Welcome to my November Novel. Writers around the world attempt this every year. The plan is daily updates, and something substantial by December 1st.
My effort is called -
Fisherman’s Blues.
Shtop, cuntish, the dole cut me off. Like that, went to the bank, insufficient funds. There was the money, gone. Figured it was a glitch. Went to the Social Welfare office. They kinda cringed when they saw me coming. Guy behind the counter opened with: ‘Howya, Jack.’ ‘Not great, my money didn’t go through.’ ‘You’re on it a while now.’ ‘That’s right. A valued customer.’ ‘I don’t know about that. Way things are….what’s your P.P.S. number there…’ Gave it to him. He frowned. Adjusted the monitor. Tapped the pencil on the table, said: ‘No sign of work at all?’ ‘No.’ ‘New rules in you see…’ ‘What are they?’ ‘You’ll have to get a job.’ ‘Have to?’ ‘You’ve been on it ten years.’ ‘But there’s no work.’ ‘Have ya tried FÁS?’
Later at the FÁS office. What are my qualifications? I didn’t have any. What kinda work am I prepared to do? Nothing. Things got awkward. How did I feel about Galway? Not great. Thee was a telesales job going. Starting Monday. Sure try it and we might put you back on the dole again if it doesn’t work out. The bus cost €11.80. The office was on Merchant Road. The red painted door contrasted with the grey buildings around it. Written across the top was: Fortune Travel, and below: Where dreams come true. There’s a poster on the door, looking for information about a missing person. Guy my age, hasn’t been seen for weeks. Something appeals to me, the idea of disappearance, to vanish without a trace. Inside, it smells like the warm paper from a photocopier. The lights are bright and the walls are a dark shade of ocean. The supervisors name was Chris. He showed me the ropes. There was a list of names and numbers, photocopied from the phonebook. Chris called them ‘Leads.’ Go down through them. Do your best. What am I selling? Nothing. You’re making appointments. We want people to come to our seminar in a hotel by the docks. Theere’s a crew down there that’ll take care of the selling. You just make sure the leads turn up. Our branch has about twenty employees. Some young. Some old. The cubicles are lined in rows, like a classroom. We all get a computer and a headset. Our targets are ten appointments a night or not less than forty-six a week. You go below, and you’re fired. It’s that simple. Each hit brings €20 commission and anything after ten counts as a fifty percent bonus. My user I.D. is 8235. I log in and the dialler shows purple: PAUSED. Once I go LIVE, it’ll shine a bright yellow and my first lead will come through in seconds. Around me, people talk frantically. All racing toward ‘The Close.’ Some of them are standing up, talking at high speed. They use their hands to make a point, as if the person on the other end of the phone can see them. I feel shaky, up against it. Pressure. We get a script with all the right things to say. It’s supposed to be what they want to hear. I go LIVE and my first call comes through immediately. A small beep, like when radar intercepts something, tells me they’ve picked up. My screen says it’s Martin Cleary, Bog Road, Ballyhaunis. ‘Hello, Mr. Cleary?’ ‘Yes?’ ‘Jack here, from Fortune Travel, in Galway. It’s just a…’ ‘What the fuck do you want?’ ‘We’re offering…’ ‘I don’t want it.’ ‘Well…’ ‘Fuck off. Get a real job.’ He hangs up. Beep. The next lead is Mary-Anne Rochford from Bellmullet. ‘Hello, this is Jack here from Fortune Travel in Galway. How are you this evening?’ ‘I’m very well thank you. How can I help you, Jack?’ ‘Well, we see that you filled out a questionnaire for us recently?’ ‘Is this a sales call?’ ‘No, not at all.’ ‘It is, isn’t it?’ ‘No, if you’d just let me explain…’ ‘You’re one of those…time-share…pyramid scheme people aren’t you?’ ‘No, Mrs. Rochford. We’re just offering…’ ‘I knew it. Let me put you on to my husband.’ ‘Hang on..’ A gruff voice says: ‘Hello?’ ‘Hello, sir. This is Jack from…’ ‘I don’t care.’ ‘We’re giving away free weekends in a Galway hotel.’ ‘Shove it up your hole.’ He hung up. Great start. I waited for Chris to turn his back and I slipped away out the door. I had another two hours before the bus left and decided to go for a cheeky pint. First time in Galway since Christmas. Serious spot. Kicked stones up Shop Street. A busker sang Piano Man, by Billy Joel, outside Corbett Court. Inside McSwiggans. There were a couple of yuppies at the counter, talking about contract phones and low rate credit cards. A girl sat to the right, on her own, sending a text message. U2 played Pride (in the name of love). The back bar was empty. I pulled up a stool and ordered a Guinness from a waitress called Stella. She was the best looking woman I’d seen in a long time. Long brown hair and a hundred watt smile. How am I doing this evening? ‘Better now. Just waiting for the bus.’ She smiled. I fell in love. She said: ‘Nice shirt.’ ‘Bought it in Penny’s this morning. €7 in a sale.’ She didn’t answer. Just left the pint on the counter. Went out back. Watched her ass go round the corner. Bono was singing: ‘With or without You.’ Fuck Bono. Sank the black. Missed Stella. Tapped the counter to make her come back so I could order another pint. She was confused with the empty glass but got it anyway. Took my time with this one, let the stomach settle. After, I hit the Brandy&Baileys. It tasted like your favourite ice cream. Drank four and lost count. Stella was getting worried, like we were trapped in an elevator and I was jumping up and down. My phone rang. It was the FÁS office. ‘Hello, Jack?’ ‘How’s things?’’ ‘Is that Jack?’ ‘Are ye well?’ ‘Jack…is that you? There’s been a terrible mistake…’ ‘Who are ya lookin for?’ ‘We’re looking for Jack…’ ‘Jack’s gone.. He was here a while ago and then he left.’ Stutter, then: ‘….ah…any idea…where…?’ ‘Mexico.’ Hung up. Stella was watching me with bright blue wary eyes. They were like chandeliers stuck inside her head. She said: ‘You must be the new guy….’ It was too cryptic so I didn’t answer. Woulda most likely only blubbered shite at her anyway, that’s how I was feeling: Blubbery. Took a belt of the creamy Arthur. Hundred Euro left to my name. Dwindling fast. The windows were black and the rain belted against them like it was coming from a power washer. I looked at my watch and realised the bus was long gone and I’d nowhere to stay and no job. Spent my last tenner on a vodka&redbull. When she got it, she left to talk to someone. The world looked like it was being shot through an unsteady camcorder. I reached for the glass, missed, and knocked it over the counter. It fell with a smash and the ice scattered all the way to the front. The drink followed, like a stream of runaway piss. I stood up, in an attempt to plead my case with no one at all. The chair fell behind me and its clatter coincided with the arrival of Stella and a stern male counter-part. Arms folded and tight-lipped. I tried to ignore the clamour of the stool doing The Riverdance behind me. It sounded like an artic lorry had crashed into a furniture shop. We stood looking at each other for a while, I don’t know how long. He eventually said: ‘That’s your last drink.’ I pointed to Stella. ‘Thanks be to fuck for that. I thought she was gonna let me go on all night.’ She mustered confidence. ‘I think you should leave.’ Knew it was inevitable but still felt hurt. I searched for an answer, found one and said: ‘Ok, but when the revolution comes…’ And the bouncers caught me. Under the arms, polite aggression. Suddenly I’m outside, issuing all sorts of threats, from terrorist associations to vigilantism and arson. Then I’m walking around Woodquay, half lost, mostly demented. It’s raining worse than ever. I took out my phone. There were only five numbers. My mother and my father. The Chinese and the taximan in Ballinrobe. And Fortune Travel.. FÁS had given me Chris’ number to get in touch about the job. I was out of options. A car breezed by and splashed a load of water against my legs. I puked all sorts of colours over the Salmon Weir bridge. Wiped my mouth and hit dial. Pure cuntish entirely.
Chapter two.
Woke up on a couch. There was a smell of dog and coffee. Blanket over me. Stomach queasy. Aftertaste of puke. Head like the atom bomb of migraines. Counter to the right. Sensed someone there. The page of a newspaper turning. Left it a few seconds. Let the flashbacks kick in. Then thought: Fuck that. And stuck my head up. It was Chris. Looking like he’d won ten grand on a horse, but someone had thrown the betting slip in the fire and he couldn’t collect. He opened: ‘Well?’ ‘Hello.’ ‘You’re some fuckin eejit.’ ‘I’ve been told that before.’ ‘Two phone calls is all ya lasted.’ ‘Any chance of a tenner for the bus?’ He grunted. I lay back on the couch. He left it a few seconds, said: ‘…we’re on again in an hour.’ ‘On where?’ ‘Work.’ ‘Oh no….’ ‘You’ve no choice.’ ‘Why’s that?’ ‘Cos I said so.’ ‘Sure just gimme the price of the bus and I’ll be out of your way.’ ‘No can do.’ It went on like that. Him saying there was no choice. Me protesting. We were back in the office again that afternoon. The air con was cool. The tables were clean and smelled like lemon. My name was on the bottom of the leaderboard. I sparked a bottle of lucozade and used my monitor to hide from view. Scribbled on the back of the leads, checked out a young one a the end of the row. I was bored after an hour. My mobile rang. It was FÁS. I rejected it. Thought about pulling another Houdini but I’d no cash. Contemplated robbing a busker. Decided to make a few phone calls. Worst that could happen is I make money. They were all the same old types. Fuck off. Get a job. Don’t call again. That kinda thing. A while later, two suits arrived from the hotel. Briefcases, looking like undertakers. Chris got to attention and tried to make small talk. They looked around, listening to us on the phone, keeping an eye on the time. They watched me for a while, said something and left. After, Chris came over, said: ‘Drinks with the management later.’ My next call was a woman, sweet voice, seductive. I started my pitch and she cut me dead with: ‘Let me guess, you’re pushing credit cards?’ ‘Villas in Bulgaria.’ She laughed, sincerely. I could tell she had a great smile. ‘Why not try selling me a piece of the moon?’ ‘It’s not as profitable.’ I heard her take a drag from a cigarette. ‘My boyfriend isn’t home. Maybe you should be talking to him.’ ‘When’s he back?' ‘Later.’ ‘After six?’ ‘Maybe.’ ‘Is he rich?’ ‘He’s got money.’ ‘He like to part with it?’ ‘No.’ ‘Treats you well?’ ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ ‘I’m curious.’ ‘He makes me feel safe.’ ‘You don’t sound insecure.’ ‘We’ve only been talking thirty seconds.’ ‘And I still haven’t made an appointment.’ ‘Try harder.’ She dragged again, I said: ‘I’ll send you an invite to our seminars.’ ‘Are they a waste of time?’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘Then why would I want to go?’ ‘To meet me.’ ‘And what then?’ ‘We fall in love. You ditch your man. We live happily ever after.’ I looked at the screen. It was Mr. Graham Reynolds. ‘All I have is a Graham Reynolds here.’ ‘That’s all you need to know.’ ‘How will I recognise you?’ ‘I never said I was coming.’ ‘But if you do.’ ‘I’ll be the most beautiful.’ Pause. ‘I can’t think of anythin else to say.’ ‘I thought it was your job to talk.’ ‘I only started yesterday. This could be the start of something…’ ‘I doubt it.’ ‘But…’ ‘See ya.’ She hung up. There was a tremor in my hand as I put through the invite. Later, Chris shouted: Phones down! I was delighted and thirsty. Wondering what the management wanted. Didn’t give a fuck as long as they bought the pints. The young one at the end of the row was packing up. I made the approach. Sublte, like I just happened to arrive beside her, asked: ‘How’s things? ‘I have a boyfriend.’ ‘Who asked ya?’ She rolled her eyes and walked out. Chris said: ‘Never mind that one, she’s after getting written out.’ ‘How d’ya mean?’ ‘She had a fairly big part and your man decided she was pointless.’ ‘Who?’ ‘Shtop. Are ya right?’ ‘Yeah.’ We pulled down the shutters. The night was vibrant. Flame throwers on Quay Street. Smell of Paraffin. We had a fast one in Taafes and made our way to The Living Room. The drink swirled in my stomach. I belched confidently and a hippy chick gave me a dirty look. Chris lit a smoke and gave me the box. I sparked, inhaled hard, and we sifted through the crowd like a large boat going through debris on the water. Same busker sang Pink Floyd, Wish you were here. Chris threw him his change. There was a light drizzle as we reached The Living Room door. Two bouncers, earphones and jackets, gave us the nod. One of them pulled back the door and we both threw our cigarettes into the drain outside. A guy coming behind us was turned away for wearing the wrong shoes. The place was dim. A smell of fried food and a distant odour of ketchup. A couple ate club sandwiches at a table to the left and a sexy waitress walked passed with a basket of chips. Spotted a pair of legs at the bar, belonged to an Asian chick, talking to a punter in a chequered shirt We got pints and searched around for the undertakers. They were in an open area at the back, looking like they were in casualty. Both about the same age, maybe early forties. One guy had brown hair, the other black, with a tache, looked like Charlie Chaplin. At the table, there was a smell like dry ice and spilled beer. Some D.J. gear had been abandoned in the corner. They were both drinking Ginger Ale. We pressed the flesh. Chaplin said: ‘Thanks for coming.’ ‘No problem.’ Silence, I said: ‘So, what did you want to talk about?’ They exchanged looks. Chaplin continued. ‘Hasn’t Chris told you anything?’ ‘No.’ Chris shrugged, said: ‘I thought he knew.’ The other guy spoke. ‘You have the most successful call record in your division. We think your talents could be maximised if you were promoted.’ He had a pale face and light blue eyes, looked like Chris Tarrant. He opened the briefcase, took out some papers and continued. ‘We have a contract here. If you sign today, your wages will double, as will your commission, and we’ll pay your expenses. At the moment, we’re recruiting all the best employees in a bid to increase our margins by the end of the year.’ There was something awful wrong here, but I didn’t want to fuck it up before they bought a round, asked: ‘Mind if I order a pint?’ ‘Yes of course, John. On us.’ The picture was coming together. They thought I was someone else. I’ll have a Carlsberg, please. Fast. Hit them with: ‘You still haven’t told me what the job is.’ Chaplin answered. ‘You’ll be doing the same thing as you are on the phone. As you know, our customers are awarded a free weekend at our hotel. Our company also has a number of developments abroad and we’re currently looking for investors. When the leads come to stay, we’d like someone competent there to show them their options.’ ‘And get them to invest?’ ‘Essentially, yes. We’re generous, but we’re not a charity. Your number one job will be closing them down, making the sale before they leave. It’s a tough market, and we need the best.’ ‘The best is looking right at ya. And it’s all done at weekends?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘What if I say no?’ ‘Most of our branches are being downsized, and in some parts closed. There’s no guarantee you’ll still be employed at the office one month from now.’ ‘Sounds too good to be true.’ ‘It’s called success.’ I looked at Chris, he said: ‘Up to you.’ The waitress arrived with the Carlsberg. I looked up, said thanks, then: ‘Can I have two more actually, I’m very thirsty.’ There was an awkward silence. Chaplin shifted his arse in the seat. She smiled and went to get it. I pretended to think for a minute, said ‘Ok. I’ll do your job, whatever it is.’ ‘Good.’ Said Chaplin. He produced a pen and slid over the contract. ‘Just need your John Hancock here.’ Figured that’s who he thought I was. Wrote: John Hancock. On the dotted line. They didn’t even look, just threw the whole lot in the briefcase and Tarrant said: ‘We’ll be in touch soon. Be ready.’ The waitress arrived with the beer. Chris asked: ‘What do ya reckon? ‘On the waitress?’ ‘No! The fuckin job.’ ‘Oh yeah, can’t wait.’ ‘Why’d ya write John fuckin Hancock on the contract.’ ‘Cos I haven’t a clue what’s going on, Chris.’ ‘Why? What exactly did they tell you in FÁS?’ I told him exactly what they told me in FÁS. He said: ‘Oh sweet fuckin Jesus.’
Chapter three.
I always thought FÁS stood for something in Irish. Somewhere ya go when you’ve no job. And it does, most of the time, but other times it doesn’t. This is what Chris told me in The Living Room the night before. Apparently there were two offices in Ballinrobe. One for people that were cut off the dole and the other for people that were fictitious characters, but, for some reason their story wasn’t finished and they needed some work to keep them going til the writer sorted it out. It stood for Fictitious Aid Social (Benefit). There was something about the ‘B’ that didn’t look right on posters so they just left it out. Hence the confusion. Odder still, there was actually a guy called John Hancock and he was supposed to be in my place right now, doing this job, but his file’s been lost and now I’m here and he’s probably getting my dole. We’re back in the office the next day and I’m fairly confused. Confused like a character in a novel that’s not supposed to be there, or in the wrong plot, or something like that. I didn’t mind as long as I was getting paid. And Chris said I could stay with him for a while, so that was sound. I was hungover as fuck and didn’t care if the leads all died, but I’d nothing else for doing. The cute one in the top row was gone. Written out apparently. I thought that was fairly sad and I told Chris. He told me to be careful. I just about hanging in there myself. The upside was it was like being in a dream. I could kinda do what I wanted. So I decided to ring your one from the day before. Got her name from the directory on the computer. Reynolds’s residence. She answered after two. I said: ‘How’s things?’ ‘Hello?’ ‘How’re ya gettin on?’ ‘Good thanks, and this is…?’ ‘Jack here. Fortune travel. I rang you yesterday.’ She got kinda happy, excited, ready to flirt. ‘I knew you’d call again. You people never take no for an answer.’ ‘No doesn’t exist in this game.’ ‘Well, this is a bad time. I’m having dinner.’ ‘Why not have dinner on us? We’re offering the finest food and views in the West of Ireland.’ ‘You really think I’m coming to your seminar?’ ‘Yeah. If you ain’t, in you can’t win.’ She laughed real loud, said: ‘That’s brilliant.’ ‘You ain’t seen nothin yet.’ ‘I don’t think you really want to sell me anything.’ ‘Then why would I call?’ ‘Because I intrigue you.’ ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m a professional.’ Chris looked up, frowned and went back to his call. She said: ‘And I’m attached.’ ‘What can I say? You sound bored.’ ‘It’s better than miserable.’ ‘Come for a drink with me, it might be exciting.’ ‘No.’ ‘Why not?’ ‘I’m a faithful girlfriend.’ ‘Or playin hard to get.’ ‘Why you so interested?’ ‘Because you intrigue me.’ ‘I intrigue a lot of men. You could be a psycho.’ ‘We’ll go somewhere public. Say The King’s Head tomorrow night, bout 9?’ ‘I gotta go now.’ ‘I’ll be at the bar, by the entrance.’ Click. Nailed. Chris asked: ‘What the hell was that?’ ‘Lead I had yesterday..’ ‘You close her?’ ‘Yeah. How you doin?’ ‘Nearly finished. Let’s get this shit wrapped up.’ After, we packed everything away, set the alarm and pulled down the steel shutter. Turned around and a guy stood waiting. Long trench coat and serious face. Chris looked him up and down, said: ‘Hello.’ He flashed an I.D.,said: ‘My name is Kurt Jennings. I’m a private detective.’ Chris shrugged, said: ‘Glad to hear it. What’s that got to do with us?’ ‘Just want to ask you some questions.’ ‘Well, the boss isn’t here.’ Silence. He had a silver stubble and watery eyes. His face was cracked and I couldn’t see his teeth in the dark, but I guessed they were the colour of cheese. He said: ‘A lotta people want their money back.’ ‘Nothin to do with me. I’m just lockin up for the night.’ ‘What’s your name?’ ‘None of your business.’ I rattled some coins and grinded my teeth. Jennings hadn’t looked at me. ‘Mind if I go inside?’ ‘Only staff are allowed into the building.’ ‘Got somethin to hide?’ ‘I have responsibilities. Keepin unauthorised people out is one of them.’ ‘How long have you worked here?’ ‘Long enough.’ ‘What do you know about the operation in Bulgaria?’ ‘You’ll have to talk to the someone else.’ He took out a pack of smokes, Sweet Afton, no tips. He tapped it on the box and sparked, said: ‘You know a guy called Frank Rowland?’ ‘What if I do?’ He took a drag, some tobacco stuck on his lip. Cars breezed passed behind him. I felt like I should say something, nothing came. Jennings looked at me, asked: ‘Who are you?’ Chris answered. ‘Employee. Doin overtime.’ Jennings turned back. ‘He a fuckin mute or somethin? Let him answer.’ I said: ‘What’s it to ya?’ ‘Nothin to me, kid. I’m just doin my job for the people ye fucked outta money. You got your cert from FÁS?’ Chris said: ‘We have to go.’ Jennings pulled on his smoke. ‘See ya round, gentlemen.’ Could feel his eyes on us as we walked. Out of earshot, I said: ‘I didn’t know guys like him existed.’ ‘He looks like a wino.’ ‘Who’s Frank Rowland?’ ‘The guy behind the company. Never met him, but heard he’s a bit wild.’ ‘Wild?’’ ‘But that’s not what he’s after.’ ‘How d’ya mean?’ ‘He probably knows you’re not part of the plot and he wants to see what the story is now.’ ‘How would he know that?’ ‘There’s cunts everywhere watchin.’ ‘What happens if he finds out?’ ‘I dunno. FÁS probably sent him. We’ll figure somethin out.’ ‘And who got fucked outta money?’ ‘Oh yeah.’ Oh yeah, what?’ ‘Originally this was a novel about a rogue telesales company, til all this November shite started.’ ‘And?’ ‘Your man above had big ideas. Coke dealers, flights to Bulgaria, love shtory, big shoot out at the end.’ ‘And what happened?’ ‘He moved to Canada and it all went to fuck. We’re doin our best to keep it goin ourselves, I just don’t know where you come into it. Unless he’s messing around again and trying to make somethin out of it.’ ‘I don’t mind. Suits me grand.’ ‘Yeah, ya fucker. You’ve one appointment made and you’re getting promoted.’ ‘When do we get paid anyway?’ ‘Don’t worry about that.’ ‘What’ll we do now?’ ‘Hang out till the next chapter starts.’ ‘Pint?’ ‘Yeah, I wonder how many words we’re on.’ ‘Must be a good few by now.’ ‘Hang on.’ He took out his phone, pressed something, said: ‘4,011.’ ‘Nice.’ ‘In or around.’
Chapter four.
Next night in The King’s Head. I was early. Ordered a Carlsberg and watched a match on the big screen. Liverpool and Arsenal, the gunners were down a goal. I was feeling bulletproof. Wondered why I didn’t sign up with FÁS a lot sooner. Ten years in Ballinrobe on the piss. Doin nothin. On the dole, a working class hero with no work and no heroics. There was movement beside me. I turned, expecting your one from the phone. It was Jennings. I was shocked, but stayed composed. He smelled like a wet hairy dog.. Still had the grey stubble. His hair was matted and greasy. I was surprised he made it past the bouncers. I pretended not to recognise him, said: ‘Something I can do for you, chief?’ Phil Collins came on in the background Another Day in Paradise. He said: ‘What do you think of Phil?’ ‘He’s ok, but that doesn’t answer my question.’ He ordered a Blackbush and water, took a drink, said: ‘You been sellin paradise today?’ ‘I don’t know what you’re talkin about.’ ‘I think you’re lying.’ ‘What I do is none of your business.’ ‘How long do you think you can get away with this?’ ‘With what? Are you even a real detective?’ ‘I haven’t got time to waste, so I’ll say what I came to say.’ He went quiet. I said: ‘Go on.’ ‘I’m waiting.’ ‘For what?’ ‘My next line.’ ‘Just say somethin.’ ‘Fuck it!’ ‘What?’ He stood up all frustrated. Brought the drink to his mouth with a shaking hand. It dribbled down his chin when he drank. ‘This is awful shite.’ ‘The drink?’ ‘No, this job, I’m supposed to say somethin sinister.’ ‘Well go on.’ ‘The author didn’t give it to me. Bet he couldn’t fuckin think of anythin.’ ‘Well, I’m kinda waitin for someone and…’ ‘Oh yeah, here it is…’ ‘Hurry up.’ ‘You’re in over your head, Jack.’ ‘That’s it?’ ‘There’s more, hang on.’ I looked at my watch. He said: ‘John Hancock wants his part back.’ ‘Fuck John Hancock.’ ‘Well if he makes a good case with FÁS they’ll give it to him. And I have to make a report that’s going to affect that judgement.’ ‘You?’ ‘Yeah, don’t sound so surprised ya little runt.’ He took another shaky drink. The smell got worse, it was like sour milk emanating from a bag of turf. He finished with: ‘You’re on a slippery slope, kid.’ ‘Story of my life.’ ‘Another few chapters and you’ll be kicked outta this plot.’ I turned to the television and waited for him to go. Someone had switched to the news channel and the headlines were all about the economy and the recession. When I swung round, he was gone, she was in his place. Emerald eyes and pale face. All black attire, looked good. Short skirt and high black boots. Dark hair and a face the shape of a heart. Smooth legs. Somehow, I knew she’d look like this. I played calm, said: ‘You must be Miss Reynolds?’ Her voice was soft, like warm strawberry milk. ‘Dyane, actually.’ ‘Drink?’ ‘What do you think?’ She had a Martini, I said: ‘Fancy juice?’ ‘It’s an image thing. I’d love a pint of cider.’ ‘Have one.’ She rolled her eyes, said: ‘Whatever.’ We got talking. I asked: ‘So, is this your first date with adultery?’ ‘Nothing’s happened. We’re just talking. But I’m not in the business of meeting strange men in bars.’ ‘How’s it feel?’ ‘Like I’m at the airport, waiting for a plane to a far away place.’ She sipped the drink with delicate, polished hands. Silver rings and a bracelet. ‘Where’s Graham tonight?’ ‘Playing poker.’ ‘You convince him to come to the seminar?’ ‘Your lack of conscience is terrifying. Do those villas even exist?’ ‘I’m not at liberty to discuss that information.’ ‘I knew you were a chancer the second I picked up the phone.’ An hour flew by. Most important point was, her life lacked passion. In her job, in her mind, in the bedroom. She asked: ‘You got something planned for the night, or you just winging it?’ ‘Wingin it. Wanna come back to mine?’ ‘Don’t be so pushy.’ ‘I could be passionate.’ ‘But you’ve got nothing else to offer. You’re just a hustler.’ ‘And that’s why you’re attracted to me.’ ‘I want a cigarette.’ She walked out with slow, confident curves. I tapped the counter and looked around. Quiet buzz, pints going down well. Thought about Jennings. Fuck him. Ten minutes later, she came back, whiff of tobacco, said: ‘This is a nice place.’ ‘You’ve never been here before?’ ‘I do all my drinking at golf clubs.’ ‘Perks for being a trophy girlfriend?’ ‘You’re very condescending. She paused. Assessed what she was about to say. ‘You’re a good-looking guy, Jack.. How come you don’t have a girlfriend?’ ‘Maybe I do.’ ‘Really?’ ‘No, not really lookin either.’ ‘So, you just wanna fuck me and disappear?’ ‘It sounds weird when you curse. You’re so polished besides.’ ‘Don’t change the subject.’ ‘You do more than intrigue me. I don’t know why, but I like you.’ ‘That supposed to be flattering?’ ‘I’m just being honest.’ ‘You hardly know me.’ ‘I hardly know any of the girls I meet, but I like you better than most.’ ‘You’re really on a roll now.’ ‘Seriously, are you happy?’ ‘I hate when people ask me that.’ Night going well. I wished it was over before I had time to fuck it up. She held some kinda power over me. She was like a new species of female, something higher up on the evolutionary ladder. A pause came and she asked: ‘Do you want to walk me home?’ Walking, her arm in mine. We came around by Dominic Street and went towards Father Griffin road. Light rain, stars. Busker singing: Losing my Religion. She said: ‘I like you too, Jack’ ‘I’m glad.’ ‘But you’re kind of different.’ ‘I think it excites you.’ ‘It does. But I’m not used to it.’ ‘All the better.’ ‘I don’t think this would work. I just feel like there’s too much at stake.’ ‘I disagree, so I’m gonna ask you to reconsider.’ ‘I love Graham.’ ‘You don’t sound convinced.’ ‘In a weird way, I do.’ Gave her my number, said: ‘Call me if you wanna do this again.’ She stood on her toes, kissed me on the cheek and said: ‘Thank you.’ I watched her til she turned the corner.
Chapter Five.
