The Ghost of Grania O'Malley Read Online Free PDF

this thing started, we must have been through it a thousand times. You’ve made your point, you’ve argued your case. Your last chance was Dublin. You said so yourself, you said it was the last ditch. For goodness sake, even your own mother says you should give it up.’
    â€˜Don’t you dare use my mother against me!’ Her voice was sharp with anger. ‘What’s happened to you? You’re supposed to be an artist, aren’t you? A thinking man? Can you not see that it’s against nature itself to cut the top off a mountain, any mountain, no matter where, just for a pot of stinking gold. All gold is fool’s gold, don’t you know that? You cut the top off the Big Hill, you dig out whatever’s inside, and you suck out the soul of this place. There’ll be nothing left. What’ll it take to make you see it, Jimmy?’ She cried then and Jessie could see in her mind’s eye her father putting his arms round her and shushing her against his shoulder. ‘I can’t let them do it, Jimmy,’ she wept. ‘I won’t.’
    â€˜I know, I know. But whatever happens, Cath, don’t go hating me for what I think. I’ve been honest with you. I must be honest and say what I think, you know that. We’ve a whole life to lead here, Jess to look after, wood to sculpt and hundreds of silly sheep with their limping feet and their dirty little tails. We mustn’t have this thing between us.’ After that there was a lot of sniffling, and then subdued laughter.
    â€˜And talking of honesty, Jimmy Parsons.’ It was her mother again, happier now, ‘Jess tried the Big Hill again, didn’t she? That’s how she hurt herself, isn’t it?’
    â€˜You can’t stop her, Cath. And what’s more I don’t think we should. All right, so she fell over and hurt herself, but at least she tried. And if that’s anyone’s fault, it’s yours. You were forever telling her, remember? “You can do it,” you’d say. “You can do anything you want, if you want it badly enough. Forget about your lousy palsy.” Well, that’s just what she’s doing. She’s set her heart on reaching the top of the Big Hill. She’s a brave little heart and I’m not about to stop her from trying.’
    â€˜How far did she get?’
    â€˜To the top, of course. Doesn’t she always? You know Jessie and her capacity for wishful thinking, for telling stories. But I think maybe she got a lot further up this time. She was so happy, so pleased with herself. Wouldn’t it be just about the best thing in the world if she really made it, if one day she really made it right to the top of the Big Hill?’
    â€˜There you are then, Jimmy,’ said her mother, so softly Jessie could scarcely hear, ‘another reason if you ever needed one, and maybe the best reason, why the Big Hill has to be saved. Call it holy, call it magic, call it what you will, but there is something about that mountain, Jimmy. I can’t describe it. I’ve been up there hundreds of times in my life and you know something? I’ve never once felt alone.’
    Listening in her bed, turning her gold earring over and over in her hand, the indisputable evidence that she had indeed reached the summit of the Big Hill that afternoon, Jessie was tempted to go downstairs, burst into the kitchen and tell them the whole story from beginning to end: the climb, the voice, the earring, everything. She was boiling with indignation at her parents’ disbelief, at their lack of faith. Yet she knew there was no point in protesting. She had been caught out often enough before, and by both of them too. She was a good storyteller, but a bad liar because she always went too far, became too fantastical.
    Yes, she could dangle the earring in their faces, but what of the rest of the story? Why should they believe her just because she’d found an earring?