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[108]

A SEACHD DEUG

GHABH Mac na Ceàrdaich an A822 aig Greenloaning agus thog e air gu tuath, a’ dèanamh air Craoibh. “Dùthaich bhrèagha timcheall air seo,” thuirt MacIlleathain mar a chaidh amMetrobeag seachad air craobhan beithe air gach taobh dhen rathad. “Tha deagh thalamh aig na tuathanaich an seo. ’S tha fearainn gu math mòr aca cuideachd. Dh’fheumadh tu bhith glè bheairteach mus deigheadh agad air àite a cheannach ann an sìorrachd Pheairt. Feumaidh gu bheil deagh mhogan aig MacAnndrais aigNorthnuair a dh’affordaigeas e taigh a cheannach a-muigh an seo. Cha stad mi fhìn am faigh mi rudeigin mar seo. Dùthaich bhrèagha dha-rìribh.”
“Tha i sin,” thuirt Mac na Ceàrdaich. “Ach an còrdadh e leat a bhith fuireach cho fada on bhaile?”
“Uill,” thuirt MacIlleathain, “chan fhaic mi mòran bhàraichean a-muigh an seo gun teagamh. Ach dh’fhaodainn deoch a thoirt a-steach. Nam biodh pathadh orm – ’s air m’ onair, tha mo cho tioram ri àrc an dràsda fhèin. Dè ’n uair a tha e?”
“Chan eil thu feumach air deoch eile an dràsda, Iain Ailig,” thuirt Mac na Ceàrdaich. “Tha e ochd uairean an dràsda. Bidh sinn an taigh MhicAnndrais an ceann cairteal na h-uarach. Dè cho fad ’s a mhaireas a’ choinneamh? Leth-uair, ’s dòcha? Togaidh sinn rithe aig a naoi a-rithist, ’s bidh sinn air ais an Glaschu mu leth-uair an dèidh deich. Mo ghealladh, beiridh tu air pinnt anns a’ Bhenan uair sin. Dè do bharail?”
Chrath MacIlleathain a cheann. “Tha sin ro fhada airson fuireach,” thuirt e. “Stad aig an ath thaigh-òsda a chì thu – tha fear ann am Braco, mas math mo chuimhne – ’s faigh leth-bhotal dhomh.” Thug e deich notaichean dhan draoibhear.
“Obh, ochoin, Iain Ailig,” thuirt Mac na Ceàrdaich, “nach tu ghabh i.’

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[109] Chaidh sinn seachad air Braco, tha, ah, bho chionn còig mionaidean. Bidh sinn a’ ruighinn an ceartuair, a dhuine. Nach glèidh thu d’ fhoighidinn gu faigh sinn a’ choinneamh ghòrach tha seo seachad. Chan eil fhios agamsa carson a tha thu a’ bodraigeadh tighinn air an astar seo a dh’fhaicinn an duine ud co-dhiù.”
“Gheibh thu a-mach,” thuirt MacIlleathain. “An do chuir thu air falbh am facs air an robh sinn a’ bruidhinn mu thràth?”
“Cha do chuir,” thuirt Mac na Ceàrdaich. “Sgrìobh mi litir mar a dh’iarr thu orm, ach thug mi do Dhonna i mun deach mi dhachaigh.”
“O,” thuirt MacIlleathain, “gheibheadh e i ceart gu leòr a rèisd. ’S e nighean glè chomasach a th’ ann an Donna, bheil fhios agad. Nighean bhrèagha a th’ innte cuideachd.” Chaidh e air a bhlian agus phàisg e a làmhan air chùl amhaich. “Bu chòir dhut, a Dhonnchaidh,” thuirt e, “a bhith nas snòige rithe. ’N e nach eil i a’ còrdadh riut ann an dòigh air choreigin?”
“ ’S ann a tha i a’ còrdadh rium ro mhath,” thuirt Mac na Ceàrdaich. “ ’S mi a bhiodh deònach glaoic a dhèanamh dhiom fhìn còmhla rithe, nam faighinn an cothrom. Ach chan eil fhios dè chanadh a’ bhean. Tha mise ga fhaighinn doirbh gu leòr aon tè a riarachadh, gun luaidh air dithis bhoireannach a chumail toilichte. Rachadh mo chlachadh nam faigheadh i a-mach gun do chuir mi sùil ann am boireannach eile.”
“Nach tu tha fad’ air ais, a bhalaich,” thuirt MacIlleathain. “Anns an t-saoghal a th’ ann tha a h-uile fear is tè – an fheadhainn as aithne dhòmhsa co-dhiù – tha iad a’ falbh le chèile is a’ cumail ri mnathan dhaoin’ eile. Cia mheud cupall as aithne dhutsa anns an obair seo a tha toilichte nam pòsadh? No cia mheud duine ann an obair an telebhisean as aithne dhut a tha pòsd’ ann?”
“Mi fhìn ’s Anne-Marie,” thuirt Mac na Ceàrdaich.
“Tud,” thuirt MacIlleathain, “ ’s e tha mise ciallachadh ach daoine mòra. Mi fhìn, mar eiseamplair – dealaichte. MacAnndrais, am fear a tha sinn a’ dol a choimhead air a-nochd – dealaichte. Aonghas Iain MacCoinnich aig an STG – dealaichte. An Caimbeulach fhèin – dealaichte. Am fear òg sin – dè th’ agad air? – Ruairidh Moireach, cha chreid mi nach eil e cam, am fear sin. Flòraidh chòir, a’ bhan-Bhadhlach – uill, ’s beag an t-iongnadh gun do theich an duine oirre. Nam biodh tu coimhead air an aghaidh a tha sin fada gu leòr, lùigeadh duine sam bith a