A week passed. Chris got the call to close down the office. He and I were to start at the hotel immediately. Fire everyone else. Some of them protested, and he promised to do all he could. Soon’s they were out the door, he said: ‘Fuck them.’ Chaplin met us at the hotel door the next day, said: ‘Welcome to the firm.’ Thanked him and asked: ‘So, what now?’ ‘The customers aren’t here yet, but we’re gonna get you introduced to everyone.’ We walked into the lobby and took a right into the conference room. The Cruxshadows, Marilyn, My Bitterness, rode with me. Bright place with chandeliers and tall red curtains. Some jugs of lemon water on a counter by the wall. Our team sat near the top, by the stage, chatting loudly. They were all suits and confidence. Chaplin got all our attention with: ‘Ok folks, everyone’s here, enough of the bullshit. You’re here to sell. You don’t want to sell, you get the fuck out. You don’t like pressure, you get the fuck out. You don’t wanna be rich, then stop wasting my time and get the fuck out. You’re all here because you’re the best at what you do. It’s why you’re getting the best money in the game. Today, we have over a hundred people coming through those doors. Each of them has €10,000 they’re willing to invest. They don’t know it yet, but they do, and you’re going to convince them. I don’t wanna hear shit about pressure and tough customers. I don’t wanna hear about folks getting up and walking out without dropping any money. If I do, then you’re gonna go with them. Everyone has to be closed today, and that means everyone. If they’re here, they’re gonna bite. Ok, it’s ten o’clock; the first show is at eleven. I want you all outside, getting to know them as they come in, making them feel comfortable. I want them all buttered up and feeling like they’re in on the deal of the fuckin century. Then I’m gonna show them the slides, hand out some wine and tell them you’ve been selling all morning. When they come out, you need to look frantic. Look like you been negotiating. You’re busy people with too many hot deals to handle.’ No women on the team, all guys with arms folded and ready to ‘close the deal.’ We listened to the speech with deliberation. He explained how we take the money - debit and credit cards, cheques, or a combination of both. He brought us around in a circle, showed us the contract and where the customers were supposed to sign. Each of us got a desk, a phone and a card reader. We were assigned to different conference rooms around the hotel and they gave us a briefcase full of brochures and contracts. After, some went outside for air, others to the bar for a coffee. The place was plush, leather suites and a phoney fire. There were lotsa flowers and chicks in red suits that looked like airhostesses. I went for a stroll around. Cream walls with bad paintings. Everything smelled like crayon. Found a swimming pool. The stink of Chlorine. I came back and met Chris walking down the corridor, carrying a small desk. ‘For the office. Go get yours.’ Walked up and Chaplin was waiting. He pointed at a desk with a briefcase on top. ‘Take these and come back for the rest.’ Picked it up and followed Chris. The room was spacious and warm. Light green carpet and blue walls. There was a box of magazines in the corner. I picked one up and it smelled of fresh ink, like the first day at school. There was a picture of a couple on the front. They both looked like models. There was a quote beside them saying “Fortune travel changed my life!” Chris said: ‘Story is, we invite them down here and give them a seat. Take out all the brochures and shit and make them sweat. We need to put them under serious pressure. Force them into a position of choice. Act like all the apartments are nearly bought up and this is last chance café. If they don’t buy now, they miss the boat and they don’t get rich. If you want to give them a minute to think, pretend you have to go outside and speak to other clients. We never leave the room at the same time because they’ll have a chance to talk to the other couples. Keep it focused on them, make them think it’s all about makin the right decision. Then make your close.’ ‘Just you and me in here?’ ‘Yeah. Two in each room.’ ‘And when do they get to see the apartments?’ ‘They don’t.’ ‘They don’?’ ‘No.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Cos the fuckin things don’t even exist.’ ‘Really.’ ‘Yeah, it’s all a scam. Figure that.’ ‘Fuck.’ I went to get my phone. The leads were starting to arrive, all starry-eyed and lost-looking. Spotted a few dubious husbands, cold handshakes and cynical comments. Soon, the lobby was crowded. They all stood around, drinking coffee and eating biscuits. There were conversations about babysitters, the need for a holiday, being lucky. I stopped and talked to a few, gave them my name and welcomed them to the hotel. After a while, Chaplin invited them into the function room. I was curious to see him in action, so I went in too. I waited for all the customers to get seated and then sat at the back. He was at the front, fiddling with a laptop. On the wall behind him was a projected picture of the Bulgarian coastline. The crowd were all chatter. Waiters walked around offering wine. There was a banner across the top of the stage. It said: Fortune Travel. Sharing the Wealth. He hooked a mini-microphone to his jacket and turned a button at the side. There was a slight screech of feedback. This got everyone’s attention. They all looked towards him. He opened. ‘Hello, can everybody hear me?’ They muttered. He spoke louder. ‘Can everybody hear me?’ ‘Yes.’ They said in unison. ‘Good. I’d like to start by welcoming you all here today. Some of you may have had plans this weekend, but you’ll be glad you cancelled. My name is Jim Brown and I’m an investor in foreign property.’ He hit a button on the laptop. ‘How many of you have ever dreamed of owning your own villa? Do you think it’s something for the super-rich? An indulgence that you just can’t afford?’ They all seemed to concur. ‘Let’s shatter that myth…’ He was like a mesmerist or a religious preacher, had them all hooked. You could see the daydream behind their eyes. He went on for an hour and a half. Showed pictures of investors from the past. Guys that lost their jobs and took a gamble with the redundancy. Now they’re millionaires. People sitting on yachts in the Caribbean. Chaplin pressing the flesh with the Bulgarian politicians. Photoshop at it’s best. By the time he’d finished, the room was like a pressure cooker. ‘Ok, that’s the end of the presentation. I’d like you all to digest what you’ve heard and, if still interested, our representatives are here to answer all your questions and take a deposit. Please be patient, as demand is high. We try to accommodate everyone, but be decisive. If you are interested, then let us know now. Time is money and the profits are waiting. Today, you can decide to take control of your financial future and be rich. All you need is one word: YES. Thank you.’ They all clapped and he left through an exit door. I went out to the lobby, prepared to intercept, almost convinced to buy one myself.
Chapter Six -
They came out. All the salesmen were pacing back and over on the phone, conversing with ghosts about false appointments. The victims were all chatter, excited talk and comparisons. I scoped for a sucker couple. Found one and zoned in. They were young, late twenties. Opened with: ‘Hello folks, my name is Jack. I’m an agent with the company here today.’ They both checked out the suit, then looked at each other. The guy said: ‘Jack, howya doin? I’m Robert and this is Auburn.’ He was in a plaid shirt and fancy jacket, jeans and brown shoes. Bright blue eyes and hair slightly greying at the sides. Took his hand. It was warm and strong, like he wanted to do business. ‘Robert, nice to meet you.’ Pause. ‘Did you both like the presentation?’ Auburn was in first: ‘I thought it was wonderful, wasn’t it Rob?’ She was in a long black dress that reached her ankles. Tight around the hips, giving her curves. Light white shirt, good chest and a golden necklace. Brown curly hair and eyes like hazelnuts. Rob said: ‘Yeah, it was amazing. I didn’t know it was so easy to buy property abroad.’ ‘Only the smart and the lucky get on these promotions. They really are unbelievable. Did you enjoy your stay at the hotel?’ Auburn again: ‘Oh yes, it was great! I can’t believe we have to go home so soon.’ She had flirtatious eyes and a feline voice that seemed to purr. ‘Don’t worry, folks, if you liked the hotel then you should find the Bulgarian lifestyle immensely more enjoyable.’ Jittery laugh. I continued. ‘Did you find any of the packages attractive?’ ‘Yeah,’ said Robert. ‘Yeah we did actually. They were a bit expensive though…’ Auburn looked uncomfortable. ‘Maybe, it’s a lot in one go, but certainly over the years, as they continue to…I tell you what, why don’t you come down to my office for a talk? We’ll can go over some of the options.’ They looked at each other. Auburn said something telepathic. Robert shrugged and said: ‘Sounds good.’ Chris was down there working on an old couple. They musta been nearly deaf cos he was practically shouting. We floated to my desk. I sat down, my heart going like a hardcore dance tune. I opened the briefcase, looked for something that appeared official. Found some brochures. ‘Now…let me see. It was Bulgaria today, wasn’t it?’
Rob and Auburn bought the apartment because someone had to a be a sucker. They were nice people. Just married. Back from Honeymoon. Everyone was being so nice to them, and now this. Did I feel bad? Not really. They were just part of a plot. Extras. I had no idea where all this was going. I thought a lot about Dyane. Then the phone rang. It was her. I nearly dropped it trying to answer. She said: ‘Hello.’ ‘Hello.’ ‘What you up to?’ ‘Just finished work. You?’ ‘Hanging out at home.’ ‘Oh yeah?’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘Where’s Graham?’ ‘Business trip.’ ‘For the night?’ ‘Yeah, I’m lonely.’ ‘What you want me to do about it?’ ‘Meet me.’ ‘There?’ ‘I’ll slip into something comfortable.’ Christ. Outside, I said good luck to everyone and faced for her house. The night greeted me with a strong wind. I walked past the Spanish arch and on towards Father Griffin Road. Had Moby in the head, Slipping Away. Heart going like fuck. It was a late summer evening and I felt good, like I just got paid. The smell of seaweed from the Atlantic wafted over the prom. Good atmosphere. I got to her house and knocked, formal, like I was delivering milk. She answered. No small talk, made my move. She was naked except for a silk robe. Pulled it off and found soft, luscious breasts. Her skin was oiled and slippy and she was small, in the sexiest way possible. The bedroom was a dark shade of pink. Her legs came around my hips and I entered her against the wall. Up close, her eyelashes were long and her hair smelled like cinnamon. After, we lay back panting. ‘Thought you said you couldn’t have an affair?’ ‘I changed my mind.’ ‘Was it worth it?’ ‘I’m not telling.’ She smiled, and rubbed my chest. ‘You’re really sensual.’ ‘I haven’t even started.’ ‘Graham’s not back til tomorrow.’ ‘You told me. That mean I’m stayin?’ ‘Only if you want to.’ She sighed. ‘I’m searching for guilt, but can’t find any.’ ‘That’s cos you don’t love him.’ ‘But I should.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Cos we’ve been goin out so long.’ ‘You think that should make you love him?’ ‘Yeah…I mean, I thought over time…’ ‘That he’d grow on you?’ She stared at me. ‘No, that he’d change.’ ‘You gonna leave him?’ ‘And do what?’ ‘Live.’ ‘I am living.’ ‘You think you’re livin. But you’re really dreamin about what it’s like to live.’ ‘I don’t get it.’ ‘Me neither. It just sorta came out.’ She laughed, thought and said: ‘There’s a sadness in your eyes. It was the first thing I noticed about you.’ ‘Right now, I’m pretty fuckin happy.’ ‘But not always. I can tell.’ She leaned in and kissed me. Her lips were cold and tasted like lipbalm. My mind was empty, like it just got flushed. The night outside was silent. She buried her head in my shoulder and threw her hand across my chest. Her breathing got heavy. We were cooling down. I pulled the duvet over us. It all felt like calm.
Chapter 7
Monday came round. I was feeling new born and truly laid. Dyane and Graham had been goin out five years. He started getting violent after the first two. They hadn’t slept together in about eighteen months. She was looking for a way out. Biding her time. I don’t know. She said she’d call me sometime. Sound. Chris rang, asked: ‘Do you want to go for a pint?’ ‘It’s only two o’clock.’ ‘When did that ever stop ya?’ Got there. We sat at the bar and slugged hard. It tasted good. He paid, I asked ‘So how’s this plot workin out?’ ‘Not too bad. That hotel stuff is a bit boring I think.’ ‘I was thinkin that. What’ll we do?’ ‘Dunno. Wait for somethin to happen. Wouldn’t mind a woman myself.. How’d ya get on with that one the other night?’ ‘Dyane? Great. She’s incredible.’ ‘I was talkin to this one in New Look the other day. Went in for a pair of jeans’ ‘Oh yeah?’ ‘Yeah, got her number. Might text her.’ ‘Do. What’s her name?’ ‘Eva. Why?’ ‘People reading might want to know.’ ‘Oh yeah.’ Went on a crawl. Did Tig Colí, Neachtains, The Skeff, Garvey’s, Fox’s, O’Connell’s. Met a guy called Spike. He was getting ready for a gig in Richardsons. Played in a band called Agiven. Guitar on his back, stubble, wild hair. Got a round going, good craic, but he had to go, asked: ‘What ye at later? I might meet ye for one. Or come up to Richardsons.’ Told him we would and said good luck. Eva arrived around nine. Tall. Beautiful. Blue jeans, heels and bracelets. From somewhere around Tuam. Magnetic smile, wavy red hair. Style like she walked off a cat walk. Chris was on to something. They clicked. He held doors for her. She laughed at all his jokes. That kinda thing. She wanted to club in Halo so we went to Halo. It was a two-storey place. Pillars. Lots of chequered shirts and aftershave. Light a match and the whole place could blow. Probably the main reason for the smoking ban. There was a liquorice smell, like Redbull. Eva’s friends arrived like a lighting storm. One minute it was dark, then there was a shower of digital cameras raining from all angles. Lot of talk about Facebook and dominating the dancefloor They all looked good, dressed like they were in a music video. Blokes hovered around, like sniffing dogs, ultraviolet light, showing up dandruff and specks of coke. They were mostly breakfast roll types with too many chins. The women brushed them off with frustrated experience. Felt unsteady, like I was on a rocky boat. Stomach queasy. Drank Smirnoff, mixed with red lemonade and ice. Good kick. Went to the bar for more. Chris was talking to Eva like they were catchin up after a ten year absence from each other. Things were getting blurred. Decided to leave. Outside, I was hit with a breeze. I’d forgotten my jacket. Lit a smoke and went towards Supermacs and straight down Shop Street. Headed for Dyane’s. Had to see her. Didn’t care about Graham. Had trouble keeping steady, air going to my head, day’s drinking starting to peak. Used the wall for support, stomach doing somersaults. Bushted. Puked outside Brown Thomas. After, I stood up and felt extra dizzy, like the boat had hit some big waves. A girl caught me by the arm, asked: ‘Are you ok?’ Looked at her through watering eyes. She had a phone in her hand. ‘Wha?’ ‘Are you alright? You dropped your phone.’ Acid travelled at lighting speed, all the way up from my stomach, hit the top and went back down, leaving a scorched earth. I burped, retched and said: ‘Who are you?’ ‘Are you alright?’ Wanted to say: ‘Does it look like I’m fuckin alright? Instead said: ‘Bring me to Dyane’s.’ Noticed a man behind her, arms folded, looking pissed. Musta been the boyfriend. She said: ‘Can I call you a taxi somewhere?’ I focused. She had huge blue eyes and blonde hair, but not that pretty. Something happened and I fell over. Hit the ground with a bang that shoulda hurt. She tried to catch me on the way down, but we both fell into the vomit. When I looked up again, the boyfriend was in. ‘C’mon ta fuck will ya? He’s just drunk. He’ll be alright.’ She rubbed some puke off her top. ‘But we should help him, bring him somewhere.’ ‘Will ya c’mon! Fuck him.’ ‘Hang on.’ She came back into my vision, smelling like an old lady. Handed me the phone and a fistful of change. ‘Get a coffee for yourself.’ Exit chick and boyfriend. I tried to stand up. Put my hand in the vomit. Brushed it off my pants and achieved vertical, but shaky status. Had Aslan in the head The Gallery. Blank. Urinating outside Powell’s Music shop. Folks walked passed behind me, whistling, shouting, giving a running fucking commentary. I zipped up and turned to face a pair of bright yellow Gardaí. One said: ‘Would ya do that in you own house?’ The worst kind, a woman. The other was the tall, silent type. I attempted an apology with: ‘Fuckin…’ They let it digest, looked at each other and said something I didn’t catch. Then the brute said: ‘I’m giving you a choice, lad — either you give me an address or you’re spending the night in a cell.’ Tried to give my address. It came out as: ‘Fuckin….Dyane’s…’ She moved in, swift with the moves but there was no need. I couldn’t’ve defended myself against a tin of beans. On the way to the car, hands twisted behind me, we were interrupted. I thought it was another cop, but recognised the voice. ‘I’m responsible for this man. What’s the problem?’ The tall one turned. ‘Are you his father?’ ‘Yes. Sorry guard. I’ll bring him home now. There’s no need to bring him in.’ The bitch turned. ‘He was abusive towards the Gardaí and refused to co-operate when we offered to bring him home. I think there’s every need to bring him in, and issue him a summons.’ ‘I understand that, but he has a chronic alcohol problem and court is not the place for him. Please, let me take care of it. I’ll have him off the streets in an hour.’ She pursed her lips, kept her stern tone. ‘If I see him again tonight, I’m bringing him straight to a cell.’ They let me go and left for a brawl down the street. My arms came alive with pins and needles. I was feeling cold and car-sick. Turned and saw Jennings waiting. Long coat and greasy hair shining. ‘What are you doin here?’ ‘You looked like you needed help.’ ‘Not yours, thanks.’ I tried to walk. Took one step and fell backwards. Nothing behind me. He ran to make the catch but I’d already hit the ground.
Woke up on a floor with a blanket over me. It felt like early morning. My mouth was dry, like I’d done a stint in the Sahara desert. Inside my head, there was intense pain, like my brain had teeth and someone was drilling them all. I sat up with bleary eyes. There was a smell of cigarettes, and something wet, like an old raincoat. Still in my clothes, stomach nauseous. Ache in my arms. Flashbacks: Kings Head, Cuba, cop uniforms. Someone said: ‘The beast awakes.’ Looked up, it was Jennings. The picture came together. ‘What the fuck am I doin here?’ ‘Better than a cell.’ I looked around. ‘If you say so.’ ‘You were so drunk you couldn’t walk. I did you a favour.’ ‘Thanks, but now I have to go.’ I stood up, weathered a head-rush. He said: ‘We should talk first.’ ‘That’s not possible. Where’s the door?’ ‘It could save your life.’ Decided I could do with a coffee, said: ‘I need coffee.’ ‘At your service.’ He got it, left it on the table. It was a dirty mug with a big red heart on the face. There were streaks of age old tea cemented to the side. He sat back opposite me, said: ‘I want to talk to you about Frank.’ ‘Who’s Frank?’ ‘Let’s talk straight, Jack.’ Took a sip. It tasted like water laced with copper. ‘I’m not sayin anythin, but I’ll give ya two minutes.’ ‘The hotel is a money-laundering operation, and Frank’s into a lot more than dream apartments. He used to be a very dangerous man. Now he’s a very paranoid, dangerous man. You’re in a lot deeper than you think.’ ‘You make shit coffee.’ ‘Thanks.’ ‘What other stuff’s he into?’ ‘Extortion, pimpin and some drugs.’ ‘My hero.’ ‘I wouldn’t laugh if I were you.’ ‘What if I said the hotel’s legit?’ ‘I’d say – get an undertaker.’ ‘You’re really serious?’ ‘At first it was just a scam. The only pressure was from lawsuits and ombudsmen. People Frank doesn’t give a fuck about.’ I sat back and lit a smoke ‘Thirty seconds left.’ ‘I have a contact in the guards. He told me this whole holiday shit is Frank’s attempt at goin legal, showing a taxable income. But he couldn’t fly straight. Soon as he got people’s money, he decided to just keep it. Also, it’s the perfect front for dirty cash. He needs to show a source for it all. Your friend with the moustache needed an investor for his hotel business. Somewhere along they line, they hooked up.’ ‘But if they’re both on the wrong side, it’s not a front for anythin.’ ‘It was supposed to be legit, but they got sticky fingers and didn’t build anythin abroad. They know it’s comin to a head and they’re tryin to make big profits before they retire to somewhere warm.’ ‘So, what am I supposed to do? Go with them?’ ‘You do what the fuck you want, you wanna give me a few tips about how the operation runs, I’d appreciate it.’ ‘Why? Why would I want to that?’ ‘Because it’s the right thing to do.’ ‘That’s it, your only reason?’ ‘There’s somethin else.’ ‘What?’ ‘This whole thing with that girl.’ ‘Who, Dyane?’ ‘Yeah, her.’ ‘What about her?’ ‘Be careful.’ ‘How d’ya mean.’ ‘That’s all I’m sayin.’ ‘No it’s not, now start talkin.’ ‘Tell me how the hotel runs.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Because it’s all I got. I can’t crack that case and I’m a deadbeat, redundant. This story never ends and I get washed up. This is my last chance to be something, a real character.’ I looked around, said: ‘I think you lost that chance a long time ago.’ ‘Fuck you.’ ‘I’ve to go.’ He lived by the station. There was a smell of exhaust and piss as I walked towards the square. My hands shook and there was a loud drumming in my chest. My breathing was fast. Angry morning traffic clogged the streets. A couple walked passed, arguing about missing a bus. The sun was out and my armpits were wet and sticky. Took a long route home. Kept looking back to see if I was being followed. Walked though Eglington Street and on towards Bowling Green. Passed Nora Barnacles house and into Dominic Street. The walk felt good, almost like exercise. The drink was wearing off and things were coming into focus. At home, the place was quiet, but unsettled. Nothing seemed familiar. I pulled the curtains and turned off the light. There was a smell like dried grease. I tried to chill, but everything seemed like an act to stave off an avalanche. Ten minutes later I lay back and closed my eyes, hoping for peace.
Woke up, felt thinner, like I’d lost two stone in my sleep. Nightmares followed me into consciousness. Talking mannequins, rabid dogs, and zombies. My shirt stuck to my back in a film of sweat and everything was silent. I went to my stereo, put on some Athlete, Chances. It moved me somehow, like a teardrop fell from my heart. I lit a smoke, it tasted dry. Didn’t want tea, but I boiled the kettle anyway. Lay back on the couch, one arm over my eyes, like I was blocking out the sun. Checked my phone, missed calls and messages from Chris and Dyane. Rang her back, no answer. Paranoia set in. Somewhere a dark cloud gathered, brewing up a catastrophe. I rang her again. She answered, her voice made pure shite out of the hangover. ‘Hey, sorry….’ ‘Hey, got your missed call. Everythin alright?’ ‘Yeah. No… I’m fighting with Graham.’ ‘Fuck him, get outta there. Let’s go somewhere.’ ‘Oh…I don’t know if I’m in the mood.’ ‘I know a good Indian place on Eglington Street.’ ‘I love Indian.’ ‘Let’s do it.’ Had a shower. Felt even better. Changed, took in some Aslan, gelled the hair and left. I met her outside the courthouse. She had a bag in one hand and put the other under the crook of my arm. She was dressed in a short skirt, denim jacket, hair in a tiny ponytail. Her green eyes sparkled in the streetlight. Got a restaurant on Quay Street. It was dark red, smelled of curry and popadoms. Had statues with gold chains. Our table had a candle and a white tablecloth. A punter came down, looked like Ghandi, gave us the menus. I ordered Lamb Tikka. She went for the vegetarian. I poured some wine, asked: ‘You like this place?’ She sighed ‘Yeah, it’s nice.’ Pause. ‘but I hate dinner conversations about the quality of the food and the interior of the restaurant. I want dinner to be about something other than filling silence.’ ‘Like what?’ ‘You ever in love?’ ‘No.’ ‘Tell me about the first girl you were really with. You know what I mean.’ ‘It was nothing special. Graham your first?’ ‘Yeah, right.’ ‘You come across as sheltered.’ ‘Fuck you.’ ‘There’s that language again.’ ‘There’s a difference between privileged and sheltered.’ ‘So rich people sleep around all the time?’ ‘No. They’re normal, that’s all. What’re your parents like?’ ‘Great. What’s your worst fear?’ ‘Dying alone.’ ‘What makes you think you could die alone?’ ‘It’s so easy for a guy to say that. Women get traded in for younger models all the time.’ ‘Yeah, but not always.’ ‘More often than not. We’re supposed to be living in a world of equal opportunities, but beauty is still our strongest commodity. Have you ever seen an ugly actress?’ ‘Who wants to see an ugly actress?’ ‘Exactly. Once we start getting old, we lose our grip on things. The young girls get the good jobs and the rich husbands, while the older women get to have…’ Ghandi came with the food. I eyed the Tikka and he left it down, then the veggie. Dyane pushed some food to the side of her mouth. When she spoke, it looked like her jaw was swollen. ‘Let’s change the subject.’ ‘Ok, what do you think about Iraq?’ ‘I hate politics. Name a fantasy.’ ‘Lord of the Rings.’ ‘A sexual one, stupid.’ ‘Jesus. You really don’t wanna talk about the décor.’ ‘You embarrassed?’ ‘I’m not sure what you’re askin me.’ ‘Ok, I’ll tell you mine.’ She swallowed. ‘I want to be fucked when I least expect it.’ The surrounding tables suddenly got interested. ‘I think some people call that rape.’ She had some wine. Small mouth. Eye lashes. Painted nails. Impeccable manners. ‘Not necessarily. I’m talking about being in the house on my own, bored, not expecting anyone, and then suddenly I’m having sex.’ ‘Who you gonna have sex with if you’re in the house on your own?’ ‘He’s gonna break in.’ ‘Are you serious?’ ‘Yeah, I told Graham and he called me things I won’t repeat. I thought he was going to puke.’ ‘It’s not exactly normal.’ ‘It’s just role-play.’ I took a drink. ‘So, you’re on your own, like on a Wednesday night or somethin…’ ‘It’s winter.’ ‘It’s winter, and…’ ‘Ok, I’ll explain. It’s winter. I’m bored, alone, and there’s no prospect of meeting anyone for the rest of the night. It’s like I’m in the country or something. I’m sick of reading, and watching television, and sending messages and I start thinking about sex. It’s so unlikely that I want it more than ever. It’s not like I want to make love, I just want to be fucked, hard and long and forceful. I don’t wanna see the guys face so it’s better if he wears a balaclava. The bedroom would be too formal and ruin the excitement so we could just do it wherever I am at the time. Say, the kitchen table, or the stairs, no, the stairs would hurt my back. Say the living room floor or something. There’s no foreplay, or dialogue, and I even try to resist, but he gets the better of me and then I just relent and let him have his way. I want it to last, so the guy has to have stamina. As I start to cum, I want him to squeeze my throat, not choke me, but to have a good grip. Then I want him to fuck me harder until I climax at least twice and then he’s allowed ejaculate. My fantasy’s complete as I feel his erection break and his semen flood inside me.’ I’d forgotten about the food. ‘And he’s a stranger?’ ‘No. You missed the words “role-play”. Who knows what I could pick up off a stranger, and besides that is rape. He’d most likely be a boyfriend, or at least someone I enjoy fucking. When we’re finished, he just gets up and walks out and I don’t want to hear from him until at least the next day.’ People listening at the next table. A middle-aged couple, looking uncomfortable. I asked: ‘And you don’t think that’s weird?’ ‘Everybody’s weird, if that’s what you want to call it. Some people are just more open about it than others, but everyone’s got something kind of secret desire. It’s more natural than strange, maybe not conventional, but I’m not ashamed. Why should I be?’
We ended up at the Spanish Arch. It was a cool, quiet night. A group of hippy types played a guitar in the corner and the smell of hash floated over, like burnt fur. The water was shallow but still had a strong current. We lay back on the grass. Her eyes told me she was merry. She said: ‘This is beautiful.’ ‘Yeah, sometimes you can catch life by surprise, instead of the other way around.’ ‘That’s a bit cheesy.’ I wanted a drag of that joint. Her hair tickled the side of my neck. A breeze came and she shivered and threw her bare leg over my knee, said: ‘Ever try counting the stars as a kid?’ ‘No.’ ‘I did.’ ‘You’re callin me cheesy..’ She laughed. Her breast rubbed against my elbow, small and soft. She had the scent of an orchard in summer. I finished my smoke and threw it away. ‘I want to spend more time with you.’ She blinked, looked at the ground and pulled up a stem of grass. ‘I just don’t know if I’m ready to just jump into another relationship so fast.’ ‘Don’t stay with him out of fear.’ ‘And my parents…’ ‘What about you?’ Later, in her bed, the moonlight shone through the open window. A fan whirred in the corner and our clothes lay scattered on the ground. The smell of incense lingered from a used stick on the dresser and I watched the reflected light, from the cars outside, float across the ceiling. Dyane’s hand lay across my chest and her breathing came in contented heaves. When she spoke, it came as a murmur. ‘This is intense, Jack.’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘What are we going to do when it ends?’ ‘Why you thinking like that?’ ‘Because it always ends.’ ‘Maybe we can beat it this time.’ ‘How?’ ‘I don’t know.’ ‘I hope you’re still here in the morning.’ ‘Me too.’ ‘Good night.’ ‘You’re beautiful.’ ‘Thanks. You’re sweet.’ ‘Move in with me.’ She didn’t answer.
Chapter 8.
Pink Floyd. Hey You. Out there on the road, always doing what you’re told, can you help me? Shaking trees. Falling leaves. Wet streets. I was back in the hotel the following weekend. Chaplin was laying on the heat worse than ever. By mid-day, I’d abandoned the truth and just filled people with all sorts of bullshit. I didn’t think about Jennings either, just decided I was going to quit. I figured Dyane was eventually gonna leave and that be that. She was mine. Just a matter of time. I went for a pint with Chris after work. In the Dew Drop. Good Guinness. ‘How’s that girl you met on the phone?’ ‘Dyane? Goin well.’ ‘Eva?’ ‘Goin great. I reckon this story’s running dry, though. Long winded or something. Can't last too much longer. I might call down to FÁS and see if they have anythin goin.’ My phone rang. It was Dyane. ‘I gotta take this.’ Went out, she said: ‘Hey, I did it.’ ‘Left him?’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘How’d he take it?’ ‘I wrote him a letter. Then he phoned, called me a cunt and told me to go fuck myself.’ ‘How you feelin?’ ‘Like I’ve been cured from a terminal illness.’ ‘Wanna meet?’ ‘I’m outside O’Malley’s on Prospect Hill.’ ‘We’re in The Dew Drop. C’mon down.’ ‘See you in twenty minutes.’ Click. Chris waited, tapping his knee, looking around. The place was getting busy. ‘Sorry, that was Dyane.’ ‘She comin down? ‘Yeah, she left your man.’ ‘What’s she gonna do now?’ ‘Dunno.’ ‘Sure she can stay with us for a while.’ ‘I said it to her before, but I’ll mention it again. Hang on, I might go and meet her half way, she probably has bags.’ ‘Sound.’ Night time Shop Street assaulted me with good vibes. The buzz of new beginnings. I walked fast, smoking at the same time. Half my thoughts were back with Chris, the rest ahead towards Dyane. The walk felt like crossing a bridge from a world of winters to a much better climate. I threw my smoke in a puddle and gave a homeless guy my change. There was a long queue outside Cuba* and it began to rain. I hurried on. Lotsa drunken young ones letting themselves go outside Vivo. She looked outta place, but not uncomfortable. Blue jeans, red jumper, runners. I asked: ‘What’s with the style change?’ ‘Process of re-invention. You’ve been drinking, I can tell.’ ‘Had one with Chris, tasted like more. Sure we’ll have one in Richardsons before we head back down.’ Got there, asked: ‘What’re ya havin?’ ‘Cider.’ Bought them. ‘What’ll we toast to? Us?’ ‘And the end of him.’ Chink. She left the pint down, I asked: ‘You think he’s heartbroken?’ ‘I doubt it.’ ‘Where ya gonna live?’ ‘With whoever will put me up.’ She leaned in closer, hands in tiny pockets. ‘How was work?’ ‘Pleasant. Rewarding. Totally illegal.’ ‘So you gonna be a con-man forever?’ ‘You’re talkin forever?’ ‘Just curious.’ ‘Fuck it. I’m out of it now.’ Tunes changed, The Ramones, Pet Cemetery. Had electric vibes throughout my body, like I’d discovered the meaning of life. She said: ‘So, how does this go from here?’ ‘I get you drunk, bring you to mine and…’ She gave me a thump on the shoulder. ‘No, stupid. I mean, I’m used to meeting business partners and looking pretty. What do I do for you?’ ‘Exactly what you’re doin. Act natural. Be cool.’ ‘This is really weird. I haven’t had a new boyfriend in so long.’ ‘Not sure what to make of it myself.’ ‘You think it’s too soon for me to move in?’ ‘Where else you gonna go?’ ‘I don’t know. A hostel or something.’ ‘And do what? Fuck that. We’re goin home after this.’ She stood on her toes, both hands on my shoulders and kissed me. She smelled like all the things I’d ever wanted. Shortly after, we were making the trek home. I rang Chris. He was gone back to Eva’s. The house sang of silent excitement, a nervous energy in the air, like lots of invisible pets had been waiting for us to return. Her bags made a loud whump against the wall when I left them down. We loitered in the moment. Her eyes were dilated with amazed cider. I kissed her, we went to the bedroom, turned off the light, thought: John Hancock can truly go fuck himself.
