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- You English always...
- Excuse me, I myself am Irish. |
Ireland. Question 42. Longi-
tude, West 6-10, latitude,
North 52-55. Or thereabouts.
Northernmost: Malin Head,
southernmost: Clair Head.
Never been there. Pubi Kemenczy
was. Where was he not? Lickarse
type. What did he say? Hated
the country? Or Newfound-
land? Disgusting place, bald,
cold, empty. Nothing but potatoes,
whiskey and beggars. Good
whiskey. Colony. Deserves no
better. Slips off the edge of any
proper map of Europe. |
|
|
- Irish? O pardon me. And
where is this Ireland? |
Going too far perhaps. No
officer would stand for such an
insult. Still, it's a good question:
Where is this Ireland? |
O isn't he clever! Warning
shot across the bows. Pitiful.
I wish I knew. Perhaps it
doesn't exist.
Never did. Never will
for me. Emerald Aisle... Even
your Ireland's eye is blinded. A
fiction, the whole thing. Should
be torn out of the atlases, some
madman's nightmirish marsh.
Good question: where is it?
|
|
- Between longitudes six and
ten degrees West, latitudes
52 and 55 degrees South.
Northernmost point Malin
Head, southernmost Mizen
Head. Capital city Dublin, or,
in the language of the aboriginal
Celts, Baile Atha Cliath. I
imagine that's enough for a first
acquaintance. |
| Celts? Didn't they die out long ago? |
|
|
- Perhaps we should resrict
ourselves to English.
- Well, it would help if I was
aware of the precise extent
of your knowledge of the
language. |
Adaptable, fawning,
thick-skinned Irish.
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|
|
- My English is rather good,
I think.
- You won't be offended if I
correct you? In sentences
such as this the good is pre-
ceded by fairly rather than
rather. I believe you wished
to say 'quite good'. Otherwise,
your pronunciation of the 'th'
was, to be fair, rather bad.
You Germans always have
difficulty with that phoneme.
- The Germans might. I myself
am Hungarian.
|
I'll knock that out of you soon
enough, scrawny teacherman.
If ever you wander under my
jurisdiction, I'll soon show you
what Hungarians are made of.
|
Bull's eye! Accidental but
accurate. Could be just as
deucedimportant a nation
as the Irish. Something
I read somewhere. Kossuth...
Is that a name?
|
|
- Ah, I see. Hungarian. Well, that's
entirely different.
- That really is entirely different, sir.
All the same, Hungarians...
- Excuse me for interrupting again, but
your pronunciation of that th was
unmistakably German. Please
pay attention while I do it.
Loosely interpolate the tip of the
tongue between both rows of teeth.
|
Are you stealing my time?
Is it my thirty crowns your
drivel is directed at? On my
money you're hissing? If he
doesn't cut it out I'll smack
him so hard on the chin he'll
bite his tongue off. Knock him
out. Like Hochengraetz in
Fiume at the officers' games
last year. Right hook. Monte-
cuccoli congratulated me
afterwards. Wipe this filthy
bedchamber with him. What
took me in here? How long
more is he going to hiss?
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|
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- I'm not here to learn pronun-
ciation. My 'th's may not be
the most perfect, but they suit
my purposes as they are. I merely
wish to brush up my English
and improve my conversational
skills if possible.
|
|
What in hell do thou and
I have to converse about,
O mine enemy? |
|
- If you've no objection then we
can get down to the English right
away.
- No problem! What do you
want me to talk about? |
Nothing wrong with that
construction. Perfectly put,
that's for sure. So. So, what's
your answer. Teacherman
is sulking. Of course what
could you talk about with this
one? Devious rascal. When Pubi
Kemenczy first mentioned him
I thought of bringing along
the kids. English wouldn't
harm them. Pity I already said it
to Magda. Have to make up
some excuse back home. Magda
would have invited him to
her whist evening, she's too
good-hearted. Only if it suited
of course, just as well. Well.
