The Misremembered Man by Christina McKenna Page B

husband. And I’m not just sayin’ that. It’s the God’s honest truth, so it is.”
    Jamie wondered what back teeth had to do with anything, but had the idea that Rose was paying him a compliment all the same. It was a rare thing to inspire, or indeed hear such praise from another, especially a woman. He was nonetheless confused, and had a vision of a half set of dentures that he’d found at the back of a drawer in Mick’s bedroom. He tried now to reconcile the set of yellowed grinders with the beauteous creature this woman might prove to be.
    After a minute or two he gave up, fondled his ear and fairly glowed with embarrassment. He wanted to thank Rose for the compliment but thought that if he did, it might seem as though he were agreeing with her. So instead he coughed and said, “aw, now,” looking away to the picture on the wood-chipped wall: an image of the Virgin Mary crushing a writhing serpent beneath her perfect, blessed feet.
    Rose took up the pen.
    “Now I’ll do a wee rough one, Jamie, first. Then you can copy it out—or if you like I can write it for you. Either way, it’s all right by me.”
    “Naw, Rose, if you write it, I’ll copy it out. Wouldn’t want to be puttin’ you to any more trouble than was called for, like.”
    “Good enough, Jamie, good enough.” Rose began to write. “Now, first after your address I’m gonna say ‘dear lady’.” Rose peered over her glasses. “’Cause y’know, Jamie, a woman always likes to be called a lady even if she isn’t one. Not that I’m sayin’ this lady you’re gonna meet isn’t gonna turn out to be a lady, ’cause I’m sure she will be, but y’know it’s always better to be on the safe side.”
    After several minutes of Rose writing—stopping every now and then to shoot a look heavenward for inspiration—and Jamie following the words that flowed from the pen in her exuberant hand, the task was done. Rose read it aloud to Jamie’s nodding approval. When she’d finished he scratched his head in amazement.
    “That’s the best I ever heard, Rose! Just the thing, so it is. God, but you’re powerful good at the writin’. Y’know I’d a been sittin’ at the table from now to Christmas, begod, tryin’ to get the like a that writ.”
    “Deed ye might-a been, Jamie.”
    Rose beamed and handed the page over. “Well, it’s great that you like it, and if there’s anything you want added or changed just let me know and I’ll do it.” And she stood up. “Now, Jamie, I’ll get us a wee cuppa tea while you’re at the copyin’ out-a it, so I will.”
    “Good enough, Rose.”
    “Oh, and Jamie, it might be an idea to give your hands a wee rub before you start, because you don’t want to be soilin’ the page, mightn’t look so good.”
    Jamie looked at his hands, ingrained as they were with several days’ dirt from cowshed and barn, conceded that Rose was right, and immediately set to with soap and brush at the kitchen sink. When he finally got round to the writing task, he applied himself with great deliberation and care.
    The Farmhouse
Duntybutt
Tailorstown
     
Dear Lady ,
I saw your advertmint in the Mid Ulster Vindicator of 14th day of July , 1974 and was immediately taken by it , because I think you and me have a lot in common and for this reason would maybe get on well together .
I will now tell you a bit about myself so you can decide for yourself .
I am a forty one year old farmer and I live two miles from the town of Tailorstown in the townland of Duntybutt . My farm is not too big , but not too wee either . I have ten or so acres where I grow spuds and some corn .
I have some animals , one pig , two Ayrshire cows , five sheep which I graze on the Slievegerrin mountains along with the goat and some hens for eggs and the like .
I like cooking and reading just like you and I like music especially cawntry and western stuff . I can play the accordion well and sometimes play it in the public house of an evening . I like going