The Celtic Riddle

The television and VCR were placed on the credenza behind the massive desk, the TV raised on a stack of books. It was placed just slightly to one side of the desk chair, which gave the impression, from the angle at which I was sitting, squashed with Alex at the back of the room behind the more important people in Eamon's life, that the talking head was where it would have been had Eamon been alive, a sight that would normally have made me giggle, had the situation not been so lacking in humor.

With the exception of Breeta, flopped in the large armchair folding and refolding a lace handkerchief, the rest of us were perched on rather uncomfortable metal folding chairs in two semicircles around the desk. The VCR was being handled by Charles McCafferty, one half of McCafferty and McGlynn. At least I think it was McCafferty. He and his partner wore virtually identical rather expensive-looking suits, dark, nice cut, matching vests with watches and fobs, and white shirts with very starched high collars and French cuffs with silver cuff links. They also sported almost identical designer haircuts and expensive-looking reading glasses that allowed them to peer down their noses at the rest of the world. One distinguished them, apparently, by the pattern on their silver-gray ties, one diamonds, the other stripes, their idea, I suppose, of rugged individuality. I'd mentally named them Tweedledum and Tweedledee. I shouldn't do this, I know, make up monickers, often, but not always, disparaging, for people all the time. But, let's face it, I'm dreadful at remembering names. And no matter what I called them, McCafferty and McGlynn appeared to be doing quite nicely, thank you. They had that prosperous look to them, lack of sartorial originality notwithstanding. It was humbling to think that for what they had both forked out to dress themselves, I could probably pay off my mortgage.

"You'll be hearing shortly from either McCafferty or McGlynn-they're virtually interchangeable as far as I'm concerned-about the terms of my will," Eamon Byrne continued after another long pause for breath. Tweedledum looked uncomfortable with Byrne's notion that he and Tweedledee were indistinguishable, although I could not have agreed more. The three hags, as I'd already come to call them, turned their attention from us back to the television.

"Not to keep you in suspense, you will find that I have left my company, Byrne Enterprises, to my daughters Eithne and Fionuala, or Eriu and Fotla as I liked to call them when they were small, and de facto, I suppose, to their husbands Sean and Conail. Sean and Conail have, of course, been running, or should I say running down, the business during my illness, seeing as how they prefer warming the seats of their favorite bar stools to an honest day's work, in Conail's case, or swanking around like an English squire, in Sean's." The two men shuffled angrily in their seats, as the face, drawn with the effort, continued speaking. "I expect that unless my daughters see their way clear to turfing the two laggards out, their inheritance will quickly become worthless.

"To my wife Margaret I have left Second Chance, including the land, the house, and all its contents, with two exceptions, Rose Cottage, which I will speak of later, and my collection of antique weapons, maps, and manuscripts, which, by previous arrangement, I leave to Trinity College, Dublin. I have also provided her with an allowance that most would consider generous, but which she will no doubt consider miserly. Being responsible for the upkeep of the house and grounds should be instructional for Margaret, who may begin to have some appreciation for what it took to keep in the style which she felt her due. Unless she can herself another husband of some means in short order, I expect she'll be selling it soon." Judging by the knots at the back of Margaret's jaw, accompanied as they were by a sharp intake of breath, she was less than amused.

"To my youngest daughter, Breeta, who, until she left home in a fury two years ago, was my favorite, my little Banba-I'm sure I'm not telling my other two something they didn't know-I leave nothing. She said she despised my money, and so she gets none of it." Breeta said nothing, only bending, perhaps to hide her face, to pick up the tortoise as he began to amble under her chair. She sat stroking its little head as if this was the only thing in the world there was to do.