Woke up to a new world, one where white noise no longer existed. Dyane lay naked against me. Her pale face was serene in the dimly lit room. She opened her eyes, like a newly born kitten, closed them again and fell back to sleep. Rang Chris and there was no answer. Threw down the phone and looked at the ceiling for a while. Cars grumbled by outside. The hiss of a buss. Went to the bathroom. Stepped over her underwear on the floor. Brushed my teeth. Came back and she was gone. My phone was ringing. I looked around. Out in the kitchen. Opened the door and looked down the hall. Nothing. Weird. Answered the phone. It was Chaplain. He opened with: ‘Well, bollocks.’ ‘Hello.’ ‘Who the fuck is John Hancock, eh?’ ‘I don’t know.’ ‘Ya know fuckin well.’ ‘What are ya on about?’ ‘That’s it now.’ ‘What?’ ‘It’s all fucked.’ ‘I don’t understand.’ ‘Hotel. Apartments. Bulgaria. End of shtory.’ ‘Sure what’s the problem?’ ‘FÁS were here. They’ve it all put together. Closed us down entirely. Lost our fuckin fiction licence. Can’t operate. Out of the job because of you, ya little fuckin…’ ‘Ah, hang on a second….’ ‘Seen your doll lately?’ ‘Who?’ ‘Dyane?’ ‘How do you know about…’ ‘Cos if we go, she goes, the whole plot is gone, like I said, it’s all fucked.’ ‘Did you do somethin with Dyane?’!’ ‘You made your bed, whatever the fuck your name is, now go and lie in it.’ He hung up. I looked at the ground. The was a stain on the floor that looked like the shape of Ireland. The toilet gurgled. I looked at the empty bed, at the ocean of roaring abasence and warmth that was there a few minutes ago. Where the fuck was she gone? I tried Chris again. He answered, in a bad way. ‘I woke up and Eva was gone.’ ‘Yeah! Dyane’s fuckin gone too.’ ‘It’s the plot man, it must have fallen apart.’ ‘Chaplin rang.’ ‘Does he know about Hancock?’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘Fuck!’ ‘What are we gonna do?’ ‘Fuckin cuntish!’ ‘Yeah, I know, what are we goin to do?’ ‘Absolutley fuckin cuntish altogether!’ ‘Chris.’ ‘What?’ ‘What…’ ‘How the fuck do I know?’ ‘What’s goin to happen to us?’ ‘I’ve never been out of work before.’ ‘I’m worried.’ ‘So you should be. What about the women?’ ‘I went to the bathroom, came back, Dyane had disappeared.’ ‘Entirely?’ I looked around, clothes, jewellery, everything gone. ‘Yeah.’ ‘Same here.’ We’ll have to meet somewhere. Was Chaplin in a bad way?’ ‘He wasn’t happy.’ ‘Fuck him. We’ll go to Necahtains.’ ‘Sound.’ The shock was wearing off. The fear was setting in. Was afraid parts of me were going to start dis-appearing, like when time travel gets tricky and the universe collapses. There was no sign she’d ever been in the house. That she’d ever even existed. I checked my phone and her number was erased. I only knew two things, I had to find her, and I was dying for a pint. So I got dressed and went to Neachtains.
Interior. Neachtians. Lots of beards and wicker chairs and thin cigarettes. I got the first round, asked Chris: ‘What do ya think?’ ‘I tried to ring Chaplin there. He’s gone too.’ ‘Jesus. Where the fuck do people go?’ ‘I don’t know. Like I said…I’ve never….’ ‘I know yeah. Bollocks anyway. Nice Guinness.’ ‘Not bad, yeah. Hancock must have caused a right fuss.’ ‘Prick.’ Chris shouted two more. ‘We must be left around for a reason all the same.’ ‘How d’ya mean?’ ‘Like all the rest of them are gone, but we’re still here, talking, so we must be the only interesting characters worth keeping.’ ‘No, Dyane was savage. He should have kept her. There was more. Emotions. Tears. Heartbreak. Weird sex. It was really interesting. Why the fuck would he write her out like that?’ ‘You wouldn’t know in the fuck. Same with fuckin Eva sure, we were having a mighty time til she evaporated off the bed. Wanted to make a go of it with her and everything. She was fuckin lovely.’ ‘Gorgeous.’ ‘Shite.’ Sip. Wipe the lips. Rasp. A guy at the bar turns around. It was Spike ‘How’s things?’ I gave a sullen howya. He continued. ‘Ye should have come to Richardsons that night. Are ye missing someone?’ I gave him the outlines. He said: ‘I know just the man? ‘How d’ya mean?’ ‘To sort ye out.’ Chris asked: ‘Sure how can we get sorted out? They’re gone.’ He took out his phone. Talked. Hung up said: ‘Don’t go anywhere.’ Half an hour alter Jennings walked in. Smell. Greasy. Long fingernails. Jaundiced eyes. Wheezed: ‘I’d a feelin this might happen.’ He turned, said: ‘Howya, Spike.’ ‘Kurt.’ ‘Will ya have a pint?’ ‘Go on so.’ He called a round. I was surprised when he pulled out some grade.. He saw me looking, said: ‘FÁS paid me in advance for this.’ ‘So you’re still in?’ ‘Apparently, if we survive.’ ‘What’s the plan?’ ‘Any sign of the women since?’ Chris said: ‘No.’ ‘I took a walk passed the hotel there, too. Gone.’ Belt of porther. Echo on the counter. Trad session starting in the corner. Fire taking off. Getting warm. Jennings took off his jacket, rolled a thin smoke. Spike said: ‘Who’re ye lookin for anyway?’ We told him. He asked: ‘Does the red head work in New Look?’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘She’s savage.’ He looked at me. ‘Dyane’s not too bad either.’ Jennings said: ‘I’m goin out to smoke this.’ I went for: ‘Come back with a plan, we’re stuck for a future.’ ‘Relax, relax.’ Chris said: ‘Suddenly he’s a fuckin Buddhist.’ ‘He’s the best,’ said Spike.’ ‘Best at what? Talkin shite?’ ‘He’ll get ye the wheels ye need?’ ‘What the fuck do we want wheels for?’ ‘To get the women back. There’s only one kinda car that go there?’ ‘Where?’ ‘The next level.’ ‘Have another pint, Spike. What the fuck are you on about?’ ‘Ye’ll see.’ Jennings came back, said: ‘I had to think about whether I wanted to do this or not. I had to think long and hard. There’s a lot at stake.’ I said: ‘Cut the bullshit and tell us.’ ‘When I was young…’ Chris said: ‘Oh for fuck’s sake! Where are we going?’ Spike cut in: ‘Just call it the afterlife for characters. It’s like going into a blackhole. No one ever sees you again. No one knows what’s on the other side.’ I swamped the pint, asked: ‘And that’s where the women are?’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘What’s it called?’ Jennings went for prophetic, sinister, ominous, but just managed a wheeze. He said: ‘Fisherman’s Blues.’ Chris looked at me and rolled his eys and muttered: ‘Shtop.’ Spike said ‘It’s a song by The Waterboys too.’ Told him. ‘We know.’ He said: ‘Oh right.’ I got a round of whiskys. Asked Jennings to explain. A guy came in from outside. Rain coming off his opened umbrella, dripping on the ground. The trad session started in the corner. Accordion going strong. Smell of soup and coal. The whiskys went down warm, kicked the tonsils on the way. They weren’t happy about it. Jennings went for dramatic. An old man telling young men an unfortunate tale. It was taking too long. He turned round and I drank his whisky. He copped on after that. It was all about going through a special door somewhere. You had to find it in a particular way and only certain cars could achieve the force and centre of gravity required to make the leap through. It was going to be dangerous, terrifying, daring, but we had no choice. There was a silence. Spike said: ‘All ye need is the balls and the car.’ I asked: ‘What kinda car is it?’ Jennings said: ‘Opel Astra. Has to be silver to reflect the intense heat of the fiction warp. It was discovered by a couple of Lithuianns about two years ago, but they didn’t know it’s true value and sold it to me. I’ve spent my whole life looking for it.’ ‘Ever used it?’ ‘No. I’m terrified.’ Chris asked: ‘So how the fuck do you know if it works?’ For the first time, I saw him angry. ‘It’s a Silver Opel Astra, 1994! It has to work!’ The pub went quiet. Kinda got the feeling this was an old yarn they tell the Americans so they’ll get free drink. There was only one thing to do. Chris said: ‘We’re going to need to see the car.’ ‘Tomorrow.’ Said Jennings.’ ‘Why not now?’ ‘Cos this is the last session we might ever have.’ Spike wanted to know if he could come too. We thought why not. Bought more whiskys. Big drink. I was worried about Dyane. Wondered where she was. If she’d wait for me. Was waiting for me. Somethin like that. Chris said Eva was: ‘The besht fuckin girl he’d ever met.’ Spike called it a ‘Mission from God!’ Jennings tried to sing but the bar man said he was shite, and if he didn’t shut up he’d get barred. So he stopped singing and got kinda sulky and sat on his own. He was back in time for the next round of whiskys. We asked the bar man for some Waterboys but he said it was bad luck and he wouldn’t play it. So we went back to the flat. Through the cold night and the rain. Jennings said they didn’t have rain in the fictional afterlife. I asked him how he knew that. He said he read it in a book. I asked what book but he wouldn’t tell me. The busker was outside Easons. We brought him home. He was delighted to get inside and drink some Powers with us. He was kind of Spanish or something. He played a few acoustic numbers and then we asked him for Fisherman’s Blues. He went kinda pale. We gave him the outlines of the story. He said: ‘You guys are fuckin crazeee…’ but he played the song anyway. Said it was the only time he’d ever play it cos it was a serious occasion. Put in the perfect notes. Perfect tune. Lyrics all on queue. We listened like it was a sweet siren calling from a terrible place in the far beyond and we knew that we would never be the same again after tomorrow. I went to him hug after, with tears in my eyes, but my shoelaces were open and I fell and busht my head off the side of the couch and didn’t wake up again for the next thirteen hours. At that stage he was long gone. Cuntish.
Chapter 9
　
　
　
　
Jennings woke me. Asked: ‘Jack, are ya right?
Opened my eyes. First person I thought about was Dyane. Her scent. Her body. He hair. Jennings kept shaking me, saying: ‘C’mon…we have to get the car…’
I stood up. Felt dizzy. Mad pain in my head. Gave the couch a stern look, asked: ‘Where’s the fuckin busker gone?’
‘Gone.’
‘Gone where?’
‘How the fuck do I know? Chris is on the way back with breakfast rolls.’
‘Savage. I’m starved.’
‘Then we have to go get the Astra.’
‘Where is it?’
‘Behind the Blue Note.’
‘What’s it doin there?’
‘I hid it.’
‘Why?’
‘Cos it’s the most valuable artifact know to man. That’s why.’
‘Shotp. What time we leaving?’
‘After the breakfast, we’ll go to Aldi, get some booze, and then we’re good to go.’
‘Aldi.’
‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘Nothin.’
‘Dya want a cup of tea?’
‘No, I want to find Dyane. Fuck it anyway. How are we getting to this place.’
‘It’s complicated.’
‘How bad?’
‘Cuntish enough.’
‘Far?’
‘Not really.’
‘Where’s Spike?’
‘Neachtains.’
‘Is he still comin?’
‘I think so.’
Chris arrived. Silver torpedos of cholesterol. We lashed them open. Chewed hard. Relished. After, sipped tea and smoked. Chris said: ‘So the car’s in the Blue note?’
‘Behind it.’
‘Sound, we’ll go there first, collect it, stop at Aldi and get going. Any idea how we’re gettin there?’
I looked at Jennings. He looked at the ground, said: ‘It’s complicated.’
The day was bright Lots of people shopping. Talking on their mobiles. The sweet sound of a harp came across the square. There was a beautiful girl playing, long hair, mittens on her tiny hands. She had a crowd, but didn’t seem to mind. Jennings said: ‘Think I’m in love with her.’
Chris answered: ‘Beshta luck with that.’
I asked: ‘Who is she?’
‘That’s Annie, she’s a legend.’
Wanted to talk to her, but hadn’t got the time. Gave her a tenner and kept going. The Astra was waiting. We took a right by the Spanish Arch. Chris asked Jennings: ‘Do they have phone reception in the fictional afterlife?’
He shrugged. ‘How the fuck should I know?’
‘Well you seem to know everything else about the fuckin place.’
‘Piss off.’
Chris took out his phone. Dialled. Listened. ‘It’s ringing!’
We all stopped to stopped to see, then: ‘Hello?’
Big excitement. ‘Hello, Eva?’
‘No, this is her friend, Sarah, she left her phone at work. Have you seen her today actually, she’s not in and she hasn’t called in sick.’
Chris said: ‘Aragh shite.’ And he hung up. We walked on with heavy hearts. A light drizzle began. Galway rain. Unique in the world. Speaks volumes. Melts on the streets like memories. Plays on the cobble like piano keys. The Blue Note was blue and closed. There was a car park out the back. We got there. Found a gate. Jennings had a key. We entered. Rusty hinges. Loud squeal. Smell of oxidation. Puddles. Potholes. Trees. A path through the middle. We pushed on. A warehouse. Large. Padlock. Another key. Opened it. The Astra was inside. Impressive physique. Untarnished silver. New tires. Polished lights. The warehouse was empty besides. I asked:
‘Who owns this place?’
‘I used to. When I wore a younger man’s clothes.’
Time was of the essence. November was running out. Chris said: ‘C’mon to fuck.’
We sat in. Comfort. Clean dash. Tape deck with jack for hooking up your Mp3 player. There was a discussion about who should drive. None of us trusted Jennings. Chris was still on his provisional license. It came down to me. Fuck it. I’ll do it.
We pulled out. She was a beast. Wanted to roar ahead. Felt like I could take Mercs, SUV’s, anything that came my way. Sensitive to the touch of the foot. Power steering. We roared into Aldi. Envious looks. Parked in the disabled spot. Attacked the off-licence. Shlabs of Bavaria, Fosters, Firkin Brau, Stolichinya Vodka, a few bottles of Country Spring Lemonade. Filled the boot and most of the back seat. Got food too. Doritos. A loaf of bread. Dodgy butter. Twenty cans of beans. We were set. Rang Spike. He said: ‘I think I’ll stick here. The craic is good.’
‘Sure?’
‘Fuck it yeah, I’ve to sign the dole tomorrow and if I miss it they’ll cut me straight off.’
‘Sound.’
‘Talk to ya. And good luck.’
‘Cheers.’
Hung up. Found a €50 fine on the windscreen for not having a disabled permit. Gave it to Jennings. He said: ‘Shite!’
‘So tell us the next step. What’s the plan?’
He finally told us how we’re going to go through his special fuckin door. After, I looked at Chris, he was looking at a puddle in the ground, shaking his head. I looked back asked: ‘Which roundabout?’
‘Headford Road, out there?’
‘And we have to what?’
‘Drive around it.’
‘Ok…’
‘And that’s it?’
Well….’
‘What?’
‘We have to drive around it the wrong way, in the opposite direction like…’
Chris, asked: ‘Jennings, are you fuckin serious? ‘You’re just tryin to kill us.’
‘Hey, we’re fucked anyway.’
‘Where’d you get this idea from?’
‘I heard it.’
‘Where?’
‘St.Mary’s.’
‘The fuckin mental home?’
‘I was in for drink a few years back and a man in there told me.’
‘Better get the Bavaria, Chris.’
‘Hang on,’ said Jennings. ‘It’s true. He said he was there. He’d done it.’
‘And what happens if a big fuckin Artic arrives?’
‘It won’t if we go fast enough.’
I lit a Benson. Let the smoke go through, exhaled. A bruised cloud came toward us in the distance over Menlo. The Astra was getting bored. A clunk came from somewhere inside it. I asked: ‘How fast?’
‘Once you hit fifth in the Astra it’s supposed to reach faster than the speed of light. We go round it sixty times, it should only take half a second at that speed. Then you veer to the to the centre of the roundabout and the door opens and you go through.’
Chris sparked a can, slugged, said: ‘Astra. Speed of light. Wrong way round the fuckin Headford road roundabout, what could be simpler?’
Jennings checked his pockets, said: ‘Fuck it, left my fags at the flat, have ya got one?’
I gave him one. His fingers were brown. I took out a can, sank it fast. Tasted like my first Holy Communion, when the oul fella went to the jacks and I drank his pint. He came back and I thought he was going to kick my hole. Instead he said: ‘Fair fuck’s to ya, you’re well able for it.’ Irish dads. Can’t beat them.
Chris said: ‘Right, are we doin this or what?’
We all sat in. Kinda awkward, like this was a stupid idea but no one wanted to say it. I started her up and she roared. Put it in first and crept towards the roundabout. The most important thing was to find a quiet moment, when the cars were few. Pity it was one of the busiest spots in the West of Ireland, and that no one really understood roundabouts anyway, just kinda drove on and hoped for the best. The Astra reared A truck trundled past, it’s trailer bouncing in delight. The lights went red at Sandy road and I sank the shoe. Thing is, soon’s ya do something erratic, everyone starts beeping, flashing lights, pointing, thinks they’re a motorlogical fuckin genius. No one could believe what they were seeing. A fat woman in an SUV. A suit and glasess in an Audi. A scumbag in a Honda Civic. Their faces said: He’s American. Stupid. A fuckin eejit. Doing his driving test.
The beeping got louder. Everyone trying to say: You’re doin it wrong. Like we didn’t fuckin know. We got to fourth on the first spin around. There was a siren going somewhere but we were going to fast to see it. Narrolwy missed a motorbike by the Limerick exit. He managed a demented swerve and sped to safety. Everything started to blur. The cars less solid, stretched before the eyes. Head getting dizzy. Jennings shouted: ‘Do it!’
I gave it a second, afraid, then shoved her into fifth and there was an almighty explosion of light and sound and intense energy. And everything went black and we weren’t even real anymore. De-materialized into some kinda bright particles. No sound, no taste, no touch. Just a floatless drift into somewhere we couldn’t see. And for a second I knew everything. I knew the meaning of life, the world, of people. I knew what death was, I knew the nature of existence, I knew what it was to transcend and re-visit the point of conception, and then we landed in a great crash and the Astra bounced on to something that felt like a road and Jennings was screaming in the passenger seat and all around us there was sand, such a vast landscape of sand, and blue sky, and a lonely small cyclone of brown grains, and there was a hiss as some of the cans burst in the back and the car was still running when we looked through the windscreen and saw a long endless highway stretch ahead. We panted. Jennings said: ‘I thought we were dead.’
‘I think we are,’ Said Chris.
I looked around, asked: ‘What now?’
‘Fucked if I know, ‘ said Jennings.
So I put her in first in and drove.
　　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
Chapter 10
We were ten miles gone when the petrol gauge came on. I looked down, said: ‘How’s this baby on juice?’
‘Shite,’ said Jennings. ‘I meant to fill her up before we left.’
‘What the fuck happens if we run out?’
‘Do we have a Jerry can? ‘Asked Chris.
‘No.’
He tutted, then pointed: ‘What’s that?’
I squinted. ‘What?’
‘There.’
There was something in the distance. Looked like a tree. Turned out to be a man walking. Got closer. Slowed up. He turned when he heard the car. Looked kinda surprised.
I pulled in. He was disheveled. Denim jeans. Army coat. Stubble. He walked towards the window, blue eyes, asked: ‘Where the fuck did ye come from?’
‘Galway.’
‘Galway! Oh for fuck’s sake. How’s things?’
We shook, I said: ‘Not too bad.’ He looked around the car. Everyone did the introduction thing. Silence, then he said: ‘What’re ye at here?’
We gave him the outlines. He asked: ‘Is that your one that works in New Look?’
We said yeah. He said: ‘Shtop. She’s savage. And who else?’
‘Dyane.’
‘Never heard of her.’
‘What are you doin here anyway?’
‘This is my penance.’
‘Penance for what?’
‘I fucked up.’
‘What ya do?’
‘Have ye got time?’
‘Does time even exist here?’
‘Not really.’
‘Sure sit in and we’ll bring you a piece of the way.’
‘Can’t. I have to walk a million miles.’
Jennings said: ‘A million fuckin miles, for what?’
‘Robbed the Cathedral. I was in a bad way one day, and went in and got the price of a few pints.’
‘Fairly harsh all the same’ ‘ Said Chris.
‘Yeah, but then the priest caught me and I told him to FUCK OFF.’
‘Oh right.’
I said: ‘Still.’
‘Yeah, then I hit him a belt in the mouth, and he went mad and he chased me out the door and we were running across the road and he got welded by a bus.’
‘Oh fuck.’
‘Yeah, I kept running. Went straight to Padraigs. Hadn’t one sip of the pint taken and the legs fell from the bar stool and I woke up here.’
We all expressed sympathy. Then I asked: ‘How do you know you have to walk a million miles, though?’
‘There was a note in my pocket when I got here.’
He pulled it out, handed it to us. It said: ‘For the lad that killed the priest. Please walk a million miles in the forward direction. The eyes of God are watching. If you cheat, you will be sent back to the start. You will not get older, thirsty, or hungry or tired. But you must complete the task.’
Jennings said: ‘I see.’
Gerry smiled kinda sadly. ‘I sat there, on the side of the road for a good year before I started. Called God every cunt under the sun, but nothing happened. There was nothing to do, but think about my life. So in the end I said fuck it and started walking.’
‘How’s it going for ya?’ I asked.
‘Not too bad. I’ve about a thousand done now I’d say.’
‘Are you sure you don’t want a lift?’ Asked Chris.
‘Shtop. I’ll keep goin the way I am now. That’s mighty ye’re from Galway. How’s Garvey’s doin on the corner back there?’
‘Great,’ said Chris. ‘Had a pint there the other night.’
‘I’d murder one.’
I took out a can. His lips watered. I said: ‘Chance one of them.’
‘Jez I don’t know.’
‘Go on, sure.’
He took it. Sparked and slugged, said: ‘That’s Heaven itself. Ye didn’t’ bring fags?’
Chris handed him a box, said: ‘Keep them.’
‘Are ye sure?’
‘Go on, we’ve plenty!’
‘Twas God that sent ye.’
I said: ‘I meant to ask, you don’t know of any petrol stations around here?’
He frowned. ‘I didn’t hear of any, but sure there must be.’
‘Yeah…’
‘Are ye low?’
‘She’s in the red.’
‘Is it an Astra?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You’ll be sound so.’
Silence. He said: ‘I’ve relations in Mayo myself.’
‘I’m from Ballinrobe.’
‘Are ya fuck?’
‘I am.’
‘Shake my hand again.’
We shook. He asked: ‘Did they win the All-Ireland yet?’
‘No.’
‘Wayshters. Will they ever win it?’
‘Next year now’s the year.’
‘We’re saying that for the lasht fifty years….’
Beat.
‘C’mere and I ask ya, there was a girl there working in Martin Murphy’s for a long time…’
‘Maria?’
‘No.’
‘Joan?’
‘Jane.’
‘Oh yeah.’
‘Do you know her?’
‘I think so.’
‘Will you tell her I was asking for her if ye ever get back.’
‘We will.’
‘Just tell her Gerry that used to do the Lotto was wondering about her. She’ll understand.’
‘Right so.’
There was nothing else to say. He slugged, said: ‘I better let ye go.’
‘Sound.’
‘Drive her easy sure and I might meet ye for one up the road somewhere.’
‘No problem.’
He slapped the roof with his palm. ‘G’luck.’
We tore on. White line. Sky the colour of a swimming pool. No clouds. Desert. Astra glad to be in action. I looked in the rear view mirror and Gerry had started walking again. Head down. Thinking. Kicking an odd stone. Chris said: ‘I won’t be robbing any Cathedrals for a while.’
‘Fuckin right.’
‘Poor cunt.’ Said Jennings.
‘I meant to ask him where we are.’
‘Oh yeah…’ said Chris. ‘Shite.’
‘And how come everyone knows Eva and not Dyane, what’s the deal with that?’
He shrugged. Jennings said: ‘Maybe Dyane’s got a different name here.’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know.’
He was picking his nose and throwing the snot out the window. I said: ‘Then why would ya say somethin like that?’
He didn’t say anything, just stared ahead, like he was deaf and mute. So I put her in fourth and sank the shoe.
Hours passed. The sun dipped. The road stretched ahead, long as the eye could see, all the way to the end of the universe for all we knew. Dark came and ghostly whispers came across the desert. I felt them in my palm as I drove with one hand on the wheel and the other out the window. Chris was asleep. Head back, half a bag of Doritos in his lap. Jennings hadn’t said anything for hours. It was just me and the road and the eternal thoughts about home, and whether I’d ever see Dyane again. I was thinking about old Gerry and those million miles and him and old Jane back in Martin Murphys and whether maybe they were meant to be or what. Then Jennings spoke. ‘Where are we goin to sleep?’
It had never occurred to any of us. We had booze, and beans, but no sleepin bags. Fuck it. Hit the brakes for a second, kinda hard, enough to jerk Chris awake. He came to life and grabbed the bag of Doritos like someone was trying to steal them. There was that big crunch of tin foil. Then he said: ‘What the fuck sorta drivin are you doin?’
‘We’re tryin to decide where to sleep.’
‘Here in the car.’
Jennings said: ‘Not a bad idea.’
I said: ‘It’ll be too hot for all of us.’
‘Sleep on the ground outside so.’
I pulled in. Feeling beat and tired and lost. The sky was a dome of stars, an orange halo rested across the horizon. I walked onto the hot sand and lay back felt an odd comfort. It was soft like a bed and it was warm enough not to need a blanket. There were little crumbs of stone. But there was no life. No insects crawling. No small tress stirring in the distance. The Astra stayed alongside me, faithful as a good dog, a proud protector. The word vast was too small for this here unknown world and I thought again about sweet Dyane and this trip of lunacy and then I went and I got a can of Bavaria. I sparked, took a slug, thought of a teeange disco years ago. A slow dance with a curly brunette. Innocne. Immortiality. Mystery. Her mouth tasted of lager. She kissed eight other lads the same night. I still felt lucky.
Chris was already asleep again, but he’d begun to snore. Jennings was twisting and turning and eventually I told him it was better to sleep outside. He believed me and thanked me over a can when we lay down on the sand once more. We were well into the Stolichnaya when he said: ‘That Country Spring is pure piss.’
‘I hear ya, like drinkin bog water..’
Silence. Then I said: ‘You’re like a man that has a shtory.’
‘Every man has a story.’
‘But yours has ya turned inside out.’
‘You’re right there.’
‘And what was that about being in St.Mary’s for the drink?’
‘I wish that’s all it was.’
‘Go on, sure. Talkin cured a lot of things before St. May’s ever came along.’
‘Twas a woman of course.’
‘Isn’t it fuckin always?’
I looked at the sand. He said: ‘I was a teacher.’
‘You were a teacher?’
He let the surprise slide, said: ‘Yeah.’
‘Sorry, go on.’
‘I’m used to it.’
I took belt of the paint stripper, asked: ‘Couldn’t handle the pressure?’
‘Not that.’
‘The students getting to ya?’
‘Her name was Kohlia.’
‘What the fuck sorta name is that?’
‘I never found out, as much heartbreak as it caused me.’
‘Fellow teacher.’
‘Pupil.’
I looked at the car, at my shoes, then said: ‘Oh right.’
‘She was older than the rest.’
‘Fuckin hope so.’
’19.’
‘And you were?’
’30.’
I thought about it. It was like a suitcase that only closes with great effort and might burst at any second. So I said: ‘Go on.’
‘I was a professional. Admired. Passionate. She was young, highly intelligent, beautiful. I’d never seen a mind like hers.’
‘So ye hooked up?’
‘She wanted grinds.’
‘What did you teach?’
‘Maths.’
‘Better it’s getting. Keep goin.’
‘If ya don’t want to fuckin hear it….!’
He was sittin up now, agitated.
‘Go on will ya!’
‘It was the fuckin usual story. My house. Her legs. Us alone. No one giving two fucks about maths. She didn’t need grinds any more than I did.’
‘And…’
‘She had told her parents she was staying at a friends. It was all set. But when it came to it, I turned away.’
‘Why?’
‘I had morals at the time.’
‘How’d she take it?’
‘Never said a thing. We never actually spoke about it. Anything.’
‘I don’t get what you’re tellin me.’
‘She left soon after that and I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I was engaged the same year to be married. Up until then I’d been happy. My fiancé was a teacher too. In the same school, Solerno. There wasn’t much money around and teaching was a good job. We were all set and then I met Kohlia and then Kohlia left.’
‘Where’d she go?’
‘One day there was a note in my folder. “I’m gone. You know we could have been something. Have a good life.” That’s all it said.’
‘And you never saw her again?’
‘It’s not the point. She was inside me by then. I could contain it by seeing her every day, but after she was gone, it was like I’d swallowed a hive of bees and every one of them were stinging me to escape. I saw her on the street. In the distance. In the shadows. At night, with my wife to be, I tried not to think about her, but…’
‘Cuntish.’
‘Yeah. So I started drinking. Didn’t work. I went to hookers. Didn’t work. I read books on philosophy, love, the psychology of obsession and for a while she’d go, leave me alone, the torment would stop, but then, like a great rising wave, it would over take me again I’d be lost to the black abyss of the world.’ He drank. Burped. ‘My work suffered.’
‘Fired?’
‘Not at first. They let a lot of things go. I became irritable, almost violent. Then I came in drunk. Tried to rob the principal’s office. Find her file and figure out where she’d gone. He came in and caught me and that was that.’
‘What you tell the Fiancé?’
‘Turned out I’d caught Gonorrhea of one of the hookers so that was that fucked too.’
‘Jesus…’
‘She married the woodwork teacher a year later.’
‘Oh.’
He contemplated, said: ‘Eammon Cusack. Useless creature. Do you know what the worst thing was?’
‘What?’
‘My Fiancé thought I’d gotten it from Kohlia.’
‘Eh?’
‘She’d suspected all along I was sleeping with her.’
‘Ya fuckin eejit.’
‘You don’t understand torment.’
‘Obviously not.’
‘If I say to you: “Have you ever been tormented?” and you hesitate for even a second, then you’re lucky, cos the answer is no. If I asked: “Have you ever been in quicksand, then you’d remember pretty fast, no?’
‘Maybe you should have just been with her.’
‘I felt it was morally wrong.’
‘Even though ye connected?’
‘Yeah, look where my morals got me.’
‘I don’t how you resisted.’
‘If she hadn’t left…maybe…’
‘I suppose she was young all the same.’
‘She was and she wasn’t. It was like a one horse race and I didn’t put any money on cos I was afraid I’d lose.’
‘You’d see your own arse with hindsight.’
‘And now I’m here. With you, on this fuckin mad mission.’
‘That why you came?’
‘Eh?’
‘Cos of her? You think we’d end up like you if we lost our women?’
‘No. That’s clichéd bullshit. I’ve spent every day since looking for Kohlia. I realised she was the only tangible thing left in my life, everything else was melted snow, but she was still there, inside me somewhere. It’s why I signed up to be a private detective. When I heard about the Astra it seemed to be the best shot, but I’ve been terrified to use it…until now…’
‘Why?’
‘Look at me? You just said I’m turned inside out, what’s she gonna think if I meet her here somewhere?’
‘But you came anyway?’
He took a drink, looked into his plastic cup, then out over the flat nowhere, said: ‘Yeah…I came anyway….now pass the fuckin bottle….’
Morning comes slow and bright like the fingers of a baby angel coming over the horizon. Edenic sand and a chronic hangover. Jennings flat on his face, snoring. I stood up and stretched. I though about Dyane. And Kohlia. And if there was a connection. Then I woke Chris and he stretched too. And then we woke Jennings and it took a while for him to come around, but we eventually got going. Chris opened cans of beans while we drove. It was time to say: ‘…so we’re here….drove for a whole day….saw nothing, except Gerry, are we just gonna do the same thing again…or what?’
Jennings jumped up, pointed: ‘Look!’
I hit the brakes. It was a road sign in the shape of a crucifix. One said: ‘Turn here, Gerry. You are now on 1,000 miles. Good man yourself. ’
The other said: ‘Bambino Highway.’
I asked: ‘What the fuck is the Bambino Highway?’
Both directions led to roads similar to the one we’d been driving.
Chris said: ‘Well we’re not fuckin Gerry, so we should take the other one.’
I asked: ‘Why not go straight on?’
‘Cos it’s the first road sign we’ve seen in a thousand fuckin miles.’
‘The guy in St. Mary’s talked about The Bambino.’
‘What he say?’
‘I can’t remember.’
‘You’re some help.’
I felt bad insulting him, after connecting the night before, but fuck it. He said: ‘We should take it.’
