My Journal

By Harriman Nelson

77

“Well, it sure isn’t what I expected,” Lee muttered, as we were led on a guided tour at the museum. The story teller was waxing on with old Irish tales and legends of the fairy folk, as we were led from one juvenile looking display after another. But there were also pieces of ancient Celtic jewelry, some old hand illuminated manuscripts, even the supposed remnant of a cloak belonging King Brian Boru. Due to the Irish reverence of the man, it's legitimacy might just be for real, a revered item handed down through the centuries.

On the lighter side, we got some great pictures of me wearing a green vest, cape, crown and holding a pipe sitting in a giant chair, after having had to climb up some stairs to get in to it! A leprechaun’s point of view, it was said.

Joe was willing to do the same, but I couldn’t convince Lee. In fact, he seemed distracted. When I asked him if he was okay, he said he’d simply had too much to eat for breakfast and was uncomfortable.

Nor could Joe convince him to have his picture taken in the cut outs as a Leprechaun working on his shoes, or with his pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

Despite the home made type of displays, I was actually having fun, all the shades of what real Leprechauns were capable of, if so inclined, completely gone from mind. Especially as we walked through a faux underground tunnel in which ‘remnant’s of a Leprechaun’s breakfast were displayed along with some half repaired shoes.

“All Leprechauns are shoemakers,” the guide told us.

Of course, Lee and I already knew that from our personal experience with Patrick and Mickey O’ Shaunessy, Leprechauns extraordinaire, but I didn’t let the memory bother me. This was simply a lighthearted diversion into the mythology of the magical creatures.

And then it happened.

“We heard,” Mrs. Piccadilly said, “that the museum has the legendary crock of gold that King Brian Boru captured from the little people.”

“Aye, true enough,” our guide said, “but it was removed from public exhibition as being too dangerous. Many a guest who touched the cauldron or the gold developed boils, severe itching, arthritis, and sties under the eyelids.”

“What a crock of bull, this whole damn thing,” one of the group said, and was quickly ‘shushed’.

“Can we at least look at it?” Mrs. P. asked oozing charm.

“Well, I suppose I could let you see it, Mrs., and your group, but you’ll have to sign  waivers releasing us from any liability. The things are accursed, I tell you. Ever since the King of the Leprechauns cursed Brian Boru for stealing his crock of gold.”

“Bring it on,” the man from the group said, “I’m not afraid of a stupid fairy tale.”

“Just how did you come by it?” I asked trying to quell a riot amongst the group. While no one really believed in Leprechauns, they didn’t like their colleague’s belittlement of an Irish tradition, even if a 'crock of bull'.

“Belonged to a fine old family hereabouts from way back,” the guide said, “descendants of Brian Boru himself....”

“Almost everyone with Irish roots claims to be a descendant,” the man said snidely.

“Oh, you’d be surprised how many folk can prove it what with DNA now. Even you might have some royal blood in you, though you certainly don’t deserve it.”

Before the man  could respond, furious, I was sure, I added, “Well, I kow I’d like to see the cauldron. Early iron ware is a tribute to early innovations during  the Dark Ages.”

“Come along then,” the guide sighed, “anyone who wants to brave the damned thing.”

He led us to a storage room. There were several cupboards, drawers, nooks and crannies. One clear plastic bin contained a pair of Renaissance pointed shoes, and another a small green velvet vest. High up on the wall, held by brackets was a bent broomstick, which I didn’t even want to ask about. (Yes, they had witch hysteria in Ireland in the olden days as well as in Salem, Mass.)

Pulling on some heavy gloves, our guide pulled out what looked like a heavy lead box from under a cupboard. But before opening it, he grabbed some forms and pens from a drawer, and handed them out to anyone who wanted to get up close and personal with the ‘ancient’ artifact.

“Oh, isn't this fun?” Mrs. P. said, then to Lee, who finished signing his wavier and handed it over to the guide, “perhaps you can try to pick up any vibes.”

“I don’t have visions to order, Mrs. P. If a leprechaun decides to make himself known, he will. I can’t ask him.”

“Then you believe in leprechauns?” the guide asked.

“Let’s just say I’ve worked with a noted scientist so long I’ve learned to have an open mind,” Lee said, without revealing that he already had firsthand knowledge of their actual existence.

As our host lifted out the partly rusted, and indeed very old cauldron, the cold coins having been placed in a protective plastic bag inside, the crowd gasped.

“It looks real enough to me,” someone said.

“The afflictions come at midnight, during a full moon,” the guide said.

“How convenient. You, Admiral, you should know; when’s the next full moon?”

“Tonight, actually.”

“Well then, tonight at midnight you’ll see that this whole thing’s a bunch of bunk.”

“Suit yourself, sir,” the guide said, shaking his head sadly.

