sweety
02-23-2011, 02:54 PM
The freckled face lad with the long strawberry-blond hair running along the sea-cliff was full of laughter and mockery, the man trying to catch him was one of many angry husbands who would like to have a word with him.
''I'll knock your block off when I get my hands on you", he shouted in anger. But he had little hope of catching the lad, who, just minutes before was in the arms of the poor man’s wife, kissing her full red lips.
Arriving home, exhausted after his near escape with her husband, he was surprised to see his mother, Lilly, sitting beside the smouldering turf fire, drinking a glass of home-made wine. When she saw him she gestured for him to sit down and told him that his father passed away in the early hours. For a moment there was silence, then she blurted out in a weary voice that Paddy, her husband, was not his real father.
Seán was perturbed and inquisitive at the same time. She told him of her fleeting affair with the village Don Juan, twenty years earlier. Seán asked if she had been in love with the Don Juan. Looking at Seán, who was even better looking than his father, how could she not have loved him?
"Yes", she said, "I loved him, but I also loved Paddy, only in a different way."
"Does he live in the village?''
Then she told him about the pot of gold and that he along with the piper was still singing
in the grave of Feardorcha (a Gaelic Chief). She pleaded with him not to try to find a way of breaking the Lianhan Shee's (the Love Fairy) curse.
"Come", Lilly said, "we have a wake to be getting on with."
It was typical of his father Seán thought: "He always liked to keep one eye on us and even now it refused to stay shut, but where was he when the Don Juan came calling?"
In the end the old women, spraying holy water, put a needle to it. After combing his long white hair, they blew pipe-tobacco smoke into the dimness of the evening.
Lilly, her brow farrowed and wrinkled, wearing a shawl of Galway Gray, thought that life was but a flickering existence, when she looked to the chair where Paddy’s trousers dangled to the floor, his boots polished and shiny, the white shirt ironed and his Sunday suit cleaned and pressed.
In the partial darkness she imagined the Don Juan all those years ago, his strong arms wrapped-round her tiny waist and she snuggles up to him like a purring kitten. Shaking herself loose from such unholy thoughts lest she end in the confessional, she got on with the preparations for the wake, she walked round the house stopping the clocks as she went. For now at least time would be stilled.
Seán turned the mirrors to the wall as a mark of respect.
The old women of the village bathed Paddy, his face was shaved clean, then they dressed and laid him on the table. Their keening was heard as far away as the village square. Time passed slowly, but in the end it was time. The hearse came and the undertaker carried the coffin to the room where the dead man lay. The last lament over, they took him away and buried him.
The next day Seán decided to visit the pipers house.
The weathervane was twirling, whirling and creaking when Seán opened the rickety gate to the pipers cottage. On either side of the ditch-wall the crows spied him with their beady yellow eyes. Looking up, he saw a dead and leafless-tree mushrooming out of the cracked chimney, its tentacles wrapped-round the little cottage. He could hardly see the house for the thickness of the climbing-ivy. The stench of rotting flesh made him gag. He wanted to flee but forced himself to clear the overgrowth round the derelict door and with a heave it gave way.
The living room was lit up with spice scented candles. The smell of fresh pine made a warm welcome from the outside.
He heard tales of Leprechauns and their love of the music. They were well-known for their drinking and wild music sessions. This leprechaun was lit up like a Christmas tree and dressed accordingly: a sparkly green suit, glittering gold waist coat, light-green top hat and silver buckled shoes. He was sitting at the table repairing a golden clog, looking intelligent and mischievous.
Seán thought it strange that the leprechaun didn’t disappear because the fairies gave them magical powers to use if ever threatened or captured by a human or an animal.
One was to grant three wishes, the other was to vanish into thin air!
He asked the leprechaun why he didn’t vanish.
"Because you want my help and I want my magic hammer back, but I must warn you, only one man ever returned after singing in his grave for four hundred years. But the moment his foot touched mortal ground his four hundred years flew back to Tír-na-n-Og (Land of the Young).
It might be easier to catch a ray of light in the palm of your hand or light a penny candle in the rain.
We can but try. Since the piper stole my hammer I haven’t had a good night's sleep and now the Far darrig (little red man) has it cleaning his hut. We can help each-other, but you must promise not ask for the Pot-of-gold."
Seán agreed, but asked the leprechaun how he would retrieve the hammer .
"When the hammer turns into a girl to do his chores, you must work your charms and beguile her, then she’s yours.
Tomorrow we will go to his hut in the enchanted forest. He likes to play jokes on humans so there’s a good chance he will invite you in. If he goads you and he probably will, say these words : Na dean maggadh fum" (do not mock me)."
