'The Quare Gander' Page #2

"The Quare Gander" is a short story by Joseph Thomas Sheridan Le Fanu, known for his contributions to Gothic literature. It revolves around themes of identity, deception, and the supernatural. The narrative unfolds in a rural Irish setting, where an eccentric character, Mr. Crumpe, engages in a bizarre encounter involving a mysterious and malevolent figure that leads to a series of unsettling events. Le Fanu’s skillful use of atmosphere and psychological tension serves to explore deeper human fears and societal issues, making this tale a compelling study of the uncanny and a reflection on the nature of reality and the self.

• Fiction

								


'An' wid that he tuck the ould gandher, an' giv' it to one iv the
gossoons.

'"An' take care," says he, "don't smother the crathur," says he.

'Well, as soon as the bird was gone, says Jer Garvan says he:

'"Do you know what that ould gandher IS, Terence Mooney?"

'"Divil a taste," says Terence.

'"Well then," says Jer, "the gandher is your own father," says he.

'"It's jokin' you are," says Terence, turnin' mighty pale; "how can an
ould gandher be my father?" says he.

'"I'm not funnin' you at all," says Jer; "it's thrue what I tell you,
it's your father's wandhrin' sowl," says he, "that's naturally tuck
pissession iv the ould gandher's body," says he. "I know him many ways,
and I wondher," says he, "you do not know the cock iv his eye yourself,"
says he.

'"Oh blur an' ages!" says Terence, "what the divil will I ever do at all
at all," says he; "it's all over wid me, for I plucked him twelve times
at the laste," says he.

'"That can't be helped now," says Jer; "it was a sevare act surely,"
says he, "but it's too late to lamint for it now," says he; "the only
way to prevint what's past," says he, "is to put a stop to it before it
happens," says he.

'"Thrue for you," says Terence, "but how the divil did you come to the
knowledge iv my father's sowl," says he, "bein' in the owld gandher,"
says he.

'"If I tould you," says Jer, "you would not undherstand me," says
he, "without book-larnin' an' gasthronomy," says he; "so ax me no
questions," says he, "an' I'll tell you no lies. But blieve me in this
much," says he, "it's your father that's in it," says he; "an' if I
don't make him spake to-morrow mornin'," says he, "I'll give you lave to
call me a fool," says he.

'"Say no more," says Terence, "that settles the business," says he;
"an' oh! blur and ages is it not a quare thing," says he, "for a dacent
respictable man," says he, "to be walkin' about the counthry in the
shape iv an ould gandher," says he; "and oh, murdher, murdher! is not
it often I plucked him," says he, "an' tundher and ouns might not I
have ate him," says he; and wid that he fell into a could parspiration,
savin' your prisince, an was on the pint iv faintin' wid the bare
notions iv it.

'Well, whin he was come to himself agin, says Jerry to him quite an'
asy:

'"Terence," says he, "don't be aggravatin' yourself," says he; "for I
have a plan composed that 'ill make him spake out," says he, "an' tell
what it is in the world he's wantin'," says he; "an' mind an' don't be
comin' in wid your gosther, an' to say agin anything I tell you," says
he, "but jist purtind, as soon as the bird is brought back," says he,
"how that we're goin' to sind him to-morrow mornin' to market," says he.
"An' if he don't spake to-night," says he, "or gother himself out iv
the place," says he, "put him into the hamper airly, and sind him in the
cart," says he, "straight to Tipperary, to be sould for ating," says he,
"along wid the two gossoons," says he, "an' my name isn't Jer Garvan,"
says he, "if he doesn't spake out before he's half-way," says he. "An'
mind," says he, "as soon as iver he says the first word," says he,
"that very minute bring him aff to Father Crotty," says he; "an' if
his raverince doesn't make him ratire," says he, "like the rest iv his
parishioners, glory be to God," says he, "into the siclusion iv the
flames iv purgathory," says he, "there's no vartue in my charums," says
he.

'Well, wid that the ould gandher was let into the room agin, an' they
all bigined to talk iv sindin' him the nixt mornin' to be sould for
roastin' in Tipperary, jist as if it was a thing andoubtingly settled.
But divil a notice the gandher tuck, no more nor if they wor spaking iv
the Lord-Liftinant; an' Terence desired the boys to get ready the kish
for the poulthry, an' to "settle it out wid hay soft an' shnug," says
he, "for it's the last jauntin' the poor ould gandher 'ill get in this
world," says he.

'Well, as the night was gettin' late, Terence was growin' mighty
sorrowful an' down-hearted in himself entirely wid the notions iv what
was goin' to happen. An' as soon as the wife an' the crathurs war fairly
in bed, he brought out some illigint potteen, an' himself an' Jer Garvan
sot down to it; an' begorra, the more anasy Terence got, the more he
dhrank, and himself and Jer Garvan finished a quart betune them. It
wasn't an imparial though, an' more's the pity, for them wasn't anvinted
antil short since; but divil a much matther it signifies any longer if
a pint could hould two quarts, let alone what it does, sinst Father
Mathew--the Lord purloin his raverence--begin'd to give the pledge, an'
wid the blessin' iv timperance to deginerate Ireland.

'An' begorra, I have the medle myself; an' it's proud I am iv that same,
for abstamiousness is a fine thing, although it's mighty dhry.

'Well, whin Terence finished his pint, he thought he might as well stop;
"for enough is as good as a faste," says he; "an' I pity the vagabond,"
says he, "that is not able to conthroul his licquor," says he, "an'
to keep constantly inside iv a pint measure," said he; an' wid that he
wished Jer Garvan a good-night, an' walked out iv the room.

'But he wint out the wrong door, bein' a thrifle hearty in himself, an'
not rightly knowin' whether he was standin' on his head or his heels, or
both iv them at the same time, an' in place iv gettin' into bed, where
did he thrun himself but into the poulthry hamper, that the boys had
settled out ready for the gandher in the mornin'. An' sure enough he
sunk down soft an' complate through the hay to the bottom; an' wid the
turnin' and roulin' about in the night, the divil a bit iv him but was
covered up as shnug as a lumper in a pittaty furrow before mornin'.

'So wid the first light, up gets the two boys, that war to take the
sperit, as they consaved, to Tipperary; an' they cotched the ould
gandher, an' put him in the hamper, and clapped a good wisp iv hay an'
the top iv him, and tied it down sthrong wid a bit iv a coard, and med
the sign iv the crass over him, in dhread iv any harum, an' put the
hamper up an the car, wontherin' all the while what in the world was
makin' the ould burd so surprisin' heavy.

'Well, they wint along quite anasy towards Tipperary, wishin' every
minute that some iv the neighbours bound the same way id happen to fall
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