Chapter 5

_Scene: A Room in an old half-ruined castle_.

_Mother_: Look out the door, Celia, and see is your uncle coming.

_Celia_: (_Who is lying on the ground, a bunch of ribbons in her hand, and playing with a pigeon, looks towards door without getting up_.) I see no sign of him.

_Mother_: What time were you telling me it was a while ago?

_Celia_: It is not five minutes hardly since I was telling you it was ten o'clock by the sun.

_Mother_: So you did, if I could but have kept it in mind. What at all ails him that he does not come in to the breakfast?

_Celia_: He went out last night and the full moon shining. It is likely he passed the whole night abroad, drowsing or rummaging, whatever he does be looking for in the rath.

_Mother_: I'm in dread he'll go crazy with digging in it.

_Celia_: He was crazy with crossness before that.

_Mother_: If he is it's on account of his learning. Them that have too much of it are seven times crosser than them that never saw a book.

_Celia_: It is better to be tied to any thorny bush than to be with a cross man. He to know the seventy-two languages he couldn't be more crabbed than what he is.

_Mother_: It is natural to people do be so clever to be fiery a little, and not have a long patience.

_Celia_: It's a pity he wouldn't stop in that school he had down in the North, and not to come back here in the latter end of life.

_Mother_: Ah, he was maybe tired with enlightening his scholars and he took a notion to acquaint ourselves with knowledge and learning. I was trying to reckon a while ago the number of the years he was away, according to the buttons of my gown (_fingers bodice_), but they went astray on me at the gathers of the neck.

_Celia_: If the hour would come he'd go out of this, I'd sing, I'd play on all the melodeons that ever was known! (_Sings_.) (_Air, "Shule Aroon_.")

"I would not wish him any ill, But were he swept to some far hill It's then I'd laugh and laugh my fill, Coo, Coo, my birdeen bán astore.

"I wish I was a linnet free To rock and rustle on the tree With none to haste or hustle me, Coo, Coo, my birdeen bán astore!"

_Mother_: Did you make ready now what will please him for his breakfast?

_Celia_: (_Laughing_.) I'm doing every whole thing, but you know well to please him is not possible.

_Mother_: It is going astray on me what sort of egg best suits him, a pullet's egg or the egg of a duck.

_Celia_: I'd go search out if it would satisfy him the egg of an eagle having eyes as big as the moon, and feathers of pure gold.

_Mother_: Look out again would you see him.

_Celia_: (_Sitting up reluctantly_.) I wonder will the rosy ribbon or the pale put the best appearance on my party dress to-night? (_Looks out_.) He is coming down the path from the rath, and he having his little old book in his hand, that he gives out fell down before him from the skies.

_Mother_: So there is a little book, whatever language he does be wording out of it.

_Celia_: If you listen you'll hear it now, or hear his own talk, for he's mouthing and muttering as he travels the path.

_Conan_: (_Comes in: the book in his hand open, he is not looking at it_.) "Life is the flame of the heart ...that heat is of the nature of the stars." ...It is Aristotle had knowledge to turn that flame here and there.... What way now did he do that?

_Mother_: Ah, I'm well pleased to see you coming in, Conan. I was getting uneasy thinking you were gone astray on us.

_Conan_: (_Dropping his book and picking it up again_.) I never knew the like of you, Maryanne, under the canopy of heaven. To be questioning me with your talk, and I striving to keep my mind upon all the wisdom of the ancient world. (_Sits down beside fire_.)

_Mother_: So you would be too. It is well able you are to do that.

_Conan_: (_To Celia_.) Have you e'er a meal to leave down to me?

_Celia_: It will be ready within three minutes of time.

_Conan_: Wasting the morning on me! What good are you if you cannot so much as boil the breakfast? Hurry on now.

_Celia_: Ah, hurry didn't save the hare. (_Sings ironically as she prepares breakfast_.) (_Air, "Mo Bhuachailin Buidhe_.")

"Come in the evening or come in the morning, Come when you're looked for or come without warning; Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you And the oftner you come here the more I'll adore you."

_Conan_: Give me up the tea-pot.

_Celia_: Best leave it on the coals awhile.

_Conan_: Give me up those eggs so. (_Seizes them_.)

_Celia_: You can take the tea-pot too if you are calling for it. (_Goes on singing mischievously as she turns a cake_.)

