I gave my name. “This is my wife.”
“Are you Irish?”
“No.”
“What are you doing in Ireland?”
“We came over on business.”
“What business?”
“I had a scheme of child adoption I hoped to get going,” said my wife.
“Where is it?” he demanded, as if we would pull it out of our pockets.
“It was a frail plant,” I answered, “and is now no more. First the Catholics came, and said to me, will you please be giving up that work for its after converting our children to Protestantism you are. Then the Protestants came and said they to me, will you be after giving that up, please, for it’s converting our children to Rome you have in mind. The plant was frail and it died.”
“Why didn’t you go home?”