We crossed the Liffey in the ferryboat, paying our toll to be
transported in the company of two labourers and a little Jew with a
bag. We were serious to the point of solemnity, but once during the
short voyage our eyes met and we laughed. When we landed we watched the
discharging of the graceful threemaster which we had observed from the
other quay. Some bystander said that she was a Norwegian vessel. I went
to the stern and tried to decipher the legend upon it but, failing to
do so, I came back and examined the foreign sailors to see had any of
them green eyes for I had some confused notion.... The sailors’ eyes
were blue and grey and even black. The only sailor whose eyes could
have been called green was a tall man who amused the crowd on the quay
by calling out cheerfully every time the planks fell:
“All right! All right!”
When we were tired of this sight we wandered slowly into Ringsend. The
day had grown sultry, and in the windows of the grocers’ shops musty
biscuits lay bleaching. We bought some biscuits and chocolate which we
ate sedulously as we wandered through the squalid streets where the
families of the fishermen live. We could find no dairy and so we went
into a huckster’s shop and bought a bottle of raspberry lemonade each.
Refreshed by this, Mahony chased a cat down a lane, but the cat escaped
into a wide field. We both felt rather tired and when we reached the
field we made at once for a sloping bank over the ridge of which we
could see the Dodder.
It was too late and we were too tired to carry out our project of
visiting the Pigeon House. We had to be home before four o’clock lest
our adventure should be discovered. Mahony looked regretfully at his
catapult and I had to suggest going home by train before he regained
any cheerfulness. The sun went in behind some clouds and left us to our
jaded thoughts and the crumbs of our provisions.
There was nobody but ourselves in the field. When we had lain on the
bank for some time without speaking I saw a man approaching from the
far end of the field. I watched him lazily as I chewed one of those
green stems on which girls tell fortunes. He came along by the bank
slowly. He walked with one hand upon his hip and in the other hand he
held a stick with which he tapped the turf lightly. He was shabbily
dressed in a suit of greenish-black and wore what we used to call a
jerry hat with a high crown. He seemed to be fairly old for his
moustache was ashen-grey. When he passed at our feet he glanced up at
us quickly and then continued his way. We followed him with our eyes
and saw that when he had gone on for perhaps fifty paces he turned
about and began to retrace his steps. He walked towards us very slowly,
always tapping the ground with his stick, so slowly that I thought he
was looking for something in the grass.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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