The Playboy of the Western World

old age with none to aid me.

Widow Quin
Greatly amused. It’s a sacred wonder the way that wickedness will spoil a man.


Mahon
My wickedness, is it? Amn’t I after saying it is himself has me destroyed, and he a liar on walls, a talker of folly, a man you’d see stretched the half of the day in the brown ferns with his belly to the sun.


Widow Quin
Not working at all?


Mahon
The divil a work, or if he did itself, you’d see him raising up a haystack like the stalk of a rush, or driving our last cow till he broke her leg at the hip, and when he wasn’t at that he’d be fooling over little birds he had⁠—finches and felts⁠—or making mugs at his own self in the bit of glass we had hung on the wall.


Widow Quin
Looking at Christy. What way was he so foolish? It was running wild after the girls maybe?


Mahon
With a shout of derision. Running wild, is it? If he seen a red petticoat coming swinging over the hill, he’d be off to hide in the sticks, and you’d see him shooting out his sheep’s eyes between the little twigs and the leaves, and his two ears rising like a hare looking out through a gap. Girls, indeed!


Widow Quin
It was drink maybe?


Mahon
And he a poor fellow would get drunk on the smell of a pint. He’d a queer rotten stomach, I’m telling you, and when I gave him three pulls from my pipe a while since, he was taken with contortions till I had to send him in the ass cart to the females’ nurse.


Widow Quin
Clasping her hands. Well, I never till this day heard tell of a man the like of that!


Mahon
I’d take a mighty oath you didn’t surely, and wasn’t he the laughing joke of every female woman where four baronies meet, the way the girls would stop their weeding if they seen him coming the road to let a roar at him, and call him the looney of Mahon’s.


Widow Quin
I’d give the world and all to see the like of him. What kind was he?


Mahon
A small low fellow.


Widow Quin
And dark?


Mahon
Dark and dirty.


Widow Quin
Considering. I’m thinking I seen him.


Mahon
Eagerly. An ugly young blackguard.


Widow Quin
A hideous, fearful villain, and the spit of you.


Mahon
What way is he fled?


Widow Quin
Gone over the hills to catch a coasting steamer to the north or south.


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.


Widow Quin
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 weazel 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