"I'll pull you sweet flowers to wear if you'll choose them, Or after you've kissed them they'll lie on my bosom."

_Conan_: (_Breaking eggs_.) They're raw and running!

_Celia_: There's no one can say which is best, hurry or delay.

_Conan_: You had them boiled in cold water!

_Celia_: That's where you're wrong.

_Conan_: The young people that's in the world now, if you had book truth they wouldn't believe it. (_Flings eggs into the fire and pours out tea_.)

_Mother_: I hope now that is pleasing to you?

_Conan_: (_Threatening Celia with spoon_.) My seven curses on yourself and your fair-haired tea. (_Puts back tea-pot_.)

_Celia_: (_Laughing_.) It was hurry left it so weak on you!

_Mother_: Ah, don't be putting reproaches on him. Crossness is a thing born with us. It do run in the blood. Strive now to let him have a quiet life.

_Conan_: I am not asking a quiet life! But to come live with your own family you might as well take your coffin on your back!

_Celia_: (_Sings_.)

"We'll look on the stars and we'll list to the river 'Till you ask of your darling what gift you can give her."

_Conan_: That girl is a disgrace sitting on the floor the way she is! If I had her for a while I'd put betterment on her. No one that was under me ever grew slack!

_Celia_: _You_ would never be satisfied and you to see me working from dark to dark as hard as a pismire in the tufts.

_Mother_: Leave her now, she's a quiet little girl and comely.

_Conan_: Comely! I'd sooner her to be like the ugliest sod of turf that is pockmarked in the bog, and a handy housekeeper, and her pigeon doing something for the world if it was but scaring its comrades on a stick in a barley garden!

_Celia_: Ah, do you hear him! (_Stroking pigeon_.) (_Sings_.)

"But when your friend is forced to flee You'll spread your white wings on the sea And fly and follow after me-- Go-dé tu Mavourneen slân!"

_Mother_: I wonder you to be going into the rath the way you do, Conan. It is a very haunted place.

_Conan_: Don't be bothering me. I have my reason for that.

_Mother_: I often heard there is many a one lost his wits in it.

_Conan_: It's likely they hadn't much to lose. Without the education anyone is no good.

_Mother_: Ah, indeed you were always a tip-top scholar. I didn't ever know how good you were till I had my memory lost.

_Conan_: Indeed, it is a strange thing any wits at all to be found in _this_ family.

_Mother_: Ah, sure we are as is allotted to us at the time God made the world.

_Conan_: Now _I_ to make the world--

_Mother_: You are not saying you would make a better hand of it?

_Conan_: I am certain sure I could.

_Mother_: Ah, don't be talking that way!

_Conan_: I'd make changes you'd wonder at.

_Celia_: It's likely you'd make the world in one day in place of six.

_Mother_: It's best make changes little by little the same as you'd put clothes upon a growing child, and to knock every day out of what God will give you, and to live as long as we can, and die when we can't help it.

_Conan_: And the first thing I'd do would be to give you back your memory and your sense. _(Sings.) (Air, "The Bells of Shandon.")_

"My brain grows rusty, my mind is dusty, The time I'm dwelling with the likes of ye, While my spirit ranges through all the changes Could turn the world to felicity! When Aristotle..."

_Mother_: It is like a dream to me I heard that name. Aristotle of the books.

_Conan: (Eagerly.)_ What did you hear about him?

_Mother_: I don't know was it about him or was it some other one. My memory to be as good as it is bad I might maybe bring it to mind.

_Conan_: Hurry on now and remember!

_Mother_: Ah, it's hard remember anything and the weather so uncertain as what it is.

_Conan_: Is it of late you heard it?

_Mother_: It was maybe ere yesterday or some day of the sort; I don't know. Since the age tampered with me the thing I'd hear to-day I wouldn't think of to-morrow.

_Conan_: Try now and tell me was it that Aristotle, the time he walked Ireland, had come to this place.

_Mother_: It might be that, unless it might be some other thing.

_Conan_: And that he left some great treasure hid--it might be in the rath without.

_Mother_: And what good would it do you a pot of gold to be hid in the rath where you would never come near to it, it being guarded by enchanted cats and they having fiery eyes?

_Conan_: Did I say anything about a pot of gold? This was better again than gold. This was an enchantment would raise you up if you were gasping from death. Give attention now ... Aristotle.

