Auld Patsy

The rotten house of Auld Patsy had one big window facing Cracker Street. Nine-year-old Tuley cocked her head to watch his long fingers place—in the second box on the third window bar—an unpainted wooden girl, next to the brown cow with a gold bell. His black eyes twinkled at her, then his head jerked back to the doll. He raised several wrinkles along his bony nose. Lifting the doll, he pinched it with his penknife. He blew the shaving away and placed it back on the shelf, then moved the cow to the other side, then back again to the first place, where he patted it on the butt with his stained finger. Then he hunched his shoulders and shuffled among the piles of collectibles and disappeared into the dark house.

There was a wooden box around each of the twelve white-streaked glass panes. The boxes contained little animals and people with tiny coats or wings or hats. Only a few were painted. She turned to her big sister. “Are ye sure, then, Elizabeth? There’s no sign is there? How can it be a shop?”

“Ye’ll see, Tuley. Mither brought me in when I was smaller than you. There’s rags of fine cloth and busted clocks and stuff he calls ‘fairy things.’ He’s familiar with the Gentry. And they play him for an April fool. See, there! He’s talking to them just now.”

Tuley watched him. “No, Elizabeth, he’s just talking.”

“Ah now, then, see him put his hand to his ear. He’s listening to Themselves, don’t ye know?”

“What does he hear?”

“Well, Tuley, let’s go in and ask him.”

“Oh, no!”

Elizabeth grabbed her hand. “Come on, don’t be afraid. You’ll like his trinkets.” She stepped up on the wooden porch and rapped the door. Tuley could hear his shoes swish and squeak. The lion’s-head knob screached and wiggled. He pulled the door open a little, poked his nose around it and said, “Who wants Auld Patsy, now?”

Elizabeth gripped her hand until it hurt. “Elizabeth Fitzgerald and her sister Tulia.”

“Have ye got money, then?”

She jingled her purse. “Some, I do have some.”

He waved his wrinkled nose toward Tuley. “She’s too little. She’ll break me curiosities. Leave her in the street.”

She jingled the purse again. “We both come in. She’s me sister and she’ll mind me to keep her hands down.”

He pursed his lips, then parted them to show his tobacco-stained teeth. “All right, then. Keep your hands down in regard of me fairy things.” He shuffled backward, pulling the door part way with both hands as it dangled from one hinge. Following Elizabeth, Tuley squeezed through the opening. He scraped the door back into place and turned the knob. Then he backed away and curled a dirty finger for them to follow.

Tuley put her free hand to her nose to strain the smell as he scooted his big shoes back and back. He brushed the stringy hair from his face, bowed and gestured toward an large table covered with dirty lace. Dozens of finger-length dolls were posed among doorknobs and tobacco tins which were painted to look like trees and houses.

Tuley was peering at a little girl with big ears when suddenly her heart stopped as he yelled, “Hey, there! Out of that, I tell ye! One more time and I’ll . . .” He grabbed a cup and threw it into a corner. “There, then, Jerry, I’m sorry for your head I am. But I warned you this many a time, didn’t I now?”

She felt her eyes open wide. Elizabeth nodded back and smiled. Tuley felt her squeeze that hand to protect her. Elizabeth said, “Mr. Patsy, sir, what is all that, then?”

“Well, there he is on the books, ain’t he? That’s auld Jerry. Hah! Jerry! That’s the Bible, then. That’ll burn your feet now, ye little scalliwag!” He turned back and wrung his hands. “Me apologies, ladies. The scoundrels won’t leave me alone, will they? I’m sorry to startle ye but . . . Backle! Are ye drunk again? In front of the ladies. Ye get out now. No, Jerry, ye can stay if ye observe the proprieties. But out with ye, Backle! I say Out! Here now!” He opened a side window, scooped up the fairy in his hands and tossed him out. He brushed his hands and closed the window.

