Chapter 2

MAURYA. _Raising her head and speaking as if she did not see the people around her._—They’re all gone now, and there isn’t anything more the sea can do to me.... I’ll have no call now to be up crying and praying when the wind breaks from the south, and you can hear the surf is in the east, and the surf is in the west, making a great stir with the two noises, and they hitting one on the other. I’ll have no call now to be going down and getting Holy Water in the dark nights after Samhain, and I won’t care what way the sea is when the other women will be keening. [_To Nora_]. Give me the Holy Water, Nora, there’s a small sup still on the dresser.

[_Nora gives it to her._]

MAURYA. _Drops Michael’s clothes across Bartley’s feet, and sprinkles the Holy Water over him._—It isn’t that I haven’t prayed for you, Bartley, to the Almighty God. It isn’t that I haven’t said prayers in the dark night till you wouldn’t know what I’ld be saying; but it’s a great rest I’ll have now, and it’s time surely. It’s a great rest I’ll have now, and great sleeping in the long nights after Samhain, if it’s only a bit of wet flour we do have to eat, and maybe a fish that would be stinking.

[_She kneels down again, crossing herself, and saying prayers under her breath._]

CATHLEEN. _To an old man._—Maybe yourself and Eamon would make a coffin when the sun rises. We have fine white boards herself bought, God help her, thinking Michael would be found, and I have a new cake you can eat while you’ll be working.

THE OLD MAN. _Looking at the boards._—Are there nails with them?

CATHLEEN. There are not, Colum; we didn’t think of the nails.

ANOTHER MAN. It’s a great wonder she wouldn’t think of the nails, and all the coffins she’s seen made already.

CATHLEEN. It’s getting old she is, and broken.

[_Maurya stands up again very slowly and spreads out the pieces of Michael’s clothes beside the body, sprinkling them with the last of the Holy Water_.]

NORA. _In a whisper to Cathleen._—She’s quiet now and easy; but the day Michael was drowned you could hear her crying out from this to the spring well. It’s fonder she was of Michael, and would any one have thought that?

CATHLEEN. _Slowly and clearly._—An old woman will be soon tired with anything she will do, and isn’t it nine days herself is after crying and keening, and making great sorrow in the house?

MAURYA. _Puts the empty cup mouth downwards on the table, and lays her hands together on Bartley’s feet._—They’re all together this time, and the end is come. May the Almighty God have mercy on Bartley’s soul, and on Michael’s soul, and on the souls of Sheamus and Patch, and Stephen and Shawn [_bending her head_]; and may He have mercy on my soul, Nora, and on the soul of every one is left living in the world.

[_She pauses, and the keen rises a little more loudly from the women, then sinks away._]

MAURYA. _Continuing._—Michael has a clean burial in the far north, by the grace of the Almighty God. Bartley will have a fine coffin out of the white boards, and a deep grave surely. What more can we want than that? No man at all can be living for ever, and we must be satisfied.

[_She kneels down again and the curtain falls slowly._]