Free History of the Rain by Niall Williams Page B

being reeled in.
    It’s hard to tell in the film just how big it is though. The assistant director thought maybe there should be other fish he’d caught earlier and Laurence could lay this alongside for comparison, but nobody listened and it was decided you’d just believe this was the Big One if the score and the lighting and the sound effects and Laurence’s acting told you so.
    Anyway, here he is getting to the riverbank. He climbs up, falls down, the rain still beating, and he unhooks the fish, holds it for its weight. Crikey, look at that. It’s Number One Salmon, that’s what Props has been told, and they’ve had three rejected and to make their point that this was ridiculous they’ve brought this outlandish one and that got the Thumbs-Up.
    So there it is. Man and Salmon. And whatever knowledge is in the fish somehow transfers to him. Whatever secrets of the world, what mysteries of chance and concurrence, of power and force and ultimate surrender, enter him, and Grandfather lets the salmon back into the river. He lets it back and lies flat and exhausted and he’s sort of crying for all that has failed in his life and for the failure of God to show up, and the rain pours down into his face; the Lighting Gaffer throws a switch and Mervin sweetens the score so even if you’re looking into your popcorn you know that up there on the screen your man’s in the throes of something like revelation.
    Next shot he’s walking across the fields.
    He’s walking into town. It’s Trim in the County Meath, but this being Hollywood it’s not even going to look like the Ealing Studios version, especially because to spare the make-up the rain has stopped.
    Anyway your eyes are on my grandfather played by our man Laurence. He walks into town and up to this big house where Merle is just about done with Make-Up and Costumes. We can’t have her say any of the lines here because of copyright infringement but if imagination fails and you’re not in the Five Per Cent you go ahead and download them.
    Fizz. Bang. Sizzle.
    That’s not Germany entering Poland. That’s Grandfather & Grandmother in Trim Manor the evening of the Big Catch, September of 1939.
    (Unfortunately the Censor cut the love scene. At that time there were no love scenes in Ireland. Most people thought kissing was sex. Tongues were penises. Only allowed out for communion. Which, unsurprisingly, proved very popular.
    You don’t believe me look up the Irish Committee on Evil Literature, say hello to those boys. There were no women allowed in Censorship. Some members of the Committee were secretly hoping there’d be No Women Allowed in Ireland, which would be fine, except for the vexed issue of ironing.)
    So, if you like, do your own sex scene. You know you want to, as Tommy Marr said to Aoife O’Keefe the time of the Apostolic Social in Ryan’s. That was his come-on. That, half a can of Lynx deodorant, low-slung trousers that showed his Saint Bernard underpants in case of that saint she was a devotee and a big slow wink that was more or less the image of Haulie Roche the time he got the stroke. You know you want to .
    Either way, please yourself. Doctor Mahon is here and we have to take our Intermission.
     
    Fortunately, at that time, Ireland wasn’t in the world. So we weren’t in the World War. Old Roundrims came up with that. Brilliant, really. World War II was toirmiscthe , he said, which people had to look up but basically turned out to be verboten in Irish. Twitter went crazy, saying it was shameful and backward, but back then twitter was only spoken by birds. The thing is, Irish people don’t like to refer to a thing directly as Jimmy the Yank found out the time he came home, went into Burns Chemist in Kilrush and asked full volume for something for the blood coming out of his backside. There’s nothing direct about us. It’s not coincidence we have no straight roads, not for nothing we use the back door. People coming to our house sometimes parked