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[110] chasan thoirt leis. Gun toireadh an Cruithear mathanas dhomh airson a bhith fanaid, ach, a Thighearna, tha i grànda. ’S e tidsear a bh’ innte mus d’fhuair i ’n obair aig an Sgioba. An seòrsa tidseir a bhrosnaich a’ chlann gu mòr. Rinn i uiread de bhrosnachadh orra ann an Castlemilk ’s gum biodh a’ chlann a’ briseadh a-steach dhan sgoil air an oidhche agus a’ peantadh a h-ainm, agus dè bu mhath leotha a dhèanamh leatha, air feadh an àite. Dia glèidh mi, a Dhonnchaidh, chan eil fhios a’m ciamar a ghleidheas mi mo chiall leis an daoine a th’ agam ri bhith dèiligeadh riutha.” Ghabh e anail.
“Gun luaidh,” thuirt e, “air Seòras Kerr. Hoigh, dhìochuimhnich mi mu dheidhinn muinntir Albion, tha iad sin nas miosa na ceàrdan. Mar a thubhairt mi, ma nì cunntas orra air fad, a-mach às Kerr, cha mhòr gu bheil duine a tha ann an craoladh Gàidhlig pòsda an-diugh. Tha mi ’g innse dhut, a Dhonnchaidh, bheir obair an telebhisean an diog asad. Tha i a’ dìoladh air pòsaidhean gu mòr, gu mòr.” Shuath e uinneag a’ chàr le bhois.
“Nis, a Dhonnchaidh,” thuirt e, “thionndaidh gu do làimh cheart ann an seo. Thèid thu suas mu cheud slat agus thig thu gu crois an rathaid, tionndaidh gu d’ làimh chlì, cumaidh tu ort mu leth-mhìle agus chì thu taigh mòr geal air do làimh cheart. Sin agad StrathearnLodge. Dachaigh MhicAnndrais.”
Stiùir Mac na Ceàrdaich suas leathad meadhanach cas agus stad e aig doras a-muigh far an robh colbh mòr air gach taobh. Thàinig an dithis aca a-mach, choisich iad suas staidhre chloiche agus shlaod MacIlleathain air slat-chluig. Dh’fhosgaileadh an doras. Air am beulaibh bha Seòras Kerr na sheasamh gun seacaid air agus a mhuilcheannan truiste.
“Dè ’n Diabhal?” thuirt MacIlleathain.
Rinn Kerr gàire agus dh’fhiathaich e a-staigh iad gun facal a ràdh.
Thuirt MacIlleathain: “Dè tha thusa a’ dèanamh an seo? Cà’il MacAnndrais?”
“An taobh sa,” thuirt Kerr.
Anns an leabharlann bha MacAnndrais na shuidhe air cathair leathair air cùl deasg is a làmhan paisgte mu mheadhan. Choimhead e air uaireadair.
“I’ ll make this breif, ”thuirt MacAnndrais. “We’re letting you go, John Alex. For six weeks now George has been furnishing me with detailed

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[111] accounts of defalcations, immorality and general incompetence on your part. After due deliberation, the Board of North Television has decided to withdraw all financial support fromIomhaighProductions. I have informed Angus John at theSTGof our decision, and instructed him to cancel your current commission – this Take a Chance thing you’re supposed to be doing shortly – and I have instructed our agents to initiate legal action against you personally in order to reclaim the start-up money we advanced to you when your company took out articles. Anything else? ”thuirt e ri Kerr.
“His signature on the press release, Gordon, ”thuirt Kerr. “That’ll clean things up. I haven’t abandoned the idea of broadcasting this series, you know. I’ll give Mackenzie a kick up the arse tomorrow and see if they can dig up another idependent production company. ”
“You fucking bastard, ”thuirt MacIlleathain, “you fucking bastard. ”
“George, you mean? ”thuirt MacAnndrais. “No way to talk about the largest shareholder in North Television, John Alex. You should have been more careful in your lobbying, vigorous though it was.”
“Didn’t you recieve my fax? ”thuirt MacIlleathain.
“No fax was received at North fromIomhaighProductions, ”thuirt MacAnndrais.
“But, ”thuirt MacIlleathain, “the fax was supposed – it would have explained to you, Gordon, my, ah, artistic misgivings, my doubts about kerr. Are you sure you didn’t receive it?”
“Iain Ailig,” thuirt Kerr “cha toirinn smugaid air na‘misgivings’agadsa. That little mouth-breather who’s fucking your brains out, Donna, she was probably too busy on the telephone this afternoon discussing whips and chains with the boyfriend to get near the fax machine. She couldn’t fucking work it anyway. A vibrator, yes. A fax machine? To her that’s Nasa.
“In any case, ”thuirt e, “what good would it’ve done you, even if Gordon here had received your pathetic little fiction? I had already decided to flay the skin off your back long before tonight.”
“You, ”thuirt MacIlleathain, “you, you have gone over the head – he had prejudged the situation, Gordon. He’s only Head of Production. You’re the CEO, Gordon. He’s overriding your position.”
“That’s right, ”thuirt MacAnndrais.

