An Irish Country Doctor (40 page)

Lady Macbeth tore past, made a beeline for the chestnut tree, and went up the trunk in a white blur. Hot on her heels, Arthur Guinness galloped past, bashing into Barry's legs and knocking him arse over teakettle. He felt the dampness of his spilled drink soaking into his pants. It wouldn't be Ballybucklebo, he thought, if that bloody dog weren't making a mess of my trousers. He felt O'Reilly pulling on one arm. "Up with you, m'son." Barry struggled to his feet.

"Do you know," said O'Reilly, "I thought she'd go too far one day. Stupid cat tried to claw his nose, and I reckon the Smithwick's gave him a bit of Dutch courage."

Seemingly unaware of the mayhem all around him, Seamus said, "One more thing. This here's a token of our undying esteem for Doctor O'Reilly." He jumped from the table and stood by the canvas-covered object. "I'd like for himself to open it." 

"Go on, Fingal," Barry said. "Your turn."

As O'Reilly strode across the grass, Barry returned to stand by Patricia. She was laughing as she stared at his sodden pants. "I think that's what I find most interesting about you, Barry." 

"What?"

"Your trousers. I've only ever seen you once in a clean pair." Barry, feeling as confident as the cat-chasing Arthur Guinness, and for the same reason, laughed. But then he looked Patricia in the eyes and said, "And I'm the one who wears the trousers." 

"We'll see about that," she said, but still smiled. She stood and kissed him. "Could you by any chance get away tonight? I'll cook you dinner."

He looked into her smile and saw the promise there. "Come hell or high water," he said. "And I'll wear a clean pair of pants." 

"Can we come too?" Jack Mills asked.

"Not on your life," said Barry, laughing. He saw Arthur Guinness staring up into the branches of the chestnut. He watched Kinky try to shoo the dog away and heard her calling, "Come on down now, you wee dote."

He heard Seamus say, "It's like one of those unveiling jobs that the queen does. You've to pull this rope here." 

"This one?" O'Reilly asked, holding a piece of frayed hemp. "The very fellah," said Seamus. "Now, on the count of three, Doctor. One . . ."

"Two," Barry roared in unison with everyone else. "Three." O'Reilly tugged. The tarpaulin slithered to the ground, and there, revealed in all its garish splendour--three feet tall by three feet long, green head and yellow beak bright in the afternoon sunlight, brown saddle painted on its beige back--was a rocking duck. "Holy Mother of God," said O'Reilly, as gasps of pure amazement rose all around. "It's a thing of beauty, Seamus." 

"Give her a try," Seamus said, grabbing O'Reilly by the arm. "You sit on here."

O'Reilly straddled the rocking duck.

"Ride 'im, cowboy."

O'Reilly lowered himself, hesitated, and said, "I think I'd be a bit heavy for it." He dismounted, crossed the grass, lifted up Jeannie, and sat her in the saddle. She started to rock back and forth, laughing and fending off a line of children who were noisily demanding their turns.

"See," said a beaming Seamus, "I told you they'd go down a treat with the kiddies."

"You might just be right," said a thoughtful O'Reilly. "Whoever bought them'll make a fortune," Seamus added. Barry had no difficulty understanding why there was a hint of pallor in O'Reilly's nose. Barry wondered if his timing might be poor, but he left Patricia and walked up to O'Reilly. "Fingal?" 

"What?"

"I don't suppose I--"

"Could have the night off?" O'Reilly stared hard at Patricia. "That's right."

"Buy me a pint and I'll say yes."

"You're on." Barry started to head for the tent before the queue grew too long. He felt O'Reilly's hand on his arm and turned back. "Take tomorrow off too. I can manage without you. Although I'd like you to stay here for the long haul... as an assistant. . . partner in a year."

Barry hung his head, looked back into the big man's brown eyes, and said, "I'd need to think about it, Fingal. I really would. But you know I might just do that."

"You think about it," said O'Reilly, "but for the love of Jesus, get me a pint like a good lad . . . and a Smithwick's for Arthur." 

"I'll be back in a tick," Barry said to Patricia. Then he turned to make his way to the makeshift bar.

He waited his turn in the queue, knowing that although he was becoming accepted by most of the villagers, he hadn't yet attained O'Reilly's commanding presence or earned the right to go to the head of the line. Ah, well, he thought, they also serve who only stand and wait.

He glanced over to where Patricia was deep in conversation with O'Reilly. Sunlight dappled her hair, and her eyes were bright. She must have noticed him staring because she waved to him and smiled. He waved back. Right, he told himself, he'd get the drinks for O'Reilly and his daft dog; then he'd make his excuses and leave. With Patricia.

"Ahem?"

Barry turned.

Donal Donnelly stood there. "Ahem? Doc, I know you must have been thinking of something important. . . but the queue's moved a bit."

"What?"

"I think we could maybe get a wee bit closer to the bar." 

"Right." Barry shuffled ahead. Something important? Nothing was more important to him at the moment than Patricia. 

"So, sir," remarked Donal, "I was just thinking about that day you asked me for directions to Ballybucklebo. Do you remember?" 

"Yes, I do." Indeed he remembered--the yellow gorse, the drooping fuchsia, the blackbird's song, the instructions not to turn at the black-and-white cow, how anxious he'd been about his interview with Doctor O'Reilly, and how Donal had fled at the mere mention of the man's name. He'd not understood why Donal had pedalled away back then, but by God, he did now. Donal nodded his head to indicate that the queue had moved on again. Barry took several paces forward.

Donal tilted his head to one side and said, "Can I ask you a wee question, sir?"