‘Whatever, get in the back so.’
‘What?’
‘Get in the back, I’m sick of talking to ya, let Chris in here for a while.’
He muttered: ‘Fuck ya so.’
And got out.
The sun was high now, and there was a blister on my thumb from the heat. The windows were open but we were starting to boil up without the wind. Chris got into the passenger seat and I indicated and drove. He was eating a tin of beans and offered me some and I said no. And the road stretched on, but in the distance there was a shadow like a building or a clump of trees. We accelerated. The speedometer was up to the last but the engine showed no strain. Chris asked: ‘What did ye do last night?’
‘Drank the vodka and talked shite.’
‘I was wrecked.’
‘We heard ya snoring.’
‘Fuck it, sorry.’
‘You’re grand. What do you reckon’s up here?’
He took a scoop of beans. Some of it fell on his shirt. ‘Dunno. Somethin to do with a Bambino, whatever the fuck that is.’
‘Do you miss the hotel?’
‘Like fuck.’
‘How’ll we get out of this place?’
‘Drive I’d say,’
‘Back the same way?’
‘We better find these fuckin women first, anyway.’
‘What do you think they’re at?’
‘Probably on the piss somewhere.’
‘Is there pubs down here?’
‘Knowin Eva she’ll find one, and she probably has her camera with her so she’ll be takin plenty of pictures for Facebook.’
I laughed, asked: ‘Ye got on fairly well…’
He shrugged. ‘Yeah, she’s different.’
‘How?’
‘Agh, you know.’
‘I do.Yeah. How the fuck could I know?’
‘Shtop. These beans are shite.’
I hit fourth. Jennings was asleep in the back. Chris took out twenty Benson and threw me the box. We sparked. The shadow came closer. Solitary tress appeared in the barren landscape either side. Small shoots of grass. A wind. A great big Billboard sign appeared from nowhere saying: ‘Paddy’s Bar. Ten minute drive at the speed of light. Free coffee for the driver. Last Exit for the Bambino Highway.’ Beneath was a picture of a fuel pump, a knife and fork and a pint.
I said: ‘Looks promising.’
‘I’d love a rasher sandwich.’
‘I want my free coffee. We goin at the speed light?’
‘She has to be in fifth. Remember the roundabout?’
‘Oh yeah.’
‘Will I hit it?’
‘Be here all day otherwise.’
‘Sound, better fuck on the seatbelts.’
We did. I revved. The Astra rose to the task. Collected all it’s pistons and got ready for the surge. We peaked on fourth at 50,000 miles an hour. Then I hit it.
There are few words to describe the speed of light. It’s a hyper reality. You’re going faster than anything else that ever existed. There is no literature. No song. No photograph to describe this unchartered emotion. Best thing to do is take everything you’ve ever felt or thought and imagine it in the reverse. Like that guy that figured out the world was round. Fifteen hundred years of people thinking it was flat and he looks at the sky one day and thinks: ‘Oh right.’ That kinda thing. Like you’ve spent the whole day picking shtones in a field and you think you should be finished then you look up and realise you’re only ten feet from where you started. ‘What the fuck?!’
We got to the trees. Things were lush now. A few ponds. Less desert. Thin roads. I put her back in fourth to get our bearings. There was a red round sign that said: ‘20,000 K/ph.’
And then: ‘Paddy’s. Next Left. Last exit to The Bambino Highway.’We pulled in a few minutes later. It was a thatch cottage. Car parking outside. There was no doubt we were in some kinda civilisation. Jennings woke up: ‘Eh?’
We got out. Looking back it was still possible to see the desert, a great yellow sea of sand and empty. Standing on gravel was good, familiar. Petrol pumps to the right. Bright red door. Something moving inside. ‘Better knock, anyway.’ Said Chris.
He did. The door opened. Nobody stood at the entrance. It was like whoever opened it just ran back inside. Didn’t bother to see who was there. All welcome. So we walked in.
Interior. Counter. Couple of geriatrics workin on some Guinness and whisky chasers. Calm light on their heads. No hurry on them. Fire going. Fella behind the bar with a goatee. Gave us a look, said: ‘Lads.’
Chris answered: ‘Are ye well?’
The old men grunted. Bar man asked: ‘Pints all round?’
I said: ‘Sound.’
‘I’ll have a Jack Daniels chaser too.’ Said Jennings.
This caused a stir, a few dirty looks, a re-assessment, but the drinks came without any further fuckin around. Chris said: ‘Fine spot.’
Bartender extended his hand. ‘I’m Joe.’
We did the intro. He asked: ‘Are ye lost or what?’
Told him we kinda were and we kinda weren’t. He listened to the predicament, kept a curious eye on Jennings, then said: ‘Well ye came at the right time anyway.’
Chris took a long drink, asked: ‘Why’s that?’
Joe pointed to a big banner overhead. ‘Happy Birthday, Nola!’ Written across the top. Said: ‘Savage party planned here tonight.’
‘Oh yeah?’
He was about to talk when the door opened. Woman walked in. Sallow skin .Huge eyes. Black top and tight jeans. Hair autumnal. Joe greeted her. She had an accent. South American. She eyed us up. Jennings stared at her chest. She let it slide. We talked. She said what Joe had said.
‘You come at a good time. I’m Melissa.’ She said it like this: Mallissa.
We shook. She kissed me twice on the cheek. Smelled like caramel. Chris asked: ‘What time’s the party starting?’
‘Soon. You should join.’
‘We will.’
‘Ok.’
‘Ok.’
‘Ok. Ciao.’
There was mischief in her eyes. The foreign kind, like she knows well what you’re thinkin and she’s gonna fuck with you for a while. Her boots echoed out the back and she started organising tables. I asked Joe: ‘Where’s she from?’
‘Here.’
‘Where’s here?’
‘Ye don’t know?’
‘No.’
‘Ye’re in for a bit of learning tonight so.’
‘We’ll happily learn now if ya like.’
He wiped the counter, said: ‘The next one’s on me.’
And walked out the back. Pints later, Melissa left with a large bowl covered in tin foil. When she opened the door, we could see it was dark outside. We were too wasted to drive and none of us fancied sleeping on the gravel. Joe told us not to worry, we’d be sound. So we ordered another round and then the crowd came. A real motley crew. Guitars. Sombreros. Bongos. You could tell they’d already been drinking. The place exploded with their arrival. Didn’t waste any time getting set up. Kicked off in a language we didn’t understand. Same kind of accent as Melissa. Later, a blonde woman came around and gave us a basket of cocktail sausages mixed with chips. We wired into them. Later she came back with chicken nuggets. There was a mouth watering smell of fat being cooked. Someone said they were making steaks out there. It was time to go ‘Out there.’
Picked up the pints and bursthed out. There was a small lowering of noise among the crowd with our sudden appearance. Melissa came and saved us. Told us to take a seat at the back bar. We did. The band played on. An air of excitement. It was all about waiting for Nola, whoever the fuck she was. Suddenly there was an almighty uproar of delighted screaming and she was here.
Cake arrived. Lots of candles. Singing. Photographs. The bumps. Dancing. We were on Jaggerbombs at this stage. Knew everything there was to know about dancing. Tried to tear it up. Nearly killed Joe with a stray elbow, but he said it was ok. Butterballs. Baby Guinness. Swinging young ones round. Eventually Nola caught me at the bar, said: ‘Thanks for coming but I don’t know who you are though?’
She was blonde, up to my shoulder, all heart. I told her roughly. She said: ‘Joe said something about that, are you looking for the Bambino Highway?’
‘Yeah, I think so. Wherever the hell Dyane and Eva are gone, we’ll go there. It’s our mission to save them. You know?’
‘Are you sure her name is Dyane?’
‘Ah…yeah…’
‘Is that your car outside?’
‘The Astra?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Where’d you get it?’
‘Galway.’
‘Galway!’
‘Yeah.’
‘You and I will need to sit down tomorrow, ok?’
‘Ok.’
‘We need to talk about that car. And Dyane. And where you’re going.’
‘Sound.’
‘I can’t do it tonight, cos I’m celebrating.’
‘Yeah, yeah, Jesus don’t worry about it…’
‘But I think we’ve been waiting for you.’
‘How d’ya mean?’
‘Tomorrow, tomorrow. Let’s do a shot.’
‘Here I’ll get them. Two double Jaggerbombs, Joe, when you get a chance.’
They came. We drank. She said: ‘Alright, let’s party.’
‘If I knew what they were singing it be better.’
‘Oh you don’t know!’
‘No.’
‘It’s.an ancient musical dialect. Listen hard. You’ll get it.’
‘Thanks, Nola.’
She kissed me on the cheek. ‘Enjoy yourself, hun. Don’t forget. Tomorrow. Serious talk.’
She dissolved into the crowd. The night went on. Jennings fell asleep on a couch in the corner. Someone handed me a plate of steak and potatoes Lashed into that. Washed it down with a can of Bulmers. Started wondering about Chris. Hadn’t seen him in a while. Then Melissa arrived. Not too sure how we got dancing. She was good at it. I was shite. Almost fell and knocked the two of us over. Blank. We’re all sitting around a table and the band have finished. Some people are singing old songs. Everyone else is listening intensely. Melissa is sitting on my knees. One of the band still has his guitar and everyone goads him to sing. He eventually does. It’s haunting. Coarse voice. High vocals at the end. It’s the kinda moment that hangs delicate in the balance, requires silence for full appreciation and effect. Nobody dared talk, take a drink, even move. Spellbinding. He had his eyes closed. Felling it. Living it. That vibe.
He’s half way through when Chris falls in the door. It was like he was trying to take it off the hinges. Thish rump arackle. Whang! Rump a thump rump. Mutteering: “fuckin bastardin cunt of a door….’ Shirt open. Wide eyes. Frantic. Almost knocked a stool over, caught it awkwardly and made a world of noise trying to stand it up straight. Everyone looks at him like he’s mad. He asks: ‘Is the party over?!’
The silence gives him the answer and he says: ‘Fuck! And is the bar closed?’
He looks. Realises. ‘Shite! Went to the car for a joint and fell asleep.’
The musician leaves down the guitar. The moment’s over. Everyone’s annoyed but no one says anything. Melissa turns and asks. ‘You have a car?’
I said: ‘Yeah, Opel Astra 1994. Besht fuckin car in the world.’
Her eyes went wide. Everyone at the table stopped what they were doing. Looked at me. Chris asked: ‘Where the fuck is Joe gone anyway?’
The musician said to me: ‘It’s impolite to make jokes like that. You are messing with a concept which is very important to us.
‘Sure what am I jokin about?’
‘You say you have an Opel Astra. 1994. That’s impossible.’
Chris says: ‘Fuck this. Joe!’
I said: ‘I have yeah, it’s outside.’
Nola intervened. ‘I talked to him about it, Greg. We’re not sure. We’re going to see tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow! What’s tomorrow! Why not now? If the car is there….’
‘Tomorrow. Now is not the time.’
‘We’ve been waiting this long, why wait more?’
‘Because we need to be sure. We can’t send them driving into the….’
Chris was still shouting, stumbling around rooms, knocking things over: ‘Joe! Where the fuck are ya gone…?!’
Greg said: ‘Now’s the time.’
There was an abusive verbal exchange out back somewhere. Chris was heard mumbling to a woman who was asking him to leave. Then a baby began to cry and the woman started screaming. Nola said: ‘Oh, he’s woken the child.’
Melissa took my hand. ‘Come with me.’
‘Where?’
‘Now.’
Greg stood up. ‘I can’t believe this.’
And left. A general tumult ensued. Jackets retrieved. Drinks finished. We got outside. I was feeling lucky. She looked at the car. ‘Is this it?’
‘Yeah.’
‘We will drive to my house.’
‘What about Chris?’
‘He’ll be fine. Come.’
So we went to her place.
She lived atop a mountain. Drive took an hour. Hard to concentrate. Full of sauce.. Windy roads with no walls. You drive off and that’s the end of ya. Then there was the road obstacles. We had to get out three times to hunt sleeping sheep out of the way. Melissa was mostly quiet. Subdued. Thoughtful. At her place. Stonewashed walls. Bright wood on the windows. Hill up to the front door. Revved too hard and put stones flying everywhere. Then she took off like fuck and nearly rammed into the gable of the house.
Got out. Unsteady. Fell towards the door. Light breeze. Smell of smoking tyre. Melissa screamed: ‘The car!’
I looked back. Out of gear. Handbrake off. Rolling down the hill. Fuck! Ran after it. Wonky legs. There was a loud crunching sound, like an amplified version of vinyl. Then a crash and the muted sound of breaking glass, like somebody’s just stood on a kids plastic toy. It was the wall. And the indicator. Cuntish. Sat in and drove it back up and made sure it stayed this time.
Got into the house. Snug interior. Lots of tea cosys and rocking chairs and rugs. She gave me something to drink. It was small and potent and sobered me up in seconds.
Then. We talked all night. On her soft bed. Til the sun came up and sent shafts of solar power through her large window. She told me lots of things. How she grew up in Peru. How they got their summer holidays at Christmas. How she met a man and left against her parents wishes. They moved to Galicia, in Spain. She worked as a waitress. He was a player. She pulled him on it. He beat her up and threw her out. She couldn’t go home. Fear, shame and pride. She roamed Europe. Got homeless. Ended up turning tricks. Using needles. Found God when she had a child. The child died. She wouldn’t tell me how. A look of intense pain flashed with the memory. I didn’t push it. And now she was here. Waiting to be released. There was a prophecy. One day three men would come from the north. They’d be driving a Silver Opel Astra, 1994. It was only car capable of traversing the purgatorial waters and reaching The Bambino Highway. Some said it was a myth. Others a legend. More still swore it to be true. This was the last place refuge between the afterlife and the world left behind. People here weren’t sinners. They didn’t suffer, but they hadn’t earned their rightful place in the next level yet and they were destined to wait. Time is different here. Slower. They’d been waiting a thousand years. They never grew old. Only more cynical that they would be never be absolved. There’d been false dawns before. A Ford Focus last year. A Vauxhall Cavalier the year before. But never with three men. Three men looking for two lost lovers and an unresolved affair that almost was. This is why she was excited. Big eyes. Warm breath. All affection. Voice like Spanish love poetry. She could see her child again. We were the hope. This was why she wanted to make sure. Why she brought me home. And now she was convinced.
The Bambino was the most beautiful woman ever known. She excelled in virtue. Her soul was clean. She was pure as the purest water. Melissa used to believe she was a fairytale. Something for young women to aspire to but never achieve. But now she believes. There was only one man capable of loving The Bambino, only one man The Bambino could accept. But he had to prove himself. He had to cross great dangerous oceans of sin and torment. Purge himself. Make sacrifices. Prove to her that he could be her equal. And only then would the tormented be released, the sinners saved and the dammed absolved and the lost love of the world re-united as it once was before the Great Fall.
‘What was the Great Fall?’
She blinked. Tender eyes, said: ‘That was when the Astra was stolen.’
‘Who shtole it?’
‘Gypsies.’
‘Tinkers?’
‘They have many names.’
And she told me. In the old days. When everyone was equal. And had wings and sang choir all day and felt good, God gave the Astra to The Bambino as a present and reward for her moral supremacy and chaste way of life and unending river of purity. A group of Angels got jealous, figuring she’d never use it, and she couldn’t drive all that well anyway, and they decided to steal it. They took it for a joyride but lost control and crashed. When God found out he went demented. Banished them all to a life of endless roaming and wandering and horse fairs. The Angels, in their pride, refused to ask God for forgiveness and have walked ever since, unwelcome in heaven, unsuited to earth, caught in the corridors of existence, too proud to repent, preferring instead to be human outcasts, a terribly far cry from the blinding angels they once were.
‘And how did The Astra end up on Earth?’
‘The tinkers took it, piece by piece. There was enough of them to carry every part of it. And when God cast them down, they were scattered all over the planet. It took centuries of Archaeology to re-collect all the bits. They couldn’t find the right side wingmirror for about 500 years, but eventually it turned up at Griffith’s in Claremorris in 2008.’
‘Will it matter now that I broke an indicator?’
‘No.’
‘Why?’
‘Tom will fix it.’
‘Who’s Tom?’
‘You’ll see.’
‘So you reckon…’
‘Yes, you are the three saviours.’
‘Jesus. I’m lookin for someone called Dyane, that’s it.’
‘You need to talk to Nola.’
‘Why?’
‘Because she knows….things. She’s our spiritual leader.’
She caught my hand. It was warm. Kissed her. We sailed a dark calm water. Slept a thousand deaths. Woke. She was holding a cup of tea. Gave it to me. I sipped. She said: ‘Time.’ And left.
I got dressed. Let the body settle. Sat on the edge of the bed. Took my watch off the bedside locker. The time had stopped. Music started down stairs. That same language. An echo like lament, electric guitar. Slow beats.
Shoes. Laces. Thinking. Stairs. Echo. Smell of something brewing, like punch. I went toward it. She was there. Sipping. Looking out the window. Taking in the song. She didn’t notice me come in. She was like a statue, entranced in the tune. I knew it was an image I’d remember forever. She woke. Said: ‘You’ve heard this song before?’
‘No.’
‘Heroes de Silencio.’
She took down a book. Opened a page. Pointed at a diagram of two triangles, like an egg-timer without the frame. ‘This is where you came from. This is where you’re going.’
‘Sound.’
‘You see the middle, where the worlds almost touch?’
‘I do, yeah.’
She put a brown finger on the apex. Pale long fingernail. ‘We are there.’
‘So how do we cross?’
‘In the car. But you’ll need the music. ‘
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s the lament of the lost. No one is allowed to cross into those waters without playing it. It’s like garlic to a vampire. The dead can’t touch you once they hear it.’
‘Dead?’
‘Once they see The Astra they’ll go insane. They’re dead gypsies and they’re bitter. They don’t want Heaven re-united, they hate The Bambino because they blame her for their plight.’
‘Right…’
‘But if you play this song, they won’t be able to harm you.’
‘What’s it called?’
‘Opio.’
‘Why don’t I understand what they’re saying?’
‘Because it’s the language of the soul. Our words are too primitive and coarse to describe what they’re saying.’
She had a point. It was like serotonin acupuncture.
‘What about Fisherman’s Blues?’
‘That’s not for this part of your journey. You’ll know when it’s time.’
I took out smokes, tapped the box, squinted at the book, said: ‘Jez, I don’t know at all.’
It was time to re-connect with the lads. Got sorted at Melissa’s and made the way back. Same craic. Long drive. Sheep. Better scenery. Lake opposite her house. She asked: ‘Have you used the radio yet?’
‘In the car? No. We all forgot our Mp3 players.’
‘We’ll get Tom to hook you up.’
‘Nice lake.’
It’s beautiful. But we’re not allowed swim in it.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s part of our penance.’
‘Oh right.’
‘We have Paddy’s to socialise, but that’s it. If we indulge too much in pleasure, our sentence is extended.’
We got to Paddy’s. Chris was sitting outside. Having a smoke. We pulled in, he said: ‘Well.’
‘How’s the head?’
‘I’m fucked. You?’
‘Not too bad.’
‘Your one inside is after tearing the hole off me.’
‘Why?’
‘Somethin about wakin a child.’
‘Oh yeah. Who’s in there anyway?’
‘We’re waiting for Nola to come. Other than that, it’s quiet.’
‘Where’s Jennings?’
‘Drinking.’
We entered. Dark. Geriatrics gone. Smell of a newly washed floor. Joe behind the bar. He looked at me, then Melissa, didn’t say anything. Jenning’s was well into a bottle of Jim Beam. I said: ‘Howya now?’
He grunted. Then: ‘Are we gettin outta this place or what?’
Nola arrived with Greg half an hour later. We all sat at the back. Same table as the night before. She opened. ‘I inspected the car. It’s true.’
Greg said: ‘We want you to leave tonight.’
Jennings slurred: ‘Leave for where?’
Nola explained everything Melissa had told me back at the house. Chris said: ‘I can’t find any positive spin to put on that at all.’
Greg became uneasy. ‘I’ll take your place if you don’t want to go.’
‘Shssh…Greg.’ Said Nola, ‘it has to be these three.’
Jennings said: ‘I couldn’t give two fucks.’
No one said anything. Then Joe asked from the bar: ‘Ye alright for drinks?’
We told him yeah. Chris said: ‘This is mental.’
‘It’s the prophecy.’ Said Nola.
‘I’ll do anything for Eva, I mean, I want to save her, but you’re talking about driving a car over water.’
Greg entered: ‘It’s not just normal waters. It’s the purgatorial bath of the dead.’
‘Right yeah, whatever, but the fuckin car might still sink, am I right?’
He got agitated. ‘Not if you have faith.’
‘Faith in what? I can’t swim for shite.’
‘The car won’t sink.’
‘Why not?’
His reason was the make, model, and year of the vehicle.
We all went quiet. I mentioned the indicator. Greg called me an imbecile then Nola told Joe to go get Tom.
Tom arrived. Tall. Black hair. Suspicious. He said: ‘I seen the car outside, I didn’t believe it til then, I thought ye were talkin shite.’
‘Can you fix it?’
He looked at the ground. ‘I’ll try. Where’s the keys?’
I gave him the keys. It was getting dark. He left. Nola asked Jennings: ‘Aren’t you the one searching for Kohlia?’
He sobered up fairly fast then. ‘I am yeah, why?’
‘She was here.’
‘What?!’
‘She was here. She and I were close. But she’s been released.’
‘How d’ya mean, released, what the fuck, where is she?’
Thought he was going to fall off the stool. He looked at me, like I should have said something before this. ‘I didn’t fuckin know.’
‘Kohlia, I mean, what, how did she…why was she here?’
He stood up and looked at the bar. Sat down. Took off his jacket. It fell on the floor but he didn’t notice. Everyone silently acknowledged the smell. ‘Why, tell me, what was she doin here…?’
‘She was waiting for you. She knew you were one of the saviours. And that you’d come for her…’
‘But I’m…am I late, what? Start again, what’s this about water?’
His hands were shaking. He knew he was acting desperate but couldn’t help it. ‘How did she look?’
‘Beautiful. She’s older now, thankfully for you.’
‘It was never about that.’
No one said anything. He continued: ‘Do you have a picture?’
‘Yes.’
He swallowed. Nola went to get it. It was in an album and took her a while to find it. Jennings watched her like a crazed animal. She found it and gave it to him. He looked at everyone, looking at him. Stared at the back of the photo, said: ‘I’ll be outside.’
Exit Jennings. Chris said: ‘Well, that brought him to life anyway.’
‘He’s important to your mission.’ Said Greg.
Melissa took a drink of water, asked: ‘So you think tonight?’
Nola looked around, said: ‘Yeah. Jack, I want to talk to you alone. Come with me.’
We walked out the back door. There was a porch. Then a garden. Grass. Small trees. An opening at the end. Rocks. Water. A calm lake. She pointed said: ‘That’s it.’
‘What?’
‘That’s the purgatorial lake. You have to drive across it to reach The Bambino Highway.’
‘Are you sure we won’t sink?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘Why you, Nola?’
‘What?’
‘Why are you special?’
Her eyes danced. For a wild second I saw everything. Wings, halo, devotion. A flight towards an obscure God. A choir of white and gold. Pillars and marble and springs of water and divine silence and calm and she said: ‘You can see it, can’t you?’
‘Just a glimpse.’
‘I was there.’
‘What happened?’
‘Nothing, I’m serving The Bambino, that’s all.’
‘You did nothing wrong?’
‘I had a choice. Do my time on earth, or serve the cause here. I chose here.’
‘Why?’
‘Everyone has to do time now. Ever since the fall. It makes us appreciate God more, knowing the alternatives. I chose here. To meet you. And make sure everything went smoothly.’
‘What if we fail?’
‘Then everything is lost.’
I looked at the water. Small ripples. Reflection of the sky. Lot of distance. ‘Lost?’
‘Make no mistake, Jack. It’s prophesized, but not a fact. If you fail, then no one is ever absolved. Our trees here will wilt and wither. The gravel will disappear. The sun will get hotter. We’ll burn. But not before we starve. The desert will expand at a rapid pace and overcome us. You’ve seen it. It’s the dying heart of The Bambino.’
‘I’m looking for a girl called Dyane.’
She looked at the ground, at her feet, blue jeans and sandals, painted toes, then at my feet, then to the left. Her hair moved a little. White top. Necklace. She said: ‘That’s why it has to be you, because you don’t think you’re the one. So many came before and claimed her as their own and they perished in the waters in minutes. Their pride had corroded their mind and thoughts and they became twisted. You don’t even know why you’re here.’
‘Fuckin right.’
We were interrupted by Tom. He came through the trees, said: ‘Sorry.’
‘What?’
‘It’s about the car. I can fix the indicator, but the Solarflux is fucked and she’ll need new speakers.’
‘How long will that take?’
‘Few days, besht part of a week.’
I looked at Nola. She folded her arms and bit her bottom lip and looked at the stones on the ground. ‘That’s ok,’ she said. ‘Maybe it’s for the best.’
‘What the fuck is a Solarflux?’
Tom looked at me like I was mad.
‘See,’ said Nola. ‘this is why it has to be you.’
We were driving towards the sun. That’s what it came down to. That big ball of mental hot fire in the sky, yeah, that’s where they wanted us to go. ‘You’ll be sound,’ said Tom. ‘So long as you have the Solarflux.’
The Solarflux would create a field around the Astra to prevent us from incinerating. Only Astras were capable of having a Solarflux installed, it was to do with the unique style of the engine and the car’s inherent resilience to negative conditions. This is what Tom told me when I went with him after talking to Nola.
We were a couple of miles up the road from Paddy’s. You could tell he was a natural with cars.
‘Only one other car can compare to the Astra,’ He said.
I let him continue. He was in overalls. Wrench in his hand. Twisted something. ‘Hasn’t been seen for a long time, though. American make, Omni, Dodge.’
‘Oh yeah.’
‘Yeah, girl in Chicago owned the last known model. Took good care of it too. Problem is she’s automatic and can’t take the Solarflux.’
‘So where does this thing go then, or what?’
We sat in. He smelled like motor oil. Pointed at the gearbox. ‘See I’m gonna have to come up from underneath, probably put her over a pit or something, and get right inside the carburetor to install it. It’s the best place, direct access to the gears.’
‘Why can’t it go in automatics?’
‘Transmission ya see. Once she’s manual you can fit her in easy, diddle around. You got a box like the Omni, Dodge, then you gotta take the whole thing out, mess around with all those cogs and coils, then hope it works. It’s a great car, but the Astra, well you know, it’s just an Astra, and I don’t want any gears slipping on you guys when you’re out there.’
‘Yeah, fuck.’
He put his hand round the top of the gear stick. Shook it back and over. ‘How ye feelin about it?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘There’s a lot riding on ye.’
‘Apparently. You think we’ll make it?’
‘With a baby like this, I don’t see why not. See here….’he pointed at the at a hollow beside fifth. I said: ‘Yeah.’
‘This is where the Flux activator’s gonna be. You’ll be in fifth at the time, probably reaching about ten million degrees, so I’m gonna put a little switch here and all you have to do is reach down and hit it with your thumb.’
The car shook for a second in a strong breeze. Tom looked up, out the window, stubble, ears, pale neck. His eyes danced with a thought. ‘Some breeze…’
‘Breeze?’
‘We don’t much get breeze ya see. Only been kinda comin since you lads arrived.’
‘Wasn’t there somethin about music too?’
‘Yeah,’ he pointed at the radio, stuck his finger into the tape deck. ‘I’m gonna hook you up to this. You’ll have an Mp3 player. Sony. I prefer them to I-pods and they’re more reliable…there’s a lot of shite on it but it’ll get ye through….’
‘What’s your take on Fisherman’s Blues...?’
He gave a serious look, looked back. ‘I say only use it in an emergency, like when things are fucked. And obviously when you get to see The Bambino.’
‘How fucked?’
‘Like when if ya don’t use it you’re gonna be dead and then we’re all fucked. You heard about Heroes de Silencio?’
‘Yeah.’
‘That’ll do ya for the most part. But if things get bad, try the Whole of the Moon before Fisherman’s Blues. It might get ye through.’
Silence. Then he asked: ‘Did you always know?’
‘What?’
‘That you were destined for The Bambino?’
‘No.’
‘That’s the prophecy. That her man would have no idea.’
‘Do you believe it?’
‘I do now. I didn’t before. That party for Nola the other night, that was foreseen too. They said an Angel would celebrate her birthday on the night the saviours came. When they organised it, I thought it was wild hope, fantasy, then you came.’
‘And now we’re here.’
‘And soon you’re leaving. What else did Nola tell ya?’
‘That’s about it.’
‘Anythin about Aquinas?’
‘No. Who’s Aquinas?’
‘He’s waiting for her.’
‘Where?’
‘Other side of the lake. He was human. They used to be together.’
‘So?’
He told me. Men are on earth had to earn their passage into heaven. They’re not allowed to see angels til then. Otherwise they won’t fear death and never learn to love God. Nola broke the rules with Aquinas.
He looked over. ‘That’s why she’s doin her time here.’
‘She shoulda told me.’
‘She knew I would. And she thinks you have enough to absorb as it is.’
‘So he’s human?’
‘Aquinas? Was. You’ll meet him. He’s the far side. He’ll meet you if you make it. He’ll help you. It’s in his interest. To be re-united with Nola.’
‘They were in love?’
‘Shtop. Can I drop you somewhere?’
　
Tom worked night and day on the car. He became obsessed. I spent most of the time with Melissa. She brought me around the surrounding area. We climbed hills. Sat through longs dusks. She showed me the world with a wave of her hand. The lakes and the green fields and the mountains. The country air and the serenity. The scraggy hilltops and blue skies and then beyond, the encroaching yellow desert. We smoked together for hours. She compared it to Peru. And the north of Spain. We talked about the Basques and the Incas. National identity. Her father. My family. People in her town. People in mine and how the world isn’t all that different no matter where ya go. She told me a bright blue sky is the land of the unborn, where they hover in innocence, waiting to be allowed in, and the night stars are the glimmering Halos in the supreme Heaven. And most of the people in this oasis are good folk. They don’t come out much. Devout types. We talked about everything but the coming departure and the intensity that had come between us and the confusion caused by the naturality of our solitary time together. She felt it too and I thought of Jennings and how he must have felt. When sweet Kohlia left, and he knew he couldn’t have her now, and how part of him died with her leaving.
It wasn’t long before the word got around about us. Nobody doubted now that we were the three saviours. At first they treated us with deference and respect, but as the time got closer they couldn’t help approach us. Nola told me not to give them too much hope, but don’t be too negative either, and try not to be indifferent, but remain calm. In the end I didn’t know what the fuck she wanted so I just told them the truth.
‘We’re goin to save these two birds we met in Galway….’
I was talking to a man called Séan in Paddy’s. Old type. Agile. Big chest. Grey hair. Straight talker. ‘Ye’re mighty lads’
‘We’ll see how she goes, sure.’
‘Ye’ll make it handy enough I’d say?’
‘Aragh, we’ll do our besht.’
‘Is it you that’s from Ballinrobe?’
‘Tis.’
‘Is Paddy McGrath still doin the taxi down there?’
‘Doin a bit.’
‘Sound man.’
‘Don’t know him too well myself.’
‘I owe him a tenner.’
‘Oh yeah.’