_Mother_: It's Harry he used to be called.

_Conan_: Listen now. _(Sings.) (Air, "Bells of Shandon.")_

"Once Aristotle hid in a bottle Or some other vessel of security A spell had power bring sweet from sour Or bring blossoms blooming on the blasted tree."

_Mother: (Repeating last line_.) "Or bring blossoms blooming on the blasted tree."

_Conan_: Is that now what you heard ...that Aristotle has hid some secret spell?

_Mother_: I won't say what I don't know. My memory is too weak for me to be telling lies.

_Conan_: You could strengthen it if you took it in hand, putting a knot in the corner of your shawl to keep such and such a thing in mind.

_Mother_: If I did I should put another knot in the other corner to remember what was the first one for.

_Conan_: You'd remember it well enough if it was a pound of tea!

_Mother_: Ah, maybe it's best be as I am and not to be running carrying lies here and there, putting trouble on people's mind.

_Conan_: Isn't it terrible to be seeing all this folly around me and not to have a way to better it!

_Mother_: Ah, dear, it's best leave the time under the mercy of the Man that is over us all.

_Conan_: (_Jumping up furious_.) Where's the use of old people being in the world at all if they cannot keep a memory of things gone by! (_Sings_.) (_Air, "O the time I've lost in wooing_.")

"O the time I've lost pursuing And feeling nothing doing, The lure that led me from my bed Has left me sad and rueing! Success seemed very near me! High hope was there to cheer me! I asked my book where would I look And all it did was fleer me!"

_Mother_: What is it ails you?

_Conan_: That secret to be in the world, and I all to have laid my hand on it, and it to have gone astray on me!

_Mother_: So it would go too.

_Conan_: A secret that could change the world! I'd make it as good a world to live in as it was in the time of the Greeks. I don't see much goodness in the trace of the people in it now. To change everything to its contrary the way the book said it would! There would be great satisfaction doing that. Was there ever in the world a family was so little use to a man? (_Sings in dejection_.) (_Air, "My Molly O."_)

"There is a rose in Ireland, I thought it would be mine But now that it is hid from me I must forever pine. Till death shall come and comfort me for to the grave I'll go And all for the sake of Aristotle's secret O!"

_Celia_: I wonder you wouldn't ask Timothy that is older again than what my mother is.

_Conan_: Timothy! He has the hearing lost.

_Celia_: Well there is no harm to try him.

_Conan_: (_Going to door_.) Timothy!... There, he's as deaf as a beetle.

_Mother_: It might be best for him. The thing the ear will not hear will not put trouble on the heart.

_Celia_: (_Who has gone out comes pushing him in_.) Here he is now for you.

_Conan_: Did ever you hear of Aristotle?

_Timothy_: Aye?

_Conan_: Aristotle!

_Timothy_: Ere a bottle? I might ...

_Conan_: Aristotle.... That had some power?

_Timothy_: I never seen no flower.

_Conan_: Something he hid near this place.

_Timothy_: I never went near no race.

_Conan_: Has the whole world its mind made up to annoy me!

_Celia_: Raise your voice into his ear.

_Conan_: (_Chanting_.)

"Aristotle in the hour He left Ireland left a power In a gift Eolus gave Could all Ireland change and save!"

_Timothy:_ Would it now?

_Conan:_ You said you had heard of a bottle.

_Timothy:_ A charmed bottle. It is Biddy Early put a cure in it and bestowed it in her will to her son.

_Conan:_ Aristotle that left one in the same way.

_Timothy:_ It is what I am thinking that my old generations used to be talking about a bellows.

_Conan:_ A bellows! There's no sense in that!

_Timothy:_ Have it your own way so, and give me leave to go feeding the little chickens and the hens, for if I cannot hear what they say and they cannot understand what I say, they put no reproach on me after, no more than I would put it on themselves. (_Goes_.)

_Celia:_ Let you be satisfied now and not torment yourself, for if you got the world wide you couldn't discover it. You might as well think to throw your hat to hit the stars.

_Conan:_ You have me tormented among the whole of ye. To be without ye would be no harm at all. (_Sits down and weeps_.) Of all the families anyone would wish to live away from I am full sure my family is the worst.

