An Irish Christmas Feast, page 27
‘He has a very refined face,’ the canon told his housekeeper, ‘maybe a little bit too refined and we must remember that refinement is a quality sought after by many but acquired by few.’
Jason Lattally was well off by parochial standards. There was a time when he shared the family business with a brother but the poor fellow was whipped away one night by a storm as he walked along the banks of the estuary below the town. At least people presumed that he had been whipped away. In appearance there was little difference between himself and his brother Jason. If anything he was a trifle thinner and a trifle taller and a trifle hungrier-looking and maybe a trifle more lathy but for all that he was a likeable chap and when he was being transported to the graveyard on the day of his burial many notable utterances went the rounds in his favour.
Some months after his departure from the land of the living his brother Jason bought a new suit, a new shirt and a new pair of shoes and went here, there and everywhere looking for a wife. When he started out he believed that his task would be an easy one. He was now the sole proprietor of a small but successful grocery shop. The business was free of debt and contained modest living quarters as well as a back entrance which was regarded as vital to the running of a successful business in the main street of the town. Goods, for instance, might be delivered through the rear and so might fuel and it was through this rear egress that Jason exited every night to consume the few pints of stout which helped him unwind and contributed in no small way to the deep slumber which saw him wake up eager and refreshed each morning of his working week.
At first in his quest for a partner he enjoyed no luck at all. He was tempted to engage the services of a matchmaker but told himself that if he could not secure a woman through his own devices he did not deserve one. How wrong was Long Jason Lattally! Wiser men than he would testify with their hands across their hearts that a man needed all the help he could get in the isolating and securing of a suitable wife.
Time went by and at the end of a year Jason was as far from acquiring a partner as he had been when he set out. Then he was informed by a female neighbour who was aware of his plight that there was no need for him to search afar when he might pick and choose from the selection under his very nose. He had many female customers who were of the marrying age and, more importantly, of the marrying bent.
When Madame Lucia Palugi the famous Dublin fortune-teller came to town and set up shop for a week in the front room of a small house, several doors down the street from the premises of Long Jason Lattally, Jason decided to pay her a visit. She was a somewhat obese lady of indeterminate age but she had earned for herself an unrivalled reputation as a clairvoyant. After she had carefully read Jason’s palm she informed him that he had a lifeline which suggested that he would reach the ripe old age of one hundred and two. She also informed him that he was unmarried and when he asked her how she could tell she merely pointed at the crystal ball which dominated the top of the table at which they sat. Peer though he did with all his might, Jason saw nothing in the crystal. The opposite was the case with the noted prophetess. She saw two women, one tall, thin and rangy and the other short and stocky. Jason informed her with mounting astonishment that he knew both women, that both were in fact regular customers of his, although he had never seriously contemplated either.
‘That may be,’ he was told amiably, and Madame Palugi went on to tell him that while he might not be enamoured of them they were most certainly enamoured of him, ‘and,’ she continued without a tremor in her tone, ‘one or other of the pair will be the mistress of your abode before Christmas for I see before me in my crystal ball a pair of legs which are definitely not yours and these legs happen to be in position under your kitchen table. I cannot say whether the legs are long or short and I cannot see a trace of a face because my crystal is somewhat clouded but it is a fact that the owner of the legs will be your wife before Christmas.’
Madame Palugi had seen nothing in her crystal ball but she was well informed nevertheless. The lady who owned the house where Madame Palugi foretold the future had filled her in as soon as Long Jason entered and, as he sat in the tiny ante-room awaiting his turn to be divined, much was revealed about his background and romantic aspirations. At the end of the session he was prepared to accept the fact that he would have a wife before Christmas and that she would be one of the two women mentioned by the fortune-teller. He decided after a sleepless night that his future wife would be the tall, thin woman and not the short, stocky one. The tall, thin candidate, by name Alicia Mullally, was less plain than the stocky candidate and besides that she was possessed of a considerable fortune, had already acquired some business acumen and had the reputation of being an excellent housekeeper.
The shorter woman, whose name was Elsie Bawnie, could fairly be described as being sober and industrious and had plenty too by way of worldly goods. She had a certain charm and came from a family renowned for its honesty although in that particular place at that particular time people hid their money and stowed away their valuables at the mere mention of the word honesty.
‘I have never met an honest man with the exception of Canon Coodle,’ Big Bob the Traveller was fond of saying, ‘and I’m pretty sure that I never will. Even if a man is honest,’ Big Bob would continue, ‘he has already given a hostage to fortune because of his physical attachments and may not be trusted altogether.’
When Jason Lattally approached Alicia Mullally as she left the local greengrocers with a packet of birdseed she was quite taken aback and did not know whether to laugh or cry. She leaned her long frame forward like a heron about to snatch a sprat and would have flapped homewards straight off had not Jason seized her gently by the sleeve of her calico blouse and restrained her.
‘Will you?’ he asked.
‘Will I what?’ she responded as though she had not heard the first time.
‘Will you marry me?’
