The Perverse Erse

By ADRIEN COBLENTZ

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Fantastic Universe March 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

The evening crowd had thinned at Moriarty's in South Bend, and only the regulars were left, a small group at one end of the dark oak bar, chatting quietly. At that moment a short gaunt man entered, and in a very thick brogue ordered a glass of Tullamore Dew. Finishing his drink he sighed deeply and put a thick manila envelope on the bar. He sighed again and at this Phineas O'Rourke put down his beer and remarked, "Sure now, that's the most mournful sound I've heard since the day me grandfather fell down the stairs with a case of the real Irish in his arms; twelve bottles broken, it were."

The stranger turned toward Phineas, and his face had the haunted look of a man who has looked upon some incredible catastrophe testing the very limits of man's sanity and barely survived. Again he sighed, then lifted the envelope with his left hand and waved it vaguely in Phineas' direction. His voice broke as he spoke. "I had to, I really had to. After all, as head of the department of research anthropology at the university, I'm duty-bound to report this. But they wouldn't accept it; in fact, they—politely, of course—suggested I take a sabbatical until I got over it. I understand their position, and perhaps releasing this information would have a terrible effect on Erin, but in the name of truth and science, it should be known."

At the mention of possible harm to the Emerald Isle, the whole group perked up their ears, and John Gaffney politely asked, "Is it something you could be telling us about? Sure and it's interested we'd be if it has to do with Ireland." The rest of them nodded and added a chorus of ayes.

The sad-looking man sighed again, looked at his empty glass and, nodding to the bartender, to refill it, began opening the manila envelope.

"I suppose I ought to introduce myself first. I'm Paul Corscadden, assistant professor of anthropology. Though born in the old country, I was raised here in the midwest—caught between two cultures, as it were."

At this point, the bartender, caught up in the unfolding of this tragic story, commented, "But your brogue...."

"Yes, of course," interrupted the professor, "it returned during my field trip to county Mayo 

  P 1/3 next