“Not if you were a computer,” Corrigan agreed. He winked. “But for people like you and me, it’s easy. Right?”
“How do we know which connections to pick?”
“From the experience of life. When the person that you tell it to picks the same ones, and they don’t know how either, you realize that despite your differences, there’s something deep and mysterious that you both share in common.”
Sherri was wearing the expression of a first-semester algebra student who had just glimpsed a textbook on tensor calculus. “You mean one joke says all that?” she managed in a strangled voice.
“Sure. In other words, you’re not alone in the universe. It’s a pretty good feeling to have, and you laugh. That’s the other part of what makes funny things funny. Maybe it’s the biggest part.”
Chapter Twenty
It was Christmas week. The jostling crowds of returning migrants making their seasonal pilgrimage home, and foreign-born kin eager to explore their cultural roots, gave Dublin Airport the appearance and feel of a refugee transit camp.
The party started as soon as Corrigan and Evelyn came through the exit from customs into the arrivals hall, where they were immediately spotted by a boisterous trio of Corrigan’s former student colleagues sent to intercept them.
“There’s yer man!”
“Will ye look what he’s brought back with him! Are there many more like that back there, Joe?”
“You’re looking just great, Joe. It’s good to have you back.”
They were showered with rice, which they had avoided in Reno since the ceremony had been a simple, civic one, and draped with streamers. Corrigan was treated to a swig of Bushmills from a hip flask and presented with a wrapped bottle of something. Evelyn got a bouquet and was introduced to “Mick,” “Dermot,” and “Kathleen.”
“Ah, Mick won’t be so bad, once you get used to him,” Dermot assured her.
“Dermot’s all right, really. He doesn’t say things like that when he’s sober,” Mick explained.
“Evelyn, ye can expect no sense at all out of any of them, now that the three are together again,” Kathleen warned.
“She’s probably right,” Dermot agreed.
“And it’ll get worse,” Mick guessed.
The laughing, taunting, and backslapping continued as they trundled the baggage cart out of the terminal building and across to the parking levels. The air was chilly after California and Nevada, but Corrigan had had the foresight to invest in some warm clothes before they left.
“And what possessed you to end up with the likes of him?” Mick asked Evelyn. He was a hefty and solid six-footer, with the complexion of a radish and prizefighter features. “America must be getting hard-up for men these days, since the last I heard of it.”
“Ah, it’s his blarney,” Dermot told them. “You didn’t swallow the line about his uncle owning Aer Lingus, did you?” he said to Evelyn. “There’s a long line of sorry women who are after hearing that one.”
“Wasn’t that how he got chased out of Ireland in the first place?”
“I thought that was to do with the wealthy widow-woman that he was sponging off.”
“The one with the mustache and the warts on the nose, was it?”
“Not her at all, at all. Another one.”
“Well, shame on the man.”
“It’ll do you no good. Sure, he never knew the meaning of the word.”
“My friends,” Corrigan sighed, grinning.
“Well, shame on the two of you,” Kathleen declared. She slipped an arm through Evelyn’s. “You just stick close to me, and I’ll show you who the decent people are. We do have a few left over here, you know.”
“And what would you know about them?” Mick challenged. “She’s away over the water and gets herself a Brit for a boyfriend, and then comes back to preach at us about decent people! Did you ever hear the like of it?”
“Don’t listen to them,” Kathleen advised.
“Joe didn’t listen to us either, and look what happened to him,” Dermot said. “He’s come back a Yank. It’s the end of him.”
“America’s great,” Corrigan told them. “A great place if you want to make some money.”
“Maybe so,” Mick agreed cheerfully. “But Ireland’s the place to spend it.”