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counter, locals and ones in from the Law Courts with their waistcoats and sharp suits.
They were wise-cracking and laughing and talking between each other which didn t
happen every day of the year. With Strannix off he could risk going up to the bar. You
never know what could happen. It was the sort of day a man could easily get drink bought
for him.
He stood for a long time smiling at their jokes but nobody took any notice of him so he
bought himself another hot wine and went back to his seat. It was funny how he d
forgotten that it was so near Christmas. One day was very much the same as another.
Long ago Christmases had been good. There had been plenty to eat and drink. A chicken,
vegetables and spuds, all at the same meal, ending up with plum-duff and custard.
Afterwards the Da, if he wasn t too drunk, would serve out the mulled claret. He would
heat a poker until it glowed red and sparked white when bits of dust hit it as he drew it
from the fire  that was another thing, they d always had a fire at Christmas  then he d
plunge it down the neck of the bottle and serve the wine out in cups with a spoonful of
sugar in the bottom of each. Then they knew that they could go out and play with their
new things until midnight if they liked, because the Ma and the Da would get full and fall
asleep in their chairs. By bedtime their new things were always broken but it didn t seem
to matter because you could always do something with them. Those were the days.
But there were bad times as well. He remembered the Christmas day he ended lying on
the cold lino, crying in the corner, sore from head to foot after a beating the Da had given
him. He had knocked one of the figures from the crib on the mantlepiece and it smashed
to white plaster bits on the hearth. The Da had bought the crib the day before and was a
bit the worse for drink and he had laid into him with the belt  buckle and all. Even now
he couldn t remember which figure it was.
McGettigan was glad he wasn t married. He could get full whenever he liked without
children to worry about. He was his own master. He could have a good Christmas. He
searched his pockets and took out all his money and counted it. He could afford a fair bit
for Christmas Day. He knew he should get it now, just in case, and have it put to one
side. Maybe he could get something to eat as well.
He went up to the counter and Hughie leaned over to hear him above the noise of the
bar. When McGettigan asked him for a carry-out Hughie reminded him that it was only
half-past two. Then McGettigan explained that he wanted it for Christmas. Three pint
bottles of stout and three of wine.
 Will this do? asked Hughie holding up the cheapest wine in the place and smiling. He
put the bottles in a bag and left it behind the counter.
 You ll tell the boss it s for me, if he comes in, said McGettigan.
 If Strannix comes in you ll be out on your ear, Hughie said.
Strannix was a mean get and everybody knew it. He hated McGettigan, saying that he
was the type of customer he could well do without. People like him got the place a bad
name. What he really meant was that the judges and lawyers, who drank only the dearest
and best  and lots of it  might object to McGettigan s sort. Strannix would strangle his
grandmother for a halfpenny. It was a standing joke in the bar for the lawyers, when
served with whiskey, to say,  I ll just put a little more water in this. Strannix was an out-
and-out crook. He not only owned the bar but also the houses of half the surrounding
streets. McGettigan paid him an exorbitant amount for his room and although he hated
doing it he paid as regularly as possible because he wanted to hold onto this last shred.
You were beat when you didn t have a place to go. His room was the last thing he wanted
to lose.
Now that he was feeling relaxed McGettigan got himself a stout and as he went back to
his seat he saw Judge Boucher come in. Everybody at the bar wished him a happy
Christmas in a ragged chorus. One young lawyer having wished him all the best, turned
and rolled his eyes and sniggered into his hot whiskey.
Judge Boucher was a fat man, red faced with a network of tiny broken purple veins. He
wore a thick, warm camel-hair overcoat and was peeling off a pair of fur-lined gloves.
McGettigan hadn t realized he was bald the first time he had seen him because then he
was wearing his judge s wig and sentencing him to three months for drunk and
disorderly. McGettigan saw him now tilt his first gin and tonic so far back that the lemon
slice hit his moustache. He slid the glass back to Hughie who refilled it. Judge Boucher
cracked and rubbed his hands together and said something about how cold it was, then he
pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Hughie with a wad of money.
The judge seemed to be buying for those around him so McGettigan went up close to
him.
 How re ye Judge, he said. McGettigan was a good six inches taller that the judge, but
round shouldered. The judge turned and looked up at him.
 McGettigan. Keeping out of trouble, eh? he said.
 Yis, sur. But things is bad at the minute . . . like . . . you know how it is. Now if I had
the money for a bed . . . said McGettigan fingering the stubble of his chin.
 I ll buy you no drink, snapped the judge.  That s the cause of your trouble, man. You
look dreadful. How long is it since you ve eaten?
 It s not the food your lordship . . . began McGettigan but he was interrupted by the
judge ordering him a meat pie. He took it with mumbled thanks and went back to his seat
once again.
 Happy Christmas, shouted the judge across the bar.
Just then Strannix came in behind the bar. He was a huge muscular man and had his
sleeves rolled up to his biceps. He talked in a loud Southern brogue. When he spied
McGettigan he leaned over the bar hissing,  Ya skinney big hairpin. I thought I told you
if ever I caught you . . .
 Mr Strannix, called the judge from the other end of the counter. Strannix s face
changed from venom to smile as he walked the duck-boards to where the judge stood.
 Yes Judge what can I do for you? he said. The judge had now become the
professional.
 Let him be, he said.  Good will to all men and all that. He laughed loudly and [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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