Just then Lee furrowed his brows and moved off.

“What is it, Lee?” I asked quietly as I joined him, while the group took a closer look at the cauldron.

“Is he having a vision?” someone asked, noticing.

“Captain?” Mrs. P. asked. “What is it, Admiral...I know he’s been a bit queasy...”

Without saying a word, Lee returned to the cauldron and touched it while his eyes glazed over.

Everyone gasped and waited.

“Oh good grief,” ‘Thorn’ said. “Get on with it then, Captain. What hocus pocus do you ‘see’?

“I see a bad end for you if you continue to hate your brother and try to cheat him out of his inheritance.”

“What? That’s a lie and what has that  to do with the crock?”

“Huh? What?” Lee said, shaking his head, his eyes returning to normal, “what happened? I think I blacked out...did I see something?”

“You might say so, my dear,” Mrs. P. said.

“Stuff and nonsense,” ’ Thorn’ said, “I’m out of here. I’m going to go get a drink.”

“What did I see?” Lee asked, confused.

“Someone’s soul,” the guide said as he shook his head, his eyes following ‘Thorn’ as he made his way out of the building. Then, “One of the cauldron legends is that the pure of heart can see into men’s souls when they touch it, and  that they won’t suffer any of the plagues attached to it either. Even leprechauns have to bow to a higher power.”

“Try again, Captain,” Mrs. P. said. “Concentrate on King Boru...”

“Like I said, I can’t order the visions. They come when they come...”

“Go ahead, Lee,” I said. “You might as well.”

“With the gold,” the guide placed a few of the coins in Lee’s hands and helped him to touch the cauldron with the other.

We waited.

Nothing.

We waited some more.

Nothing.

“I’m sorry,” Lee said. “I don’t sense anything now.”

“Well, I’m glad you tried, my dear,” Mrs. P. said.

It wasn’t long before the tour was over, and the guide took me aside as the group headed to the exit and waiting tour bus.

“You take good care of the laddie. He’s a rare one...maybe even anointed from On High.”

“Don’t worry, I always do everything in my power to protect him, though he’s got a mind of his own.”

“Aye, well...”

“It was a great tour,” I told him, “I enjoyed myself immensely.”

It wasn’t long before the bus dropped us off at the hotel. Lee really wasn’t feeling well, though I wasn’t sure if it was from the breakfast or his ‘blackout’.

Joe had him take some of the Pink Stuff as soon as we got to the room, just in case the cause was a surfeit of the Queen of Tart’s food and made him  lie down.

Meanwhile I called Seaview to report that I was having a great time, but that Lee had over done breakfast and was suffering for it now. I didn’t dare tell him that the museum’s curator thought he was one of God’s anointed. Though I was pretty sure most of the crew already believed that anyway.

“Admiral?” Joe asked from his laptop, “I’m not sure Lee should go with the group to Dublin Castle...”

“I’m sure he’ll feel better in a while...it’s  not for a few hours...”

“Yeah, but...these spells of his; they wear him out.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t sense anything more.”

“Maybe just didn’t mention it to you....”

“What?”

“I’ve just uploaded some of the  digital pictures I took. I think your leprechauns were in the museum with us."

Patrick or what looked like  double exposures of Patrick, was standing next to me, his arms across his chest, grinning as I smiled from behind the cardboard cutout of me as a leprechaun, and another of him  sitting atop the counter, legs crossed by the crock of gold.

A knock on the door interrupted us.

“Ah, Mrs. Piccadilly,” I said as I opened the door and greeted her, “I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed my day so far.”

“Oh, I’m so glad...I noticed that our boy looked a bit ill on the way back.”

“Bad case of indigestion,” I replied, and nodded to the now sleeping form.

“Just let him know it’s okay if he’d rather not go to Dublin Castle. Supper at O’Neil’s Pub is at 7:00. I hope he feels better by then. Be prepared to depart at 6:30 if you’ll be joining us on the bus.”

“I’ll be there,  if Lee feels up to it., that is.”

“Of course,” she grinned, patted me on the shoulder, then looking at Lee, “He’s a good boy, Admiral. He really is...you must be very proud of him.”

“I am,” I replied whole heartedly.

Joe joined the group to visit the castle, more of a stately building than one’s idea of a real castle, though it does have some history as one. I’m just relaxing here in the hotel room, though I’m a bit bored just sitting here. I’m glad Lee’s getting a nice nap though.

It remains to be seen if ‘Thorn’ will be afflicted by the leprechaun’s curse when the clock strikes midnight. I sure hope so. Not a very Christian sentiment, I know, but he really irked me.

It also remains to be seen if Lee will feel like having any supper tonight. I know I do.

I also need to speak to Lee about Patrick. Did he see him or not? I don't like being left out of the loop.