He unearthed a half-bottle of Paddy whiskey and they stood on a rock and drank it while they looked at the flames.

In a field some distance away they found a goat. Jack stood by the gate while Fintan scoured the field in the wake of the nanny. “Get up, ya boy ya,” shouted Fintan. A few minutes later he emerged driving the white nanny in front of him. They tied the animal with the rope that held the gate in place, then led her up the road to Corrloch.

“We’ll show them,” said Fintan.

Dawn was breaking. The fires had disappeared. The goat kept a steady, reliable pace. The two walked laughing behind her. “If we meet anyone, we’re disgraced,” said Fintan. When they got to the Adams’ house it was in darkness. They listened a while behind the gate-piers.

Then Fintan coaxed the goat forward, while Jack tied the rope that held her to the knocker. They withdrew quietly down the path, hid behind the stone wall, and Fintan called the goat.

“Billy,” he whispered.

The creature stood perfectly still, adjusting the coracle-shaped pupils of its eyes. Then she lay down on the step.

“Cynthia,” he whispered louder.

The goat did not budge.

Jack threw a handful of gravel and the goat shook herself. She got up and reached forward to pluck at some grass. “Jesus,” said Jack. The men, shaking with mirth, waited. The knocker sounded. “Again,” said Fintan, with his teeth bared. The goat pulled strongly. The knocker went rat-a-tat. The lights came on. Someone opened the hall door and the rope round the goat went taut. The nanny was pulled inwards as the door opened wider. Catherine was standing there in a man’s long white shirt. With her head tilted down in disbelief she stared dumbfounded at the pink ears of the white beast on her doorstep.

When she woke the next morning Catherine was astonished to find the goat was still there eating grass in the garden. She went down and looked into the nanny goat’s eye. Its udders shook like bell-ropes. The trim neck was graceful. The gaze ladylike. It was a shock to find the animal staring up at her. The green pupils of its eyes wavered and floated like flakes of snow. The act of seeing seemed to have detached the irises. Her hair was human and white. The gaze ancient.

Beyond the glass eye of the goat Catherine saw a fresh uncivilized place. She watched the startlingly pure, gentle look of the womanly goat.

“And how did you come here, pray?” Catherine asked. She let her out of the gate and watched her stroll off into the sunshine.

20. The Illustrated Sons of Ireland

20

The Illustrated Sons of Ireland