The Law of Dreams Read Online Free PDF Page A

He
     hadn’t noticed any hair falling out, perhaps on account of the bites he’d
     earned tumbling with the Carmichael boys, but he hadn’t strength for tumbling now.
     Anyway the farmer had discovered what his sons were doing and forbidden them passing
     along any food.
    None of the others was awake when he started down the mountain with his
     dog. Coursing for badger. Past the wrecks of cabins in little hamlets. Humps of rubble,
     the stink of moldy thatch. Where were those people now?
    Badger was good meat, fried up and salty. It had been a wet night, but now
     the sun was driving light into the sky. Nosing the old holes and burrows, the dog found
     no trace, nothing that interested her. They worked the slope and finally came down along
     the river, coursing the bank for a while looking for the otter burrows, finding none. He
     had never heard of anyone eating otter. Finallyhe slipped the rope
     on her and crossed Carmichael’s meadow, moving closer to the farm.
    In the old days, the farm dogs —
weezers
, Phoebe called
     them — used to come running at strangers or tenants approaching the yard. Pink
     tongues out, paws slashing the stones, barking and howling at intruders.
    Carmichael had gotten rid of the mastiffs the year before, after one of
     them had attacked Phoebe and bit her on the heel.
    She had shot the dogs herself, after her father placed his gun in her
     hands.
    Approaching the farm slowly, peering through the gate, he saw no sign of
     her though the kitchen chimney was smoking. He coursed the dog up along the road for a
     while then turned and walked by the farm again. This time as he passed the gate she was
     hurrying across the farmyard, steel pail in her hand.
    He didn’t call out, didn’t step into the yard, but she saw him
     and came over. Her feet in slippers now that it was winter. Thick cowhide pampoots.
     Fresh linen apron.
    â€œYou’ll try a taste of milk, Fergus?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œYou couldn’t get it any fresher.”
    â€œNo, miss.”
    Their ritual played out. Setting the steel pail down on the cobblestones,
     she took a cup from her apron and handed it to him.
    â€œTry a taste yourself, miss?”
    â€œI will not. But you go ahead.”
    The sweet fat taste of cow’s milk.
    â€œThank you, miss.”
    Instead of taking the cup back, she looked him up and down, hands on her
     hips. “Does he treat you fair, do you think?”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œMy father, who else?”
    â€œHe’s a stiff old goner. Likes his way.”
    â€œThat’s what he says of your father, more or less.”
    â€œIt’s not true.” Though perhaps it was. But his
     father’s stubbornness wasn’t driving people to their deaths. Or perhaps it
     was.
    â€œWhat will happen to you?” she asked.
    He shook his head.
    â€œListen to me. Two pounds, Fergus, that’s more than fair.
     You’d better take it and take your mother and the little girls. You’ve never
     had near so much before. What do you see from selling a pig? — very little I
     expect. Take the fee, and go for Ennis or Limerick, you can surely find something there.
     Your father is biting at the grave to shame us, but it’s himself that’s
     shamed. Think of your poor mother and the girls. You know this is the truth.”
    â€œCan’t leave.”
    â€œDon’t say so. Of course you can. You must. Your father left
     every year, didn’t he?”
    â€œHe always came back. If we leave now, we’ll never come
     back.”
    â€œI believe,” she said slowly, “you had better take the
     going-away
shee
” — using their old private word for money.
     “Tell your old fellow he must. He won’t squeeze any more from Father, and if
     he don’t quit —”
    â€œDagger the money. It isn’t money, it never was.”
    Taking the blue china cup from his hands, Phoebe reached down to