‘There was one night there, oh Chrisht, we dhrank more fuckin pints, the brother was home from America, and we christened the child, and Paddeen threw me home, and sure when we got to the house, I hadn’t a rex…’
‘Sure ye won’t fall out over it.’
‘I meant to call into him the next day, and sure I was puttin on my shoes and the wife, the fuckin wife, shtarted on to me, and I just losht it and I threw my shoe at her and sure didn’t it fuckin hit her straight between the eyes and put her flyin down the shtairs.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Aragh, she was dead before she hit the bottom. They said she had a stroke on the way down.’
‘And you woke up here?’
‘I had the tenner in my hand, and I was shtanding out at the head of the road with my thumb out and didn’t some cunt come and hit me with the door of his car and I went in over the wall and I woke up here. And I wouldn’t mind, but I was sick as a fuckin dog the same mornin.’
I was drinking Mi-wadi. Trying to keep things steady. Séan reached into his pocket. Took out a ten euro note, handed it to me. ‘This is the same tenner anyway. You might give it to him if ya seen him again….’
I took it. Crisp. Said: ‘No problem, Séan.’
‘Good man. I’ll go again. I have to meet Johnny Kelly.’
‘From Caherlistrane?’
‘That’s him, yeah. Do you know him?’
‘By reputation only.’
‘Oh shtop, he’s worse than that.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Ya don’t mess with Johnny.’
‘Is it true he threw a Guard threw the window of a pub one night?’
‘’That’d be Johnny alright.’
‘I’m sure they loved him for that.’
‘Well they didn’t ask him to join the force anyway!’ He chuckled. ‘Goodbye, Jack.’
‘We’ll see ya, Séan.’
He took off. Nola took his place. Earings. Long white dress. Pale. Straight hair. All grace. Asked: ‘How you doin?’
‘Good. How you?’
‘Nervous.’
‘Car nearly ready?’
‘Tonight, maybe. Tomorrow night, definitely.’
‘Where’s Jennings?’
‘Havin a bath at my house.’
‘A fuckin bath!’
‘Yeah. It was the picture. He’s a changed man.’
‘And Chris?’
‘He’s gone for a walk. His heart his heavy.’
‘Why?’
‘Eva. The trip. The past.’
‘The past?’
‘He’ll talk when he’s ready. Did you take something from Séan?’
‘A tenner for Paddy McGrath in Ballinrobe. If we make it back.’
‘When.’
‘What?’
‘When you make it back.’
‘Oh yeah.’
‘Ye’ll need music.’
‘Tom said he’d sort it.’
‘Melissa’s looking for you.’
‘Where?’
‘Down by The Waterfall.’
‘Where’s that?’
She gave me directions. I went. It was a long walk Wooded area. Thin path. Wooden gates. Sound of running water in the distance. Smell of dead leaves. The pour came from a considerable height, but a far cry from Niagara. She was sitting on a rock by the plunge pool. Knees to her chin, elbows across them, still. Again. Another image. I sat beside her. She knew I was there but didn’t move, just stared at something on the ground. After a while of listening to the splash and watching the white spit float, she said: ‘I was praying for my boy.’
‘Nola said you were lookin for me.’
‘I know you will see him before I do.’
‘I mightn’t.’
‘You will.’
‘What’ll I say to him?’
‘I’ll give you a letter.’
‘Do.’
‘The Bambino has led me to you. She’s been workin through me. You know what I mean.’
‘I don’t, no.’
‘Think about it.’
I thought about it. Melissa’s hands. The electric vibes. The attraction. Then Dyane’s body. Her eyes in the morning. Other stuff.
‘She’s calling out to you. The closer you get.’
‘Great.’
‘You can’t fail, Jack.’
‘I’ll try not to.’
‘No, you can’t.’
‘I won’t, so.’
‘Be serious.’
‘I am!’
She was crying. I didn’t know what to do. She looked right at me. Eyes. Emotion. Nothing hidden. Tears. Sincerity. Hair. I said: ‘Let’s go.’
She handed me the letter. ‘You’ll know him when you see him.’
She hugged me and cried again for a long time. Sniffles. Vibrations. Strong grip. That gig.
We left. Held hands. She was quiet, but relaxed now. Our fingers were cold. Strong breeze.. Getting ready to rain. She looked at the sky. ‘The clouds of torment are gathering. They know something is happening.’
‘Tom said he’ll have the car ready tomorrow night, maybe.’
‘I feel so afraid.’
‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘Then shut up.’
We walked back to Paddy’s in silence. There was a bit of a crowd gathered. No seats left. People chatted excitedly. I asked: ‘What’s this?’
Nola was concerned. ‘It’s the storm. We think it’ll be too dangerous to wait until tomorrow night. You’ll have to leave in a few hours.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘The prophecy says the dead will fight the odyssey before it begins. A great tide will rise, the skies will roar, the ocean floor will try to swallow up the world and make the route to The Bambino Highway impassable forever. We think this might be the beginning. You need to leave tonight.’
For the first time, a shower of fear danced around my nerves. Everyone in the place stared. Melissa squeezed my hand, said: ‘It’s time, chico.’
Chris was in the corner, taking things from people. They were shaking his hand, kissing and hugging him. He looked uncomfortable but obliged. Jennings arrived. Clean shaven, cut nails, washed hair, but with the same fuckin jacket. He was more alive though. I saw the first flash of his supposed intelligence. ‘Ye heard the craic?’
I said: ‘Tonight’s the night, then. What’s Chris doin?’
‘People are giving him things for their loved ones. The people you’re going to meet along the way. Messages. Letters. Those type of things.’ Said Nola.
‘Christ, Séan musta set a trend with that tenner.’
Nola said: ‘Doesn’t matter. If we don’t get ye outta here, there’ll be no one left anywhere.’
Things got rushed. My legs shook. Adrenalin kickin in. Tom arrived. Confident. ‘She’s good to go.’
‘The car?’
‘Yeah. The flux is sound in her and the radio’s up and running.’
There was grease on his palm when we shook hands. ‘What about the indicator?’
‘She’ll be sound, I threw on a piece from an oul 135 I had down the field there, she’ll get ya by.’
‘You hair is wet.’
‘It’s starting to rain. It’s The Shtorm alright I’d say. How are ye fixed?’
‘Just have to get going.’
‘I’ll pull her round the back for ye anyway.’
‘Do, good man.’
He left. I looked around. Melissa was gone. A woman approached on the right. ‘Jack?’
‘How are ya?’
‘Can you tell…’
It went on like that. Linda Wall wanted me to tell her sister Mary that everything was alright and she’d see her soon, and God Bless, and the dogs were fine but the roof of the shed fell off during the winter and Paddy hurt his shoulder but he’s recovering grand. At least he was before she was sent here. Tommy Cleary asked me to tell his brother-in-law that they had a mighty wedding, and it was a pity he couldn’t come but Sandra had a lovely time and we all had a toast to him during the speeches. Patsy Egan asked me if I ever met John Joe Riley to tell him he was going to kick his hole, cos that car he sold him was a haype of shite and if he hadn’t died, he would have come and killed him himself. Mary Steed gave me a miraculous medal for her uncle Tommy and said to say all was well, and the lads still had the land, and they weren’t going to sell a blade of grass no matter what price was going.
There were parcels. Letters. Presents. Keep sakes. In the end, Tom had to back the Astra in to the door to fit everything into the boot. Had to take out a crate of Bavaria and we had awful job to tell Johnny Kelly that we couldn’t fit the hurling stick he wanted us to give his son. I thought he was going to hit me with it til Nola pulled him aside and told him to be quiet and he obeyed her cos there was no other choice in the face of such grace. Even for Johnny Kelly.
And then there was an almighty roar of thunder and a great draft swept through the pub and people began to get pale. And Chris looked at me from across the room and nodded and I looked at Jennings and he indicated it was time. There was a woman trying to put rosary beads around his neck although he didn’t want them. And then Greg came up and he shook my hand. He looked me in the eyes, in the way a man of all serious does, and he said: ‘Can you do this?’
And I told him I could and he said that’s all he needed to know and he left. Somewhere in the back the first chords of Heroes de Silencio started to play and a woman in the corner began to weep in a sad sorta way. Johnny Kelly rose the hurley to the ceiling and said he’d go outside and kill ‘every one of the fuckin bastards!’ Nola approached me with those sad eyes and they were sadder now and said there was no more time to waste. I still couldn’t see Melissa. Tom stuck his head in the windy door and shouted: ‘C’mon to fuck!’
And we all piled out. And they all followed and they helped us pushing the car down the lawn and onto the stones and it was there she rested for a small minute, faced into a terrible blackness. And then the water began to surge and the sound of waves were heard crashing against each other in the nowhere beyond. And another woman began to wail like a banshee. And Séan from Ballinrobe picked up a rock and threw it in to the lake and said: ‘Be gone with ye cunts!’
And now Chris squeezed my arm in an urgent way and Tom closed the boot with a thud and we knew that was the last hurdle. And for a while we hugged everyone and they said God Bless. And there were tears in everyone’s eyes and the sound of stones knocking together under many feet. And the water roared again, a wild beast. And squealing creatures were heard in the murk beneath. And the music played louder, and louder. And thunder rolled not loud, just ominous and then a wave came close and we all got wet in a violent splash and there was a general scream and panic as some women tripped and fell, and one woman hurt her ankle and the others helped her up, and yet another got a nasty gash in her head, but she took a deep breath and stayed proud despite the trickle of blood rolling down her face.
And then they started to pray. ‘…Hail Holy Queen, mother of Bambino, hail our life, our sweetness and our hope…’ and the black abyss was stung and it squealed like a burning evil feline monster, and then Tom said there was no more time. Keep her steady. Don’t hit fifth til you get up some speed and then don’t stop for anyone or anything. They’ll con you all they can, with everything, but hold the line, and think of The Bambino.
Lightning now, red forks in the distance. Great swirls of wind. Whining. Screaming. Lacerated beasts. Devilish everything. More splash. A crescendo of prayers. Our Father! Who art in heaven! And Johnny Kelly had to be held back by Joe from running into the lake with the hurley.. And then Nola came and she hugged me so hard with all the divine love of heaven and for a second I wasn’t afraid. And then she hugged Jennings and Chris with the same warmth and then I saw Melissa. Standing, still as stone, watching at the end of the crowd and slow sad tears rolling down her cheeks. And I walked towards her, and she backed away. And I walked more and yet she backed and then Jennings said: ‘Jack!’ And then she came towards me and the wild wind tossed her hair. And we stood opposite each other and she raised her hand, palm out, and I placed mine against it and she looked up at me with those sad brown eyes that were windows to so much pain. The crowd were chanting now and it echoed all over the cove, and out into the water. And the swell of the tide was the belly of a terrible beast. And there was no more time, no more talking, no more dreaming about love and the denial of destiny and sweet Melissa turned away, and she walked out of sight, and I knew all that she was, and all she meant to say, and all that was unsaid was there in that small touch of our fingers, that synaptic embrace, and I got into the car and turned the ignition thinking sweet fuckin Jesus my heart is going to explode into a thousand pieces.
And Heroes de Silencio sang on, and the chanting could be heard outside, ‘…to thee to do we cry to the poor banished children of Eva, to thee do we send up our sighs, mourning and weeping in this valley or tears, come sweet Bambino, absolve us from our exile…’ and through the windscreen the tremendous ocean of evil night, and in the rearview mirror was Nola staring, standing still, and somehow white, watching the fate of the world pull away from all those great people she was sworn to protect.
And Chris said: ‘Jack.’ And I knew what he meant. And Nola gave a sad wave and I put it in first. And the sky screamed and the rain belted against us in fury and the water rose to incredible heights and the red thunder scorched the sky and Johnny Kelly ran to the side of the window and he roared: ‘Will ye drive on to fuck! Get the cunts, will ye! Drive on!’ And he tried to open the door but it was locked and Tom pulled him back and they both fell onto the stones and then I turned up the radio and accelerated.
******
Cuntish – a word used to describe an unfavourable situation.
Pure cuntish – A phrase used to describe a very unfavourable situation.
Pure cuntish entirely – Driving across the purgatorial lake of the dead in a Silver Opel Astra during an apocalyptic storm. Like that, there we were, bobbing up and down and dodging thunder bolts and small tsunamis and listening to music we could hardly understand. Chris sparked a smoke, said: ‘Well we’re fucked now anyway.’
‘What do you reckon?’
‘Keep goin til ya hear the bang.’
Jennings said: ‘Don’t know about ye, but I’m having a can.’
He passed them around. Gave one to me. I thought fuck it, am I gonna meet the cops out here? And took it. Bavaria. He said: ‘We’re running low.’
‘All them parcels and shit.’ Said Chris.
I said: ‘Yeah, what’s the deal there?’
‘You were gone and they all just landed in and that was it.’
Jennings slugged. Shiny hair. Rasped. ‘That’s good beer.’
I hit him with: ‘What’s the fuckin craic with Kohlia now?’
He took out a picture. Passed it to me. I dodged a ball of fire, took a look. She was fuckin gorgeous. I understood. Handed it back. Took a slug. Said: ‘Wouldn’t mind getting to know her myself now.’
‘Fuck you. She passed through here at 26.’
‘That’s a bit better.’ Said Chris.
‘Tis.’
Chris took a wallop of sauce, said: ‘All this coz I went to New Look for a fuckin pair of jeans.’
I changed gear, said: ‘Fuck you, I was down in Ballinrobe minding my own business on the dole. I’m not even supposed to be here.’
Jennings finished his can and opened the window to throw it out. There was an almighty scream and roar. He let it fly, said: ‘Fuckers.’
I asked, Chris: ‘Will ya stick with Eva after this?’
‘Don’t know in the fuck.’ He drank. ‘I’d love ta, but sure she mighta met some fucker down here now or anythin.’
‘Araghh, isn’t she cracked about ya?’
‘S’pose.’
He lit a smoke. Passed them to me. We sparked. Exhaled through my nose. Thought about Melissa. The pop sound when the cigarette left her mouth. Her heaving chest on a grassy evening. Fuck it anyway. Tore on. The Astra was up for some serious Van Damage. I could feel her wanting to rear. The music played loud, like a call to arms.
I said to the lads: ‘So apparently there’s dead Gypsies under the water.’
‘Knacks?’ Asked Chris.
‘No, Gypsies. Whatever.’
‘Doin what?’
I told them the story.
They listened.
Jennings said: ‘Besht yet.’
‘I bought a camcorder off one of them before,’ said Chris. ‘came home and opened the box and there was nothing but a litre of milk inside it.’
‘Good enough for ya.’
Then came the syringes. A terrible shower of hypodermic smacks on the car. They rained down and down and down. Some were full of blood and others yellow puss and more still with something black and corrosive. Their points glistened, sharp and acute. Shit got real. The car swayed back and over. Up on two wheels to the right, big pull to the left. Water roaring off the windows. Narrowly missing lighting bolts. Jennings roared: ‘What the fuck’s with the needles?’
Down they came. Rat tat. Rat tat. Tat tat tat tat. Swish of water. The engine surged. We were still in fourth. Then the faces began to appear. First chronic distortions. Bent macabre manifestations. When they touched the Astra they screamed. Came all the way to the windscreen and then scurried away. Heroes de Silencio played loud. Haunting.
Suddenly we dipped. It was like driving over a cliff. The bonnet was vertical, like a plane doing a nose dive. The seatbelts kept us in place with great difficulty. I tried gearing down, to get some bite, but it was no good. We hurtled down and down. I thought then it was all lost. The prophecy was wrong and we were destined to perish, and maybe someone coulda fuckin figured that out before now. Our velocity increased. Incredible speed. Falling and falling and falling. Chris shouted: ‘Do something!’
‘Do you want me to pull a parachute outta my hole?’
A great swirling whirlpool appeared before us. Violent fires erupted from beneath. Hands and heads came from within it. It spun around at such speed the car began to spin as well and we were trapped in an inescapable centrifuge.
And then the song reached a bridge and the electric guitar kicked in with that sweet solo. I saw Melissa and I saw Dyane and then a vague glimpse of something my mind couldn’t comprehend. It was as if a hand came from behind and gently ushered the Astra into a horizontal position and then gradually facing upwards. We were stationary. I was getting ready to hit fifth. A woman appeared. At first I didn’t recognise her. Then I realised it was Eva.
Chris was mesmerised. His eyes were wide. She was staring at him. Then she rose her palm and beckoned him to come here. The needles were raining. Rat tat. Tat Tat Tat. Blood on the windows. She was in a tight black dress. Chris took off his seatbelt. I knew what he was thinking. Jenning’s said: ‘Chris, what the fuck!’
I caught him by the shoulder. Pulled him towards me.
‘Fuck you, Jack. Let me go!’
‘Hold him, Jennings!’
Jennings came round the back and caught him in a bear grip. Chris roared to be released. Kicked like a violent trapped horse. Bit Jenning’s hand. Eva began to sing. A quiet lullaby. This drove him wild. I liked it myself. Tom’s word’s echoed in my head. Shtop for no one. They’ll use all the cons they can. Whoever she was, she had Chris by the balls and it was time to go. I hit fifth and we sped away, right through her wraith stomach and got back on to the surface.
‘Bring her back! Go back!’ Shouted Chris.
‘She’s gone.’
‘No!’
Jennings hissed into his ear. ‘Chris, she wasn’t real, she wasn’t fuckin real!’
‘It was her!’
‘Shut up Chris!’
‘It was her, you motherfuckers, turn this piece of shit around!’
And he kicked and he lashed and he bit and he screamed and in the end Jennings caught him in such a chokehold as to stop the air going to his brain for a second and knock him out.
When he was quiet, Jennings said: ‘I don’t know.’
‘Me neither.’
And on we drove. So this is how they were gonna come at us. And the music played. I was sweating. Shaking. Hands barely able to hold the wheel. Unsure of anything. Then mighty fires rose in front of us. Whoosh. Blast. Napalm towers. Each time we drove through, we felt an intense heat til we got out the other side. Then falling balls of flame came toward us. Big and heavy and aggressive and we had to dodge them. Now left. Now right. Watch out. Break. Speed up. They went over us, beneath, to the side, but we managed not to collide with any. Great rumbles. Earthquakes. The needles stopped falling but some of them remained stuck in the wipers. Chris woke up and looked around. I stared at him. He said: ‘Was it real?’
‘It couldn’t have been. Who the fuck was she then.’
‘Some devil’s abortion. It wasn’t fuckin her anyway.’
He didn’t say anything. We flew on. Back and over like a catamaran. Tornados now. Swirled our way. Faces rotating on the outside. Caricatures of people we know. Our parents. Our friends. Thought I saw Chaplin at one stage. They caused turbulence. Sent the car into heaving bumps. There was a second when I thought it cut out and it sent a jolt of terror from my heart to my toes, but then it caught again and we pushed on through. And then Jennings saw a gravestone with Kohlia’s name and he freaked for a minute, but full credit, he stayed composed.
And then out of nowhere a great lighting bolt, with perfect aim, smashed straight into us. We shook. Felt the electricity go through our veins. Like when I was a kid and the oul fella told me not to shove my finger into the where the light bulb goes, so I shoved my finger into where the light bulb goes.
All the electrics surged, the dash went apoplectic. A loud sizzle overtook everything. The car died, regained, died, regained. And then hands began to surround us at the windows, over the boot, and over the bonnet. They hammered. They were trying to break through. And these ugly bastards faces appeared, with receding hairlines and bad teeth and they scratched with that screeching sound, like nails on a blackboard and it was loud and again I thought we were done for. Their naked bodies surrounded us and for the first time I understood torment and the nature of true fear. And I hit the accelerator and all I got was a smell of petrol. Absolutely pure fuckin cuntish entirely altogether. Jennings said: ‘I think this is it.’
And Chris said: ‘Not like this.’
The gears moved and the ignition turned but it wouldn’t bite. We began to sink and now the water surrounded us and we were submerged. It came in the windows. At our feet. Through the radiator and we were wet. And the hands beat louder, and louder. And one of wraiths that drooled in front of us, picked up a syringe from the wiper and ate it, devoured it, relished it, then stared it us. Pointed at Chris and hissed: ‘You!’
And Chris put his feet on the dash and his back straightened and he was afraid too. And he shouted: ‘Go way, ya fuckin knack!’ Jennings took out the picture of Kohlia and stared at it and I realised the music had stopped. And I looked down at the Mp3 and I picked it up. Went through it as fast as I could. Aslan. Arcade Fire. Damien Rice. Damien Dempsey. Eric Clapton. Moby. Peter Krauss. Ocean Colour Scene. The Killers. The Rolling Stones. C’mon to fuck. And then there it was: The Waterboys.
Screaming. Drooling. Hammering. The water was up to our legs. Bent twisted tentacles everywhere. I went through the album with shaking fingers and short breath. Strange Boat. She is so Beautiful. Red Army Blues. Then I found The Whole of the Moon and I hit play and everything came to life. The drum beats made shite of the demons. They fell off, ran away, some turned to dust and the lights came on the engine roared to life. And I put her in first and revved like fuck til she caught and sped back on to the surface in wild relief.
*******
After a while, things evened out. The lake calmed. We felt like we were passed the worst. Once we kept the music going we could keep the evil at bay. Except for the occasional wall of fire and dodgy tornado, we could drive straight on. We were still rocking back and over and the waves crashed and the thunder rolled, but we felt safe with the Heroes and The Waterboys. Safe enough to ask Chris:
‘What the fuck was the story with the needles?’
He looked at me. Shrugged. Jennings said: ‘The guy in St. Mary’s told me. This is like the bowel of Hell. Whatever’s here is the opposite of what it was. Good is evil. Friends are enemies. Everything is temptation.’
‘Well if the guy in St. Mary’s said it, it must be true.’
He was hurt, said: ‘Nola confirmed it. We can’t trust anything, no matter how much we want to.’
Chris said: ‘Fuck it, them needles are just straightforward freaky. No symbolism.
‘I agree.’
‘How long til we hit the highway?’ asked Jennings.
‘I don’t know. But this is nothin til we drive into the fuckin sun.’
‘I can’t wait.’ Said Chris. ‘My pants are fuckin drenched.’
Jennings rooted around. ‘Any one for another can?’
More Bavaria.
We drove.
A light appeared in the distance. Blue, like the colour of those electric traps for killing flies. We felt positive. I thought about the Bambino. Figured she’d helped us back there. Held the car from falling into the abyss. I lit a smoke. Tasted good. Benson. Caught the chest. Exhaled hard. Took in the sounds. The car was confident again, ready to tear up the water. It wanted action. The lighting began to subside. The waves calmed. It got brighter. For the first time I thought of them all back at Paddy’s. If they survived the storm. There was no way to tell them if we made it We shoulda brought Johnny Kelly for protection. He’d freak the shite outta the demons. The light got closer. We turned on the heat. Our jeans got dry. A smell of tobacco and damp. The wipers still going. The last of the syringes fell off the bonnet. Hope starting to build.
It was a road. We were sure it was The Bambino Highway. We docked on a soggy marsh. The wheels caught, spun, then climbed. The road was short. Darkness, but not black. A kilometre later, a big green road sign. Said: The Fringe
We got there. Another pub. Big window. Arty chairs. Long counter to the right. Guy behind it. Tough edge. Tattoos. Earrings. Peak cap. Ginger stubble. Gave us a look, didn’t say anything, just got busy with something behind the till. Green walls. Poster of Bob Marley smoking a joint. A blackboard with: Dirty Girl beer on special. $3.99. We ordered three of them. This kinda got him nervous. He took three glasses from the freezer, filled them. Landed them out. They spilled a little at the sides. We all took a belt. Tasted good, left them down with a thump. Then, hint of American accent, he asks: ‘So who the fuck are you three guys?’
Jennings went for P.I. Professional with: ‘Just passin through.’
He took up a towel, said: ‘A, that’s a stupid fucking answer, and B it doesn’t answer the question I asked. You want me to repeat it?’
Chris asked: ‘What’s the problem?’
‘The problem is, my friend, that I’ve been here for centuries and you’re the only three guys that ordered Dirty Girl and were able to drink it. That tells me two things: That you’re not one of the dead, and you’re pretending to be the three saviours.’
I asked: ‘The dead can’t drink this stuff?’
‘No. They’re allergic. Even if they smell it they squeal. It keeps me safe. Which one are you, the teacher with the crush?’
I looked at Jennings. He was grinding his teeth.
Chris said: ‘The Astra’s outside.’
That knocked him a bit. Used all his will power not to look out the window. He was suspicious. Like he’d heard all this before and had been conned. He took up a towel. Looked at me. I said: ‘We met Nola. You must be Aquinas.’
He didn’t answer, just took a bottle of Jameson from the back shelf. Filled four shots, said: ‘My penance is this – No alcohol til the saviours come. When they do, we take a shot of Jameson together. If you are who you say you are, then we’re good. If not, then we all turn to dust. You wanna take the test?’
I shrugged said, ‘Whatever:’
He filled. We drank. It was warm on the tongue, fire in the belly. We all survived. He looked at us, said: ‘It’s about fucking time.’
He loosened up. Asked us all sorts of questions. About Paddy’s. Nola. The storm. He soaked it all up. Then said: ‘Let’s roll.’
　
We all trooped towards the back. In a door that said: Keg room. Walked down a stairs. Beer burps. Groggy. Passed a line of barrels and boxes. There was a smell like Christmas wrapping paper and cellotape. He pressed a button on the wall at the back. The cement opened up like an elevator. We stood inside. Three buttons. One, Two and Basement. We went to the Basement. Bright. Thin corridor toward a steel walled room at the back. Lots of folders and a table in the middle. Some scattered papers on the ground. Plastic chairs. Aquinas was about my height. Lots of energy. He looked around the files. They were all in alphabetical. Found one that said: Saviours.
Opened it. There were diagrams. He found one with a cone shape like the head of a missile. Pointed at the bottom of it. ‘That’s Earth. Then here in the middle is the limbo you came from.’ He stretched his finger all the way to the pointed top. ‘You’re going there.’
I asked: ‘And what’s in between?’
‘Hell.’
Jennings said: ‘Oh right.’
He rooted around some more. Found another bottle of Jameson. Took a shot, said: ‘Damn that tastes good. Where’s this car?’
We told him. He gathered up some papers. Maps. The bottle of Jameson. Said: I gotta ring Sandy to watch the bar while I’m gone.’
He did.
She arrived.
Blonde. Tattoos.
Thin. Smile.
Blue jeans a belt that said: Slayer!
Said our goodbyes. She told Aquinas not to be long. We all had another shot and got going. On the way to the car, I asked: ‘Why they call it The Fringe?’
‘What else would call something half way between Heaven and Hell?’ I shrugged. When he saw the car, he said: ‘Nice.’
I asked: ‘You American?’
‘Fuck you.’
‘Well…’
‘Canadian.’
‘Oh right.’
He took the passenger seat. Blue jeans. Brown shoes, said: ‘I can’t believe I’m in the Astra.’
‘Believe it, baby.’
Chris asked: ‘Do you know anything about our women?’
He turned around. ‘The Prophecy says one of you guys are gonna meet your loved one here. That’s all I know.’
Jennings asked: ‘Which one?’
‘Are you fucking deaf?’
‘In Hell? Asked Chris.
‘Yeah, look, I didn’t write the prophecy, ok? Ring the publishing company if you got a problem.’
‘Just asking.’
‘I’m just tellin.’
‘Alright for you,’ said Jennings. ‘Your bird is back over there.’
Aquinas turned around, stared at him, spoke a telepathic thousand words of agony, then turned to me. ‘Let’s go.’
We did. Drove. Aquinas got excited when we hit fifth. Couldn’t believe it. It still took a while. We mostly drank Jameson and listened to Kings of Leon. He said it was safe to vary the music here. We took his word. Asked me more about Nola. How she looked. If she talked about him. He seemed dis-appointed when I told him she didn’t tell me that much. I asked: ‘How’d you meet her?’
‘Motorbike accident. She came to save me because it wasn’t my time to die. We hit it off from there.’
He took a hit. Either side was black now and barren. The road was thin, only long enough for a single vehicle. All the trees were dead and grey. Everything was ash. There were no stars in the sky. No moon. But the lights were strong and led the way. Chris and Jennings were engrossed in the files in the back. They were reading everything using a torch. Chris asked: ‘What comes after Hell, Aquinas?’
‘My job ends there. So I don’t know.’
‘What’s a Chamber?’
‘You’ll see.’
Got a smell of smoke, like burning rubber. I looked at Aquinas. He said: ‘Means we’re close.’
We were. Passed out a rusted old sign that said: ‘Hell – Next Left. No Waterboys Allowed.’
It was a ninety degree turn into the smoked boggy barren nothing. We found another big sign that said: ‘Sin Will Set You free.’
The car struggled a bit. Wheezed a lot. We were silent as we made the approach to the gate. There, a fat guy eating a chicken drumstick, the scrapings of a Snackbox. Warts on his eyes. Belly hanging down. A big locked gate behind him. He was at a table that was like a podium a politician would use for speaking to the public. He left the food down, spat when he shouted: ‘Move that hapye of shite!’
Aquinas said: ‘Open the gate.’
‘Fuck off. Who are you?’
‘Satan’s first cousin.’
‘My knob.’
He took another bit of chicken. Scratched his crotch.
Aquinas said. ‘I am.’
‘Which one?’
‘I was at the Christmas party last year.’
He considered. Ate, then: ‘Was it you raped them two fat birds?’
‘That was me, yeah.’
‘You look different.’
‘Lost weight.’
More chicken. He was the kinda pig you couldn’t push. Had to be his idea. Terrible acne on his neck. ‘What are ye doin in there?’
‘We’re lookin for a site to set up a McDonalds.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Yeah.’
He took up the keys, wobbled, wheezed. ‘Why the fuck didn’t ya say so?’
We drove through. He shouted after us: ‘I want free burgers for this now!’
Going through the mouth of an enormous cave, I said: ‘Two fat birds, eh?’
He gave me a look, all sarcasm: ‘What the fuck do you think?’
The dominant colours were a mixture of red and black. Caverns either side with lots of fires going on. A smell like burnt fur. The path was narrow and I drove easy. The air got stale. We kept the music playing. Soon we turned a corner. An expanse of land and smoke. Massive craters as far as the eye could see. Something flashed. It was a big yellow neon sign with an arrow pointing to the left. HOUSE OF VICE!
So we followed that.
******************
It was a big country house. Broken windows.. Old door hanging off. Stone. Inside was cold with old torn furniture but there was a light at the end of the corridor. Smell of rotten wood and decay and bad breath and stale medication. Aquinas led the way. Tall shoulders. Bottle of Jameson. We crept. Chris behind me. Jennings last. There was the sound of women laughing seductively.
We got to the door. Opened it slowly. Candlelight. There was a guy on his own. He was tied to a chair in chains. On his knees was a laptop and that’s where the sound of women was coming from. He was staring at the screen, battling against the chains, tryna break free. He looked up at us with crazed eyes. Four random nobodies and a bottle of whisky. He hissed: ‘Releases me!’
His eyes were black and burned with desperation. Tracksuit runners. The women laughed more, then the sound of moaning and intense sexual pleasure. I asked him who he was.
He frowned: ‘Irish?’ He looked at the walls. Our shadows danced with the candlelight. ‘And you have form, shadows, you’re not dead?’
