by Brigid Carey (Gonzaga University)
THE MOMENT THAT BEGAN MY LOVE AFFAIR with Ireland can only be pinpointed by a dark play that we barely understood. "Frank Pig Says Hello" tricked me into laughing at such a very serious story, with murder and insanity issues, and I was shamed to find this disturbed character hilarious even after he had just murdered a woman or beat a small boy in a chicken coop. Overall, the general consensus of the play from every one in the hostel was that yes, it was good, but what the hell was it about. I have theories about the message, but what I was more intrigued by were the actors. Two energetic actors, never leaving the stage for a moment except intermission. I was in awe. I believed this man who played a pig. I could actually see spit rocketing from his mouth, the sweat drenching his face by the middle of each act. His laugh was so human yet so pig like that you couldn't help but fall in love with this poor boy, poor man, who was so confused by everything but at the same time ecstatic for life! And his partner had so many characters, physiques, and accents hidden in his limbs that I forgot he really was a man, not an old British lady. But all of this is beside the point. The play isn't what made me adore the Irish life. It was the walk home.
As I left the theatre alone, it had been raining for a while and the streets were already drenched in a glimmer. I wrestled my way up one of the many hills plaguing Armagh only to discover a cobblestone street, walled in from either side, bathed in lamp light. I prayed that maybe the hostel had moved further away or the street had somehow magically elongated itself only so I would not have to leave this scene too quickly. The rain slowly seeped into my sweater, hair, and skin, and the silence filled the air with an undeniable music. To some this street could have looked sinister, with its many shadows, dark golden and red hues, and only the sounds of a distant rainfall for comfort, but it made my heart swell thinking that this wasn't unique to Ireland. This could happen every night exactly like it happened for me. And that mesmerized me more than any once in a life time experience could. I don't believe I could ever find this moment in America. In America, there will always be ambient sounds of traffic and stereos, or parties and teens. Of course Ireland has all of these distractions too, but there is also a certain respect for the silence here that I have never found anywhere else. There is a safety in that silence. One that I don't think I'd ever find in America if I looked for years on end. And so it started as I walked through the romantic scene unfolding in front of me: my love affair with Ireland.
Rainy Night
