The Hard Life Read online

  Suddenly he scratched himself earnestly.

  –Did I hear you right when you said ‘humble’, Father? An humble Jesuit would be like a dog without a tail or a woman without a knickers on her. Did you ever hear tell of the Spanish Inquisition?

  –I did of course, Father Fahrt said unperturbed. The faith was in danger in Spain. If a bad wind will blow out your candle, you will protect your candle with the shade of your hand. Or perhaps some sort of cardboard shield.

  –Cardboard shield? Mr Collopy echoed scornfully. Well, damn the cardboard shields the Dominicans used in Spain, those blood-stained bowsies.

  –My own Order, Father Fahrt said modestly, was under the thumb of the Suprema in Madrid and yet I make no complaint.

  –Well, isn’t that very good of you, Father? Your own Order was kicked about by those barbarian hooligans in the cowls and you make no complaint, sitting there with a glass of malt in your hand. Faith but you’re the modest, dacent man, God bless you.

  –I merely meant, Collopy, that in a scheme to eradicate serious evil, sometimes we must all suffer.

  –And what’s wrong with that, Father? Isn’t suffering grand?

  –It is not pleasant but it is salutary.

  –You have a smart answer for everything. ‘Do you believe in the true faith?’ ‘No.’ ‘Very well. Eight hundred lashes’. If that’s the Catholic Church for you, is it any wonder there was a Reformation? Three cheers for Martin Luther!

  Father Fahrt was shocked.

  –Collopy, please remember that you belong to the true fold yourself. That talk is scandalous.

  –True fold? Do I? And doesn’t the Lord Mayor and the other gougers in the City Hall? And look at the way they’re behaving—killing unfortunate women?

  –Never mind that subject.

  –Till the day I die I’ll mind that subject, Mr Collopy retorted excitedly. Eight hundred lashes for telling the truth according to your conscience? What am I talking about—the holy friars in Spain propagated the true faith by driving red hot nails into the backs of unfortunate Jewmen.

  –Nonsense.

  –And scalding their testicles with boiling water.

  –You exaggerate, Collopy.

  –And ramming barbed wire or something of the kind up where-you-know. And all A.M.D.G., to use your own motto, Father.

  –For heaven’s sake Collopy have sense, Father Fahrt said calmly and sadly. I do not know where you have read those lurid and silly things.

  –Father Fahrt, Mr Collopy said earnestly, you don’t like the Reformation. Maybe I’m not too fond of it myself, either. But it was our own crowd, those ruffians in Spain and all, who provoked it. They called decent men heretics and the remedy was to put a match to them. To say nothing of a lot of crooked Popes with their armies and their papal states, putting duchesses and nuns up the pole and having all Italy littered with their bastards, and up to nothing but backstairs work and corruption at the courts of God knows how many decent foreign kings. Isn’t that a fact?

  –It is not a fact, Collopy. The Reformation was a doctrinal revolt, inspired I have no doubt by Satan. It had nothing to do with human temporal weaknesses in the Papacy or elsewhere.

  –Well now, do you tell me, Mr Collopy sneered.

  –Yes, I do. I hate no man, not even Luther. Indeed, by his translation of the Bible, he can take credit for having in effect invented my own language, die schöne deutsche Sprache. But he was possessed by the Devil. He was a heretic. Heresiarch would be a better word. And when he died in I545——

  –Excuse me, Father Fahrt.

  I was profoundly startled to hear the brother interjecting. He had been undisguisedly following this heated colloquy but it seemed to me unthinkable and provocative that he should intervene. Clearly Mr Collopy and Father Fahrt were equally surprised as they swung round their necks to look at him.

  –Yes, my lad? Father Fahrt said.

  –Luther did not die in 1545, said the brother. It was 1546.

  –Well, well, now, maybe you are right, Father Fahrt said good-humouredly. Maybe you are right. Alas, my old head was never very good for figures. Well, Collopy, I see you have a theologian in the family.

  –An historian, the brother said.

  –And I’ll correct that correction, Mr Collopy said acidly. A bloody young gurrier that won’t apply himself with application to his studies, that’s what we have. Give me that glass of yours, Father.