His accent was Munster. Kerry maybe. I said no. Then asked: ‘Why you tied up?’
‘Can I have a drink?’
We filled him a cap full. He relished it. Asked for another, then Aquinas said that was enough. On the computer was every sort of naked position imaginable. He explained his predicament. Throughout his life he’d been addicted to porn. Refused to give it up. Locked himself into a room and left it running all day, choosing to pleasure himself and deny the world. One day an angel came, in the form of a woman, and tried to persuade him to stop. Said a chaste way of life is the surest road to Heaven and purity. And for a while he said he would, and for a while he didn’t go near it, but soon he succumbed again and the angel left him and he became bitter and turned against all things Holy.
Aquinas said: ‘You could still ask for redemption.’
He shook his head, like an animal with terrible fleas that cannot be scratched away. ‘It’s too late. This is it for me. There are days I pray for death as if it would be a sweet relief.’
Said his name was Frank, Chris walked round behind him, took a look at the screen, asked: ‘That Tube 8 is it?’
‘No, somethin different, I don’t where they got it.’
He pointed. ‘Hang on, there’s an address here….W.W.W…..
Aquinas sighed. ‘Time to go, guys.’
Jennings said: ‘There’s a key here.’
Frank looked up. ‘Where?!’
Jennings picked it up. ‘Here.’
Aquinas said: ‘We don’t have time for this. It’s not our job…’
Chris said ‘Fuck it, sure try the key anyway, he’s in a bad state, like.’
‘Why are you still talking about this, release me! You must be the Saviours, looking for The Bambino, it’s all clear now, if there’s a decent bone in your body, use it!’
I took the key off Jennings. Aquinas sighed. Drank whisky. The key opened the locks and Frank jumped up elated and let his arms fly around, shouting: ‘Fuckin great, that’s fuckin great! Ye are the saviours indeed. Do you know how long it’s been…?’
Jennings said: ‘What the fuck do we do with him now?’
‘I’m coming with ye,’ said Frank.’
Aquinas said: ‘No. No way.’
‘But…’ Said Chris.
‘Do you want to find your fuckin women or not!’
That kinda got us all to attention. He went on. ‘Then shut up and follow me. My friend, Frank, whatever your name is, I’m sorry but you need to go somewhere else.’
The women on the computer giggled. A shadow came across Frank’s eyes. He looked at the ground. The elation fell away from his face and he went pale. His hands shook and his frame seemed to bend like he was rapidly ageing. The giggle came again and then the moan. He said: ‘…maybe I could… just….’
He walked to the computer, like he was in a trance, not in control. Picked it up and stared and his eyes came wide and his mouth watered and the blue reflection shone bright against his pale features. Then again, unable to resist, he went to touch himself, but as soon as he got within thirty centimetres there was an almighty flash and suddenly he was in flames. He screamed, dropped the computer with a smash and began to run around the room, throwing himself against the wall, rolling around the ground. The agony pierced our ears with such acuity that we ran for the door and pulled it shut behind us in a loud echoing clump.
‘See what I mean?’ Said Aquinas. ‘Listen to me next time, you idiots.’
Now again we were faced with a long corridor at the top was a t-junction. Not were we two minutes from the fate of Frank, with the stench of his flesh still haunting us, did we get to the room of addiction. A man from Clare was chained to a wall with a terrible thirst and the illusions of whisky and Guinness floated about his head, and every time he tried to touch them with his tongue they disappeared. And he gasped and choked and coughed and screamed, and yet each time they disappeared, always when his anticipation was highest. He was an alcoholic he told us. Doomed to stay here and always be on the verge of feeding his vice, and robbed at the last second. We told him to maybe repent and deny himself the indulgence, but no, we were mad, he wouldn’t listen and then he saw the whisky in Aquinas’ hand and he went wild. ‘You thieves, you animals, you dirty rotten bastards, what God, what Satan, what Evil tempts me as you do now!’
Chris said ‘Sure we might as well give him a drop.’
I said: ‘Shtop.’
‘What?’
‘Aragh go on.’
Aquinas said: ‘For three saviours, you guys sure are fuckin stupid.’
None of us said anything. We moved on and the Clare man, his name was Damien, screamed at us with such agony and lament that it was hard to walk and not turn to ease his torment somehow.
And then there was Brian in the next room. And Brian sat at a table faced with a mountain of white powder in front of him. And he had a razor blade and he chopped ferociously and organised neat lines for himself. But when he rolled his ten euro note and went to snort it up his nose, the cocaine disappeared ahead of his attempt and he was left sniffing thin air. And once again he would begin to chop and chop and chop and once again it would simply evaporate. He was an offaly man and he treated us with contempt. Said The Bambino was a myth and we would surely perish here. He was a dealer in the past life. Destroyed many lives. Made enormous money until he fell victim to his own drug and now he was here, like this, for eternity, refusing to repent.
And after that we met Larry and Larry was surrounded by women, the kinda women you have to pay for. And Larry was from Roscommon but when he went to touch these ladies they laughed at him. And they said: ‘More money Larry.’ And he had a suitcase of notes. And the supply was endless. And every time they asked for more, he’d pull it out. Ten thousand, one hundred thousand, a million and then they’d laugh some more and say: ‘More money, Larry.’ And Larry’s hair was blond. And it was thick and his eyes were a piercing blue and he was old, maybe forty five, and his clothes were worn. His shoes were colourful, like bowling shoes. One of the women said: ‘Ok, Larry, let’s go.’ And he got delighted, and threw the suitcase away and went to touch her but she disappeared immediately and he screamed like a man with his foot caught in the clamp of a violent snare. And then more women appeared and approached him and he gave them cash and they said: ‘More money, Larry.’ And then they giggled some more. He took enough time to tell us he was a builder. And had three hundred and thirty three houses built just outside Boyle. And the money he had was so much he didn’t know how to spend it. So he went to hookers and they treated him in life as they do now. Except he doesn’t get to possess them at the end.
Aquinas drank, said: ‘Gentlemen, it’s time to leave.’
We said goodbye. And there were so many more. Men that were locked in rooms of food and forced to eat and eat and eat. We even went through a bookies. Lots of men stood watching the screens, screaming at the race. They were agitated, delighted, in fervour, until their jockey fell just before the finish line and they all lost. This was their punishment, said a man called Dave. ‘We stay here and gamble…and never win….every horse we bet on will always lose. It’s because we threw away our fortunes in life. Destroyed our families. The only way out is to guess the exact outcome of the race. Seven horses and we have to know what order all seven will pass the finish line.’
‘That’s like tryin to guess the Lotto numbers,’ Said Jennings.
Dave rolled his eyes. ‘Don’t talk to me about the Lotto. Worsht haype of shite.’
He wanted to know about people from Ballinrobe. Was Rabbittes still open? And did the Mart still go ahead on Wednesday. I gave some outlines on the changes and he frowned and got a little quiet. Then a new race was announced and he began to sweat and get agitated, one eye behind us all the time. So we shook hands and left him at it. I figured he’d have forgotten about us before the door fell closed. The telly screamed. ‘….And they’re off....!’
******
The corridors stink of wet ash and sour milk. Aquinas leads us. We all take turns on the whisky. Tastes good, liquid fire. Confidence. Rasped. Got out of the House of Vice.
Astra sat waiting. Covered in shite. Dents on the side. Jennings said: ‘She could do with a wash at some stage.’
None of us said anything, just sat in. Hit the Heroes and got going across the black mass. The car heaved and bumped. Sound of a solid engine. The ground went from marshy like bog to black cement like rubble. Opened the window and there was a smell of rotten eggs, like someone let off a stinkbomb. The sound of agonised screams in the distance. Grey distance smoke. Then it began to rain thick ash. The wipers did the job at first but then it got so bad we could hardly see.
Drove slow. Used the window washer. Got us through, but slowed us down. The flakes of ash were thick, like we were in the aftermath of a volcano. The lights were strong and gave us enough leverage to see. After a while it simmered to calm flakes and we picked up some speed.
Everything went fine then til we got the flat tyre. There an almighty bang and we all shouted: Fuck! At the same time.
Got out. Standing in Hell. Weird vibe. It was a blowout. Rim all warped. Fuck it. Jennings asked: ‘We got a spare?’
‘Let’s check.’
Tom had done a good job. Spare wheel. Torch. Jack.
Got the gig going.
Hard with the soggy marsh.
Gained height.
Jennings held the screws. Chris went for a walk.
Aquinas helped me.
Clunk. She fitted on. Aquinas asked: ‘How the fuck do you get a blowout in Hell?’
Chris came back, said: ‘Think I know.’
He’d found a door. Horizontal. The handle sticking out. We musta hit it. Jennings bent down, all aches. Pulled it up. A waft of trapped air flooded out. Then a dim light at the bottom. We looked into it for a while. Knowing what was needed to be done, wondering whose idea it was gonna be. Decided all four of us would go.
Locked the Astra. Got a spare torch. Aquinas led the way. It was the door to an underground tunnel, like a coal mine. Stale air like a cave. Claustrophobic wet dream.
We heard a sound, like a marble dropping. It came from behind. We turned around. A perfect circle in the wall. The sound again, tick, small bounce., click click. We debated. We’d have to go on all fours to crawl through. It was dark. One torch. The sound again, then a muffled moan. Jennings said: ‘Someone might be trapped in there.’
‘Yeah, Satan.’ Said Chris. ‘Leave the fucker where he is.’
‘I figure two of us go for it. Two stay here.’ Said Aquinas.
Sounded good. Decided on me and Jennings. I went first. Brought the torch. The sound again. Tick, tick. Bounce. There was just enough space to fit through and crawl. No head room. The torch started to dim. Had to hit it to get the full beam back. Smell like cat piss and rain on garbage. Jennings shuffling behind. Not too sure how we’d get out if this was a dead end. Fuck it, kept going. The sound got louder. Passed out some skulls. Tried not to think about it.
It was a room at the end.
The origin of the intrigue.
She had black hair. Pale. Intense blue eyes. A button in her hand. She looked at me like I was a lost tourist gonna ask her for directions. I knew who she was right away.. Scrambled onto the ground and stood up. The torch went dim again. She muttered something, low. The button fell out of her hand and she freaked. Scrambled to find it. Scraped her hands all around the ground, expert, patting the dust, checking the corners. Impossibly thin. Her blue jeans were dirty. Her black cardigan worn. She found it, caressed it. Held it like a nugget of gold. Gave me a look of suspicion. Then Jennings materialized and something changed in her look. He brushed himself down, asked me: ‘What’s the story?’
He looked over before I had a chance to answer. I shone the torch in her face. I thought he was gonna drop dead.
It went on like that. Choked sounds. Disbelief. Three people in a room at the pit of Hell. The torch batteries dying. She said: ‘Kurt.’
He said: ‘Kohlia.’
I said: ‘We better get goin outta here ta fuck.’
They hugged. They meant it. Gave each other much needed life. Tears on both sides. Affection. Emotions roaring back. Confusion. She showed him the button. He tried to understand. Brushed back her hair. She was older now but still small, maybe up to his chin. She looked at me. Back to him. There was too much to say so nothing was said at all. I started making my way back and they followed. It was an easier journey with a good result. We got out the other side and the guys stood waiting. I gave them a brief outline before the other two made it out.
They were astounded.
Relief.
All that.
Then we all got went up to the top to sit in the car and talk about what the fuck was happening.
She looked around in fear. Hadn’t been outside for a long time. Held that button. Smell of eggs again. The Astra sat waiting, coated in that pale ash. Some of it had corroded the paint work and the exhaust looked like it was loose. Jennings held Kohlia as we walked. She kept her head against his chest. She had no shoes and her small feet was cut on some sharp burnt scrub.
Sat in the back. Her voice was soft. She gave us the highlights.
Studied to become a teacher herself. Almost made it. Never quite got over Jennings. Became to afraid to return to him. Knowing denial would destroy her. Became obsessed with Maths and Maths problems. Calculus. Trigonometry. The infinity of numbers. The logic of the world. Then meditation and the connection with numbers and the mind, and thought processes. And then obsession and neurology. The physiological make up of the mental state. Spirituality. The afterworld. One day it all came down around her ears. She was studying art, and it’s psychoanalytic motivations, and then disorders in the non-artistic mind, and the instance of apparent torment in great religious artists. A mathematical world without a human influence. Then music. The connection between it all. She heard Heroes De Silencio and something happened, a chasm opened up somewhere in her cerebral cortex and she ended up in St. Mary’s.’
Jennings asked: ‘What year?’
She told him. He said: ‘I’d just left. Fuck!’
She went on. She heard about the roundabout there. And the afterworld. And how Jennings had been looking for her. Soon’s she got released she went to the Headford road and waited for a silver car to come round at high speed.
We were all mesmerized. ‘What happened?’ Asked Chris.
Cracked voice and dreamy and uncertain. ‘It was a drunk American driver. I woke up in that room. There was a note saying: Now you wait. And then everything went dark.’
She looked down at her hand. Aquinas asked: ‘What’s with the button?’
‘That’s all that kept me sane. First I prayed, but I felt like no one could hear. Then I screamed and it was worse. In the end, I took a button off my shirt and I threw it up in the air, and when it landed, my test was to find it. When I did, I’d throw it lose it again, and that’s how I passed the time.’
Silence. Jennings rubbed her face.
I looked out through the windscreen at the black Hell and it’s never ending need for hatred. Asked Aquinas: ‘What now?’
He looked worried. Shifted a bit. Guitar chords. Dire Straits. Brothers in Arms.. He said: ‘We have to leave them here.’
There was a polluted silence. She said: ‘Excuse me….’
He explained. The prophecy stated the one that meets his lover here has to wait til The Bambino is re-united with her man. It’s a test of faith.
I said: ‘Where do they wait?’
‘In the hole. If we succeed, Hell will dis-integrate and they’ll be able to walk out and into paradise.’
‘And if we don’t?
‘They’ll be trapped under a sea of Angels blood.’
We let that sink in.
Chris asked: ‘Fuck the prophecy. Let them come with us…’
‘They can, but it’s said if they disobey they’ll turn to stone after their first night sleep. They’ll be like statures but they’ll be conscious and…’
‘Stop!’ Said Kohlia. ‘That’s enough.’ She looked at Kurt. ‘Will you stay with me?’
‘Of course.’
‘Hold me?’
‘Naturally.’
‘Then we’re ok.’
It went on like that Brothers in Arms still playing. Guitar. Snare. Tranquillo. Contralto. We talked some more. Everyone agreed they should stay. Kohlia mostly. She didn’t mind as Jennings was there. Eventually Chris said: ‘Well, ye’ll need stuff for down there.’
We got out, opened the boot. Went through the gear from Paddy’s. Found a sleeping bag from Mary Monaghan. I thought she was mad at the time. Then some books. Kohlia shivered. Dark hair coming over her face. Thin as a rake. She held on to Jennings for support. We smoked, exhaling into the stagnant air. Chris found a torch from Paddy Farragher. A big square thing with a long life battery. My hands were shaking going through everything. Brought back memories. Melissa mostly. Stuff she told me about music and the soul. Stuff I didn’t’ get til now, til listening to Dire Straits in this fucked up nowhere, bout to send a guy into a bunker and his possible demise. He was more alive now at least, looking younger . All about protection. All business. It was like her presence was a rapid cure to a terrible cancer that had been eating him away.
Through these fields of destruction.
Baptisms of fire.
Everything was gathered.
Guitar. The breath of the past washing over us.
The weight of the future bearing down.
I loved Kohlia at that moment.
We all did.
We all felt it. An intense respect and desire to do things for her.
Walked over to the bunker. The door was still up, the hole like a mouth with no teeth. A loud rupture in the distance. A tremor on the ground. An evil dragons irate dream. She turned to me and somehow let me know that she knew everything. That her mind was working a million times faster than all of ours. Her hair was in knots as she fell against my neck and hugged me with frail arms and dug her nails for a second into a space behind my right ear and said: ‘Thank you.’
She stood back. Chris went towards Jennings and they hugged for a second. Chris said: ‘Mind yourself.’ And Aquinas offered him a whisky and he said no, he wouldn’t need that any more. Then Jennings turned to me. And said: ‘I’ve nothin to say to you that you don’t already know.’
He sounded like a teacher. The prick. I let it slide.
And he walked to Kohlia and together they threw the supplies into the hole then made the descent. Her first, patient, resigned, him after, making sure he wasn’t gonna stand on her head. When he was down a bit he caught a hold of the door and looked at us, said: ‘Lads.’
And then pulled it down and it fell with a grinding clump.
And then there were three.
*************
‘Fuck these goodbyes.’ Said Chris. We drove away. Thought a lot. Wondering what to expect. Aquinas said: ‘Look to the future. That’s what we need to think about.’ So we did. More of that smell. Still no stars. Car kinda pulled to the right a bit, figured it was the warped rim. Put on some Rolling Stones – Anybody seen my Baby. We hit a bump. Big heave. Astra going through a lot, but well able for it. Chris asked: ‘I wonder is your man still on fire?’ ‘Dunno. Probably.’ Aquinas took a drink. ‘Not our problem.’ ‘So what now?’ ‘See what comes against us.’ I said: ‘Hey, didn’t Nola not say that Kohlia was there in Limbo a while back?’ ‘Yeah!’ Said Chris. ‘That’d be Nola.’ Said Aquinas. ‘Why?’ ‘Cos Jennings needed hope. He wouldn’t have continued otherwise.’ ‘How do you know?’ ‘Cos I know Nola. And if she did that, she was worried. And if she’s worried, things are bad.’ Chris said: ‘It fairly copped him on alright.’ ‘He was gone to fuck there at one stage.’ ‘Shtop.’ Aquinas said: ‘He was bad enough when I met first him, and that’s after he found out she was close.’ I said: ‘He was a mess child there for a while.’ Another sign. We braked. Boggy marsh. Skid. Sign said: THE HOUSE OF IRISH POLITICIANS. Decided to check it out. Pulled the Astra up outside. Same kinda gig. Worn down country estate. A wrecked golf course outside. Got in. Plush. Leather couches. Candle light. Air of a hotel. A group sitting around a long rectangular table. Fella at the top. Chins. Suit. Constipated look. He was talking: ‘Ok…how many died today due to lack of proper hospitals….?’ An over weight number beside him said: ‘Ten.’ She was in a dress made for an elephant and it was still too small. He answered. ‘Great. Average cost of each to the state at two million. That’s twenty million saved.’ She spoke again. ‘And don’t forget the alcoholics, sir.’ ‘The who?’ ‘Well, we don’t treat them properly, cos they can’t handle their drink.’ He frowned. ‘What’s an alcoholic again?’ She explained. He shifted, said: ‘Oh right. Well that’s obviously positive. How much did we save there?’ ‘A billion.’ ‘Great. So how much do we have now?’ ‘Well, all savings considered, it’s twenty billion altogether but….’ ‘But?’ ‘There’s helicopter expenses. Everyone here uses a chopper each time they need to go to the toilet.’ ‘Oh right.’ ‘And then there’s the Champagne for breakfast.’ ‘Yeah, well that’s necessary.’ ‘And the limousines to bring the kids to school.’ ‘That’s fair enough.’ ‘And the price of us all staying First Class in this hotel.’ ‘Right.’ ‘So that leaves us with about a billion.’ ‘A fucking billion!’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Right, close a hospital somewhere. I don’t care where, somewhere in the West, no one cares about them anyway.. Increase the taxes. Cut the welfare. We can’t run a house like this.’ ‘Yes, sir.’ ‘And cut the money in education too. That’s a waste.’ A meek voice in the background said: ‘We ought to think about an election too, sir. After all, you don’t have the mandate of the people. You need to be democratically elected for that.’ The chins wobbled. He looked around. Pressed a button. The guy pulled a scared face, then self-combusted into dust. The leader turned around: ‘Anything else?’ The dumbo said: ‘No, cept for we’re in Hell.’ ‘Oh yeah, how much to get out of here?’ ‘We’re in negotiations with the Devil now but we think if we can revert the State to the condition of a third world country, the savings should be enough to have us out in a about a million years.’ ‘What about the citizens?’ She frowned: ‘The who?’ He waved his hand. ‘Doesn’t matter.’ Pause. ‘Great. Where’s my helicopter? I need a shit.’ We kept going. Walked down a corridor.. Smell of polish. Yellow walls. Patterns on the red carpet floor. Found a room that said Ulster. There was an old guy inside. Grey hair. Big teeth. Stooped. He was in agony. He looked at us, asked: ‘Where did ye come from?’ We gave him some details. He asked: ‘Is Ireland united yet?’ ‘No. Why?’ ‘I’m left here to suffer til it’s whole again.’ ‘Why’s that?’ ‘I dedicated my life to a lie. A theft of land. I always knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t let it go. Such was the worm of hatred inside me.’ ‘And why are you here?’ ‘Only when the lie is reversed. When the country is unified, as it should be, will I be allowed my true penance. This is only the beginning.’ Chris asked: ‘Why didn’t you just tell the truth when you knew?’ ‘The weight of history is heavy. That’s what I carry on my back now. I stood on the shoulders of liars and shouted the loudest. I was proud, sure I would be immortal, but that’s how the dark one works. These days I curse the six counties and the pain they caused me. I curse the day I fought in Ulster. I hate the support and the lies I created. I see now what it is to fragment a country, to divide a people along the lines of false prophecy….but it’s too late.’ Chris said: ‘Sure we can tell them when we can back…’ He frowned. ‘If they believe you. Tell them my fate. Explain my predicament. Expose the deceit. Unite your country to it’s rightful state.’ We asked his name. He told us. I thought about the rectangular table we’d just left, said: ‘We’ll do our best.’ ‘Be gone. It hurts me to see youth. Vigour and hope - it stings my eyes and increases the weight on my back. Leave me be to suffer.’ Found an exit door. Got back to the Astra. Aquinas asked: ‘What’s the fucking deal with Ireland and your politicians and Ulster?’ Shoved her into second. ‘It’s a long story.’ Chris said: ‘It’s like your playing in a world class sport, and your opponent cheats and the referee knows but he doesn’t do anything about it and you lose the game. And then you have to watch the guys that won doing a victory dance for eight hundred years and singing they’re never gonna stop. And as much as you plead your case, and show everyone the action replays, and argue that you should have won, did in fact win, but your victory is unrecognised, the more they dance and rub it in your face. That’s how Southern people feel about Ulster.’ Aquinas took a drink, said: ‘Fuck.’ ‘Yeah. Fuck.’ Something in the distance. A bridge. We pulled up in front of it. It was just about wide enough. We stalled at the head over looking mighty lava pools glowing either side beneath a big gaping hole at the centre. It was the only way through. Chris asked: ‘…fuck do we do now?’ ‘We can’t turn around.’ No,’ said Aquinas. ‘that’s not an option.’ ‘There’s a big hole in the middle,’ I said. ‘I can see that.’ ‘Fuck it.’ Chris said: ‘Maybe if we drive fast enough…’ ‘I don’t know.’ ‘It’s our only choice.’ Aquinas took out the map. We all kinda leaned toward it. Found our spot. He said: ‘There’s an alternative route.’ ‘Where?’ ‘See.’ His finger pointed to a contour line a million miles east. I said: ‘What’s there?’ ‘I don’t know.’ ‘You don’t know?’ ‘Well I kinda know?’ ‘Well kinda fuckin tell us,’ said Chris. ‘Just go. We’re not gonna make that jump. It’s our only way round and we’re outta time.’ Spun her round and got going. He explained along the way. I didn’t know what to think. Just drove. For a second I thought I’d left Melissa’s letter back with Jennings, lost in the gear, then checked my pocket and found it there. Square and strong. Heave. Bump. Black earth and memories of good times.Thought back further to Dyane. How far it's all come. Not too sure bout what’s coming.
********
Lights in the distance. Parked the Astra a kilometre outside. Aquinas explained. ‘This is how they roll down here, right. You saw the guys with in the bookies, the guys with the coke and they guy with the hookers, yeah?’ ‘Yeah’ ‘So you’re getting the picture?’ ‘What it’s all about fears and shit?’ ‘Yeah…you’re close. This is the place where your fears come true. You don’t like dogs, there’s gonna see a lot of dogs. You hate spiders, television, the fuckin circus, it’s gonna be here.’ Chris said: ‘The circus?’ ‘Yeah, why?’ ‘Eva said somethin bout that before, she hates the fuckin circus.’ ‘Really?’ ‘Yeah, nightmares, clowns especially.’ We looked toward the lights. A big red tent. Figure that. Aquinas said: ‘Either way, we gotta go through and find the road out. That map says the exit’s on the other side but we don’t wanna drive in and not know where we’re goin. Don’t talk to anyone, make eye contact, anything like that, you understand?’ We told him we understood. Exterior. Hell. Freaky. Didn’t feel good leaving the car. Took a belt of Jameson to calm the nerves. Squidgy ground. Chris shivered, even though it wasn’t cold. Gave the bottle back to Aquinas. There was a clicking sound, like amplified tricycle wheels on rough ground. Then music. I asked: ‘Is that The Who?’ ‘Fuckin sounds like it.’ Said Chris. ‘Here?’ Aquinas said: ‘Baba O’Reily.’ The chords were kickin off. Low, reaching a crescendo. At least they had good taste. First we saw the guy doing the three card trick at the entrance. He was in a cap and waistcoat and jeans. ‘Where she goes nobody knows, round and round goes the Queen, twenty euro if she wants to be seen...’ There were people around him. Grotesque ghouls. Betting. Losing every time. A smell like horseshit. Cosmic lights in the background. Broken funfair rides. The smell of popcorn and candyfloss. A midget woman walked passed and she had no arms. The music was loud. A guy with a flame in his hand, drinking paraffin, getting ready to blow it into the air. Merry go round with a headless man at the ticket booth. The huge red tent at the end. Glitzy lights. Advertising a show. The headline was: ‘Satan and the Sexy Saviour girl….’ That’s where the music was coming from. Swimming across the air. We walked towards it. Packed Audience. All freaky types with painted faces. Some in leather. Others in suits. The benches ascended like stairs. Smell of grass. Big light. High roof. Lots of steel beams.. All surrounding an arena. Speakers, blasting out the tune. Suddenly the Ringmaster arrived. Coat tails. Top hat. Whip. We were curious bout that saviour part. It was all coming together. Then wham! An explosion at the back of my head.
Woke up tied to a chair. The mother and father of migraines. A clown stood over me. Face painted. Wiry red hair. The whole lot. He asked: ‘Awake?’ ‘Yeah, what the fuck…?’ ‘Don’t worry, we just want to talk.’ ‘Who?’ ‘We heard rumours the Astra was coming, but didn’t believe it, til now.’ ‘What Astra?’ ‘We’ve had spies waiting.’ ‘Oh right, so what now?’ ‘Your red haired girl is here.’ ‘Eva?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Here?’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘Doin what?’ He scratched his ass. Took a drink of water. Red lips. Yellow teeth. Fat. ‘Tied to a round wheel, but that’s not the point.’ ‘I’m afraid it is.’ ‘Shut up and listen.’ ‘Untie me.’ ‘No.’ ‘Where’s the guys?’ ‘Safe.’ ‘Where’s that?’ He got frustrated. Threw his water in my face. It was refreshing. I said: ‘Do that again.’ ‘Do you want to save this girl or not?’ ‘Of course.’ ‘Then you need to listen.’ ‘Go on.’ We were in a caravan. Low roof. Small tables. A picture on the wall of a man with a dog’s head. Smell like travel vomit. ‘We are Gypsies, but we are good people. Not knacks, or itinerants, or whatever else you want to call us. We want to be let back into Heaven and we are prepared to repent.’ ‘Good for you.’ ‘But if we rebel we’ll be locked away and destroyed, do you understand?’ ‘Yeah. Rebel against who again?’ ‘There’s some so twisted they’ll never rest til The Bambino is dead, but that’s not the Gypsy way, we’re all gettin painted with the same brush.’ ‘Oh right.’ ‘So we need you to tell your superiors we helped you when you get back.’ ‘By tying me up?’ ‘After that.’ ‘Right. Where’s the guys?’ ‘They’re being told the same thing in the next room. We need to know you’re on board.’ ‘We are. You’re good gypsies blah blah blah…’ ‘There’s more to it than that.’ ‘Go on then.’ He did. They weren’t all bad, but God refused to listen. Said they’d had their chance to repent and turned it down. They figured if they could get in touch with The Bambino everything would be alright cos her heart was open and she could forgive everything. Most of them thought the war was a flash in the pan, that it would all blow over. After all, they just went for a joyride. It was the breaking up of the Astra that made the rift permanent. There was a council here. A Gypsy council. But they were corrupt. Refused to believe that God is infinite, cannot be beaten. ‘Can a man take his shadow from the ground?’ He asked. ‘No.’ ‘His reflection from the mirror?’ ‘I never tried.’ ‘Well the attempt is similar to an assault on The Almighty.’ ‘Like throwing shtones at crows?’ ‘What?’ ‘Or an ashtray on a motorbike?’ ‘Excuse me?’ ‘You know? Pointless.’ ‘Whatever. I said: ‘How can I trust ye?’ ‘Cos we’ll deliver the girl to you.’ ‘Is the Astra safe?’ ‘Yes. It’s good to see it again. I thought it was in pieces.’ ‘Not far off at the moment.’ ‘Treat it well.’ ‘Unite me.’ He did. I hit him a box in the mouth. His face was soft, like a Christmas cake. Hurt my hand. He recoiled in horror. ‘What the fuck was that for?’ ‘Knockin me out. My head is fuckin killing me.’ He rubbed his chin. Thought. Then sullen, said: ‘Let’s get your friends.’
He had big clown shoes. They flapped when he walked. His ass was huge. His shoulders abnormally wide. We got outside. Traipsed to the next caravan. Thick air. Funfair music. Lights. Smell like a cat after getting his tail burnt in a fire. Got to the lads. Another two clowns telling them the same thing. Chris was still tied up. Telling your man he was gonna break his head when he got loose. Aquinas was calling his guy: ‘A complete Asshole and Retard…’ They untied them. Some initial animosity. A push. A shove. A threat. Then it cooled down. The other two added some elements to the story. The Gypsies had evolved into good people. They hated the carnival and all the three card tricks and the freaks but they were stuck. No one would give them the chance to repent. They wanted nothing more than to re-enter the normal divine state. They didn’t like robbing or violence or selling people cartons of milk instead of camcorders. They’d learned their lesson. They seemed genuine. They said the bad guys were just bad people that gave them all a bad name. It wasn’t their fault. This is what they wanted us to tell The Bambino. We needed more that that. They told us about Eva. She’d been here for a while. Her worst fear was clowns so they figured they’d torture her by setting up a circus. Chris loved that, made for the door, took a lot to hold him back. All the other fears had been set aside for her. She’d been kept as a prize until the saviours came. Like bait. The hole was put in the bridge deliberately so we’d have to come through here. Chris asked: ‘And what’s gonna happen to her?’ ‘The Ringmaster is sick of waiting. Tonight she gets tied to the wheel.’ ‘What the fuck is that?’ ‘They stick balloons beside her and spin the wheel around. The object is not to burst any so they have to aim the knives at her body.’