It doesn't suit.
|
What to talk about, your
pomposity? Think I know?
Who wants you to talk? Hum-
iliating enough that for your
miserable thirty crowns I
put up with you at all. This
low have I sunk. If I get a job
with Berlitz, you'll hear no
more of me, don't fear. My days
in the wild with Cerco-
pithecus... You're no better
than my fellow Dubliners.
And your phizog bears an
ineffable likeness to O'Shea's.
But you still have your lovely
legs, while his languor beneath
a winch. Sailor's fate, ay!
A dirk trigidy! Be best if you didn't
utter a blind word, Fortuna's
favoured, you yet bipedal collection
of ring-ding-a-ling. To despoil this
anniversary on such as he! Nora
on the bridge, Nora on the
beach. Ah, that turbulent Thursday,
this flaccid Friday.
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|
Well, we can talk about your
work if you don't mind.
|
| His Lordship deigns to speak at last... |
|
|
- Alright. I am a ... unfortunately
I'm still not completely sure of
professional navy vocabulary.
The reason being I studied under a
Diplomat in Constantinople.
- Conversation?
- Of course. Conversation. So,
how do you say Manoeuvres
Officer?
-As I mentioned, I'm not
well-versed in the ranks,
nor in other areas of the
naval discipline. What does
a Manoeuvres Officer
actually do?
- It depends on his superior.
- On Captain Ripper.
- On Rear-Admiral Ripper.
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|
Ripper, ripple, riposte, unripe,
Pardon me, rippardon me. |
|
- Pardon me. Let's say Exercise
Officer.
-So I am an Exercise Officer on
Sankt Georg armoured battleship
under the command of... How do
you say Rear-Admiral?
- We say Rear-Admiral.
- Ah! Rear-Admiral. Rear-Admiral.
- I suggest you write down all
the new words.
-Thank you, it will be unnecessary.
I have an excellent memory.
- But the spelling...
- I wish to converse, not scribble.
|
Offensive scamp. Imagine
inviting him along! Four
o'clock now. Five when I get
home. Bath, talk to the aide
de camp. I'll be barely in time
for the whist. Magda will
receive the first guests. She's
good at that sort of thing. If
Ripper shows I'll drop a word
about this boy. I wonder if
Magda bought that inlaid table?
Schönweider's wife was after
it too. If Magda collared it
from under her nose we'll
play on it this evening. That
will cause Schönweider a fit.
Which would leave a space open.
A promotion with luck.
|
There's another piece of ring-
a-ding-ding. Scribbling is bad
for you. A superfluous luxury
for a society man. The ire of the
writer in the ear of the reader.
Clearly threatening. But Irish ire
won't feed this hungry Magyar.
You're not illiterate, you're
just ill. God of the sea, ferocious
Manoeuvres Officer! Your fart
is the North wind, your piss
the snotgreen swill!
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- I suppose we could talk about
your country.
- You mean Ungarn.
- In English your homeland is
Hungary, not Ungarn.
- Naturally. I am fully aware of
that. Don't elaborate.
- Excuse me. Elaboration was
not even in my mind's vicinity.
It was you who said Ungarn.
- A bad habit. What about
Hungary?
- I was just suggesting that if
the navy is exhausted as a
topic of conversation, we
could talk about your homeland.
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| About Hungary? With you? |
|
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- No, let's stay in the Adriatic.
I rarely make it home these days.
- O really? You too are an emigré?
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Now that's too much. That's
the last straw. If the rules
permitted I'd have you right
now. Blackguard! Lucky for
you you're unfit for a duel. A
little bayonet practise wouldn't
go amiss.
|
Janey, some fool I am.
I overshot. Popping his
eyes are. My thirty crowns
endangered. I should know
these over-decorated Christ-
mas trees are always blood-
dyed patriots. Beating their
breasts till they break. I
must know something about
Hungary... Kossuth... Isn't
that his name?
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