  There was another intermission while the brother with great elaboration of manner reapplied himself to his studies. After taking a long draught from his new drink, Mr Collopy sank farther back in his shapeless chair and sighed very deeply.

  –I’m afraid, Father Fahrt, he said at last, we are only wasting time and just annoying each other with these arguments. These things have been argued out years ago. You’d imagine we here were like Our Lord disputing with the doctors in the temple. The real question is this: What action can we take? What can be done?

  –Well, that’s certainly a more reasonable approach, Collopy. Much more reasonable. And much more practical.

  –Quod faciamemus, ah?

  –Have you thought about a public meeting at all?

  –By the jappers I have, many a time, Mr Collopy said with some sadness. I gave it my best considerations. It would be no good. And do you know why? Only men go to public meetings. No lady would be found dead at a public meeting. You know that? You would find only prostitutes hanging around. And men? What good are they? Sure they don’t give a goddam if women were dying like flies in the street. They have only two uses for women, Father—either go to bed with them or else thrash the life out of them. I was half thinking of trying to enlist the support of this new Gaelic League but I’m afraid they’re nothing only a crowd of thooleramawns. They wouldn’t understand this crisis in our national life. They would think I was a dirty old man and send for the D.M.P.

  –Um.

  Father Fahrt frowned speculatively.

  –What about making a move at Dublin Castle? They could certainly put pressure on the Corporation.

  –And get myself locked up? I am not a damned fool.

  –Ah! With politics I am not familiar.

  –I’m buggered if I can see what’s political about this but those ruffians in the Castle will arrest an Irishman and charge him with treason if his trousers are a bit baggy or he forgot to shave. But here’s an approach that came into my head …

  –What is that, Collopy?

  –Why not have the whole scandalous situation denounced from the pulpit?

  –Oh … dear.

  Father Fahrt gave a low, melodious, sardonic laugh.

  –The Church’s first concern, Collopy, is with faith and morals. Their application to everyday life is pretty wide but I fear your particular problem is far, far outside the pale. We couldn’t possibly raise such a matter in a church. It might even give scandal. If I were to start forth on the subject in University Church, I think I know what Father Superior would say, not to mention his Grace the Archbishop.

  –But, look here——

  –No, no, now, Collopy. Ecclesia locuta, causa finita est.

  –Ah well, that’s the way, I suppose, Mr Collopy said with tired resignation. The Church keeps very far from the people in their daily troubles and travail, but by gob it wasn’t like that when we had the Penal Laws, with Paddy Whack keeping a look-out for the soldiery from the top of the ditch on a Sunday morning and the poor pishrogues of peasants below in their rags answering the Hail Mary in Irish. ’Tis too grand you are getting, Father, yourself and your Church.

  –I’m afraid there is such a thing as Canon Law, Collopy.

  –We have too much law in this country. I even thought of getting in touch with the Freemasons.

  –I hope not. It is sinful to have any truck with those people. They despise the Holy Spirit.

  –I doubt if they despise women as much as the damned Lord Mayor and his Corporation do.

  –There is one remedy I am sure you haven�
��t tried, Collopy.

  Here Father Fahrt urgently scratched again.

  –I’m sure there is. Probably thousands. What’s the one remedy?

  –Prayer.

  –The what was that?

  –Prayer.

  –Prayer? I see. You’d never know, we might try that yet. You can move mountains with prayer, I believe, but I’m not trying to move mountains. I’m trying to put a bomb under that Lord Mayor. But there is one very farfetched idea I’ve had and damned if I know would it work. I’d want influence … a word in high places … great tact and plawmaus … perhaps a word of support from his Grace. Indeed it might be a complete and final solution to the whole terrible crux. If it came off I would go on a pilgrimage to Lough Derg in thanksgiving.

  –It must be a miracle you’re looking for if you’d go that far, Collopy, Father Fahrt said smiling. And what is this idea of yours?

