The Poor Mouth_ A Bad Story About the Hard Life - Flann O'Brien [10]
–Um.
Father Fahrt frowned speculatively.
–What about making a move at Dublin Castle? They could certainly put pressure on the Corporation.
–And get myself locked up? I am not a damned fool.
–Ah! With politics I am not familiar.
–I’m buggered if I can see what’s political about this but those ruffians in the Castle will arrest an Irishman and charge him with treason if his trousers are a bit baggy or he forgot to shave. But here’s an approach that came into my head …
–What is that, Collopy?
–Why not have the whole scandalous situation denounced from the pulpit?
–Oh … dear.
Father Fahrt gave a low, melodious, sardonic laugh.
–The Church’s first concern, Collopy, is with faith and morals. Their application to everyday life is pretty wide but I fear your particular problem is far, far outside the pale. We couldn’t possibly raise such a matter in a church. It might even give scandal. If I were to start forth on the subject in University Church, I think I know what Father Superior would say, not to mention his Grace the Archbishop.
–But, look here——
–No, no, now, Collopy. Ecclesia locuta, causa finita est.
–Ah well, that’s the way, I suppose, Mr Collopy said with tired resignation. The Church keeps very far from the people in their daily troubles and travail, but by gob it wasn’t like that when we had the Penal Laws, with Paddy Whack keeping a look-out for the soldiery from the top of the ditch on a Sunday morning and the poor pishrogues of peasants below in their rags answering the Hail Mary in Irish. ’Tis too grand you are getting, Father, yourself and your Church.
–I’m afraid there is such a thing as Canon Law, Collopy.
–We have too much law in this country. I even thought of getting in touch with the Freemasons.
–I hope not. It is sinful to have any truck with those people. They despise the Holy Spirit.
–I doubt if they despise women as much as the damned Lord Mayor and his Corporation do.
–There is one remedy I am sure you haven’t tried, Collopy.
Here Father Fahrt urgently scratched again.
–I’m sure there is. Probably thousands. What’s the one remedy?
–Prayer.
–The what was that?
–Prayer.
–Prayer? I see. You’d never know, we might try that yet. You can move mountains with prayer, I believe, but I’m not trying to move mountains. I’m trying to put a bomb under that Lord Mayor. But there is one very farfetched idea I’ve had and damned if I know would it work. I’d want influence … a word in high places … great tact and plawmaus … perhaps a word of support from his Grace. Indeed it might be a complete and final solution to the whole terrible crux. If it came off I would go on a pilgrimage to Lough Derg in thanksgiving.
–It must be a miracle you’re looking for if you’d go that far, Collopy, Father Fahrt said smiling. And what is this idea of yours?
–Trams, Father. Trams. I don’t know how many distinct routes we have here in the city, but say the total is eight. One tram for each route in each direction would suffice, or sixteen trams in all. Old trams repaired and redecorated would do.
–Are you serious, Collopy? Trams?
–Yes, trams. They would have to be distinctive, painted black all over, preferably, and only one sign up front and rear—just the one word WOMEN. Understand? It would be as much as a man’s life was worth to try to get into one of them.
–Well, well. At least this idea is novel. Would there be a charge?
–Very likely there would be a penny fare at the beginning. To look for a free service at the start, that would be idealism. But once we have the cars running, we could start an agitation for the wiping out of the penny fare in the interest of humanity.
–I see.
–I would like you to think this thing over, Father. Let us say that a lady and gentleman are walking down the street and have a mind to go for a stroll in the Phoenix Park. Fair enough. But first one thing has to be attended to. They