Authors: Flann O'Brien
–Thanks.
When we found ourselves again in the street, I found that the brother was not as downcast as I thought he might be.
–Ferdinand? Fancy! What I need badly at this moment he said, is a drink. I am five hundred pounds poorer since I went into that office.
–Well, let us have a drink to celebrate that I’m better off.
–Right. I want to keep near the Kingstown tram, for I’m going to jump the boat tonight. I left my bags in London on the way here. This place will do.
He led the way into a public house in Suffolk Street and to my surprise agreed to drink half-ones instead of balls of malt, in view of the long night’s travelling he had to face. He was in a reminiscent, nostalgic mood, and talked of many things in our past lives.
–Have you made up your mind, he asked eventually, what you’re going to do with yourself?
–No, I said, except that I have decided to pack up school.
–Good man.
–As regards making a living, I suppose that five hundred pounds will give me at least another two years to think about it if I need all that time.
–Would you not join me at the university in London.
–Well, I’ll consider that. But I have a terrible feeling that sooner or later the police will take a hand in that foundation.
–Nonsense!
–I don’t know. I feel the ice is pretty thin, smart and all as you are.
–I haven’t put a foot wrong yet. Have you ever thought about getting into this new motor business? It’s now a very big thing on the other side.
–No, I never thought much about that. I would need capital. Besides, I know nothing whatever about machines. For all the good those damned Brothers have been to me, I know nothing about anything.
–Well, I was the same. The only way to learn anything is to teach yourself.
–I suppose so.
–Tell me this, the brother said rather broodily, How is Annie and how do you get on with her.
–Annie is all right, I said. She is recovering from that terrible affair in Rome. I think she feels grateful to yourself for what you did, though she doesn’t talk about it. Do you know what? It would be a nice thing if you gave her a present of a hundred pounds to keep the house and everything going until the will is fixed up.
–Yes, that is a good idea. I’ll post a cheque from London and write her a nice letter.
–Thanks.
–Tell me: does she look after you all right?
–Perfectly.
–Grub, laundry, socks and all that?
–Of course. I live like a lord. Breakfast in bed if you please.
–That’s good. Lord, look at the time! I’ll have to look slippy if I’m to get that boat. Yes, I’m very pleased that Annie is turning out like that. She is a good-hearted girl.
–But what are you talking about, I said rather puzzled. Hasn’t she been looking after a whole houseful all her life? Poor Mrs Crotty in her day never did a hand’s turn. She was nearly always sick and, God rest the dead, but Mr Collopy was a handful in himself, always asking whether there was starch in his food, no matter what you gave him. He even suspected the water in the tap.
–Ah yes. All the same, he paid his debt. I was delighted at the generous way he is treating her in the will.
–So am I.
–Yes indeed. Look, we will have two last drinks for the road. Paddy, two glasses of malt!
–Right, sir.
He brought those deep yellow drinks and placed them before us.
–You know, the brother said, a substantial house and three hundred pounds a year for life is no joke. By God it is no joke.
He carefully put some water in his whiskey.
–Annie is an industrious, well-built quiet girl. There are not so many of them knocking about. And you don’t see many of that decent type across in London. Over there they are nearly all prostitutes.
–Perhaps you don’t meet the right people.
–Oh I meet enough, don’t you worry. Decent people are rare everywhere.
I grunted.
–And decent people who are well got are the rarest of all.
–Occasionally decent people get a right dose of Gravid Water.
He ignored this and picked up his drink.
–In my opinion, he said solemnly, half your own battle was won if you decided to settle down. Tell me this much: have you ever had a wish for Annie?
–W
HAT
.
.
.?
He raised the glass of whiskey to his lips and drained it all away in one monstrous gulp. He then slapped me on the shoulder.
–Think about it!
The slam of the door told me he was gone. In a daze I lifted my own glass and without knowing what I was doing did exactly what the brother did, drained the glass in one vast swallow. Then I walked quickly but did not run to the lavatory. There, everything inside me came up in a tidal surge of vomit.
This edition first published in Great Britain in 2011 by Souvenir Press, 43 Great Russell Street, London WC1B 3PD
This ebook edition first published in 2011
All rights reserved © Evelyn O’Nolan 1976
The right of Brian O’Nolan writing as Flann O’Brien to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly
ISBN 9780285640061