. Poor bastard, we don't know what's
happening to him now."
I knelt and fired. By
this time I didn't seem to know what I was doing. Belcher, who was fumbling a
bit awkwardly with the handkerchiefs, came out with a laugh as he heard the
shot. It was the first time I had heard him laugh and it sent a shudder down my
back; it sounded so unnatural.
"Poor bugger!"
he said quietly. "And last night he was so curious about it all. It's very
queer, chums, I always think. Now he knows as much about it as they'll ever let
him know, and last night he was all in the dark."
Donovan helped him to
tie the handkerchiefs about his eyes.
"Thanks,
chum," he said. Donovan asked if there were any messages he wanted sent.
"No, chum,"
he said. "Not for me. If any of you would like to write to Hawkins's
mother, you'll find a letter from her in his pocket. He and his mother were
great chums. But my missus left me eight years ago. Went away with another
fellow and took the kid with her. I like the feeling of a home, as you may have
noticed, but I couldn't start another again after that."
It was an
extraordinary thing, but in those few minutes Belcher said more than in all the
weeks before. It was just as if the sound of the shot had started a flood of
tall in him and he could go on the whole night like that, quite happily,
talking about himself. We stood around like fools now that he couldn't see us
any longer. Donovan looked at Noble, and Noble shook his head. Then Donovan
raised his Webley, and at that moment Belcher gave his queer laugh again, He may
have thought we were talking about him, or perhaps he noticed the same thing
I'd noticed and couldn't understand it.
"Excuse me,
chums," he said. "I feel I'm talking the hell of a lot, and so silly,
about my being so handy about a house and things like that. But this thing came
on me suddenly. You'll forgive me, I'm sure."
''You don't want to
say a prayer?" asked Donovan.
"No, churn,"
he said. "I don't think it would help. I'm ready, and you boys want to get
it over."
"You understand
that we're only doing our duty?said Donovan.
Belcher's head was
raised like a blind man's, so that you could only see his chin and the top of
his nose in the lantern-light.
"I never could
make out what duty was myself," he said. "I think you're all good
lads, if that's what you mean. I'm not complaining."
Noble, just as if he
couldn't bear any more of it, raised his fist at Donovan, and in a flash
Donovan raised his gun and fired. The big man went over like a sack of meal,
and this time there was no need of a second shot.
I don't remember much
about the burying, but that it was worse than all the rest because we had to
carry them to the grave. It was all mad lonely with nothing but a patch of
lantern-light between ourselves and the dark, and birds hooting and screeching
all round, disturbed by the guns. Noble went through Hawkins's belongings to
find the letter from his mother, and then joined his hands together. He did the
same with Belcher. Then, when we'd filled in the grave, we separated from
Jeremiah Donovan and Feeney and took our tools back to the shed. All the way we
didn't speak a word. The kitchen was dark and as we'd left it, and the old
woman was sitting over the hearth, saying her beads. We walked past her into
the room, and Noble struck a match to light the lamp. She rose quietly and came
to the doorway with all her cantankerousness gone.
"What did ye do
with them?" she asked in a whisper, and Noble started so that the match
went out in his hand.
"What's that?"
he asked without turning round.
"I heard ye, she
said.
"What did you
hear?" asked Noble.
"I heard ye. Do
ye think I didn't hear ye, putting the spade back in the houseen?"
Noble struck another
match and this time the lamp lit for him.
"Was that what ye
did to them?" she asked.
Then, by God, in the
very doorway, she fell on her knees and began praying, and after looking at her
for a minute or two Noble did the same by the fireplace. I pushed my way out
past her and left them at it. I stood at the door, watching the stars and
listening to the shrieking of the birds dying out over the bogs. It is so
strange what you feel at times like that that you can't describe it.
Noble says
he saw everything ten times the size, as though there were nothing in the whole
world but that little patch of bog with the two Englishmen stiffening into it,
but with me it was as if the patch of bog where the Englishmen were was a
million miles away, and even Noble and the old woman, mumbling behind me, and
the birds and the bloody stars were all far away, and I was somehow very small and
very lost and lonely like a child astray in the snow. And anything that happened
to me afterwards, I never felt the same about again.
