Free The Field by John B. Keane Page A

with the dead man!
    Maimie: You can’t argue with a dead man!
    Sergeant: Don’t mock this dead man. He was murdered!
    Maimie: And don’t talk to me, you yahoo from God-knows-where!
    Fr Murphy: You’re sure nothing was said?
    Maimie: I don’t remember it. They seemed quite friendly to me.
    Sergeant: Quite friendly?
    Mamie: No, not quite friendly! I should have said fairly friendly or a kind of friendly. What kind of friendly would you like? Would reasonably friendly do, or would it convict me?
    Sergeant: [Anger] For God’s sake, Maimie … was anything said?
    Maimie: Yes … but don’t ask me what was said. A woman has a head like a sieve and a woman expecting for the tenth time should have her head examined! How well they wouldn’t murder me! No such luck! I’ll have to stay alive and look at thicks like you climbing on other people’s backs because you have authority.
    Fr Murphy: You have nothing to tell us?
    Maimie: What do you think I am? A bloody schoolgirl, is it?
    Sergeant: You were here the night of the murder?
    Maimie: I’m always here! Always! Now, for Christ’s sake, get out of here and let me alone till I get the dinner.
    [Exit Maimie]
    Mick: She’s in the sulks today. ’Tis me will pay for it now for the next seven or eight months. A pregnant woman is worse than a bloody volcano.
    Sergeant: You told the investigators that the Bull and his son were here the night of the murder.
    Mick: And so they were!
    Sergeant: You’re sure of that?
    Mick: God almighty, didn’t I tell it to four different detectives with notebooks. All taken down like the Four Gospels, but all on the one word when the man is crucified, whoever he is.
    Sergeant: And the Bird, was he here too?
    Mick: You know damn well, he was! What’s the point in repeating these questions?
    Fr Murphy: Now, Mick, the Sergeant has his job to do. There’s nothing personal.
    Mick: Yes, but goddamit I’ve told him the same thing a hundred times and he still tries to make me out a liar. He’ll go too far. He wouldn’t be the first Sergeant to be transferred. I always voted right.
    Sergeant: I’m well aware of how you vote. Will you tell the Bird I want him.
    Mick: Very well. But hurry it up. What will the neighbours think, the Sergeant and the priest here all morning? ’Tis how they’ll think I’m the murderer.
    Sergeant: Don’t worry, Mick. Everybody knows that it wasn’t you, because everybody knows that it was another man … maybe two men.
    Mick: ’Tis your job to find out.
    [Exit Mick]
    Sergeant: I won’t be transferred … ’twould be too much to expect.
    [Enter the Bird]
    Bird: More questions?
    Sergeant: You don’t have to answer.
    Bird: I’ll answer. I’ll co-operate. That’s one thing about the Bird – co-operation. None of us can get along without it. If there was more co-operation the world would be an easier place. Am I right, Father?
    Fr Murphy: The Sergeant wants to talk to you.
    Bird: You can depend on the Bird. Now, Sergeant what can I do for you?
    Sergeant: The night of the murder …
    Bird: Yes, of course …
    Sergeant: You say you were here at the time with Bull McCabe and his son … in their company.
    Bird: That is correct. Exactly what was spoken. Dead right there for a start, and a big change from the plain-clothes.
    Sergeant: As far as I remember, Bird, the Bull was never a friend of yours. How come, then, that you spent a night drinking together?
    Bird: I’ll forgive any man, Sergeant … any man. Let bygones be bygones is my policy.
    Sergeant: You’re sure you weren’t anywhere near Maggie Butler’s field over the river that night?
    Bird: Neither near it nor within it. Arrived here at Flanagan’s pub, time … 9.25 p.m. Joined forces with my two friends. Did remain with associates on the premises till 2.45 a.m. Arrived home at 3 a.m. sharp. Fried sausages one