An Interview with Cormac Ó Fhearghusa

You find him sitting cross-legged near a small wooden dovecote, carefully tending to several pigeons. He’s a slight young man of sixteen, with watchful eyes that seem to notice everything. At your approach, he doesn’t look up immediately, but his posture shifts slightly – alert but not alarmed.

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You: Hello.

Cormac: Still focused on the pigeon in his hands

You: Hello, can I talk with you?

Cormac: You are talking with me

You: I Mean, can I ask you some questions?

Cormac: You are asking me questions

He is still not looking at you

You: That is a strong pigeon, do you eat them?

Cormac: No, she is my friend

You: When did you get her?

Cormac: I didn’t, she came to me. She flies to me.

You: What is her name?

Cormac: Colúr.

You: Do you live in that bothán?

Cormac: No. Mattie. He is my uncle. He sent Colúr from Lios Mór today.

You: Oh, I see. You got Colúr today?

Cormac: No, she flew from Lios Mór to me today.

You get up, because it is apparent that Cormac is not interested in speaking with you.

You: It is getting late, I must be on my way.

Cormac stops petting Colúr. He looks up near your face.

You: I have business in Eochaill, it was nice metting you.

Cormac: That is a lie. All people lie.

You get annoyed. Cormac is being rude. You take a deep breath and start running your hand through your hair and beard. Cormac’s eyes are now locked onto your hands like a hawk.

Cormac: Now you are angry because I tell you the truth. Everybody gets angry with me when I tell the truth.

Cormac stands up, and lets Colúr fly up into the sky.

Cormac: I have work to do, and it is not getting late. That is the truth. Good Bye.