The next day they set out on their journey.
The Far darrig saw Seán approach and invited him in.
The lad was surprised to hear the fairies playing Irish traditional music, while the hammer on the mantelpiece danced a jig.
The Far darrig handed Seán a glass of poteen and made him feel at home. After a few more glasses the lad began to feel drowsy, then the Far darrig decided to have a little fun and told the hammer to prepare a bath.
Seán couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw the hammer jump to the floor and change into the most beautiful girl he ever saw. She went to the fireplace and took a pot of boiling water hanging from the crane and poured it into the bath.
Meantime the Far darrig was removing his extremely torn and shabby crimson clothes.
Seán felt ill when he saw the fat, hairy, dark-skinned, long-tailed, practical joker of the other-world step into the bath.
The leprechaun looking through the window was shaking his head.
"No-no imbecile, why don’t you say the words: Na dean maggadh fum" he implored, but it was too late, Seán was in the grip of the master artist of evil dreams, the Far darrig.
After his wash-up the Far darrig got dressed, put the hammer on his belt and ordered Seán outside. They weren’t long gone before the lad was up to his knees in the stinking mire they called a swamp. He tried to turn back but was unable. The Far darrig ordered the hammer, who now turned into a burly labourer, to dig up a corpse and put it on Seáns back.
The Far darrig made him carry it over hedges and ditches and every obstacle he could find, weary after so much abuse the sky began circling. The poor lad feeling dizzy, tried to anchor himself to the soggy vegetation, but instead found himself rolling on his stomach, the stinking crushing corpse refusing to leave him. The Far darrig kept him at it all night, only heading back to the hut when the poteen keg went dry. After a while the circling stopped and Seán started to wake up.
The Far darrig ordered the magic-hammer to prepare a bath for the filthy lad.
''You smell Seán", he said, then tired himself after this night of skullduggery he fell asleep.
Seán heard the leprechaun whispering in his ear though he was nowhere to be seen. ''Woo her lad, like your father before you.''
Seán put his arms round the girl, she was unable to resist his charm and melted in his arms when he wooed, kissed and beguiled her. Afterwards he led her outside to where the leprechaun was waiting and she turned back into the magic hammer.
The hammer back with its rightful owner the leprechaun called for the services of the Pooka to fly them back to the pipers cottage where they plotted their next move.
''I'll knock your block off when I get my hands on you", he shouted in anger. But he had little hope of catching the lad, who, just minutes before was in the arms of the poor man’s wife, kissing her full red lips.
Arriving home, exhausted after his near escape with her husband, he was surprised to see his mother, Lilly, sitting beside the smouldering turf fire, drinking a glass of home-made wine. When she saw him she gestured for him to sit down and told him that his father passed away in the early hours. For a moment there was silence, then she blurted out in a weary voice that Paddy, her husband, was not his real father.
Seán was perturbed and inquisitive at the same time. She told him of her fleeting affair with the village Don Juan, twenty years earlier. Seán asked if she had been in love with the Don Juan. Looking at Seán, who was even better looking than his father, how could she not have loved him?
"Yes", she said, "I loved him, but I also loved Paddy, only in a different way."
"Does he live in the village?''
Then she told him about the pot of gold and that he along with the piper was still singing
in the grave of Feardorcha (a Gaelic Chief). She pleaded with him not to try to find a way of breaking the Lianhan Shee's (the Love Fairy) curse.
"Come", Lilly said, "we have a wake to be getting on with."
It was typical of his father Seán thought: "He always liked to keep one eye on us and even now it refused to stay shut, but where was he when the Don Juan came calling?"
In the end the old women, spraying holy water, put a needle to it. After combing his long white hair, they blew pipe-tobacco smoke into the dimness of the evening.
Lilly, her brow farrowed and wrinkled, wearing a shawl of Galway Gray, thought that life was but a flickering existence, when she looked to the chair where Paddy’s trousers dangled to the floor, his boots polished and shiny, the white shirt ironed and his Sunday suit cleaned and pressed.
In the partial darkness she imagined the Don Juan all those years ago, his strong arms wrapped-round her tiny waist and she snuggles up to him like a purring kitten. Shaking herself loose from such unholy thoughts lest she end in the confessional, she got on with the preparations for the wake, she walked round the house stopping the clocks as she went. For now at least time would be stilled.
Seán turned the mirrors to the wall as a mark of respect.
