Mahon Could I pull up on him now?

Widow Quin If you’ll cross the sands below where the tide is out, you’ll be in it as soon as himself, for he had to go round ten miles by the top of the bay. (She points to the door.) Strike down by the head beyond and then follow on the roadway to the north and east.

Mahon goes abruptly.

Widow Quin (shouting after him). Let you give him a good vengeance when you come up with him, but don’t put yourself in the power of the law, for it’d be a poor thing to see a judge in his black cap reading out his sentence on a civil warrior the like of you. (She swings the door to and looks at Christy, who is cowering in terror, for a moment, then she bursts into a laugh.) Well, you’re the walking Playboy of the Western World, and that’s the poor man you had divided to his breeches belt.

Christy (looking out; then, to her). What’ll Pegeen say when she hears that story? What’ll she be saying to me now?

Widow Quin She’ll knock the head of you, I’m thinking, and drive you from the door. God help her to be taking you for a wonder, and you a little schemer making up the story you destroyed your da.

Christy (turning to the door, nearly speechless with rage, half to himself). To be letting on he was dead, and coming back to his life, and following after me like an old weasel tracing a rat, and coming in here laying desolation between my own self and the fine women of Ireland, and he a kind of carcase that you’d fling upon the sea.…

Widow Quin (more soberly). There’s talking for a man’s one only son.

Christy (breaking out).—His one son, is it? May I meet him with one tooth and it aching, and one eye to be seeing seven and seventy divils in the twists of the road, and one old timber leg on him to limp into the scalding grave. (Looking out.) There he is now crossing the strands, and that the Lord God would send a high wave to wash him from the world.

Widow Quin (scandalised). Have you no shame? (putting her hand on his shoulder and turning him round.) What ails you? Near crying, is it?

Christy (in despair and grief). Amn’t I after seeing the love-light of the star of knowledge shining from her brow, and hearing words would put you thinking on the holy Brigid speaking to the infant saints, and now she’ll be turning again, and speaking hard words to me, like an old woman with a spavindy ass she’d have, urging on a hill.

Widow Quin There’s poetry talk for a girl you’d see itching and scratching, and she with a stale stink of poteen on her from selling in the shop.

Christy (impatiently). It’s her like is fitted to be handling merchandise in the heavens above, and what’ll I be doing now, I ask you, and I a kind of wonder was jilted by the heavens when a day was by.

There is a distant noise of girls’ voices. Widow Quin looks from window and comes to him, hurriedly.

Widow Quin You’ll be doing like myself, I’m thinking, when I did destroy my man, for I’m above many’s the day, odd times in great spirits, abroad in the sunshine, darning a stocking or stitching a shift; and odd times again looking out on the schooners, hookers, trawlers is sailing the sea, and I thinking on the gallant hairy fellows are drifting beyond, and myself long years living alone.

Christy (interested). You’re like me, so.