That was enough. We made a gameplan. The clowns took off their gear. They looked normal. Strong. Agile. My guy was called: Patsy. I looked at him, he said: ‘They made me wear that shit to freak her out, I didn’t fuckin enjoy it.’ I said: ‘Oh right.’ He hit me a box on the mouth, said: ‘Now we’re even.’ It hurt like fuck. Bottom teeth throbbed. Stars. Even sounded grand to me. Now. Maps on a table. The other two took off their clown gear aswell. Big fuckers. Wiry. The Carnival was a round structure. We had come in at the side entrance. The gateway to The Highway was North. The Astra was where we left it, they didn’t have the keys, so they just covered it with some circus tent. Plan was to save Eva before she was wheeled into the arena. Break into the dressing room and pull her out. The tricky part was driving back through. If we made it, we’d know the highway by a pale yellow light in the distance. That was the door. Once we saw it, hit fifth and we’ll get right through. After that, who knows. Easy. They gave us baseball bats. Exterior. Smell like slurry. Patsy led the way to the tent. Got a few looks from a group of drinking midgets around a barrel of fire. They didn’t say anything. There, same show going on. The Ringmaster was saying: ‘….and now for the event of the night….’ Everyone was getting excited. Drooling. Clapping. Standing up. Fists to the sky. Lot of adrenalin in the air, lot of aggression. A mob mentality, like an underground boxing match. Rumble, tumble, rumble. Patsy turned, pale green eyes. ‘We’re just on time.’ The bat felt good, like a true weapon. The Ringmaster took out his selection of knives. ‘….how many people here want to see a blood show…!!!!’ They all went nuts. Screaming. The ground was shaking. Thought the benches were gonna break in half. Lots of jostling. We got to the far exit, the one behind the Arena. Found another tent. Patsy looked in, turned and said: ‘She’s in there.’ Chris got excited. Patsy held him back. ‘Wait.’ I took a look in. She appeared the same. A little tired. A little scared at maybe being the major attraction in Satan’s circus. Clowns all around her, taunting her, dancing, touching her face. They had her in a golden short dress and they started tying her wrists to the wheel. Then we heard: ‘Lost gentlemen?’ We all turned. There was a gang of them. Dwarves. Fellas with three arms. Punk rocker types in wheel chairs. White light in the background giving their outlines, bizarre sight in the night. The crowd were roaring inside. We were caught. It all kicked off. The details are violent. Crunching sounds. Screaming. We held our own. Aquinas did the battle of two men. Patsy manage the strength of four. Enough for me and Chris to try and get Eva. More fighting in there. Messy. There were four clowns. Angry fuckers. Strong.. The bats bounced of their padding, but belts to the head was enough to knock them out. Eva couldn’t believe we were here. Small reunion. All that. We took her down. Chris carried her. The knife came through the air like a whizzing arrow. Caught her in the lower back. She screamed. A real thick dagger. It was the Ringmaster, on his way through to tell them to hurry up. Fuck. Patsy arrived from outside. Saw what happened, said: ‘Run! Get her out of here!’ Aquinas was still outside flakin. We roared at him to come on. Eva was unconscious. Chris panting with anxiety and rage. Aquinas looked. Read the situation. We all ran towards the car. Loud steps. Drumming chest. Tore of the tent covering and unlocked it. Looked back. A flood of them coming for us. Axes. Pitchforks. The glitzy funfair behind them. Opened the door and placed Eva lightly in the back seat. Aquinas ran around to the other side, said: ‘Let me treat her.’ I started her up. One of them was close enough to throw a stone and break the back window. It came in with an almighty smash and something like a small sonic boom. Shards of glass scattered everywhere. Put her in reverse, got a good stretch back, then floored it. High speed, went through them like a bullet going through butter. Hitting them was like a heavy rain shower. Getting ready for fifth. Passed out the tent and saw them hacking Patsy to pieces. Cuntish. Fourth gear when I saw the pale yellow flame in the distance. Wind coming in the broken window. Aquinas trying to convince Chris not to pull out the dagger. Said it was the only thing keeping her intact. I looked back. She was pale. Kinda blue. They were brushing pieces glass from her bright red hair. Chris was sobbing, rage now, then despair, then tears, then more rage. How are we fixed now? Fifth.
******
The pale yellow light was the sun. It was so far away that it looked small. We drove on, and on. 186,000 miles a second. The orb got bigger. Aquinas explained to Chris. It’s an evil dagger. There’s poison inside her. If we take it out, the air will meet the toxin and she’ll age a thousand years then dis-integrate. If we leave it in, it won’t have a chance to spread and there’s hope. ‘What fuckin hope?’ Asked Chris. ‘Look at her!’ ‘If we can make it through the sun, and bathe her in the divine water, then maybe.’ ‘Maybe what?! Fuckin cunt of a fuckin circus!’ An ascent began in the ground. First gradual, then up and up. Near vertical. The road got smooth, like Hell was falling away behind us. ‘Get ready to hit the Flux.’ Said Aquinas. I looked back. Eva still pale blue. Chris brushing her hair behind her ears. Smudge of blood on her neckline. Thought about Patsy.. Harsh deal for him. My adrenalin still going from the fight. Feeling live, ready to attack. Legs shaking. The road got higher. The sun getting bigger. Soon it was all we could see. A great blinding white nowhere. My eyes hurt and everything started to sizzle. Tom had told me the car could withstand the heat, but I wasn’t too sure. The wheel got hot, realised we forgot tunes. Hit Random – It came up with Red Hot Chilli Peppers, Snow. Irony dot com. Suddenly the road ended. There was a dip and the car lost friction we were sailing in the middle of nothing and then we began to fall. Down. White like white paper. White like white hot burning steel. White like the moon through a powerful telescope. Then yellow, and melting waves of fire. Roaring up, then down, lashing off the car, leaving black scars on the exterior, creating little fires on the bonnet. Sweating. Aquinas shouted: ‘Hit it.’ My thumb searched. Caressed it for a second. Hesitated, then push. There it was. Lucidity. I don’t how long it went on for. We de-materialized. Like the speed of light, multiplied by the speed of light. We landed. Feeling re-born. Somehow different. Colours you’ve never seen. Drugs you’ve never taken
It was a garden. Trees. Lush grass. Car smoking but intact. Silence. A solitary deer staring at us with wild eyes. Chris was holding on to Eva. Aquinas was wide eyed and freaked out. Flowers. Leaves. Fruit on the branches. An oasis in the middle. ‘Get over there.’ Said Aquinas. The car was still running. It was incredible. We got to the water. Nursed Eva out. Somethin terrible was going on inside her. Limp arms. The wound was black and corrupt. Aquinas was good. Had the hands of experience. Said’ I used to be a medic in the army.’ The water was crystal. I drank some. Made me feel invisible. Clarity accentuated. Aquinas got a cup from the car, filled it, and let it drip on the wound. It hit it with a sizzle, then Eva moaned. Chris watched. Tried to help. Got pushed away. It was time to take out the knife. To touch it caused her agony. She murmured in a way that said: ‘Don’t.’ No choice. He took it by the handle. Strong grip. Her veins were blue. Black contours under her eyes. He tugged, hard as he could. It didn’t come. Chris said: ‘The fuck are ya doin!’ Aquinas got a stronger grip then yanked. It gave. He fell on his back with the dagger in his hand. Blood. Corruption leaked. He threw it in the pond and it disintegrated in dancing smoke. The colour came back into Eva’s cheeks. We picked her up and let her rest in the back of the car. Relief. It was time to see what this place was all about.
The grass was plush. Forest everywhere. Blue sky. More of those lakes. Lots of animals. Walked through the trees and the big leaves. Came across a big golden gate. Fella standing there. Feathered pen. White robe. Halo. Writing something. Made the approach, asked: ‘How’s things?’ He looked up startled, asked: ‘Who the hell are ye?’ Blue eyes. Grey lines of age. Black hair. We told him. He got a bit pale, asked: ‘And ye have the car, ye do?’ I shrugged, said: ‘She’s over there, yeah.’ He looked at Aquinas. Seemed to recognise him. Didn’t say anything. Left down the pen, stern, like an arrogant doctor, said: ‘Well we better go and take a look so..’ We did. He freaked. Asked: ‘What the fuck is this?’ His voice said he’d ordered a Chinese and we’d brought an Indian. I said: ‘The Astra.’ ‘That’s not the fuckin Astra!’ ‘It’s not?’ ‘The Astra was perfect! Clean, the best car ever made. This is a fuckin wreck. Did ye go off road with it or what?’ ‘Well we came through Hell.’ ‘Hell! Who the fuck told ye to do that?’ None of us could think of a proper answer. He looked in the back. ‘Who’s your one?’ ‘Eva.’ ‘Eva the…?’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘Why’s she unconscious? Is she bushted with sauce of what?’ We told him. He gave us a look that said: ‘Are ye for real?’ Black hair and Halo going. An awkward silence. ‘I can’t believe this.’ Chris asked: ‘What now?’ ‘Well ye’ve a pure shite made of the car for a shtart.’ ‘Have you a mechanic inside?’ He went for sarcasm. Mimicked: ‘Have ye a mechanic inside…what the fuck good is a mechanic now?’ Aquinas said: ‘Maybe you ought to relax.’ He reeled round: ‘You’re on thin enough fuckin ice as it is, sonny. Keep your trap shut.’ Aquinas said: ‘I was just sayin…’ ‘And where’s the other fella, the teacher?’ We gave him a sketch. Head down. Rubbed his eyes. I said: ‘Look, all’s I know is Nola told us…’ ‘Nola?’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘What do you know about Nola?’ He looked at Aquinas. Aquinas said: ‘Oh…’ Chris asked: ‘We missin somethin?’ Peter said: ‘I’ll open the gates. How did ye get here?’ ‘Through the sun.’ I said. ‘And ye weren’t followed?’ ‘No.’ ‘Sure?’ ‘Well…yeah, I mean. We weren’t looking either.’ Resigned, he said: ‘Right….I have to fly over the wall cos the gates can only be opened from the inside.’ ‘Why’s that?’ ‘Cos it’s none of your fuckin business, that’s why.’ He took off walking. Through the trees. We sat in the car. Aquinas said: ‘Nola told me. That’s St. Peter. He guards the gate.’ ‘Right…’ ‘Bit of a prick.’ Said Chris. ‘He used to go out with Nola before I met her.’ We let that sink in. Then I said: ‘Oh yeah?’ ‘I don’t think he likes me.’ ‘D’ya think?’ Said Chris. ‘Fuck.’ We saw him come up through the trees, wings spread, then over the wall. ‘There’s always rumours that the dead are planning an assault. Mounting an army to attack Heaven by surprise. That’s why they keep the gate locked. It’s impossible to open it from the outside. If an evil spirit touches it, it dies.’ ‘Can’t they fly over?’ ‘No, they can fly, but not that high, only Peter can fly that high.’ Looked up, it was like trying to see the top of Everest. Peter disappeared into a scatter of clouds. I started the car and Eva woke up with: ‘Where am I?’ Chris looked down, asked: ‘Eva? You awake?’ Quiet voice. ‘Yeah….’ She sat up. Back to being beautiful. Rubbed her eyes. ‘I feel so weak.’ Chris said: ‘Fuckin clowns.’ ‘Corophobia.’ ‘What?’ ‘That’s what it’s called, Corophobia.’ She was cold. Still in the short dress. Aquinas gave her his jacket. She looked at him strangely. I introduced them. Said: ‘He saved your life.’ She leaned over, kissed him on the cheek. ‘Thank you.’ Chris took her by the shoulders. She wrapped herself around him. ‘I can’t believe you guys came to save me.’ ‘Sure we couldn’t leave ya there.’ She shuddered. ‘It was horrible.’ Aquinas asked: ‘How’s your back feel?’ ‘A little sore.’ ‘It’ll get better.’ She looked around. ‘Where are we?’ I looked out the window. ‘I’m not sure.’ ‘It’s the Garden of Eden.’ Said Aquinas. ‘Really?’ ‘I’m guessing so.’ There was a trembling on the ground. Figured it was the gates opening. Drove towards them. Path between the trees. A mist at the entrance. I thought about Dyane. She might be in here. Roaring water. A waterfall. Angels in the distance like floating planes. Peter landed in front of us. Impatient. Hand out. Follow me, hurry up, kinda thing. We cruised after him. He brought us to a cave by the waterfall. It was hollow. Wet. We parked. Got out. Smell like sea weed. Eva still shivered. Peter checked her out. Looked around, then at me. ‘Where’s your woman?’ I shrugged. ‘Here I hope.’ ‘Don’t we all.’ He stared at Aquinas again, then at the ground. He looked towards Chris: ‘Ok….I need your story. From the start. Everything.’ I asked: ‘Here?’ ‘No, there’s a bar we can go to..’ ‘What’s it called?’ ‘Elwoods. We leave the car here until we think of something to do with it.’ Chris asked: ‘What about The Bambino?’ ‘She’s busy right now.’ ‘What’s The Bambino?’ Asked Eva. Everyone looked at her. She asked: ‘What?’
***************
The pub was a light green coffee gig. Couple of angels drinking Cappuccino’s in the corner. Wicker chairs. Sparkling marble counter. Jukebox going. Credence Clear Water Revival singing Susie Q.
Peter ordered the round. The barman was in a white robe and wings. Young and blonde. He checked out Eva, then went about it. We took a table by the back. Eva said: ‘Can’t believe we’re in Heaven.’
Peter explained a few things. God was missing for a start. Went down to earth and never came back. He was supposed to meet Mary in Knock. But by the time he arrived, she’d already left, having decided not to appear cos she just wasn’t in the mood. Lots of people were sending up pissed off prayers but she didn’t care. Things were a little off kilter in Heaven at the moment.
The round came. Bit of tension between Peter and Aquinas. Peter eventually turned, asked: ‘So, tell me about Nola.’
We did. Limbo. The water. Everything. I put my hand to my shirt pocket and felt for Melissa’s letter. It was still there. Peter said: ‘Right…at least she’s safe.’
‘We don’t know if they survived the storm.’
Awkward silence. He said: ‘The dead know you made it across by now. If they were ever going to attack, it would be soon. It’s all gonna come to a head.’
Chris asked: ‘But if they can’t get in….’
‘I know.’ Said Peter. ‘But God’s not around. That makes us vulnerable.’
‘Where do you think he is?’ Asked Aquinas.
Peter looked at the ground. Then around at us. Took a sip of Guinness. I asked: ‘What?’
‘Tell me again how you heard about the Astra.’
‘Jennings heard about it. In a mental home. Bought it off…’
‘What mental home?’
‘St. Mary’s.’
‘You’re sure that’s what it was called?’
We told him it was.
He looked worried.
Then told us the story.
When Mary left for Knock she was in a strop. Didn’t like having to down there again, having already been there, she wanted to see a new place in the sun. She hated the rain and all those old Irish people coming up asking her for things. She hated Knock worse than Lourdes, except she preferred the wine in France. When she got to Earth she decided to just hang out, and maybe go to South America. She text God and told him she wasn’t going to appear unless she could go to Buenos Aries after. He refused. She threw a tantrum. He went down to sort it out. Brought a divine Sat/Nav with him. It got him as far as Galway, city, then he typed in St. Mary and it picked up the mental home. He got to the door, politely told them he was God and Looking for the Virgin mother and they promptly tackled him to the ground and locked him inside.
He’d been there ever since.
I asked: ‘How long ago’s that?’
‘Ten years.’
‘Ten years and no God!’
‘Yeah, but the dead don’t know. Otherwise they’d be a lot more aggressive.’
‘How you goin to get him out?’
‘We don’t know.’
Aquinas said: ‘He’s God, can’t he just blast his way out….?’
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘No, otherwise, don’t ya think he woulda fuckin done it.’
They stared for a few seconds. Aquinas let it go.
Peter went on. ‘Wars, Global warming, AIDS, we haven’t been able to do much without him.’
‘Jesus.’ Said Chris.
‘He’s a good leader, but not his father yet.’
‘Oh I was just saying Jesus, you know in, in surprise…’
‘Whatever, point is this. You’re here to re-unite the universe, but God isn’t here, so I don’t know how that’s goin to work out. And the Astra’s obviously fucked. We can’t show it to The Bambino like that.’
‘So what do we do’ I asked. ‘Just wait around?’
Credence Clear Water Revival were working on Proud Mary.
Peter said: ‘Yeah, til we figure somethin out.’
Eva was drinking white wine. She said: ‘I could do with some new clothes.’
Peter asked: ‘What did they do to you?’
She gave some outlines. It was mostly psychological torture.
‘Terrible.’ Said Peter. ‘But that’s what they do.’
I said: ‘We got a boot load of stuff too. For people here. Sent from Limbo.’
‘Did ye meet Johnny Kelly down there?’
Told him we did. He said: ‘Some man.’
Eva shivered. Chris asked: ‘Cold?’
‘Just really want a shower and try to forget that place.’
Peter said: ‘Right. I’ll get ye sorted out.’
We finished the pints and left.
Outside there was no sun but it was incredibly bright. Fruit trees
I walked ahead with Peter. There was a smell like honey.
He said: ‘The prophecy is not coming true.’
‘How d’ya mean?’
‘God should be here. The Astra should be perfect. Those in Limbo should be released by now.’
‘Maybe it takes time, there’s a lotta miles involved.’
‘No, it worries me.’
He looked to the sky. Tranquil sapphire. ‘Let’s meet with Gabriel.’
‘Who’s he?’
‘You’ll know when you see him.’
I went with him alone. We got to a large building. Looked like the acropolis. Tall pillars. Impossibly white. Smell like incense. Marble floor, could almost see your reflection in it. Fountains. Statues of angels. Statues of heroes. Mighty tall men with a shield in one hand, a sword in the other. Causalities from the last war, remembered here. There were sculptures of great large winged birds, the size of small planes. I felt oneness. Acceptance.
Ahead was a man on his knees. Sword beside him. Head to the floor in exaggerated genuflection. He didn’t hear us. Peter approached, cleared his throat. ‘Gabriel?’
He didn’t move for a second. Then arose gracefully. Took his sword and turned. He looked at me, then back at Peter, said: ‘Something has changed.’
Brown skin. Hazel eyes. Square jaw. Strength, like the sculptures behind us.
Peter told him who I was. He sized me up. Looked at my shoes. Then gave a scan all the way til our eyes met. There was no doubt he was Melissa’s son. He said: ‘You have somethin for me.’
I reached for the letter. Took it out and handed it to him. He accepted it lightly. Never breaking eye contact. ‘You haven’t met The Bambino yet?’
‘No.’
He looked at Peter. Peter said: ‘She’s not ready.’
‘I need to be alone.’
‘Of course.’
We left.
Peter explained. He was the commander of Heaven’s army. The protector. The greatest solider ever known. His prowess was legendary in Hell. They feared him the most. Ever since God has been absent, the presence of Gabriel has been a constant reassurance in the face of attack. He always led from the front. Always showed the most heart. And everything he did was inspired by the possibility that his mother may come to heaven one day, when the saviours arrived and liberated Limbo.
I said: ‘Oh right.’
After Lucifer became envious of the Astra, and fell from grace as God’s favorite disciple, Gabriel became the brightest star. Although Jesus was the true commander in Chief, there was no doubt Gabriel was the better soldier. Everyone acknowledged this, even Christ.
After Gabriel came a guy called Michael. He led the archers, made sure their aim was precise and their bows properly strung.
I said: ‘All this for a war that might never happen?’
‘Most of us, in our hearts, believe it’s inevitable. Some of us want it, just to get passed it, stop fearing the day. That’s what’s worse. The waiting.’
‘But how can we win without God?’
He looked at the ground, said: ‘I don’t know. Listen, we have to talk about The Bambino.’
‘Right.’
‘Dyane’s here.’
It gave me a jolt, I said: ‘Where?’
‘My place. But that’s not important. You have to think about this - The Bambino’s been workin through her, and Melissa, to show you the three states of consciousness.’
‘Melissa mentioned that alright.’
We walked. Calmed deer. Rabbits. A raccoon. Light and dreamy. De-material.
He went on.
Three states of aware. Like compartments in the mind.
The physical: Lust, sexual indulgence, the need to hold other things and people. First hand emotions of rage, love, despair, frustration. A feeling of entitlement to all things. (Dyane.)
Second: Desire. The appreciation of external things. Beauty. Truth. Charity. Altruism. An instinct of something higher and a devotion to it. (Melissa)
Third: The objective intellect. A domination of the first, a complete understanding of the second. The assimilation of minds. The dissolution of the body. To fear death, is to feed fear. We run to the first in hiding, the second in hope. Once we understand the third power, we are free and the road to heaven is open. Death is a transparent wolf. A short night. He asked: ‘Have you ever played chess?’
‘Once.’
‘Right. Lose?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Think about this. You look at the other guy’s pieces. His Queen is open. So you position your King to attack after his next move.’
‘Go on.’
‘What happens?’
‘I don’t know, tell me.’
‘Kings and Queens have free movement. If you can hit his, he can hit yours. So you just left your King open. He takes his move. Checkmate. Game over.’
‘Right.’
‘That’s the third state.. It’s a fluid condition of movement. A constant flux. The Queen doesn’t kill the King in the third state. It’s just a dynamic of eternal possibility. See the board in your mind. His move. My move. His move. My move. Can you feel it?’
‘Kinda.’
‘In the first state – Both opponents go for the kill. Roar towards it. Take it with pride. In the second, it’s the simple enjoyment of moving your piece across the board, across a prescribed set of rules and conditions, which are mathematically formulated, but nonetheless intriguing, enough to keep you wondering and searching. In the third you get a sense of accentuated clarity.. You see every move, understand every angle. You have no desire to win, your search for understanding is complete and all your conflicts melt, and you’re aware. My move, his move, my move, his move.’
My head was spinning. ‘What’s this got to do with Dyane?’
‘I’ll show you.’
*********
He brought me to his house. She was there. There were holy pictures on the wall. My heart was beating. She had no wings. Peter took out three bottles of beer. Hit some music. Heroes de Silencio – Opio. My move. Her move. She looked good. Youth. Hair like silk. Shoulder length. Curve. Black dress. Oval eyes. Green. I took a hit of beer. Tasted good. Like escape. Like more. She walked towards me. I was feeling possessive. Kissed me on the cheek. Smelled like candlewax. She said: ‘Hello.’ That voice. Disarmed. Shaking legs.. Said: ‘What’s the craic?’ Face coloured rose. She said: ‘You made it.’ ‘We did. It’s good to see ya.’ Peter said: ‘The Astra’s wrecked.’ She looked at him, then at me. ‘What happened?’ ‘We came through Hell. Looking for you.’ She looked at the ground. I asked: ‘How long you been here?’ ‘All along.’ ‘You weren’t hurt?’ ‘No. You?’ ‘No. What now?’ She looked at Peter. He looked at the fridge. I looked at her. In the eyes. Read the scenario. Felt hurt. She said: ‘Let’s go for a walk.’ We did. Brought the bottles. The trees in the forest were huge. The leaves the size of small cars. I took a swig, said: ‘I don’t know what to say.’ ‘I’m sorry we never got to say goodbye.’ ‘Yeah, it was fairly sudden. All for a plot.’ ‘That’s the thing.’ ‘What?’ She took my hand. She was different. Had crossed emotional deserts. New person. Only a hint of the old, but a hint was enough. Again, I wanted her. She said: ‘The whole plot thing. This is different.’ ‘Explain.’ She did. We were making new history. Everything was open. There was no formula. No happy ending. No author. What we did now, defined everything. A bird sang. I said: ‘Peter reckons the prophecy’s not coming true..’ ‘It was accurate until now, but that’s over.’ ‘When did you get with Peter?’ ‘It’s not what you think.’ ‘I think it is.’ ‘I got here. Confused. Nola had left him. God was missing. You were coming if the prophecy was true, but we didn’t know.’ A rabbit scurried past. A rumbling sound. I said: ‘So what now?’ ‘You’re here for The Bambino, Jack. You know that. You have to reach the third state. Me, Peter, nobody else matters. You can only do that with a pure heart. This is a test. Can you let it go?’ I took a drink. Swallowed hard. Said: ‘Fuck this anyway.’ ‘You can only achieve purity by truly losing everything. An absolute surrender. Then you grow strength from there.’ I looked at her. Shtop. She said: ‘I know what you’re thinking.’ ‘Then you’re thinking it too?’ ‘Yes. It’s natural. We had good times.’ ‘Too short.’ ‘There’s a bigger picture, Jack. Give me closure.’ Another rumbling sound. She looked around, said: ‘That’s the first time I heard that.’ I was looking at her chest. She caught me. Slapped me lightly. ‘Don’t be an asshole.’ ‘Sorry.’ ‘So we’re ok?’ ‘Not a lot I can fuckin do.’ ‘You’ll understand better soon. This is all new to you.’ ‘Is Anyone faithful in this fuckin novel?’ ‘It’s not a novel anymore, that’s what you have to get. It’s the future itself.’ ‘My move. Your move.’ ‘Exactly. Everything is open. Hovering. The dead are coming, they want to checkmate, I can feel it. We have to overcome ourselves before we fight them. That’s why we need to clear the air.’ I thought, said: ‘It’s clear.’ ‘Really?’ Took a drink. ‘Yeah.’ She kissed me. A world of memories. Made and once makeable. ‘Thank you.’ We walked back. I felt something. A layer peeled off me. An urgency. A power and a lightness of being. A teenage summer twilight. Asked her: ‘So when do I meet The Bambino?’ She turned sharply. Intense look. ‘We don’t know if God’s supposed to be here when you meet her. It could expose his absence if you do.’ ‘It might help bring him back.’ ‘Maybe.’ ‘Why can’t he get out of the mental home?’ ‘They’ve drugged him up. He assumed human shape. That’s what we think.’ ‘What kinda drugs?’ ‘Morphine.’ ‘Yeah?’ ‘It inoculates his powers. Keeps him sedated.’ ‘They use needles?’ ‘Yeah, Jesus went down, said he saw them injecting him. He couldn’t risk getting caught in there himself. Why?’ I told her bout the shower of syringes. She said: ‘Oh.’ We walked back to her house. She asked me about Melissa. I told her. She listened intensely. It was hard to talk about. I told her about Johnny Kelly and Paddy’s and Limbo. She absorbed it all. We held hands. It didn’t seem to matter. She asked about Jennings and I told her all about Hell and the different types of torture down there. Then I told her the story bout Kohlia and how they were still trapped in that place underneath. She said it was important that Eva was here. And that she and Chris were re-united. She wanted to know all about Aquinas. I obliged. She seemed to consent to everything I said. In the end I asked: ‘What happens to us all now? We expected something huge. A party. An explosion. Something. It’s like an anti-climax.’ She didn’t’ say anything for a while. Then: ‘I need to speak with Eva.’ Got back to Peter’s. He sized me up. Read that things were ok. We shook hands and left it at that. Dyane relayed information about the syringes and the rumbling in the ground. He frowned in thought, then said he needed to go and talk to Gabriel. Me and Dyane left alone. - Yeah, I know - She said: ‘Let’s go meet the others.’ Chris, Eva and Aquinas were back at an apartment above the pub. Narrow stairs. Smell like clean laundry. Got inside. Eva was in the shower. The other two talking. We sat around the table. Bright light coming through a small window. Did the intro thing. Everyone got comfortable. Dyane asked: ‘Where’s Eva?’ ‘Here.’ She came in from the shower. Wet red hair. Cleansed from Hell. Looking well. Chris brightened. Dyane told her she needed to borrow her for a while. She said: ‘Ok, let me just get my stuff.’ She went to get her stuff. Chris asked: ‘What do you want her for?’ ‘She’s been held hostage by evil clowns then driven from Hell in a wrecked car by you three guys. Maybe she needs some female company.’ We all kinda shrugged. Eva came back, kissed Chris with true affection, and left I explained the updates to the guys. The three states. The possibility of war. Gabriel and Michael. Aquinas got all Canadian, asked: ‘God is a Junkie?’ ‘I don’t know. Looks like it.’ Chris said: ‘That’s great news.’ ‘Not the besht.’ Aquinas said: ‘I’m worried about Nola.’ ‘I’d be worried too.’ Turned to Chris. ‘How you getting on with Eva?’ ‘Grand, yeah. She’s still a bit shook.’ ‘Yeah.’ Said Aquinas. ‘Let’s hope we never see those guys again. So what do we do now?’ ‘Wait.’ ‘What for?’ ‘Dunno.’ Pause. Chris said: ‘Pint?’
*****
Waterboys were playing - Strange Boat. Aquinas ordered the round, said: ‘Wonder how Jennings is getting on?’
‘Probably happy enough when he’s with your one.’ Said Chris.
‘You think it was God he met in St. Mary’s that time?’
The pints came. Guinness. Storm brewing inside the glass. I took a sip: ‘I’d say so.’
‘Wonder what he looked like?’
‘Should have asked him.’
Chris drank. ‘My oul fella was an alcoholic. Think he was in there once.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah. One day he drank a bottle of Rum and fell over. When he woke I asked him why he drank so much. He said cos everything happens in the pub. You want a job, you go to the pub. Hire a man for a day’s work, go to the pub. Make money, borrow money, socialize or celebrate, you need to go for a pint. If you don’t you’re outta the loop. That’s just the way it is.’
Aquinas shrugged. ‘I used to see a lot of that in my place.’
Chris gave him a look. ‘Thought you were busy keepin out the dead?’
‘I had a gig by the same name in real life.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah, then I had my accident and Nola came to save me.’
‘Shite. That’s right.’ Said Chris. ‘Peter was thick enough.’
‘He’s with Dyane now.’
They both looked. Chris said: ‘What?!’
I nodded.
‘Well I can’t talk.’ Said Aquinas.
‘Did you hit him a shlap?’ asked Chris.
‘No.’
‘Why the fuck not?!’
‘Just the way it is. He’s St. Peter for fuck’s sake.’
‘I don’t give a fuck, if he tried the case with Eva I’d kick his fuckin hole.’
‘I’d say you’re safe enough.’
Aquinas asked: ‘Must be good to see her, though?’
‘Yeah, it was. Cept for that.’
Chris kept going. ‘Well if I came all the way passed Hell, through all that shite….and then…’
I thought about The Bambino. Interrupted with: ‘Fuck it. It’s done.’
‘Eva enjoyed that shower.’ Said Aquinas.
‘Fuckin right.’ Said Chris. ‘Dirty clowns. I need to spend more time with her.’
‘Hopefully when she comes back.’
‘If St. Peter hasn’t fuckin…’
‘Aragh shtop. Are ye staying together now, or what?’
‘We haven’t had a chance to talk about it.’
‘Ye look good together.’ Said Aquinas.
‘First serious bird I’ve had in a long time. Lasht one was…’
‘What?’
‘She was a fuckin disaster.’
‘Why?’
‘What?’ asked Aquinas.
‘Aragh, she was ridin her boss and everythin…’
‘Yeah?’
‘We were supposed to get married, Hotel booked, Beef or Salmon, next thing…’
‘How’d ya catch her?’
‘One night she never came home. His wife caught them. Rang me and told me. I didn’t know who the fuck I was talkin to.’
‘That’s tough.’ Said Aquinas.
‘What ya do?’
‘Pulled out.’
‘What happened with the weddin?’
‘They rang up and I told them to FUCK OFF! Still took the deposit though.’
‘Cunts.’
The bar man was hurt by the word. Hunched his shoulders. Chris went on. ‘Oul fella died the same year.’
‘He died?’ Asked Aquinas.