When she remained tight-lipped he repeated the question and still she would not commit herself. It was not the first time that such a question had been put to Alicia Mullally. She had always answered in the negative in the past and had regretted her decision at least twice. At the time she had convinced herself that they would ask again and indeed they had asked again but not Alicia. What a strange place, she told herself, for a man to propose and was it, she asked herself, an indication of other strangenesses? Strangenesses were the last thing she wanted. Like all women she wanted a man she could depend on. She did not, however, say no. She tried to draw away but she did not try very hard. He still held her firmly by the sleeve.
‘Will you or won’t you?’ he said and she deduced that if the answer was not in the affirmative there might not be a second offer. Their eyes met and she could see that he was deadly serious. He had paled almost beyond recognition and she guessed that he had built up his courage for some time before approaching her. When she spoke again her voice had softened and there was sympathy in her eyes. She laid a hand on the hand that held her by the sleeve.
‘Why don’t you call to the house sometime?’ she whispered invitingly. ‘This is no place to talk about marriage.’
Jason released his hold and assured her that she could expect him that very night when he would be hoping for a positive answer.
News of the proposal spread quickly. In the space of one hour the whole street was fully informed. In the space of two the town knew that Long Jason Lattally would be calling to the abode of Alicia Mullally that very night. It was believed that she would accept but not before she hummed and hawed her fill. She was of the breed of hummers and hawers and breeding will out.
‘You will find breeding in turnips,’ Big Bob the Travelling Man would say. ‘Why man,’ he would continue in his homely way, ‘you will find breeding in the poll of a hatchet, in the handle of a scythe, in the straw of your thatch, in the spokes of your wagon.’ He would go on and on until his audience drifted away.
The first thing Big Bob did when he heard of the proposal was to trim his flowing white mohal. The second thing he did was to visit his friend Bertie Bawnie, the father of the town’s smallest woman but not so small as not to be marriageable. It was Elsie herself who opened the door.
‘Small yes!’ Big Bob silently said to himself, ‘but ugly no.’
The travelling man was greeted warmly. It would not be in her breeding to do otherwise. Big Bob recalled her late mother who had been renowned for her generosity and courtesy. It was, therefore, inbred into Elsie. She ushered him through the small pork shop to an even smaller kitchen where her father sat snoozing by a bright peat fire. Bertie Bawnie had a round pink face atop a small chunky body. He rose at once to his feet when he saw who his visitor was. Expansively he indicated a chair and with a well-rehearsed motion of wrists and fingers indicated to his daughter that she was to fetch glasses and whiskey. Not until a glass of whiskey had been consumed in the most leisurely fashion by each of the elders was a word spoken.
‘What brings you friend?’ Bertie Bawnie asked as he replenished both glasses.
‘I have come matchmaking,’ came the solemn reply. The traveller was quick to elaborate.
‘It has come to my attention,’ he said, ‘that Long Jason Lattally is about to propose to Alicia Mullally and it has further come to my attention,’ he went on, ‘that the daughter of this house would be far better suited to Lattally but I need that daughter’s permission and I need her father’s permission before I can make a case.’
An uncomfortable silence greeted the traveller’s announcement. Big Bob had made a match or two in the past but mostly among the travelling people. If the truth were told he would be more of a consultant than a matchmaker. He would be fully versed in the lore of the countryside and would be aware of the failings and virtues of marriageable men and women along the roads which he travelled regularly. He would be cognisant of the background and breeding of likely partners and he always made himself available whenever vital information was required by professional matchmakers. He had a priceless stock of valuable knowledge and he was easy to deal with as far as consultancy fees were concerned.
The Bawnies, father and daughter, replied to his proposal in their individual ways and in their own time; the daughter by refilling the glasses as soon as they were drained and the father by asking if Big Bob would be interested in acting on his daughter’s behalf. A considerable amount of whiskey was consumed before the deliberations came to an end. The chief worry entertained by Bertie Bawnie was that Long Jason Lattally might have already proposed.
‘I think not,’ Big Bob reassured him, ‘for it has come to my attention that Alicia Mullally is a dawdler who finds it difficult to make up her mind. She should and could have been married years ago but she kept putting the matter on the long finger.’
Bertie Bawnie countered by saying that it was his belief there would be a Mullally/Lattally marriage before Christmas and that Christmas was almost down on the door.
‘You may have made your move too late,’ he concluded unhappily.
‘Not so,’ Big Bob answered. ‘Now is the time to make the move for it has come to my attention that Long Jason is due to propose at nine o’clock tonight.’
‘It is now eight.’ Elsie Bawnie spoke for the first time and it occurred to Big Bob that she had the demurest way and the most subtle way of making a point.
‘I’ll go now,’ he said in dramatic tones, ‘and I’ll state my case to Long Jason Lattally.’
Elsie followed him to the door and, taking him by the hand, thrust a ten-pound note therein.
‘There will be ninety more,’ she promised, ‘if you succeed in your mission for if I can’t have Long Jason I won’t have anybody. He is all that’s left of the Lattallys and I am all that’s left of the Bawnies, barring my Da.’