_Mother:_ Ah, dear, you're worn out and contrary with the want of sleep. Come now into the room and stretch yourself on the bed. To go sleeping out in the grass has no right rest in it at all! (_Takes his arm_.)

_Conan:_ Where's the use of lying on my bed where it is convenient to the yard, that I'd be afflicted by the turkeys yelping and the pullets praising themselves after laying an egg! and the cackling and hissing of the geese.

_Mother:_ Lie down so on the settle, and I'll let no one disturb you. You're destroyed, avic, with the want of sleep.

_Conan:_ There'll be no peace in this kitchen no more than on the common highway with the people running in and out.

_Mother:_ I'll go sit in the little gap without, and the whole place will be as quiet as St. Colman's wilderness of stones.

_Conan:_ The boards are too hard.

_Mother:_ I'll put a pillow in under you.

_Conan:_ Now it's too narrow. Leave me now it'll be best.

_Mother:_ Sleep and good dreams to you. (_Goes singing sleepy song_.)

_Conan:_ The most troublesome family ever I knew in all my born days! Why is that people cannot have behaviour now the same as in ancient Greece. (_Sits up_.) I'll not give them the satisfaction of going asleep. I'll drink a sup of the tea that is black with standing and with strength. (_Drinks and lies down_.) I'll engage that'll keep me waking. (_Music heard_.) Is it to annoy me they are playing tunes of music? I'll let on to be asleep! (_Shuts eyes_.)

(_Two large Cats with fiery eyes look over top of settle_.)

_1st Cat:_

See the fool that crossed our path Rummaging within the rath.

Coveting a spell is bound Agelong in our haunted ground.

Hid that none disturb its peace By a Druid out from Greece.

Spies and robbers have no call Rooting in our ancient wall.

Man or mortal what is he Matched against the mighty Sidhe?

_2nd Cat_:

Bid our riders of the night Daze and craze him with affright,

Leave him fainting and forlorn Hanging on the moon's young horn.

Let the death-bands turn him pale Through the venom of our tail.

Let him learn to love our law With the sharpness of our claw.

Let our King-cat's fiery flash Turn him to a heap of ash.

_1st Cat_:

Punishment enough he'll find In his cross and cranky mind.

Ha, ha, ha, and ho, ho, ho, He'd a sharper penance know,

We'd have better sport to-day If he got his will and way,

Found the spell that lies unknown Underneath his own hearthstone.

(_They disappear saying together_:)

Men and mortals what are ye Matched against the mighty Sidhe?

_Conan_: (_Looking out timidly_.) Are they gone? Here, Puss, puss! Come hither now poor Puss! They're not in it.... Here now! here's milk for ye. And a drop of cream.... (_Gets up, peeps under settle and around_.) They are gone! And that they may never come back! I wouldn't wish to be brought riding a thorny bush in the night time into the cold that is behind the sun! What now did they say? Or is it dreaming I was? Oh, it was not! They spoke clear and plain. The hidden spell that I was seeking, they said it to be in the hiding hole under the hearth. (_Pokes, sneezes_.) Bad cess to Celia leaving that much ashes to be choking me. Well, the luck has come to me at last!

(_Sings as he searches_.)

"Proudly the note of the trumpet is sounding, Loudly the war cries rise on the gale; Fleetly the steed by Lough Swilly is bounding To join the thick squadrons in Saimear's green vale. On every mountaineer, strangers to flight and fear; Rush to the standard of dauntless Red Hugh Bonnaught and gallowglass, throng from each mountain pass. On for old Erin, O'Donnall Abu."

(_Pokes at hearthstone_.) Sure enough, it's loose! It's moving! Wait till I'll get a wedge under it!

(_Takes fork from table_.) It's coming!

(_Door suddenly opens and he drops fork and springs back_.)

_Mother_: (_Coming in with Rock and Flannery_.) Here now, come in the two of ye. Here now, Conan, is two of the neighbours, James Rock of Lis Crohan and Fardy Flannery the rambling herd, that are come to get a light for the pipe and they walking the road from the Fair.

_Conan_: That's the way you make a fool of me promising me peace and quiet for to sleep!

_Mother_: Ah, so I believe I did. But it slipped away from me, and I listening to the blackbird on the bush.

_Conan_: (_To Rock_.) I wonder, James Rock, that you wouldn't have on you so much as a halfpenny box of matches!

