Snakes in Ireland

 

                St. Patrick was sitting at the pub, absently stirring his drink as he stared off. He was starting to squint as he looked through the pub’s window.  The sun was just near setting and the pub had taken on a golden hue. He wondered how many Pots O’ Gold references he’d have to endure when everyone should know by know that it’s Leprechauns that have the Pot’s O’ Gold and not Saints. 

                He stopped stirring his drink and lifted it to his lips. The ice clinked in the small rocks glass as he sipped his Whiskey and water. The cool, sweet brown spirit sweetly tickled his lips and he swallowed happily. He said a quick thank you to God and Jesus for the miracle that is Irish Whiskey.  He tipped his glass to heaven as a toast. 

                “Patrick! Patrick!” 

                St. Patrick turned on his stool to see Ms. Siobhan McMurphy burst through the pub door.  She was a shamble of green, her black and gray hair sticking out from under her kelly green head scarf. Her jacket was disheveled, her long skirt was twisted sideways and one stocking appeared to be making a run for her ankle while the other was still proudly in place. 

                “Patrick,” she shouted again as she rushed to his place at the bar.

                “What is it woman,” asked St. Patrick. 

                She attempted to catch her breath as it seemed she may have been running for some distance. 

                “Snakes Patrick! Snakes are everywhere,” she said as she crossed herself.

                “Get a hold of yourself woman. I’ve not time for your foolishness,” said St. Patrick. 

                She started to straighten her skirt and bent down to fix her loosened stocking. She gave a mean look to Old Peter whom she caught sneaking a peek at her bare leg.  “Mr. Peter!” She scolded.  He smiled wryly and looked back at the other old men gathered around the pub’s rear table. They chuckled to each other. 

                “Now, what’s all this you’re saying? Snakes? Ms. McMurphy, I happen to know with some great authority that there are no such creatures in the country,” said St. Patrick. He shook his empty Whiskey glass at the pub keeper. 

                “As the Lord is my witness, there was a snake in the alley behind young Daniel Heaney’s place. He showed it to me himself,” she leaned in closer to St. Patrick, “Daniel told me it had bitten him on his…,” Siobhan blushed brightly as she spoke, “on his… ‘you, know, what’. And there it was, hanging from the front of his trousers like an albino monster from the sea!” 

                “I see,” said St. Patrick, “and what did you do to help poor young Daniel Heaney?” 

                The pub keeper placed a fresh drink in front of St. Patrick and stepped away while covering his mouth. 

                “Oh Patrick, I didn’t know what to do so I grabbed it! But it wouldn’t let go! And the noises young Daniel was making. I’d never heard such a noise. it must have been hurting him so,” said Siobhan McMurphy. 

                “You just reached down and grabbed the, snake…, hanging from the front of his trousers,” asked St. Patrick. 

                “I did. It fought with me for sure. Daniel sure seemed to be struggling though as I really had to yank and pull and coax it.  I thought I finally had it but it spit its venom at me,” said Siobhan, “that seemed to work though because Daniel quickly turned around, in what I can only believe to be great agony and when he turned back the snake was gone. I think it may have fallen off him and scurried or crawled or slithered down that alley. Oh dear Patrick I do wish you’d investigate it for us!” 

                The pub was silent. Johnathan the lamp lighter buried his face into the crook of his arm as his belly shook. Old Peter and his group were sweating with their stifled smiles. 

                “Sounds just terrible Ms. McMurphy. I will investigate it right away. Right after I finish this drink,” said St. Patrick.

                “Oh thank you so much! You truly are a Saint. I won’t forget this! God Bless you Patrick. God Bless,” said Siobhan. 

                St. Patrick put his hand on her shoulder and gave her a squeeze. He tucked her hair back under her head scarf. 

                “My pleasure, my pleasure. Now, why don’t you hurry home and give yourself a good washing up. A pub is no place for a woman of your… stature,” said St. Patrick. 

                Siobhan nodded and crossed herself again. She bowed and started backing out of the pub and out the door. St. Patrick put his fingers to his lips and with a furrowed brown kept the pub patrons silent. St. Patrick rose from this stool and went to the window and watched as Siobhan McMurphy ran down the dirt road towards her cottage.  St. Patrick strode back to his stool and took a long sip from his whiskey. 

                “Okay lads, she’s gone,” said St. Patrick. 

                The pub erupted in laughter.  They pounded the bar top and the tables and spilled their pints all over the floor. 

                St. Patrick shook his head and took another sip of his drink. 

                “Why of all the people of the Earth did I have to save the Irish,” asked St. Patrick. He tipped his glass towards the heavens again. He stood from his stool, paid his tab and headed out the door to have a few words with young Daniel Heaney. Fiddle music started as St. Patrick exited the door into the Irish twilight.