"R. A. MaCavoy - The Grey Horse" - читать интересную книгу автора (MacAvoy R A)

THE GREY HORSE
R. A. MacAvoy
BANTAM BOOKS TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON • SYDNEY •
AUCKLAND
To the people of Carraroe
NAMES OF THE PEOPLE
Anraí Ó Reachtaire - Henry Raftery, sometimes called Anraí Thurlaigh, or
Henry, son of Turlough, after his father
Áine NíAnluain - Anne Raftery, his wife
Seosamh Ó Reachtaire - Joe Raftery, their son
Ruairí MacEibhir - Rory MacEever
Eibhear, pronounced "Eever" - Granite: Ruairfs father
Gaoth, pronounced "Gwee" - Wind: Ruairfs mother
Donncha MacSiadhail - Donald MacSheel
Máire NíStandún - Mary Stanton
Eibhlín NíStandún - Eileen Stanton, her sister
Seán Standún - John Stanton, their father
Tadhg Ó Murchú - Tim Murphy, priest of the parish
Diarmuid Ó Cadhain - Dermitt Cain
I went from door to door in Carraroe, with an introduction from Peig
Bean Ui Cheallaigh and accompanied by one of the Ó Ceallaigh boys, trying
to find out the history of the place. Everyone told me there had been none:
that the great events of the last century and more in Ireland had passed that
parish cleanly by.
At last, in the parlor of the rectory, I discovered one fact: that in the early
years of the Land League, a group of Carraroe women had held off an
eviction by their combined strength. Around this one bit of history I have
woven a great deal of fiction.
None of my characters are based on real people of the time. Tadhg Ó
Murchú was not priest of the parish. I expect there was always more than
one. There are many Ó Reachtaires in Connaught, none of them related to
Anraí, the trainer. Standún, or Stanton, is another common name.
MacEibhir is a name I made up.
I am indebted to the Ó Ceallaigh family of An Sruthán for their
hospitality to a stranger and for the "protection of their name" all the time I
was with them. And I am indebted to Dr. Peadar Macanlomaire for his
support in an effort he may have thought a little bit mad. I feel a great debt
to all the people of the Cois Fhairrge area of Connemara, because folk such
as they are the hope of the world.
CHAPTER ONE


An Sruthán, or The Eddies
The sky was full of the grey scum of a soup kettle on the boil. The wind
blew from the east, or the north ; or south from Galway Bay; it was always
changing. Anraí Ó Reachtaire came along the Cois Fhairrge Road holding
his hand up against his forehead as a sort of makeshift hat brim, equally
ineffective against the pinching hail and the unexpected flashes of sunlight
that made his eyes water.
Anraí's hair was thin on top, and the wind was doing its best to thin it