Dancing at Lughnasa Page #2

Okawa is my houseboy

in Uganda.

He is Okawa.

Damn it. I thought

it was Swahili for "gorgeous. "

Am I called 'the gander"?

No, Aunt Kate.

Who calls me "'the gander"?

The big fellas do.

And you let 'em.

Why have you no friends?

You're another gander.

Aren't you, son?

I've brought you this.

I was saving it for your birth day...

but you might as well have it now.

Do you know how it goes?

Here. You pump it.

Push it down.

Push it.

That's it.

Sacred Heart of Jesus!

I don't believe it.

What's wrong?

That's him. That's Christina's man!

That's Gerry.

It's Gerry Evans!

He's not coming in this house.

When are we gonna get a decent mirror

to see ourselves in?

- You can see enough to do you.

- You're not going to meet that blaggard!

I couldn't look that man

in the face.

I hate him.

I hate him!

Look at my hands shakin'.

No, you're not...

You're not shaking.

You're perfectly calm.

You're looking beautiful.

And what you're gonna do is this:

You'll meet him outside. Tell him

that his son is healthy and happy.

- Then you'll send him packing.

- No.

He can stay the night.

In the shed, outside.

Alone.

Come on.

Oh, look at her.

Hello, Chrissie.

Hello, Gerry.

How have you been

over the past 18 months?

Eighteen? Never.

March, last year.

March the sixth.

Where does the time go?

- Well, you're here now.

- Here I am.

Wonderful luck.

Is that himself?

- He's a big boy.

- He's grown well.

- Does he like school?

- He doesn't say much.

Like his Aunt Kate.

Yes, indeed.

Will someone please tell me

what they have to say to each other?

He's Michael's father.

That's a responsibility

never burdened Mr. Evans.

A commercial traveler called in

to Kate's school last Easter.

Met you in Dublin.

Had some stupid story...

about you givin'

dancing lessons up there.

He was right.

- He was not.

- Cross the old ticker.

All last winter.

Strictly ballroom.

Millions of pupils.

- Everybody wants to dance.

- Millions of pupils?

Fifty-three.

I'm a liar. Fifty-one.

When the good weather came,

they all drifted away.

You're the one should've been

giving dance lessons.

You were far better

than me, remember?

'Twas on the Isle of Capri

that he found her

Beneath the shade

of an old walnut tree

And, oh, how the flowers

bloomed around her

Where they met

on the Isle of Capri

All he could ever do was dance.

Her whole face alters

when she's happy.

Though he left

with the tide in the morning

Still his heart's

in the Isle of Capri

What brings you

to these parts now?

To say good-bye.

Where are you heading for?

- You'd like to know?

- I would.

Want a spin on this bike?

- I might.

- Get on.

- See you soon, Michael.

- Bye, son.

Where are you going next?

You'll never believe this.

I'm gonna do a spot of fighting.

- What do you know about fightin'?

- I'm a Welshman. We're always fighting.

You're as soft as butter.

- I'm going off to Spain.

- Spain?

The International Brigade.

I'm joining up.

I'm gonna fight against Franco.

There's a company leaves

in a couple of weeks.

I'm gonna fight for democracy.

Democracy? Spain?

What do you know about Spain?

A little.

Enough, maybe.

- Why exactly are you going to Spain?

- Because I want to do something.

I want to do anything...

with my life.

I have to.

Well, then do it.

"'Then do it. "

"Then do it!"

- Morning, Miss Mundy.

- Morning.

Thank you, Austin.

Thank you, Mrs. Mac.

Mrs. McLoughlin.

And how are you?

I'm well. I've brought

some more wool for Agnes and Rose.

This might be the last batch

I give 'em, God help us all.

Dear me, Vera.

What's wrong?

Isn't Agnes the quickest knitter

in Ballybeg?

You've not heard the word?

There's a woolen factory opening up

in Donegal Town, they say.

It'll be all machine knittin'

from now on.

- Machines? A factory?

- That's right.

You're a lucky woman

to have your teachin' job.

There's our Sophia waving to you.

You were her favorite teacher.

That old b*tch, the gander.

Sophia always knew her own mind.

Who are you tellin'?

Didn't she walk into the house a week

ago and told me she was gettin' married.

Married?

Well, she's barely 16.

Married. And I'll let her.

She'll need a man to keep her.

I'll say nothin' to Agnes

about the factory.

- Good morning.

- Good morning.

- Two pounds of flour.

- Thank you.

I better not forget

the cigarettes...

or a certain sister of mine

will not speak to me for a week.

Maggie enjoys her wild Woodbine.

- Does she not?

- She does indeed.

But God forgive me, I do not think

it's a nice habit in a woman.

Harmless enough pleasure.

Now, have you got everything?

Sugar, salt, tapioca... I'm sorry,

the tapioca's gone up a penny.

That's hardly your fault.

Your battery,

that's come in from Letterkenny.

Oh, yes. Not much good it'll do

in that old set, though.

Will you be going to

the harvest dance this year?

- I hardly think so at my age.

- But you should.

It'll be supreme this year.

Supreme.

Will it be?

Will it really be supreme?

Tea, soap, Indian meal, jelly.

- How much do I owe you?

- Two and six.

Mr. Bradley.

Miss Mundy.

How are you?

Very well.

And how are you and yours?

How is your wife?

- I no longer have a wife.

- I hadn't heard she passed away.

She's gone away... to England.

- You should have followed her there.

- Ten Woodbine.

All kinds of things can happen

to a body in England.

They're not respectable people there

as we are in Ballybeg.

Will your sisters be going

to the dance?

Agnes and Rose.

Will they go?

If you'll excuse me, I have a family

and responsibilities to attend to.

Will you be going yourself

to the harvest dance?

Will you be looking

for a new wife?

Do you know what you are?

A dirty, cruel little b*tch.

Father Carlin.

- Miss Mundy.

- I'm so glad you asked to see me.

Father Jack is waiting

to meet up with you soon.

I didn't ask to see you

about your brother.

Well, I was just wonderin'

when you would call out to see him.

- He's not well, I hear.

- He's just grand, thank God.

Good feeding, plenty of exercise,

he'll be right as rain.

The rain.

Aye, that's what he needs.

Rain?

The sun in Africa, you know...

it would affect anybody.

He needs the rain.

That'll heal him.

- He's going to say Mass soon.

- I don't think so.

When he's fit to see people,

I'll call out.

He's fit to see anybody.

- Jack is...

- Not well.

I know.

I know everything about him.

- There is nothin' to know.

- I think there is. So do you.

You're a bright enough woman.

You must notice things.

Haven't you noticed the numbers

in the school are falling?

- To be honest, I haven't.

- Well, they have.

They have.

So I might need

to let a teacher go.

Of course,

that could be all for the best.

I'm sure you could do

with the extra time...

now you have Father Jack

on your hands.

Good-bye to you now.

But I am a teacher.

What'll I do

if I stop teaching?

What'll become of us?

Good day to you, ma'am.

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