  –Trams, Father. Trams. I don’t know how many distinct routes we have here in the city, but say the total is eight. One tram for each route in each direction would suffice, or sixteen trams in all. Old trams repaired and redecorated would do.

  –Are you serious, Collopy? Trams?

  –Yes, trams. They would have to be distinctive, painted black all over, preferably, and only one sign up front and rear—just the one word WOMEN. Understand? It would be as much as a man’s life was worth to try to get into one of them.

  –Well, well. At least this idea is novel. Would there be a charge?

  –Very likely there would be a penny fare at the beginning. To look for a free service at the start, that would be idealism. But once we have the cars running, we could start an agitation for the wiping out of the penny fare in the interest of humanity.

  –I see.

  –I would like you to think this thing over, Father. Let us say that a lady and gentleman are walking down the street and have a mind to go for a stroll in the Phoenix Park. Fair enough. But first one thing has to be attended to. They wait at a tram stop. Lo and behold, along comes the Black Tram. The lady steps on board and away she goes on her own. And the whole beauty of the plan is this: she can get an ordinary tram back to rejoin her waiting friend. Do you twig?

  –Yes, I think I understand.

  –Ah, Father, you don’t know how dear to my heart this struggle is and the peace that will come down on top of my head when it is happily ended for ever. Decent people should look after women—isn’t that right? The weaker sex. Didn’t God make them the same as he made you and me. Father?

  –He surely did.

  –Then why don’t we give them fair play? Mean to say, you or I can walk into a pub—

  –I beg your pardon, Collopy. I certainly can not walk into a public house. You never saw a priest in a public house in your life.

  –Well, I can walk into a pub and indeed I often do.

  –Well, well, Collopy, you are full of ideas but I must be moving. I didn’t realize the hour.

  –Good enough, but you will call again. Think about what I’ve said. Can I offer you a final glasheen for the road?

  –No thanks indeed, Collopy. Good night now lads, and mind the Greek article haw-hee-taw.

  In unison:

  –Good night, Father Fahrt.

  He went out with dignity, Mr Collopy his escort.

  6

  IT had been a dull autumn day and in the early evening I decided that the weather would make it worth while looking for roach in the canal. My rod was crude enough but I had hooks of a special size which I had put away in a drawer in the bedroom. I got out the rod and went up for a hook. To my surprise the drawer was littered with sixpenny postal orders and also envelopes addressed to the brother describing him as ‘Director, General Georama Gymnasium’. I decided to leave this strange stuff alone, took a hook and went off up along the canal. Perhaps my bait was wrong but I caught nothing and was back home in about an hour. The brother was in the bedroom when I returned, busy writing at the smaller table.

  –I was out looking for roach, I remarked, and had to get a hook in that drawer. I see it’s full of sixpenny postal orders.

  –Not full, he said genially. There are only twenty-eight. But keep that under your hat.

  –Twenty-eight is fourteen bob.

  –Yes, but I expect a good few more.

  –What’s all this about General Georama Gymnasium?

  –Well, it’s my name for the moment, he said.

  –What’s Georama?

  –If you don’t know what a simple English word means, the Brothers in Synge Street can’t be making much of a hand of you. A georama is a globe representing the earth. Something like what they have in schools. The sound of it goes well with general and gymnasium. That’s why I took it. Join the GGG.

  –And where did all those postal orders come from?

  –From the other side. I put a small ad. in one of the papers. I want to teach people to walk the high wire.

  –Is that what the General Georama Gymnasium is for, for heaven’s sake?

  –Yes. And it’s one of the cheapest courses in the world. A great number of people want to walk the high wire and show off. Some of them may be merely mercenary and anxious to make an easy, quick fortune with some great circus.

  –And are you teaching them this by post?

  –Well, yes.

  –What’s going to happen if one of them falls and gets killed?

  –A verdict of death by misadventure, I suppose. But it’s most unlikely because I don’t think any of them will dare to get up on the wire any distance from the ground. If they’re young their parents will stop them. If they’re old, rheumatism, nerves and decayed muscles will make it impossible.

  –Do you mean you’re going to have a correspondence course with those people?

