A Terrible Beauty

'I'm always giving you a chance. But what happened to the happiness, Paul?'

He was just about to say something when the phone rang. Katie picked it up and it was Liam, and he sounded as if he were standing next to a busy road junction.

'I've had a call from Eugene O Beara. He says that there's somebody who wants to talk to us. Three o'clock on Sunday, inBlackpool .'

'All right, then. He didn't give you any idea what it was about?'

'No, he was being all mysterious.'

Katie put down the phone. She looked at Paul but Paul looked back at her with an expression that said nothing but:what?She wanted so much for him to give her some hope. She wanted him to say that he had got his self-confidence back, that everything was going to be different. But Paul took another swallow of whiskey, and tugged at Sergeant's ears, and said, 'You like that, boy, don't you? You like that.'

8

By the time the two builders had dropped her off at the bridge by the Angler's Rest, on the way toBlarney , the tarmac-gray sky had grown even darker, and huge spots of rain had begun to fall across the road. The builders gave her a wave and a toot of their horn and turned off westward toward Dripsey. She crossed the road and stood with her thumb sticking out.

The breeze blew the long blond hair that streamed out from underneath her knitted woolen cap. She was a tall, athletic-looking girl, with a honey-coloredCalifornia suntan. She was wearing a navy blue windcheater and blue denim jeans and Timberland hiking boots, and carrying a rucksack.

Hitchhiking through Ireland had been magical for her. She had planned this trip for over eighteen months, sitting on the veranda of her parents' home inSanta Barbara , poring over photographs of misty green mountains and rugged beaches and picturesque pubs with raspberry-painted frontages and bicycles propped outside. Most of those pictures had come to life, and she had stood on the rocks on the Ring of Kerry overlooking the pale turquoise sea, and tapped her feet to Gaelic music in tiny one-room bars, and walked along the banks of the Shannon and the Lee, knee-deep in wet green grass.

Now she was on her way toBlarneyCastle , a few miles northwest ofCorkCity , to do what all conscientious tourists were obliged to do, and kiss the Blarney Stone.

She had only been thumbing for a lift for five minutes before a black Mercedes pulled into the side of the road and waited for her with its engine running. Its hood was highly polished but its sides and trunk were thickly coated with brown mud. She ran up to it and opened the door.

'Pardon me, are you going throughBlarney ?'

'Blarney?' he said. 'I can take you anywhere your heart desires.'

'I only need to get toBlarney .'

'Then, of course.'

She climbed into the front passenger seat. The interior of the car was immaculately clean and smelled of leather. 'I'm not taking you out of your way?' she said, tossing her rucksack onto the backseat.

'Of course not. Iamthe way.'

They drove smoothly off towardBlarney . Although it was only three o'clock in the afternoon, the day grew suddenly so dark that the driver had to switch on his lights. There were no other cars in sight, and both sides of the road were overhung with shadowy green woods.

'You're American,' he said.

'Yes, but Irish heritage. Fiona Kelly, I'm fromSanta Barbara,California . My great-great-grandfather came fromCork , and he emigrated toNew York in 1886.'

'So you're rediscovering your roots?'

'It's something I've always wanted to do. I don't really know why. My parents have never been back here, but I saw a Discovery program about Ireland two or three years ago, and do you know, the minute I saw those mountains, and those fabulous green meadows?'

'Ah, yes. They say that if you come from Ireland , you have to come back to Ireland to say your last words.In articulo vel periculo mortis. If you're dying, you know, your last plea for absolution can be heard by any priest at all, even if degraded or apostate, even if you've committed grievous sins which can normally be forgiven only by some ecclesiastical superior.'

'Well, wow. You seem to be pretty well versed. Are you a priest?'

'No,' he smiled. 'I'm not a priest. But, yes, I'm pretty well versed, as you put it.'

Suddenly, it began to rain thunderously hard. The driver slowed down, but his windshield wipers were still whacking from side to side at full speed, and Fiona found it almost impossible to see where they were going.

'Maybe we should pull over,' Fiona suggested, nervously.

'Oh, no, we're going to be fine. We're almost there now.'

She peered through the windshield but she still couldn't see any signs sayingBlarney .

'I have to kiss the Blarney Stone. That was something my dad made me promise.'

'Well, of course. Everybody who comes toCork has to kiss the Blarney Stone. It gives you the gift of a silver tongue.'

At last the rain began to die away, and the driver switched off the windshield wipers, and unexpectedly a pale golden sun came swimming out of the clouds. The driver remarked, 'They say that we don't have a climate here, only weather.'

He turned a sharp left, and up a steep muddy road with a sign saying Sheehan's Nurseries. The road became narrower and narrower, and eventually Fiona said, 'This isn't the way toBlarney , is it?'