As he drew his coat about him preparatory to crossing the street for his proposed confrontation with Long Jason, Big Bob was forestalled by the distant but resonant tones of the last remaining male Bawnie.
‘There’s another hundred from me,’ the voice said, ‘if the news is joyful.’
There was no question but that the Bawnies had great faith in the travelling man. There were few others who were possessed of the same faith and, surprisingly, one of these was Canon Coodle although it would have to be said that his faith was limited. Still faith was faith regardless of its consistency. Big Bob was fully aware that father and daughter trusted him fully and he was quite moved as a result. The expression ‘faith can move mountains’ was familiar to him. He had heard it often enough in church and had come to set great store by the ancient proverb. There had been an occasion of celebration around the campfire when the travellers would philosophise at length about religion and about the world at large. The happy group had just run out of liquor and the tragedy was that the combined finances of the travellers were not sufficient to purchase a single bottle of stout. Big Bob had volunteered to approach one of the town’s public houses, where he would request credit.
While most of the publicans did not encourage the travelling folk to drink on their premises there were occasions when they could be depended upon to extend a small amount of credit. He had been a young man then and his listeners had scoffed at the very thought of his demanding credit from a publican.
‘Oh ye of little faith,’ he said at the time, whereupon a rival responded that travellers could not be expected to have as much faith as settled people, as past experiences would show.
‘The Good Book tells us that faith can move mountains,’ Big Bob countered, ‘and it don’t say what kind of faith so it seems to me that my faith is good enough for this kind of task.’ The credit had been forthcoming but Big Bob could never be sure whether it was his faith or the fact that the publican was drunk at the time.
Now as he knocked on Long Jason Lattally’s door he prayed for resolve. When he beheld his caller Long Jason presumed that the traveller had come a-begging. He thrust his hand into his trousers pocket and handed over a silver coin. The traveller accepted the money and expressed his gratitude but explained that he had not come seeking alms.
‘I believe,’ Big Bob said, ‘that you intend getting married.’
Long Jason laughed. ‘And what has that got to do with you?’ he asked.
‘If you’ll be good enough to let me in I’ll tell you everything,’ Big Bob promised.
The long man consulted his watch and, seeing that he had the best part of an hour to spare, stepped to one side so that his caller might enter. Inside they both sat but there was no drink on view.
‘Will whiskey be all right?’ the long man asked, his bareboned face breaking into a smile.
‘Whiskey is just what I need.’ Big Bob moistened his lips.
Long Jason filled two glasses. Normally he drank only in a public house and always illegally after hours since he was of the belief like many of his neighbours that drink taken at home involved no risk and, therefore, lost much of its potency. He had on this occasion decided to make an exception on the grounds that he needed some sort of booster if he was to successfully propose to Alicia Mullally. Both men sipped their drinks for a while and exchanged well worn items of news.
‘So!’ Long Jason stretched his legs and awaited the pronouncement that would justify his visitor’s intrusion.
‘So!’ came back the long drawn-out response. Big Bob rose to his feet and placed his hands behind his back. ‘I have come,’ he said solemnly, ‘to ask if you would consent to a life-long traipse with Elsie Bawnie?’
‘A life-long traipse eh!’ Long Jason pondered the phrase. He had not heard it before and felt that it was not a bad description at all of the undertaking implied.
‘And by whose authority do you present yourself here with such a proposal?’ he asked.
‘By the girl herself with the full approval of her father,’ Big Bob answered.
‘I had an inkling that she was that way inclined.’ Long Jason pulled upon his jaw until Big Bob felt that he might pull it off altogether, so thin and finely pointed was it.
‘It’s like the bottom end of a sickle moon,’ Big Bob thought. ‘Are you interested?’ he asked as he resumed his seat.
‘She’s small,’ the long man replied, ‘and she’s nice, danged nice, but with me being so tall and she being so small we’d be a laughing stock.’
‘For a short while only,’ Big Bob assured him, ‘and then only when the pair of you would be upright. You will never meet such a lady for charm, a lady that so knows her place. She would make a man happy and she would bear the finest of children.’
‘I know, I know,’ the long man found it difficult to contain his irritation, ‘but the bother is that I have more or less contracted to propose to Alicia Mullally. In fact she awaits me this very night.’
‘If you have any sense,’ Big Bob spoke forcibly, ‘you’ll let her wait.’
‘I can’t do that,’ said the long man.
‘Those who have awaited,’ Big Bob informed him solemnly, ‘have been elated and those who have gone have been put upon.’
‘What’s that from?’ Long Jason asked anxiously.
‘That is from the book of travellers,’ came the reply, ‘verse one, chapter two.’
‘Elsie Bawnie is a very small woman and I am a very tall man.’ Long Jason was adamant.
‘And what of Alicia Mullally?’ Big Bob asked. ‘Are not the pair of ye too tall for your own good and whoever heard of an equal pairing making a good match. For a true marriage,’ Big Bob went on, ‘you need opposites, the fair and the dark, the stout and the skinny, the stooped and the straight, the tall and the small. This tall dame could be the very death of you my poor man. She is not suited to you at all.’
