and following after me like an old weasel tracing a rat, and coming in here laying desolation between my own self and the fine women of Ireland, and he a kind of carcase that youâd fling upon the sea ...
WIDOW QUIN (more soberly). Thereâs talking for a manâs one only son.
CHRISTY (breaking out). His one son, is it? May I meet him with one tooth and it aching, and one eye to be seeing seven and seventy divils in the twists of the road, and one old timber leg on him to limp into the scalding grave. (Looking out) There he is now crossing the strands, and that the Lord God would send a high wave to wash him from the world.
WIDOW QUIN (scandalized). Have you no shame? (Putting her hand on his shoulder and turning him round) What ails you? Near crying, is it?
CHRISTY (in despair and grief). Amnât I after seeing the lovelight of the star of knowledge shining from her brow, and hearing words would put you thinking on the holy Brigid speaking to the infant saints, and now sheâll be turning again, and speaking hard words to me, like an old woman with a spavindy ass sheâd have, urging on a hill.
WIDOW QUIN. Thereâs poetry talk for a girl youâd see itching and scratching, and she with a stale stink of poteen on her from selling in the shop.
CHRISTY (impatiently). Itâs her like is fitted to be handling merchandise in the heavens above, and whatâll I be doing now, I ask you, andIakind of wonder was jilted by the heavens when a day was by.
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(There is a distant noise of girlsâ voices. WIDOW QUIN looks from window and comes to him, hurriedly.)
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WIDOW QUIN. Youâll be doing like myself, Iâm thinking, when I did destroy my man, for Iâm above manyâs the day, odd times in great spirits, abroad in the sunshine, darning a stocking or stitching a shift; and odd times again looking out on the schooners, hookers, trawlers is sailing the sea, and I thinking on the gallant hairy fellows are drifting beyond, and myself long years living alone.
CHRISTY (interested). Youâre like me, so.
WIDOW QUIN. I am your like, and itâs for that Iâm taking a fancy to you, and I with my little houseen above where thereâd be myself to tend you, and none to ask were you a murderer or what at all.
CHRISTY. And what would I be doing if I left Pegeen?
WIDOW QUIN. Iâve nice jobs you could be doing, gathering shells to make a whitewash for our hut within, building up a little goose-house, or stretching a new skin on an old curragh I have, and if my hut is far from all sides, itâs there youâll meet the wisest old men, I tell you, at the corner of my wheel, and itâs there yourself and me will have great times whispering and hugging....
VOICES (outside, calling far away). Christy! Christy Mahon! Christy!
CHRISTY. Is it Pegeen Mike?
WIDOW QUIN. Itâs the young girls, Iâm thinking, coming to bring you to the sports below, and what is it youâll have me to tell them now?
CHRISTY. Aid me for to win Pegeen. Itâs herself only
that Iâm seeking now. (WIDOW QUIN gets up and goes to window.) Aid me for to win her, and Iâll be asking God to stretch a hand to you in the hour of death, and lead you short cuts through the Meadows of Ease, and up the floor of Heaven to the Footstool of the Virginâs Son.
WIDOW QUIN. Thereâs praying.
VOICES (nearer). Christy! Christy Mahon!
Christy (with agitation). Theyâre coming. Will you swear to aid and save me for the love of Christ?
WIDOW QUIN (looks at him for a moment). If I aid you, will you swear to give me a right of way I want, and a mountainy ram, and a load of dung at Michaelmas, the time that youâll be master here?
CHRISTY. I will, by the elements and stars of night.
WIDOW QUIN. Then weâll not say a word of the old fellow, the way Pegeen wonât know your story till the end of time.
CHRISTY. And if he chances to return again?
WIDOW QUIN. Weâll
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