The old women of the village bathed Paddy, his face was shaved clean, then they dressed and laid him on the table. Their keening was heard as far away as the village square. Time passed slowly, but in the end it was time. The hearse came and the undertaker carried the coffin to the room where the dead man lay. The last lament over, they took him away and buried him.
The next day Seán decided to visit the pipers house.
The weathervane was twirling, whirling and creaking when Seán opened the rickety gate to the pipers cottage. On either side of the ditch-wall the crows spied him with their beady yellow eyes. Looking up, he saw a dead and leafless-tree mushrooming out of the cracked chimney, its tentacles wrapped-round the little cottage. He could hardly see the house for the thickness of the climbing-ivy. The stench of rotting flesh made him gag. He wanted to flee but forced himself to clear the overgrowth round the derelict door and with a heave it gave way.
The living room was lit up with spice scented candles. The smell of fresh pine made a warm welcome from the outside.
He heard tales of Leprechauns and their love of the music. They were well-known for their drinking and wild music sessions. This leprechaun was lit up like a Christmas tree and dressed accordingly: a sparkly green suit, glittering gold waist coat, light-green top hat and silver buckled shoes. He was sitting at the table repairing a golden clog, looking intelligent and mischievous.
Seán thought it strange that the leprechaun didn’t disappear because the fairies gave them magical powers to use if ever threatened or captured by a human or an animal.
One was to grant three wishes, the other was to vanish into thin air!
He asked the leprechaun why he didn’t vanish.
"Because you want my help and I want my magic hammer back, but I must warn you, only one man ever returned after singing in his grave for four hundred years. But the moment his foot touched mortal ground his four hundred years flew back to Tír-na-n-Og (Land of the Young).
It might be easier to catch a ray of light in the palm of your hand or light a penny candle in the rain.
We can but try. Since the piper stole my hammer I haven’t had a good night's sleep and now the Far darrig (little red man) has it cleaning his hut. We can help each-other, but you must promise not ask for the Pot-of-gold."
Seán agreed, but asked the leprechaun how he would retrieve the hammer .
"When the hammer turns into a girl to do his chores, you must work your charms and beguile her, then she’s yours.
Tomorrow we will go to his hut in the enchanted forest. He likes to play jokes on humans so there’s a good chance he will invite you in. If he goads you and he probably will, say these words : Na dean maggadh fum" (do not mock me)."
The next day they set out on their journey.
The Far darrig saw Seán approach and invited him in.
The lad was surprised to hear the fairies playing Irish traditional music, while the hammer on the mantelpiece danced a jig.
The Far darrig handed Seán a glass of poteen and made him feel at home. After a few more glasses the lad began to feel drowsy, then the Far darrig decided to have a little fun and told the hammer to prepare a bath.
Seán couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw the hammer jump to the floor and change into the most beautiful girl he ever saw. She went to the fireplace and took a pot of boiling water hanging from the crane and poured it into the bath.
Meantime the Far darrig was removing his extremely torn and shabby crimson clothes.
Seán felt ill when he saw the fat, hairy, dark-skinned, long-tailed, practical joker of the other-world step into the bath.
The leprechaun looking through the window was shaking his head.
"No-no imbecile, why don’t you say the words: Na dean maggadh fum" he implored, but it was too late, Seán was in the grip of the master artist of evil dreams, the Far darrig.
After his wash-up the Far darrig got dressed, put the hammer on his belt and ordered Seán outside. They weren’t long gone before the lad was up to his knees in the stinking mire they called a swamp. He tried to turn back but was unable. The Far darrig ordered the hammer, who now turned into a burly labourer, to dig up a corpse and put it on Seáns back.
The Far darrig made him carry it over hedges and ditches and every obstacle he could find, weary after so much abuse the sky began circling. The poor lad feeling dizzy, tried to anchor himself to the soggy vegetation, but instead found himself rolling on his stomach, the stinking crushing corpse refusing to leave him. The Far darrig kept him at it all night, only heading back to the hut when the poteen keg went dry. After a while the circling stopped and Seán started to wake up.
The Far darrig ordered the magic-hammer to prepare a bath for the filthy lad.
''You smell Seán", he said, then tired himself after this night of skullduggery he fell asleep.
Seán heard the leprechaun whispering in his ear though he was nowhere to be seen. ''Woo her lad, like your father before you.''
Seán put his arms round the girl, she was unable to resist his charm and melted in his arms when he wooed, kissed and beguiled her. Afterwards he led her outside to where the leprechaun was waiting and she turned back into the magic hammer.
The hammer back with its rightful owner the leprechaun called for the services of the Pooka to fly them back to the pipers cottage where they plotted their next move.