"Fire away."

"You've been here a fair while now. How do you like Ballybucklebo . . . and working for himself?"

"I like it fine," Barry said, without a moment's hesitation. He thought about the little, quiet village with its maypole, pub, and thatched cottages on the shores of Belfast Lough, and of course its inhabitants: Kinky, Donal, Julie MacAteer, Jeannie Kennedy, the Galvins, Maggie, and Sonny.

Barry was distracted by O'Reilly's laughter roaring through the softness of the Ulster summer evening. Doctor Fingal Flahertie O'Reilly, odd as two left feet, but Barry knew that if he himself were ever ill there was no one he'd rather have to look after him. He smiled at O'Reilly and Patricia, and murmured to himself, "I don't think 'like' is the right word. I love it here." And Doctor Barry Laverty knew it was the truth.

The Ulster dialect, properly called Ulster-Scots, is rich and colourful but can be confusing. In my mind I hear the expressions used by my characters as clearly as if I were living back in the north of Ireland; I was, after all, immersed in the northern speech patterns for thirty years. For those unfamiliar with the idiom, however, I have appended this short glossary.

acting the goat:
Behaving foolishly.

apples and pears:
Cockney rhyming slang for stairs.

argy-bargy:
Voluble disagreement.

arse:
Backside (impolite).

away off and chase yourself:
Go away.

away off and feel your head:
You're being stupid.

away on:
I don't believe you.

banshee:
Female spirit whose moaning foretells death.

barmbrack:
Speckled bread (see Mrs. Kincaid's recipes, page 340).

bashtoon:
Bastard.

beagle's gowl:
Very long way; the distance over which the cry of a beagle can be heard.

bigger fish to fry:
More important matters to attend to.

bit my head off:
Expressed anger by shouting or being very curt.

bloater:
Salted and smoked herring.

blow you out:
Tell you to go away.

bodhrán:
Irish. Pronounced "bowron." A circular handheld drum.

boke:
Vomit.

bollocks:
Testicles (impolite). May be used as an expression of vehement disagreement or to describe a person you disapprove of
for example, "He's a right bollocks."

bonnet:
Hood of a car.

both legs the same length:
Standing about uselessly.

bowsey:
Dublin slang, drunkard.

boys-a-boys, boys-a-dear:
Expressions of amazement.

brass neck:
Impertinence,chutzpah.

bravely:
Feeling well.

buck eejit:
Imbecile.

bun in the oven:
Pregnant (impolite).

caubeen:
Traditional Irish bonnet.

ceili:
Irish. Pronounced "kaylee." Party, usually with music and dancing.

chiseller:
Dublin slang, small child.

clabber:
Glutinous mess of mud, or mud and cow clap.

colloguing:
Chatting about trivia.

cow's lick:
Tuft of hair that sticks up, or hair slicked over to one side.

cracker:
Excellent (see also wheeker).

craking on:
Talking incessantly.

cruibins:
Irish. Pronounced "crubeen." Boiled pigs' feet, served cold and eaten with vinegar.

cure, wee:
Hair of the dog.

dab hand:
Skilled at.

damper:
Device for restricting the flow of air to a coal or turf fire to slow the rate of burning.

dander:
Literally, horse dandruff. Used to signify either a short leisurely walk or anger. For example, "He really got my dander up."

divil:
Devil.

divil the bit:
None. For example, "He's divil the bit of sense." He's stupid.

doddle:
A short distance or an easy task.

dote:
Something adorable.

dote on:
Worship.

do with the price of corn:
Irrelevant.

drill-the-dome boys:
Medical slang, neurosurgeons. See also Nutcrackers.

drouth, raging:
Pronounced "drewth." Alcoholic.

druishin:
Irish. Pronounced "drisheen."Dish made of cows' blood, pigs' blood, and oatmeal. A Cork City delicacy.

dulse:
A seaweed that when dried is eaten like chewing gum.

eejit:
Idiot.

egg-bound hen:
A hen with an egg stuck in the oviduct that cannot be laid. Applied to a person, it suggests extreme distress.

fag:
Cigarette.

fall off the perch:
Die.

Fenians:
Catholics (pejorative).

Field, the:
A place where Orange Lodges and bands congregate after the Twelfth of July parade.

finagle:
Achieve by cunning or dubious means.

fit to be tied:
Very angry.

flying:
Drunk.

get on one's wick:
Get on one's nerves.

give over:
Stop it.

glipe, great:
Stupid or very stupid person.

gobshite:
Dublin slang used pejoratively about a person. Literally, dried nasal mucus.

good man ma da:
Expression of approval.

grand man for the pan:
One who really enjoys fried food.

great:
The ultimate Ulster accolade; can be used to signify pleased assent to a plan.

grotty:
English slang. Run-down and dirty.

guttersnipe:
Ruffian.

half cut
:Drunk.

hand's turn:
Minimum amount of work.

having me on:
Deceiving me.

heart of corn:
Very good-natured.

heifer:
Young cow before her first breeding.

hirstle:
Chesty wheeze.

hit the spot:
Fill the need.

hold your horses:
Wait a minute.

hooley:
Party.

houseman:
Medical intern.

how's (a)bout ye?:
How are you? Or good-day.

humdinger:
Something extraordinary.

I'm your man:
I agree to and will follow your plan.

in soul, I do:
Emphatic.

jar:
An alcoholic drink.

knackered:
Very tired. An allusion to a horse so worn out by work that it is destined for the knacker's yard, where horses are destroyed.

knickers in a twist, in a knot:
Anxiously upset.

knocking:
Having sexual intercourse.