  –No. They get a copy of my four-page book of instructions. Price sixpence only. It’s for nothing. A packet of fags and a box of matches would cost you nearly that, and no fag would give you the thrill of thinking about the high wire.

  –This looks to me like a swindle.

  –Rubbish. I’m only a bookseller. The valuable instructions and explanations are given by Professor Latimer Dodds. And he has included warnings of the danger as well.

  –Who is Professor Latimer Dodds?

  –A retired trapeze and high wire artist.

  –I never heard of him.

  –Here, take a look at the course yourself. I’m posting off copies just now to my clients.

  I took the crudely-printed folder he handed me and put it in my pocket, saying that I would look over it later and make sure that Mr Collopy didn’t see it. I didn’t want the brother to appraise my reactions to his handiwork, for already I had a desire to laugh. Downstairs, Mr Collopy was out and Annie was in the bedroom colloguing with Mrs Crotty. I lit the gas and there and then had a sort of free lesson on how to walk the high wire. The front page or cover read ‘THE HIGH WIRE-— Nature Held at Bay—Spine-chilling Spectacle Splenetises Sporting Spectators—By Professor H. Q. Latimer Dodds’.

  Lower down was the title of the Gymnasium and our own address. There was no mention of the brother by name but a note said ‘Consultations with the Director by appointment only’. I was horrified to think of strangers calling and asking Mr Collopy to be good enough to make an appointment for them with the Director of the Gymnasium.

  The top of the left inside page had a Foreword which I think I may quote:

  ‘It were folly to asseverate that periastral peripatesis on the aes ductile, or wire, is destitute of profound peril not only to sundry membra, or limbs, but to the back and veriest life itself. Wherefore is the reader most graciously implored to abstain from le risque majeur by first submitting himself to the most perspicacious scrutiny by highly-qualified physician or surgeon for, in addition to anatomical verifications, evidence of Ménière’s Disease, caused by haemorrhage into the equilibristic labyrinth of the ears, causing serious nystagmus and insecurity of gait. If giddiness is suspected to derive from gastric disorder, resort sh
ould be had to bromide of potassium, acetanilide, bromural or chloral. The aural labyrinth consists of a number of membranous chambers and tubes immersed in fluid residing in the cavity of the inner ear, in mammals joined to the cochlea. The membranous section of the labyrinth consists of two small bags, the saccule and the utricle, and three semi-circular canals which open into it. The nerves which supply the labyrinth end with a number of cells attired in hair-like projections which, when grouped, form the two otolith organs in the saccule and utricle and the three cristae of the semi-circular canals. In the otolith organs the hair-like protruberances are embedded in a gelatinous mess containing calcium carbonate. The purpose of this grandiose apparatus, so far as homo sapiens is concerned, is the achievement of remaining in an upright posture, one most desirable in the case of a performer on the high wire who is aloft and far from the ground.

  I found that conscientiously reading that sort of material required considerable concentration. I do not know what it means and I have no doubt whatever that the brother’s ‘clients’ will not know either.

  The actual instructions as to wire-walking were straightforward enough. Perhaps it was the brother’s own experience (for he was undoubtedly Professor Latimer Dodds) which made him advise a bedroom as the scene of opening practices. The wire was to be slung about a foot from the floor between two beds very heavily weighted ‘with bags of cement, stone, metal safes or other ponderous objects’. When the neophyte wire-walker was ready to begin practice, the massive bedsteads were to be dragged apart by ‘friends’, so that the necessary tension of the wire would be established and maintained. ‘If it happens that the weight on a bed turns out to be insufficient to support the weight of the performer on the wire, the friends should sit or lie on the bed.’ Afterwards practice was transferred to ‘the orchard’ where two stout adjacent fruit trees were to be the anchors of the wire, the elevation of which was to be gradually increased. The necessity for daily practice was emphasized and (barring accidents) a good result was promised in three months. A certain dietetic regimen was prescribed, with total prohibition of alcohol and tobacco, and it was added that even if the student proved absolutely hopeless in all attempts at wire-walking, he would in any event feel immensely improved in health and spirits at the end of that three months.