_Rock_: (_Trying to get to hearth_.) So I have matches. But why would I spend one when I can get for nothing a light from a sod?

_Flannery_: Sure, I could give you a match I have this long time, waiting till I'll get as much tobacco as will fill a pipe.

_Mother_: It's the poor man does be generous. It's gone from my mind, Fardy, what was it brought you to be a servant of poverty?

_Flannery_: Since the day I lost on the road my forty pound that I had to stock my little farm of land, all has wore away from me and left me bare owning nothing unless daylight and the run of water. It was that put me on the Shaughrann.

(_Sings "The Bard of Armagh."_)

"Oh, list to the lay of a poor Irish harper, And scorn not the strains of his old withered hand, But remember the fingers could once move sharper To raise the merry strains of his dear native land; It was long before the shamrock our dear isle's loved emblem. Was crushed in its beauty 'neath the Saxon Lion's paw I was called by the colleens of the village and valley Bold Phelim Brady, the bard of Armagh."

_Rock_: Bad management! Look what I brought from the Fair through minding my own property--£20 for a milch cow, and thirty for a score of lambs!

_Mother_: £20 for a cow! Isn't that terrible money!

_Conan_: Let you whist now! You are putting a headache on me with all your little newses and country chat!

(_Mother goes, the others are following_.)

_Rock_: (_Turning from door_.) It might be better for yourself, Conan Creevey, if you had minded business would bring profit to your hand in place of your foreign learning, that never put a penny piece in anyone's pocket that ever I heard. No earthly profit unless to addle the brain and leave the pocket empty.

_Conan_: You think yourself a great sort! Let me tell you that my learning has power to do more than that!

_Rock_: It's an empty mouth that has big talk.

_Conan_: What would you say hearing I had power put in my hand that could change the entire world? And that's what you never will have power to do.

_Rock_: What power is that?

_Conan_:

Aristotle in the hour He left Ireland left a power....

_Rock_: Foolishness! I never would believe in poetry or in dreams or images, but in ready money down. (_Jingles bag_.)

_Conan_: I tell you you'll see me getting the victory over all Ireland!

_Rock_: You have but a cracked headpiece thinking that will come to you.

_Conan_: I tell you it will! No end at all in the world to what I am about to bring in!

_Rock_: It's easy praise yourself!

_Conan_: And so I am praising myself, and so will you all be praising me when you will see all that I will do!

_Rock_: It is what I think you got demented in the head and in the mind.

_Conan_: It is soon the wheel will be turned and the whole of the nation will be changed for the best. (_Sings_.)

"Dear Harp of my country, in darkness I found thee, The cold chain of silence had hung o'er thee long, When proudly, my own Irish Harp, I unbound thee, And gave all thy chords to light, freedom and song, The warm lay of love and the light note of gladness Have waken'd thy fondest, thy liveliest thrill; But so oft hast thou echo'd the deep sigh of sadness, That ev'n in thy mirth it will steal from thee still."

_Flannery_: That's a great thought, if it is but a vanity or a dream.

_Rock_: (_Sneeringly_.) Well now and what would _you_ do?

_Flannery_: I would wish a great lake of milk, the same as blessed St. Bridget, to be sharing with the family of Heaven. I would wish vessels full of alms that would save every sorrowful man. Do that now, Conan, and you'll have the world of prayers down on you!

_Rock_: It's what I'd do, to turn the whole of Galway Bay to dry land, and I to have it for myself, the red land, the green land, the fallow and the lea! The want of land is a great stoppage to a man having means to lay out in stock.

(_Sings_.) (_Air, "I wish I had the shepherd's lamb."_)

"I wish I had both mill and kiln, I wish I had of land my fill; I wish I had both mill and kiln, And all would follow after!"

_Flannery_: Ah, the land, the land, the rotten land, and what will you have in the end but the breadth of your back of it? Let you now soften the heart in that one (_points to Rock_) till he would restore to me the thing he is aware of.

_Conan_: It was not for that the spell was promised, to be changing a few neighbours or a thing of the kind, or to be doing wonders in this broken little place. A town of dead factions! To change any of the dwellers in this place would be to make it better, for it would be impossible to make it worse. The time you wouldn't be meddling with them you wouldn't know them to be bad, but the time you'd have to do business with them that's the time you'd know it!