He turned back to Elizabeth and showed his brown teeth. Tuley could see one was broken off. Then his black eyes scanned into Jerry’s dark corner. He squinted and lifted a doll onto the palm of his hand. He turned to Elizabeth. “Tuppence, would ye have tuppence, then? For this is what Jerry was after. ’Tis his wife, rest her soul, the very likeness which I carved from a wee bit of elderwood all from memory. See how she wore the bonnet tied just so—and the apron—I painted it to be like her very own. See the green leaves she had on it. They’s hawthorn leaves, they is. Go on, ye can hold it. Your little sister can touch it if ye like.”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows and let go of her hand so Tuley rubbed the blood back into it. Elizabeth propped it up on her palm the way he did, balancing it with her other fingers. She brought it down to Tuley’s face. Tuley looked at her and then reached a finger to touch the apron when suddenly he burst out again, “Bickle! You’re out with your brother if ye do it again! See now, girlies, how Jerry cries for his wife what was taken by the Sheerie. That’s what he was after, this wee bit of elderwood what I carved and painted to be like his dearie.” Suddenly he stomped his foot so hard Tuley could feel the house move. “Bickle! That’s all ye’ll do in front of the ladies. I’ll open it and ye can go out with your brother or I’ll fetch ye out and ye’ll wish for better. Here, then!” He opened the window and shoo-flyed the fairy out.

He latched the window, brushed his hands and looked around the room. “So then, all of ye. Can ye give Auld Patsy a bit of peace so we can earn a mite of bread for this day. Well—well, can ye?”

Tuley heard no answer from the fairies. He turned and wrinkled up his pasty face into a grin. Tuley counted just four whiskers on his chin, and a few more on his cheeks. He tightened his grin until the gums showed. “Well then, tuppence. Would ye have tuppence for Jerry’s bride?” His thumb and two fingers pinched and pinched at the coin he expected.

Elizabeth frowned. “Me mither would scold me for such a purchase, but she would no mind . . . ha’penny. Would ye take just ha’penny for it?”

He grabbed the doll from her hand. “Jerry’s heart would break, to sell the memory of his wife for half a coin. ‘Tis two or nothing.”

“Nothing, then,” Elizabeth said. “Come, Tuley, we’ll no longer take the man’s time, then.” Tuley stepped to the door and turned the knob, which came off in her hand.

“Well now, girlie, see what ye’ve done. Auld Patsy’s fairies are onto your game. But here, give me that!” He scooped the knob from her hand and wiggled it back in place. Then he turned it and scraped the door open just enough so Tuley slipped through, but Elizabeth could only reach her arm through and squeeze Tuley’s hand again.

He showed his gums even more. “Tuppence, then?”

“No! Keep your fairy doll. Me mither would no approve of a fairy doll anyway.”

“Ye could call her Saint Bridgit, then, and your mither would be fine, now. What’s that?” His nose pointed into the dark corner. “Sure now, Jerry, and what’s the matter with me that I didn’t tell her your wife’s name? Oh, sure now, Jerry, and ‘tis ashamed I am. Don’t be so hard on me. I’ll tell the girlie.” He pushed the door a little tighter so Elizabeth was stuck inside, gripping Tuley’s sweaty hand so hard the fingers felt like they would break. He softened his voice to Elizabeth. “Girlie, ye will be a fine lady, a body can see that. And ye know fine work when ye touch it.” He held up the doll between two fingers. “Jerry says to tell ye that his wife’s name was Bridgit—and that’s the truth—and he’ll take ha’penny for it, that he will. But ye must give honor to her memory. If ye will not give tuppence, then please give honor.”

Tuley couldn’t help crying now. “Elizabeth! My hand!”

Elizabeth grabbed the door with her other hand and wrenched it open. Auld Patsy staggered to keep it on the hinge and that gave her a second to scoot through the door, tearing her skirt on a nail. Tears streamed down Tuley’s face as they ran up the street. She could still hear him saying, “There, there, Jerry, ‘tis not your fault. Bickle and his brother scared the girlies off, now.”

They stopped running at the corner. Tuley wiped her sweaty hand on her skirt. “Oh Elizabeth, the fairies!”

“There’s no fairies, Tuley. He’s just a crazy old man.”

“No, Elizabeth, I saw little Jerry. He’s one of Themselves.”

Tuley felt Elizabeth straightening the ribbon in her hair. “Well now, Tuley, ye have seen Auld Patsy. Weren’t it something?”

Tuley looked back to where the little house leaned a little into Cracker Street. She rubbed her sore hand. “Auld Patsy, then," she said. "Auld Patsy.”