It is on his passage through the village of Garradrimna that we may
most truly observe John Brennan, in sharp contrast with his dingy
environment, as he goes to hear morning Mass at the instigation of
his mother, whose pathetic fancy fails to picture him in any other
connection. It is a beautiful morning, and the sun is already high.
There is a clean freshness upon all things. The tall trees which form
a redeeming background for the uneven line of the ugly houses on the
western side of the street are flinging their rich raiment wildly
upon the light breeze where it floats like the decorative garments of
a ballet dancer. The light winds are whipping the lightness of the
morning.
The men of drink are already stirring about in anticipation.
Hubert Manning is striking upon the door of Flynn's, the grocery
establishment, which, in the heavy blindness of his thirst, he takes to
be one of the seven publichouses of Garradrimna. He is running about
like some purged sinner, losing patience at last hard by the Gate of
Heaven. In the course of her inclusive chronicles his mother had told
John Brennan the life history of Hubert Manning. For sixty odd years
he had bent his body in hard battle with the clay, until the doubtful
benefit of a legacy had come to change the current of his life. The
fortune, with its sudden diversion towards idleness and enjoyment, had
caused all the latent villainy of the man, which the soil had subdued,
to burst forth with violence. He was now a drunken old cur whom
Sergeant McGoldrick caused to spend a fortune in fines.
"Just imagine the people who do be left the money!" said Mrs. Brennan,
as she told the story.
John Brennan passes on. He meets the bill-poster, Thomas James. His
dark, red face displays an immense anxiety. He is going for his first
pint with a pinch of salt held most carefully in his hand. His present
condition is a fact to be deplored, for he was famous in his time and
held the record in Garradrimna for fast drinking of a pint. He could
drink twenty pints in a day. Hence his decline and the pinch of salt
now held so carefully in his hand. This is to keep down the first pint,
and if the operation be safely effected it is quite possible that the
other nineteen will give him no trouble.
Coming in the valley road are Shamesy Golliher and Martin Connell.
In the distance they appear as small, shrinking figures, moving in
abasement beneath the Gothic arches of the elms. They represent the
advance guard of those who leave the sunlit fields on a summer morning
to come into the dark, cavernous pubs of Garradrimna.
On the side of the street, distant from that upon which John Brennan
is walking, moves the famous figure of Padna Padna, slipping along
like some spirit of discontent and immortal longing, doomed forever to
wander. He mistakes the student for one of the priests and salutes him
by tipping his great hat lightly with his little fore-finger.
And here comes yet another, this one with speed and determination in
his stride, for it is Anthony Shaughness, who has spent three-fourths
of his life running away from Death.
"Will you save a life; will you save a life?" he whispers wildly,
clutching John by the arm. "I have a penny, but sure a penny is no
good, sir; and I want tuppence-ha'penny to add to it for the price of a
pint; but sure you won't mind when it's to save my life! I know you'll
give it to me for the love of God!"
This is a very well-known request in the mouth of Anthony Shaughness,
and John Brennan has attended it so very often during the past few
years as to deserve a medal for life-saving. Yet he now takes the
coppers from his small store of pocket-money and gives them to the
dipsomaniac, who moves rapidly in the direction of "The World's End."
There is presently an exciting interlude. They are just opening up at
Brannagan's as he goes past. The sleepy-looking barmaid has come to the
newly-opened door, and makes an ungraceful gesture in gathering up her
ugly dishevelled hair. A lout of a lad with a dirty cigarette in his
mouth appears suddenly. They begin to grin at one another in foolish
rapture, for it is a lovers' meeting. Through the doorway at which they
stand the smell of stale porter is already assaulting the freshness
of the morning. They enter the bar surreptitiously and John Brennan
can hear the swish of a pint in the glass in which it is being filled.
The usual morning gift, he thinks, with which this maiden favors this
gallant lover of a new Romance.... There comes to him suddenly the idea
that his name has been mentioned in this dark place just now.... He
goes on walking quickly towards the chapel.
The plan which Myles Shannon had originated was not lacking in
subtlety. He foresaw a certain clash of character, between his nephew
and the son of Nan Byrne, which must become most interesting as he
watched it out of his malevolence. He could never, never, forget what
she had done.... And always, beyond the desolation which appeared from
concentration of his revengeful intentions, he beheld the ruins of her
son.
He often thought it puzzling how she should never have imagined that
some one like him might be tempted to do at some time what he was
now about to do. It seemed remarkable beyond all else that her mind
should possess such an opaque oneness of purpose, such an extraordinary
"thickness," to use the term of the valley.
