The Fabulists

湞

The Fabulists
by Philip Casey

PRAISE FOR THE FABULISTS
'... a deeply accomplished first novel. Casey has a penetrating eye for the stuff of everyday relationships and the compassion to turn the ordinary into compelling and vivid fiction.'
EOIN MCNAMEE, THE IRISH TIMES

'... an engaging combination of social and magic realism.'
BOOKS IRELAND

'This is a passionate, erotic mature novel that displays many of the virtues which contemporary Irish fiction so conspicuously lacks: an intelligent vision of an adult relationship coupled with an intelligent vision of contemporary Irish society ... a supple prose style which is a constant joy to read.'
RONAN SHEEHAN, IRISH PRESS

'The emotions explored are deep and serious, the characters get all our sympathy ... a stunningly truthful and perfectly pitched novel.'
COLM TóIBíN

'Casey has an uncanny ability to portray the needy fragility and boundless imaginative desire of a woman's unfolding sexuality.'
KATIE DONOVAN, THE BIG ISSUE

'Mortally angelic writing by a man that understands as no one else does the seam of gold and revelation in the strict greys of the mundane.'
SEBASTIAN BARRY, THE IRISH TIMES

The Fabulists
Philip Casey was born to Irish parents in London in 1950 and raised in Co. Wexford. He lived in Barcelona from 1974 to 1977 and has travelled widely in Israel and Europe. His publications include The Year of the Knife, Poems 1980-1990 (1991); his play, Cardinal, was performed in Hamburg in 1990. A member of Aosdána, he lives in Dublin on the north bank of the Liffey.

for Christine Clear

The Fabulists
PHILIP CASEY
THE LILLIPUT PRESS

http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.5/legalcode This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 License
http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.5/
*The full license is included at the end of this document
This novel is released under a Creative Commons license courtesy
The Lilliput Press, Dublinhttp://www.lilliputpress.ie http://www.lilliputpress.ie
and
The Lisa Eveleigh Literary Agency, London
Hard copies of The Fabulists may be purchased from http://www.lilliputpress.ie/listbook.html?oid=2732979
original copyright notice
Copyright (c) 1994 Philip Casey
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior permission of the publisher.
First published in 1994 by THE LILLIPUT PRESS LTD 4 Rosemount Terrace, Arbour Hill, Dublin 7, Ireland.
Reprinted 1995
A CIP record for this title is available from The British Library.
ISBN 1 874675 30 9
Acknowledgments are due to the Arts Council (An Chomhairle Ealaíon) for a travel grant to Germany, and to The Tyrone Guthrie Centre at Annamakerrig where some of this novel was written. With special thanks to Karina, Christine, Ulrike, Bríd, Peter, Mick, David, Paddy, Eileen, Shane, Sean, Kevin, Eileen, John, Ann, Pat, Arthur, and Grainne.
The Lilliput Press receives financial assistance from An Chomairle Ealaíon/The Arts Council of Ireland
Cover design by Ed Miliano Set in 10.5 on 13 Galliard by mermaid turbulence
Printed in Dublin by etaprint
Note: this electronic copy has been formatted in Palatino Linotype 14
Philip Casey's website is athttp://www.philipcasey.com http://www.philipcasey.com

-One-
Tess was brooding about Arthur and Brian when a large puppet bird caught her attention. Its head lunged on its unwieldy neck as it led the noisy, colourful parade along O'Connell Street. A judge rolled his eyes and absently waved a claw from his perch. His platform was dragged by lawyers, their wigs askew as they strained and groaned under the weight of the law. It was all good fun, but when she saw that the Keystone Cops were confused about guarding some men in a cage, she realized the point of the demonstration. The case of the six men had become notorious. Tess believed they were innocent, and now, by chance, she could support their cause.
She was mesmerized as one scene displaced another. Weird ranks of marchers dressed in black, with cowls or tricorn hats, carried flaming torches. Their faces were black, their masks were white. There was a choir, in red and orange cloaks. It was like the German carnival Marian had mentioned in one of her letters.
She was relieved when the drums faded, and as the support groups began to pass, she slipped in behind a union banner.
By O'Connell Bridge the groups had become less disciplined and more sociable. Even Tess had joined in the banter. She could see no one that she knew, but although he was more or less with a group behind a banner, a man was casually watching her. She had already noticed him as she joined the parade, because he had a stiff arm, but now he was lost in the shifting crowd. There were mythic animals everywhere she looked, weaving in and out of the straggling groups, keeping them moving, insulting friends from the safety of their masks. She hadn't enjoyed herself so much in a long time.
Darkness fell quickly as they marched on. At the Central Bank Plaza, the parade mustered under the moon in a clear sky, and the crowd spilled over onto Dame Street. Tess shivered. She had been fine while she was walking, but now she was glad of her long coat and boots, and her woollen