Song Of The Irish 1
(A/N: Second up today.)
The Wind That Shakes The Barley
Dylan slipped silently inside the funeral home and looked around at the mourners. No family, no friends, yet still there was mourning. He saw Micky's body on the table. Dylan silently made his way over to it and looked down. He could have become friends with this mouse had he lived. He'd liked his reckless excitement. He crossed his arms looking down. "Oh, poor lad. Another far the books," he heard John say. He didn't look up, he wasn't the one being addressed; silently he moved to the back of the room.
"Yer new here, lad?" a girl asked.
Dylan looked curiously over. "Aye, just came over on the last boat," he replied, smiling courteously. There was a spark of interest in her eyes as she watched him approvingly. Why she approved he had no clue. Compared to most others he was by no stretch of the imagination a catch.
"Did ya know the poor lad?" she asked, looking to the body.
"I knew 'is name," Dylan replied. "We fled together. He got caught, I got away."
"Must 'ave been 'ard ta watch," she said. Dylan was silent. If he were to be honest, it really wasn't. Not compared to other things he'd witnessed.
"Aye," he simply answered.
AAT
"John!" a high pitched voice said. Dylan cringed and looked sharply over at the origin. In waltzed a rich looking American mouse! He blinked blankly. She and John began to talk, but he only caught parts of the conversation. "Cover that mouse up!" she exclaimed, looking at Micky's body.
"An old Irish custom," he heard John reply.
He couldn't hear much more until the rich mouse declared, "Something has to be done about these cats. They don't even know the diffwence between wich and poor!" He couldn't hear the next words, but then she said, "We must have a wawwy."
"A what now?" John asked.
"A wawwy," the mouse repeated. "You know a gathering of mice…"
"Oh, you mean a rally!" John said.
"That's what I said. A wawwy," the declared. "You get the downtown mice, I'll get the rich ones. We meet tomorrow." As quickly as she'd come she left. Dylan blinked blankly. He'd never really understood the rich. Not that he hated them like most others did, he just didn't get their mentality. It was beyond him, and he supposed he liked it that way.
AAT
All at once John was next to him saying, "Now that that's done, we've been dyin' ta 'ear ya sing, lad. Show us what ya've got."
"I don't know…" Dylan reluctantly began.
"Come on lad, I promised singing so let there be song," John said, slinging an arm around Dylan's shoulders. "Sing a good Irish folk tune," he insisted. Dylan mulled it over then nodded. "Everyone quiet! The minstrel's a goin' ta sing us a song!" John yelled out. Dylan cringed at the sudden silence, and all the attention on him.
He looked them over, trying to decide what to sing. He supposed in his heart he knew what he'd choose long before he'd been put on the spot. But did he dare? Would he be able to contain his pain and anger and misery? The Wind That Shakes The Barley… It hit so close to home, but here, now… Yes, he would risk it all. Risk complete breakdown in front of a room of complete strangers. Better here than anywhere else though, he supposed. They waited patiently. He took a lute a mouse handed to him and looked at it quietly. Finally he began to strum out the tune, and then he began to sing:
I sat within the valley green,
I sat me with my true love;
And sad heart strove to choose between,
The old love and the new love.
The old for her the new that made me,
Think on Ireland dearly;
And soft the wind blew down the glade,
That shook the golden barley.
He regretted this already. His heart shattered with each word, and each moment he prayed for death as he sang and danced amongst his fellow countrymen. Tears in his eyes, he knew, and there wasn't a word spoken, not a mouse moved, as the young Irishman sang.
T'was hard the woeful words to frame,
To break the ties that bound us;
But harder still to bear the shame,
Of foreign chains around us.
And so I said, "The mountain glen,
I'll seek at morning early;
And join the brave United Men,
Where soft winds shake the barley.
John wiped a tear from his eye. Poor lad. He could hear the pain in each word and it stabbed at his heart as well, and every other Irish mouse there was in the funeral home. Not an eye was dry by now.
T'was sad I kissed away her tears,
Her arms around me clinging;
When true I hear that fateful shot,
From out the wildwood ringing.
The bullet pierced my true love's breast,
In life's young spring so early;
And there upon my breast she died,
While soft winds shook the barley.
There was a sob from somewhere. A woman leaned into her husband weeping. Tightly the husband held her back. Oh immortals, he wanted to just stop singing there and then. He couldn't do this. Oh how he wished pain would end, how he wished he'd died long ago.
I bore her to some mountain stream,
And many's the summer blossom;
I placed with branches soft and green,
About her gore-stained bosom.
I wept and kissed her clay-cold corpse,
Then rushed o'er vale and valley;
My vengeance on the foe to wreak,
While soft winds shook the barley.
Now there was anger in his tone, pure unbridled fury and anguish, and John knew, as did the others, that given the chance, that was exactly what he would do. Cat or no cat, sooner or later this fury and pain would drive him to madness. Now John knew what the fire that burned inside this young Irish mouse was. How rarely it came out, how rarely did it bring life to the boy, but oh they saw life now, blazing in his eyes. There was the young man that had been lost so long ago, the way young men should be. Reckless and animated.
T'was blood for blood without remorse,
I've taken at Oulert Hollow;
I've placed my true love's clay-cold corpse,
Where mine full soon may follow.
Around her grave I wander drear,
Noon, night, and morning early;
With breaking heart when e'er I hear,
The wind that shakes the barley.
AAT
The song ended. No applause. Now wasn't the time, and Dylan didn't want to hear it. Neither did the others, it seemed, as not an eye was dry. All were weeping. He backed away to the side once more. He was through. Not another word would pass his lips tonight, despite the compliments and praises showered on him for the performance. He hardly met anyone's eyes. He didn't need to go singing the tale of his life. It had been sung just now in detail, and what wasn't accurate the other mice had determined and replaced with what he had no doubts was the correct story. Silently he went outside onto a balcony. There, looking out towards the ocean, he fell to his knees and burst into heart wrenching sobs, rocking back and forth. From inside John watched piteously. Quietly he shut the drapes, hiding the young mouse from view, and returned to the other mice.