Yet this was a quality peculiar to the gentle hush of the grassy
places. It seemed to arise from the removal of an intelligent feeling
of humanity from the conduct of life and the replacement of it by a
spitefulness that killed and blinded. It was the explanation of many
of the tragedies of the valley. Like a malignant wind, it warped the
human growth within the valley's confines. It was what had happened to
Mrs. Brennan and, because of the action he was taking in regard to her,
what was now about to happen to Myles Shannon. He seemed to forget, as
he went about his vengeance, that subtlety is akin to humor, and that
humor, in its application to the satiric perception of things, is the
quality which constantly heals the cut it has made. He might certainly
leave the mark of his vengeance upon Mrs. Brennan, but there was the
danger of the weapon recoiling upon himself and his kinsman. It was a
horrible plan indeed, this, of setting one young man to ruin another.
It was such a conflict, with such an anticipated ending, as had shaped
itself inevitably out of the life of the valley. Where life was an
endless battle of conflicting characters and antagonized dispositions
it seemed particularly meet that a monumental conflict should at last
have been instituted.
Ulick Shannon was finding the valley very little to his mind. But for
the intervention of his uncle he was several times upon the point of
returning to Dublin. Although it was for a rest he had come the place
was too damnably dull. Garradrimna was an infernal hole! Yet he went
there often, and it was remarkable that his uncle said never a word
when he arrived home from the village, several nights, in a condition
that was not one of absolute sobriety. On the contrary, he seemed to
take a certain joyful interest in such happenings. His uncle often
spoke of the young man, John Brennan, whom he desired him to meet, and
it was surprising that this young man had not made the visit he had
promised to the house among the trees.
Myles Shannon was beginning to be annoyed by the appearance of this
slight obstruction in the path of his plan. Had Mrs. Brennan forbidden
the friendship he had proposed? It was very like her indeed, and of
course she had her reasons.... But it would never do to let her triumph
over him now, and he having such a lovely plan. He would go so far as
to send his nephew to call at her house to make the acquaintance of
Nan Byrne's son. It would be queer surely to see him calling at that
house and inquiring for John Brennan when his father had gone there
aforetime to see John Brennan's mother. But how was Ulick to know and
view from such an angle this aspect of his existence?
Yet, after all, the meeting of John Brennan and Ulick Shannon happened
quite accidentally and upon such a morning as we have seen John in
Garradrimna.
Ulick had gone for a walk around that way before his breakfast. He was
not feeling particularly well as he paused at the end of the valley
road to survey the mean street of Garradrimna, down which he had
marched last night with many a wild thought rushing into his mind as
the place and the people fell far beneath his high gaze.
His quick eye caught sight of something now which seemed a curiously
striking piece in the drab mosaic of his morning. It was a little party
of four going towards the chapel. The pair in front could possibly be
none other than the bridegroom and his bride. It was easy to see that
marriage was their purpose from the look of open rapture upon their
faces. The bridesmaid and the best man were laughing and chatting gaily
as they walked behind them. They seemed to be having the best of it.
Ulick thought it interesting to see this pair moving eagerly towards
a mysterious purpose.... He was struck by the fact that it was a most
merciful thing that all men do not lift the veil of life so early as he
had done.... The harsh, slight laugh which came from him was like the
remembered laughter of a dead man.
Now that his eyes were falling, with an unfilled look, upon the street
along which the four had gone he began to see people who had been
looking out move away from the squinting windows and a few seconds
later come hurriedly out of their houses and go towards the chapel.
The poor, self-conscious clod, who had dearly desired to marry the girl
of his fancy quietly and with no prying eyes, amid the fragrance of
the fine June morning, had, after all, succeeded only in drawing about
him the leering attention of all the village. There were ever so many
people going towards the chapel this morning. The lot was large enough
to remind one of a Sunday congregation at either Mass, this black drove
now moving up the laneway. Ulick Shannon went forward to join it.
Coming near the chapel he encountered a young man in black, who wore
the look of a student. This must be John Brennan, he thought, of whom
his uncle had so repeatedly spoken. He turned and said:
"Good morning! I'm Ulick Shannon, and I fancy you're Brennan, the chap
my uncle has talked of so often. He has been expecting you to call at
Scarden House."
They shook hands.
"Yes, I'm John Brennan, and I'm delighted to meet you. I have not
forgotten your uncle's kind invitation."
Together they entered the House of God.... Father O'Keeffe was already
engaged in uniting the couple. Distantly they could hear him mumbling
the words of the ceremony.... All eyes were upon the priest and the
four people at the altar.... Suddenly Ulick giggled openly, and John
Brennan blushed in confusion, for this was irreverence such as he had
never before experienced in the presence of sacred things.