Wednesday, November 09, 2011

433.5 The Conversion to Islam of Conor MacArt (Part 6)

An Comhshó a Ioslam de Conchubhair Mac Airt

Hezekiah's Tunnel, Old City, Jerusalem

Mar thoradh ar ár deoraíocht
mór dúinn a bheith iallach a leathnú
ár seirbhís ar eachtrannaigh *

God and Saint Patrick, the rising stink
would put you in mind of the Widow Fitzgerald
beyond in Bundoran, where there’d be Uncle Jack
having a right good go at her, no nose at all,
shot to hell away in Flanders; sure, no better man
for a gallop with Fitzy, that cheery oul’ trollop,
farting away in her yellowy petticoats …

Gawd’s syke, sir, you must pye attention!
What? Get away ye wee pillock … what, what’s that?
There is himminent dynjjer of han hexplosion.
Well I know that, do you think I’m a total idiot?
Don’t arsk me such questions, sir, not naow.
We were in a tunnel under the Old City of Jerusalem
with thousands of fire-breathing Moors above us.

Wha'? C'mere to me, ye wee feckin gobshite …
Shhh, sir, for Gawd’s sake, … keep it ruddy well dahn!
Thy’ll come pourin dahn on us like dunno bloody wot
wiv one fawss move, sir, an' we’ll be dead as mah’an
Dead as what? Sheep, sir! Speak for yourself, I hissed,
pulling out my pistol and a dagger for good measure.
And will you keep your voice down, you little swine!

Shane O’Neill, I thought, would be splitting his sides
If he could see me now, damn his liver and his lights!
A rush of the purest anger and hatred ran through me
thinking of Whatsername, my wife, and the wee kiddies
back in green and drizzly Ireland, and the state of me here,
crawling along a tunnel under the command of Sullivan,
Suleyman the Magnificent, as they do be calling him.

Between the two of them I’ve no life to be calling my own,
a shuttlecock I am, with them two evil-eyed murderous …
Sir ! WHAT!! I mean, what? And will you be quiet, Jayzus!
Some clarss of wroytin ahead, look, at the bend of the wawrl
What does it say? Quick, quick, man, what does it say??
Carn’t understand raghead lingo, sir, fought you might …
Arra, move aside, man, hand me over that thing in your hand:

Don’t you know
that I love you

Whass that, then sir? Important, is it?
No, no , just Jewish kids.
Hang on, there’s another bit down below:

Jesus Christ is a Wanker.
Feckin kids.

A sudden BANG put the fear of God in us,
and with a squeal and whimper I trod on the torch.
Utter total backness. Whassat, then? Eh?
The fuck should I know?!! We whispered angrily,
one to another in the darkness, and I aimed the pistol
at where I thought his head might be, slowly curled
my finger on the trigger … and counted 1 - 2 - 3

Christopher Christ!! The ceiling came down in a sudden crash,
and blinding sunlight bedazzled our eyes. Cascades of dust
clouded the cavern and I desperately dived for the darkness.
Shots rang out and I heard a high-pitched animal scream.
Bit of London in that sound, I was seriously fervently hoping,
am I rid at last of that evil murdering blackmailing bastard?
Voices: Hallo, sirr, hello my dear! Please look this way!

I peered out cautiously. Above there were dozens of them,
dozens of bearded, beatifically smiling, quite friendly faces,
aiming dozens of not so friendly muskets in my direction.
Not to be moving, please, dear sir, while we bring ladder!
That didn’t take long, and I was gently helped to the surface.
You will become our guest, sir. Ahh! And what about my man?
Oh, not to worry please, sir. He is very fine, quite safe safe.

(to be continued ....)

* As a result of our exile
we have been compelled to extend
our service to foreign nations