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[112]

“What?” thuirt MacIlleathain.
“Look,” thuirt MacAnndrais, “George is a member of a board of North and has, over the years, through prudence and foresight, acquired more voting shares in our company than anyone else. This leaves him – and I’m probably guilty of understatement here – this has left George Kerr in an extremely powerful position indeed. If, or rather when, someone else takes a run at us – Albion, maybe, or the Liverpool mob, or some big group from the continent, who knows? – if somebody makes a hostile bid, then George has us all, me included, by the – over the proverbial. If he decides to sell out, at a particular price, then he becomes a millionaire and the rest of us are out of work. If he holds out, then he and executive get to come to work for a while longer.
“From a consideration of all this,” thuirt e, “it should be clear to you, John Alex, that when George Kerr wants the board to take a particular course of action, we tend to, ah, we always accommodate him. Your views, whether expressed orally or in writing, are simply not germane.”
Chùm MacIlleathain air a’ coimhead air Kerr. “Oh, no, ”thuirt e, “oh, no. Angus John’ll never approve of this.”
“John Alex, for Christ’s sake, ”thuirt Kerr, “you still don’t understand, do you? What are you thinking of: ‘Angus John’ll never approve of this’? Angus John’ll do whatever we tell him to do. We made Angus John. Just as we made you. ”Thionndaidh e ri MacAnndrais. “Didn’t make too good a job of them, eh, Gordon? ”thuirt e. “One a fat wet-head, and the other, a fucking cockroach.”
“Could we move on, George, please? ”thuirt MacAnndrais. “I’ve a meeting in the Disney people tomrrow in Burbank, and I’ll have to be sharp discussing budgets with that Chinese-Jewish accountant they’ve got over there. ”Shìn e duilleag phàipeir do MhacIlleathain. “Sign this, please, John Alex. Usual guff about ‘artistic differences’ and ‘Dr Maclean seekinig challenges in other areas of artistic endevour’. ”Thug e peann dha.
Cha do leugh MacIlleathain am pàipear. Cha tug e a shùilean far Kerr. “What if I refuse to sign? ”thuirt e.
“You know something?” thuirt Kerr. “You are an asshole, all right? What’s more, John Alex, you’re a double-barrelled asshole. I don’t understand it. Every single one of you guys who have the double-barrelled Christian name, you’re all on the mentally disabled list. Must be a sign

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[113] from God. ‘Lady somewhere on the planet has given birth to a fucking donkey? Give it a double-barrelled name.’ You people, all you Donald Johns and John Anguses and Mary Margarets and Flora Marys, Christ, all you Teuchtars, doesn’t matter how hard we try to make you see sense and tell you what’s right for you: ‘Do it our way. We’ve been in television for a long time, right? We know the business.’ You’re all the same way, and you’ve the same way too. You’re like all these retards saying, ‘Let’s have the service based in the communities at community hall level.’ Wouldn’t fucking work. Results would be fucking embarrassing. Get it into your heads,” thuirt e ri Mac na Ceàrdaich, “when it comes to making television programmes, we, the English-speaking majority, have the expertise. You peasants with your poxy ten million have come late to the table. The big boys were here first. And if you want a game, we’ll take your money. But you’ll play by our rules.”
“I’m not singing, ”thuirt MacIlleathain.
“Suit yourself, Doctor Maclean, ”thuirt MacAnndrais. “The release is going out tomorrow.”
Leig Kerr osna. “Jesus Christ, it never fails. Try to be nice to these bastards, get some kind of defiance. Must be the acid rain up these islands or something. Watch my lips, Maclean. You. Are. Finished. Now just get your fucking asses out of here. Now.”
“Thugainn, Iain Ailig,” thuirt Mac na Ceàrdaich, agus thionndaidh e agus choisich e gu math luath a-mach às an rùm.
Dh’fhuirich MacIlleathain na sheasamh far an robh e airson leth-mhionaid mun do dh’fhalbh e fhèin. Nuair a ràinig e an doras a-muigh chunnaic e amMetroa’ gluasad gu mall sìos an ùdraid chun an rathaid mhòir. Ghairm cailleach-oidhche anns a’ choillidh air chùl an taighe.