_Rock_: I suppose it is what you are asking to do, to make yourself rich?

_Conan_: I do not! I would be loth take any profit, and Aristotle after laying down that _to_ pleasure or _to_ profit every wealthy man is a slave!

_Flannery_: What would you do, so?

_Conan_: I will change all into the similitude of ancient Greece! There is no man at all can understand argument but it is from Greece he is. I know well what I'm doing. I'm not like a potato having eyes this way and that. People were harmless long ago and why wouldn't they be made harmless again? Aristotle said, "Fair play is more beautiful than the morning and the evening star!"

"Be friendly with one another," he said, "and let the lawyers starve!" I'll turn the captains of soldiers to be as peaceable as children picking strawberries in the grass. I've a mind to change the tongue of the people to the language of the Greeks, that no farmer will be grumbling over a halfpenny Independent, but be following the plough in full content, giving out Homer and the praises of the ancient world!

_Flannery_: If you make the farmers content you will make the world content.

_Rock_: You will, when you'll bring the sun from Greece to ripen our little lock of oats!

_Conan_: So I will drag Ireland from its moorings till I'll bring it to the middling sea that has no ebb or flood!

_Rock_: You will do well to put a change on the college that harboured you, and that left you so much of folly.

_Conan_: I'll do that! I'll be in College Green before the dawn is white--no but before the night is grey! It is to Dublin I will bring my spell, for I ever and always heard it said what Dublin will do to-day Ireland will do to-morrow! (_Sings_.)

"Let Erin remember the days of old Ere her faithless sons betrayed her-- When Malachy wore the collar of gold Which he won from her proud invader-- When her kings with standards of green unfurl'd, Led the Red-Branch knights to danger; Ere the emerald gem of the western world Was set in the crown of a stranger."

_Rock_: And maybe you'll tell us now by what means you will do all this?

_Conan_: Go out of the house and I will tell you in the by and bye.

_Rock_: That is what I was thinking. You are talking nothing but lies.

_Conan_: I tell you that power is not far from where you stand! But I will let no one see it only myself.

_Flannery_: There might be some truth in it. There are some say enchantments never went out of Ireland.

_Conan_: It is a spell, I say, that will change anything to its contrary. To turn it upon a snail, there is hardly a greyhound but it would overtake; but a hare it would turn to be the slowest thing in the universe; too slow to go to a funeral.

_Rock_: I'll believe it when I'll see it.

_Conan_: You could see it if I let you look in this hiding-hole.

_Rock_: Good-morrow to you!

_Conan_: Then you will see it, for I'll raise up the stone. (_Kneels_.)

_Rock_: It to be anything it is likely a pot of sovereigns.

_Flannery_: It might be the harp of Angus.

_Rock_: I see no trace of it.

_Conan_: There is something hard! It should likely be a silver trumpet or a hunting-horn of gold!

_Rock_: Give me a hold of it.

_Conan_: Leave go! (_Lifts out bellows_.)

_Rock_: Ha! Ha! Ha! after all your chat, nothing but a little old bellows!...

_Conan_: There is seven rings on it.... They should signify the seven blasts....

_Rock_: If there was seventy times seven what use would it be but to redden the coals?

_Conan_: Every one of these blasts has power to make some change.

_Rock_: Make one so, and I'll plough the world for you.

_Conan_: Is it that I would spend one of my seven blasts convincing the like of ye?

_Rock_: It is likely the case there is no power in it at all.

_Conan_: I'm very sure there is surely. The world will be a new world before to-morrow's Angelus bell.

_Flannery_: I never could believe in a bellows.

_Rock_: Here now is a fair offer. I'll loan you this bag of notes to pay your charges to Dublin if you will change that little pigeon in the crib into a crow.

_Conan_: I will do no such folly.

_Rock_: You wouldn't because you'd be afeared to try.

_Conan_: Hold it up to me. I'll show you am I afeared!

_Rock_: There it is now. (_Holds up cage_.)

_Conan_: Have a care! (_Blows_.)

_Rock_: (_Dropping it with a shriek_.) It has me bit with its hard beak, it is turned to be an old black crow.

_Flannery_: As black as the bottom of the pot.

_Crow_: Caw! Caw! Caw!

(_Cats reappear and look over back of settle_.)

(_Music from behind_.) ("_O'Donnall Abu_.")

CURTAIN