‘Yeah, a month later. Dropped dead.’
‘Drink?’
‘Drink. Wife gone. Weddin fucked. Buried the oul fella in Bohermore. Great times.’
‘When was that?’
‘Bout five years ago. Went a bit wrong. Kinda comin right when I met you in Galway. Then all this shit happened.’
‘Where’s the ex now?’
‘The boss ran her after that. Said he had a wife and kids and he hadn’t a notion of stayin with her. Wife took him back. Don’t know where she went. Fuck her.’
Barman turned, asked: ‘Are you guys the Saviours?’
We told him we were. He said: ‘Oh.’
‘Thing is,’ Said Chris. ‘You’re with a woman right?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah, like, for a long time I’m there fuckin around, and you’re with these women and they’re like plain ham sandwiches….’
Aquinas spluttered. ‘What?!’
‘Yeah, fuckin ham sandwiches.’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t get it.’
‘Go on anyway.’
‘Yeah, plain, tasteless, take it or leave it. And then sometimes you meet someone, and there’s somethin there. Some kinda live current, she’s like a fuckin spicy Thai…jalopeno...fuckin whatever….you know what I mean?’
‘You guys are fuckin nuts.’ Said Aquinas.
He looked at me. ‘Yeah, think I get ya.’
People started to arrive. Point at us and whisper. Pink Floyd on the speakers. Comfortably Numb. Live version. Haunting crowd. Chris continued. ‘So I’d get back to these birds house, right. The usual. Here’s a couch. Here’s a drink. Here’s a bed. Have you got a fuckin…’ He looked around, reluctant to say it. ‘So you wake up in the morning and you leave. Bright. Traffic. Bored. By the time you get home, you’ve forgotten about her, right?’
We all took a drink.
‘Ham fuckin sandwiches! So then you meet these spicy Thai chicks, and it’s - Here’s a couch, here’s a drink, here’s a bed, then fuckin: - Wow! Ya know? Fuckin wow, you’re in the zone, and you don’t give a fuck…’
‘Hang on, they’re from Thailand?’ Asked Aquinas.
‘No you dumb cunt. It’s a metaphor.’
‘Right.’
‘Anyway, next day you’re walkin around, on the way home or whatever and you get these…echoes…and you know you’re on to something….that’s what happened with Eva. I’m five years fuckin around with these plain old one night stands and then I meet her and it’s a world of fuckin fireworks…
‘Nice.’
‘…And then she ends up getting kidnapped and brought to Hell…how bout my fuckin luck….’
We all took a drink. Talked more. An hour later, the place was packed. Angels wanting to know about their loved ones in Limbo and who else we’d met along the way. Some wings were larger than others. Depending on how long they’d been there. Every time someone turned around there was a collision of feathers and it made everyone kinda self-conscious. Soon there was no room left in the pub, with only half enough people to fill it.
They drank things like wine spritzers and West Coast Cooler and Cranberry juice. We explained everything. Passed on all the messages about land and relatives and dodgy car deals. John-joe Riley said he was going to tear the hole off Patsy Egan for bad mouthing him about the car cos it was in perfect condition when he sold it. We met Johnny Kelly’s son. A younger version of his father. Wiry. Eternally on the verge of hopping a wall or throwing a heavy object somewhere. He asked if we brought a hurley stick. We told him it wouldn’t fit and he got mighty upset. That got everyone wondering what we had with us.
Soon enough there was a march towards the Astra. Across the Elysian grass and under the waterfall by the gate.
An odd occurrence.
The boot was open.
Some things were missing.
We passed no heed. Just gave what we had.
Letters. Jumpers. Parcels. Medals. Chains and pictures. It brought tears to most of them.
A lot of hugs.
They all talked to Aquinas about Nola. And how great she was and how they hoped they’d see her again soon.
Again the rumbling. Louder this time. Nobody seemed to notice. Too wrapped up in everything. Over the heads I saw Peter walk quickly into the pub and come back out a few seconds later. He looked around, then over.
He made the approach. Flew over everyone’s head, like a giant firefly. ‘Ok folks…I see you’ve met our three guests, but you’re going to have to give us some time. We have business to attend to.’
They all looked up, obeyed and melted away. He looked down at us, said: ‘Follow me.’
We did.
Guinness burp. Good form. We got to the same hall as earlier. Aquinas and Chris were amazed. There was a gathering of angels by the altar at the top. That smell of incense again. Another guy similar to Gabriel. Paler. Same physique. Bow at his back. Robe.
A tap on my shoulder.
It was Gabriel.
He ushered me to a corner. Strong hand. Sure. Voice quietly bellowed.
‘I want to thank you for bringing the letter.’
‘Your mother is a great woman.’
‘That she is.’
‘She talked about you a lot.’
His face softened. A momentary glimpse of the boy she remembered. Then he suppressed it. Got stern said: ‘There’s one more thing I have to ask.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘Things are complicated here now.’
‘Who’re ya tellin.’
‘We need you to fight.’
‘Fight who?’
‘You and your friends. The dead are on the way. The war is upon us.’
He had the kinda voice I’d gladly die for, just because I knew he’d do the same for me. I said: ‘What do you need?’
‘We have little time. Come.’
There was anxiety among the other angels. They stiffened when Gabriel turned around. All eyes were on him. He looked to the guy with the bow. I guessed it was Michael. They nodded to each other. Peter came over, asked: ‘Ready to meet Jesus, lads?’
*********
We all took a long walk across the lawn. Toward a large palace at the end. Michael joined us, then another guy called Raphael came from nowhere. His face was pale. Eyes bright blue. His wings incredibly large. Shield the size of a satellite dish. They were sombre. Talked among themselves. We arrived. Meeting Jesus. Where do you start. He had the beard and a light brown robe, but he wasn’t demure in any way. You know, that whole eternal love thing. At least he wasn’t today. Today he was all business. We were in a recording studio and he was working on some kinda song. Head down, hair touching the dials. Feeling it, not happy. Pressing a button and beginning at the start. Behind the glass was a microphone, some instruments. He was making music, but not like anything we’d ever heard. There was a book beside him with musical signatures and definitions. I remembered Melissa had talked about some of it. Adagio – slow, leisurely. Accelerando – becoming gradually faster. Cantabile – in a singing style.
He turned. We shook hands. He invited us to a room upstairs. Hair flowing. Robe touching the ground. Gabriel walked like a true solider. Shoulders Straight. Committed to the task. Peter had his head down in thought. It was like a conference room. Table. Fridge full of bottles of water. Chairs. Michael sat at the end. Raphael alongside him. He took the helm. Opened with: ‘Ye’ve brought the dead through the sun with ye.’ I looked around. Chris and Aquinas as confused as I was. Jesus went on. ‘One of them hid in the boot and came through. He’s just destroyed the gate and now it’s permanently open. They’re coming.’ I asked: ‘Don’t they need a Solarflux?’ ‘My guess is they copied the design. This was their plan all along. Lure you to their carnival, make a blueprint of the car, send one of their own through the portal.’ I felt shame. Exposed. Embarrassed. Jesus smacked the table with the palm of his hand. ‘Nothing we can do about it now. We have to make a plan. Gabriel?’ ‘My lord, the troops are ready. I have a platoon of Angels waiting for your word.’ ‘And Michael?’ Blonde. Intense blue eyes. A true brother of the other leaders. ‘The archers are assembling by the wall as we speak.’ ‘Are they ready?’ ‘I guarantee it, My Lord.’ Peter said: ‘There’s a chance they know about your father’s absence, if the intruder overheard anything we said.’ Jesus thought. ‘This was always a battle we had to fight without my father. Do we have preparations for an aerial assault?’ Raphael. Purple robe. Beard. Skin like pale leather. ‘Ready and waiting.’ ‘Forgive me, lord.’ Said Peter. ‘But why are the three saviours privy to this council?’ Jesus looked at us. ‘We need everyone.’ ‘But they can’t fight.’ ‘I’ll teach them. Let’s talk about a plan. How long before they get here?’ ‘A divine year, by our best estimates.’ Said Gabriel. ‘Ok, who’s got the maps?’ Peter took them out. They covered the table. A map of Heaven. Scale of ten billion: one. The shape was octagonal. Sketched in ink. An arrow that said: Gate. Peter pointed to either side: ‘Ok our archers will settle here, and at the gate itself. Michael will lead the defense from there.’ There was a scatter of dots on the right hand corner. Raphael said: ‘That’s where we’re preparing the aerial team. I’ll lead them beyond the wall and attack before they reach the gate. Maybe we can inflict enough damage before they arrive…’ Peter protested: ‘No. Ground troops first. Send out the platoon to meet them head on.’ ‘That’s not wise.’ Said Gabriel. ‘It’s bad tactics. We don’t know their numbers, their weapons.’ ‘And we can inflict significant damage from a safe height.’ Said Raphael. ‘Yes, but we can’t let them reach the gate at any cost, that puts us on the back foot.’ Said Peter. ‘Michael cleared his throat. A reverent silence. ‘Archers can hold them back before they even see us.’ ‘And if they can’t?’ Said Peter. ‘We need to meet them out there. Attack is the best form of defense.’ Gabriel. Loud voice. ‘That’s a senseless risk to my men and a waste of good warriors.’ ‘It’s in the protection of Heaven!’ ‘And you would have it destroyed?!’ Jesus banged the table. ‘Soldiers!’ They went quiet. A gust of wind went under the map and it flopped in fright. He continued. ‘Gabriel will lead the first assault. Even the sight of him will weaken their will. If we get an early victory, we may end the war without casualty.’ Gabriel bowed. ‘For you, My Lord, anything.’ ‘Peter, you and I will surround the Bambino Palace, should the worst happen, and they get through, we need to be there to protect it. Do you have a battalion.’ ‘Ready and waiting.’ ‘Michael will open the fighting with his archers. Then Gabriel will charge. If there’s anything left, Raphael will attach from above. Agreed?’ They all bowed. He looked at us. ‘Aquinas, Chris, Jack, are you ready to prove yourselves?’ I felt the surge of a lion’s roar inside me. We told him we were. ‘Ok, Aquinas, you’ll join Raphael in the air. Chris you’re with Michael on the wall and Jack…you’re with Gabriel.’ I looked over at him. He gave consent. Sound. Jesus went on. ‘Don’t be fooled, men. This is no prophecy. No guaranteed victory. Not all of us will survive. If we lose, we lose everything. Eternity. Purity. Hope. Heaven itself. Gone. You’re not fighting for glory. You’re fighting for everything that ever existed. I’m not fuckin around. This is it. No turning water into wine or second coming. Endgame.’ Gabriel stood up. ‘With your permission, sir. I must talk to my troops.’ ‘Of course. Let’s go. Everyone. Peter, prepare the battalion.’ Everyone walked out. Jesus turned to us. ‘You three come with me.’ We got outside. He said: ‘Ok, we’re going to travel fast, just bear with me.’ He raised his hands and everything went adagio, then accelerando. I felt the riff of music, a guitar solo. The sky was cantabile. Below us was an army of magnificent multitude. An endless tribe. Shields sparkling like full moons. Swords by their side. They were all walking in the direction of the hall. A loud and certain clamour. We floated on back towards the hall. Over the realms of the Divine Lands. More soldiers forming. But now passed the gate a vague black dot was taking shape. ‘It’s them.’ Said Jesus. There was activity below now. A sense of coming crescendo. They had giant catapults on wheels, arrows the size of trees. A loud crunching sound and the squeal of axles. The black dot in the distance gradually getting bigger. We landed at the pub. Jesus said: ‘Ok. I need you to rest. There’s a million things I have to do. When I call for you. Be ready.’ We told him we would. He disappeared.
*****
Inside the pub. Eva was there. Blue jeans on a bar stool. Red hair. Sharp features. Painted nails around a glass with ice and a straw. She was younger now, more life coming back to her. We ordered a round, asked her how she got on with Dyane. She told us good. We told her about the war. She said she knew, she and Dyane had met Peter. We talked about that for a while. Eva: ‘I’m worried about those fucking ghouls comin back.’ ‘Hopefully we’ll have fought them off by the time they reach here.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I’ve probably lost my job by now aswell.’ Chris said: ‘Oh we rang your phone, lookin for ya in Galway.’ She got surprised. ‘Yeah?’ ‘Yeah, got through to some young one called Sarah…’ ‘Oh, Sarah, what she say?’ ‘That you hadn’t called in sick, and had we seen ya….’ ‘What ya tell her…?’ ‘Nothin…hung up.’ She sucked from the straw. ‘They’re probably wonderin alright….wonder if the phones work here?’ Chris took out his phone. ‘Hey, full bars!’ Eva got excited. ‘What?’ ‘I have reception.’ ‘Really?’ ‘No, I’m only messing. Fuckin nothin.’ She hit him hard on the shoulder. ‘Asshole.’ ‘Sorry.’ The White Stripes – Hotel Yorba came over the speakers. But there was static, like a radio that’s off frequency. Aquinas said: ‘I can’t believe we’re doin all this holy shit.’ ‘Why?’ Asked Eva. ‘When I was a kid, and we had the confirmation.’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘Yeah, you know how you’re supposed to like, take a drink of the wine? ‘We didn’t have that.’ Said Eva. ‘Me neither.’ Said Chris.’ ‘Well in Canada, we had this thing, you know, where the bishop comes up and waves his hand over you or whatever, and then we had to take a sip of wine….’ I said: ‘Right.’ ‘Yeah, well I drank the whole fuckin cup.’ ‘What?’ ‘Yeah, I didn’t know, I thought you just drink it, and the bishop went crazy and my old man, in front of everyone said: You’re not supposed drink the whole fuckin thing! I said I didn’t know you were allowed curse in church either.’ ‘And what happened?’ ‘No one knew what to do, so they just pushed me on and filled more wine and kept goin.’ Eva said: ‘I can’t believe you met Jesus.’ ‘You’ll meet him too.’ Said Chris. ‘I don’t know what I’m goin to say. My mother’ll be delighted when I tell her. Hopefully I can get a picture for Facebook too.’ ‘Hopefully we get passed the war first.’ She frowned, chewed on the straw. ‘How bad is it?’ ‘Not great.’ I said. ‘Did they ask you to do anything?’ ‘Not yet. But Dyane says they’ll need me.’ Aquinas said: ‘They’ll need everyone. I’m fighting in the air. How the fuck am I supposed to learn how to fly?’ Next track. Losing my Religion. Smell like detergent. Bar man looking pale. The glass was heavy in my hand. Guinness in Heaven. It traveled well. Could see lots of angels walking around outside. Chris said: ‘I’m an archer for fuck’s sake.’ Eva put her hand over her mouth and laughed. ‘A what?! ‘Well, glad you have faith in me!’ ‘Have you ever done anythin like that before?’ ‘No, they said they’ll teach me.’ ‘In what, like an hour?’ ‘S’pose.’ She crossed her legs. ‘That’s hilarious. And what are you, Jack?’ ‘Front line. Platoon.’ ‘Well at least that’s straightforward. Are you with that Gabriel guy?’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘He’s supposed to be amazing. Dyane says he’s so hot.’ Chris said: ‘I think they’re gonna do some kind magic training, like on The Matrix.’ ‘Well they better do something, right?’ Said Aquinas. ‘What’s a divine year?’ Asked Chris. None of us knew. The door opened. It was Jesus. We all stared. He pointed at Aquinas. ‘Come with me.’ He finished his drink and stood up. Jesus frowned, thought for a second, said: ‘Chris, you too.’ ‘Guess it’s time.’ Said Chris. He kissed Eva goodbye. Just me and her. She asked: ‘Are you scared?’ ‘Me? No.’ ‘You must be a little.’ ‘Of course.’ Soft hands. Necklace. Straw between perfect teeth. ‘I’m worried about Chris.’ ‘You should be.’ ‘Are you annoyed with Dyane?’ ‘What can I do?’ ‘She’s really sorry.’ ‘She told me.’ ‘It’s for the best.’ ‘Guess you can’t argue with that. Do you miss home?’ ‘I miss my friends.’ ‘We’re here for a good reason.’ ‘I know. It just seems surreal sometimes. I mean, we’re in Heaven.’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘Fighting a war? I mean, how did that happen, we were in Halo, like, a week ago.’ I took a hit of the Guinness. Saw the bottom of the glass. Froth pouring down the inside. Smelled like a beer soaked beer mat. I said: ‘Wonder what he wants the lads for?’ ‘Maybe training.’ ‘Probably.’ ‘Can you fight?’ ‘Not really.’ ‘Why did they chose you to fight with Gabriel?’ ‘I don’t know. ‘ ‘Dyane showed me some things.’ ‘Like what?’ ‘I studied music in college.’ ‘And?’ ‘She said it’s important that I show you some stuff about it.’ ‘Right…’ She reached into her bag. A big brown thing. Pulled out a book with some notes inside. Jets Overhead - Heading for Nowhere comin through the speakers. The notes were the same as Jesus had been working on in the recording studio. Eva said: ‘Right…look these notes and signatures.’ ‘Ok.’ ‘They’re based on the concept of sound, but they stand for everything else too.’ ‘Like what?’ ‘Emotions, rhythms in life, it’s like the oil in the engine of order, keeps chaos from taking over.’ ‘You’ve lost me.’ Suddenly she’s a teacher. She got closer, tactile, it felt good. A list of symbols and phrases on the page. She pointed, painted nail, nice perfume. Assertive. ‘These are the flags people follow when composing music. They’re just words put on an innate instinct. Read them.’ I did. Ma non Troppo – but not too much. Maestoso – Majestic. Grazioso – Gracefully. Fermato – A lengthening of a note or rest. Diminuendo – Becoming gradually softer. Dolce – Sweetly. Tenuto – Held, for the entire value of the note, show emphasis to a note or chord.
I said: ‘Right, go on.’ ‘Now listen to your surroundings. Everything is a song, a rhythm a tune, you just have to drown out the irrelevant stuff. It’s the same principle as a dog whistle. The song is the whistle, you just have to train your ears to pick up the sound.’ I listened. A cup rattled on a saucer behind us. The chair squeaked. An angel laughed. The tap groaned. Beat. Piano notes came through the speakers. The bar man whistled along. I was grinding my teeth. The echo of my glass being left on the counter. Causes the bar man to turn around and drop a pen. Leaves it back with a thud then fills the glass with a hiss. Takes the empty. Drops it with a hollow aluminum clatter into the sink. I start to get it. She says: ‘See.’ ‘I think so.’ ‘Well it’s the same with everything. If you think about Kung fu. They’re super fast and fit fighters but that’s not how they win. It’s because they’re self aware, in tune with all those things you just heard. Their sense is so acute that they can predict what you’re going to do. They can hear your heart beating, the messages pumping from your brain to your adrenal chords. They know your arm’s getting ready to swing. They can hear your eyes dilate and feel the rush of wind that comes just before your fist tries to impact. And they dodge it. Almost like they’re a split second ahead of reality.’ ‘And that’s what music is?’ ‘Not exactly. Music just puts a face and sound on what the third state has to offer.’ ‘Dyane told you all this?’ ‘Yeah, I knew most of it from college, but she put the Heaven spin on it. Peter taught her.’ ‘So what’s this got to do with the war?’ She looked right at me. All authority. ‘Well, when you’re fighting, you need to know this. Be in sync with everything. Feel the wind, listen to the screams of your attackers. How fast they’re moving, where they aim their knives or whatever.’ ‘I hope it works.’ ‘You need to master it anyway to get to the third level.’ ‘My move. Your move.’ ‘Exactly. Then you apply it to your attacking method.’ ‘Fuck I don’t know.’ ‘You’ll be fine.’ She pushed the book towards me, crossed her legs, said: ‘Keep that, try to memorise it. You’ll get it eventually.’ ‘Dyane said it was important you’re here. That must be why.’ ‘And we have good fun. I like her.’ ‘I liked her too.’ ‘You have to let that go, remember?’ ‘Yeah, fuck, yeah.’ ‘How do you feel about The Bambino?’ I took a drink. ‘Great, nervous, excited.’ ‘You’re lucky.’ ‘I know who she is. I’ve known her my whole life.’ ‘But you can’t comprehend the idea of meeting her?’ ‘Exactly. It’s safer to stay with Dyane, or Melissa, but she’s….extra spicy Thai….’ ‘Am I supposed to understand that?’ I told her Chris’s theory. She smiled. ‘I felt like that too.’ ‘He your first serious guy?’ ‘No. We don’t talk about the other guy.’ ‘Fair enough.’ ‘I like him though, I like him a lot. I don’t know why, he’s not usually the type of fella I go for.’ ‘What can ya do?’ ‘He came through Hell for me.’ ‘Yes. He did.’ ‘Sarah said it wouldn’t work, but I gave it a chance.’ The ground shook again. I said: ‘They must be getting close.’ ‘Maybe we shouldn’t be getting drunk with a war to fight.’ ‘Good plan.’ ‘I think it’s goin to be ok.’ ‘We’ll win?’ ‘Yeah. You?’ ‘It’s not somethin I want to think about.’ ‘Just learn the music. Get in the zone.’ She smiled. I drank. We left.
The two guys were waiting outside. Just back. She hugged Chris. They kissed. He was delighted to see her. They told us they’d been training with Michael and Raphael. And an army of a million Angels were gathering beyond the hill. I looked to the sky and the black mass of death was large now, like a blotch in the blue dream above. Chris said the first assault would commence in about six hours. It was all about luring them to within striking distance of the archers. He was confident, ready for battle. Aquinas too, looked to the distance, almost wishing they were here. We talked more. Chris and Eva left. Me and Aquinas. I asked: ‘Did they tell you about the music?’ ‘Yeah, it’s trippy right?’ ‘Fuck yeah.’ ‘Can you fly?’ ‘Can I fly?’ ‘Yeah, fly, wings, Angels, you.’ ‘Can I fly? Yeah, I can fly. They just taught me. It’s fuckin great. Do you feel bad about letting them in?’ I shrugged. He said: ‘There’s nothin we coulda done.’ ‘We coulda checked the boot.’ ‘We were in a hurry, Jack. Eva was dying.’ I’d forgotten that. ‘You’re right there. Fuck them anyway.’ ‘I think this war was always gonna happen. Now, a thousand years from now, doesn’t matter how it started.’ ‘Maybe.’ ‘But you take one look at that crew of angels, man, I tell ya, we’re on the winning side….’ ‘We still don’t know what’s comin.’ ‘We’ll know soon.’ ‘I gotta go find Gabriel.’ He put out his hand. I said: ‘What?’ ‘I won’t see you til after the war. This is goodbye for now.’ ‘Fuck. Really?’ ‘Yeah, I’m heading back there to join my squad tonight’ We shook. Strong and meant a lot. He said: ‘It’s been good.’ ‘Keep the past tense out of it. I’ll be seeing you when it’s all over.’ ‘Just in case.’ ‘Fuck that.’ ‘Be realistic, Jack.’ ‘Think of Nola and stay alive.’ Her name caused him to blink. He said: ‘Will do.’ And I turned and left.
The war started the next day. I was cranked up on music, notions about the third state, thoughts of meeting The Bambino. It had been a tough night of anxiety, contemplation, doubt. Woke up refreshed and sure. Gabriel had taught me everything at high speed. Fluency, motion, defensive pentameters, aggressive choruses. The sword was long and heavy but light if wielded properly. There was a poetry to it. Keep it in motion, use it like an extension of the arm, exercise the muscles one at a time. He said I was a natural. I didn’t share his optimism. Nothing quite like the sight of a million Angels. Halo’s as far as the eye could see. Reverent faces, beaming with devotion. Shields ready. Impregnable strength. There was a shadow in the sky, like a lunar eclipse. The smell of burning came across the sweet grass. I stood in the front line. Gabriel observed the formation, looked for a weak link, a face of doubt. Didn’t see any. First began the screaming. The evil squealing of wraiths. It was distant but unmistakable. If they were close enough to hear, they were close enough to be hit with arrows. Michael stood on the wall, raised his sword, shouted: ‘Archers! Ready!’ And they leaned back, shoulders to the sky, massive bows taut. See wings in contrast to the hazy sky. See their hair flowing and the certainty in their shoulders. ‘Release!’ Shouted Michael. And there was a loud swoosh and the sky was blackened with divine daggers destined for the enemy. Seconds later the squeals again, but in pain this time. They reloaded. And fired. And there was more agony for the dead. But the black dot increased in size and soon it was possible to make out their shape and multitude. And, evil or not, they resembled our own good count. Arrow after arrow did little to ease their determined march to the gate. Gabriel conferred with Michael. It was time to meet them head on. Adrenalin. Fear. Rage. Honour. Gabriel spoke. You can see it. Braveheart job. Gladiator style. But better. All about Death and Honour and the protection of what’s good. When he finished the army roared and the ground trembled and we clashed our shields to our swords and we were the force of God himself. The march through the gates was orderly but committed. The dead saw us coming. They howled. Shot fire balls into the air. Sent a stench of decay toward us. Red thunder flashed behind them. Then their catapults. Barrow loads of skulls. Vile green liquid that burned. Black arrows with hot poison tips ran through our number. And when the first Angel fell and his holy blood trickled on to the ground there was a collective rage that infected us all and the war for Heaven had finally begun.
For endless hours we fought. Even days. I’ll never know. The sword goes through them. Through the black smoke. Through their howls and skeletal arms and hollow bodies. And yet they came in droves. Not only had we cut through their first line of defense, but a new and bigger mass emerged to meet us. I kept with the music. Dolce motion. Thrust Maestoso. Accelerando swings. They concentrated on Gabriel. Thousands at a time. He was able for them all, but many of us fell all the same. Bloodied feathers floated in the air. Evil arrows flying past. The enemy archers not caring if they killed their own, counting each one of us a prize. At last the storm abated. They knew they were outmatched and retreated at a rapid pace. Gabriel gave the sign to Michael to unleash a shower upon them, then he ordered us all behind the walls. We made the trek back, tired but proud, yet heavy hearted for the fallen. Our wounded were carried back to be treated and our deceased to be buried. We had won day, there was no doubt, but it was hard fought. The night dawned. Fires in the camp beyond. They sang a war cry. Beat drums. Defiant roars from ugly stomachs. They wanted more. A quick victory was out of the question. Jesus called a council.
Same place. Same crew. Peter wasn’t happy. He banged the table: ‘You should have finished them!’ Gabriel was on his feet. ‘The men that fought, fought well, those that died, died well, those that did nothing, have no right to judge.’ ‘Do not defy me!’ Michael interjected. ‘I saw it with my own eyes. They were almost equal to us today. Gabriel made the right move.’ ‘What’ asked Peter. ‘Giving them the chance to regroup? Gather strength? Where was Raphael?’ Raphael spoke: ‘Each Angel that falls, gives them strength. We lost enough men. They are injured now. Tomorrow, we will finish them.’ Gabriel said: ‘They think they have seen all that we have. That they know what they’re up against. Tomorrow, the sight of Raphael will break their sprits and we’ll over run them.’ ‘That’s what we said today about you!’ Jesus was pensive. ‘Have we seen all They have?’ ‘I believe so.’ Said Michael. ‘And if we haven’t?’ Asked Peter. I said: ‘We’re still in control. They haven’t gained any ground or passed our target zone.’ ‘You should have followed them. Finished the job. Our tactic was a quick war.’ ‘Our tactic is a decisive victory. If we followed them, we would have been surrounded and smothered. We gave nothing away.’ Said Gabriel. Jesus said: ‘Ok…let’s talk about tomorrow’s tactics.’ ‘All in.’ Said Peter. ‘Throw everything at them. Full scale - aerial, archers, then ground. Eradicate them while they’re weak.’ Jesus thought, Raphael spoke. ‘We shouldn’t show our hand so easy.’ ‘I agree.’ Said Gabriel. ‘They’ve had a lot of time to prepare. We need to know what else they’re capable of.’ ‘They’re idiots!’ Said Peter. ‘Destroy them.’ Jesus looked to me. ‘What do you think, Jack?’ ‘I agree with Raphael. It’s like poker and they want us to go all in. I say check first, see if they bet. Then raise.’ He agreed with: ‘Well spoken. Ok. This is the plan. I want someone to get a blueprint on their formation. Raphael, you can send someone to fly over with out being seen?’ ‘Yes, sir.’ ‘Ok, once we know, we’re going to try and flank them. Gabriel, organise two platoons. Put them out of sight. When the time is right, I want one to approach from each side. I want them to walk into this like a snare.’ He stood up, drew a square which resembled the Garden of Eden. He wanted them to walk into the middle, then a platoon would come from left and right, Raphael would fly over head and then descend from behind. Gabriel would lead the attack from the front again. Once they were boxed in, we could slaughter them. It sounded good. We left feeling like we were on top. The night stank of burnt oil. Gabriel walked with me. ‘You fought well today.’ I was flattered. Said: ‘I’m flattered.’ ‘Tomorrow will not be easy. This plan is too simple. I pray it will go well, but be on your guard for deception.’ ‘Like what?’ They’ve had too long to plan this. We need to give them more respect.’ He stood in front of me. Tall, overbearing. He took out Melissa’s letter. ‘You must keep this.’ ‘It’s for you.’ ‘Not any more.’ He patted his chest. ‘I have it here. In my heart. Should anythin happen to me, you have to read it, but not until then, agreed?’ I frowned, said: ‘Fair enough.’ He put his hand on my shoulder. ‘Goodnight, Jack. Your soul is clean. Your heart is pure.’ ‘Goodnight.’ He walked with his head down. Thinking. The letter burned in my hands to be read but I couldn’t. Hid it under my pillow before I slept. Sank into a slumber. Interpol – Leif Erikson. The Bambino came to me. Transparent but whole. There but invisible. There was a spiral through a dark cavern. Voices sang from the walls either side. They pleaded. Tried to touch me. On I fell, her guiding my descent. The faces were pale, delighted I was passing by. The air came light against my back. She was all around me. A mist. An eye. A heartbeat. Light acupuncture. The song played on, haunting the background from somewhere. Then I saw a field of evil. I saw so many black expressions.. Corrupted eyes and hate made whole in the decayed bodies. Their number exceeded ours. I knew that just to look. There was more than could be counted with all infinity to do it. And at the front were great beasts. Equine but ugly. Their legs like the barks of oak trees. They led the bad army. And their riders conferred over a map. Pointed and made references. I saw a square like the one Jesus had planned. They knew our tactic. And then I was in a pool. And she was with me. And her breath whispered into my ear. It told me to wake. And I woke.
Day two of the war is hard to write. Hard without a choking sound coming from somewhere inside me. Difficult to think about without the radiation of terrible loss washing over every nerve in my body. Such regret and pain a man or beast is never likely to feel as was felt on the field that day by us all. In the morning I arose and told my dream to Gabriel. He looked at the ground, at his sword, then at the sky and seemed to come to a decision. ‘Jack, you can’t tell anyone about this.’ ‘But, if it’s some kinda premonition…’ ‘It is…and it’s bad. But you don’t understand. This war must have casualties.’ ‘If they know our tactic we can change….’ ‘You have faith in my abilities?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘As a leader and as a friend.’ ‘Completely.’ ‘Then follow the course today. Don’t deviate. I want you to join the platoon from the right. I’ll approach from head on. Meet you in the middle. Agreed?’ ‘What’s goin to happen?’ ‘We’re fighting the war for our survival. Anything could happen.’ He walked away. I was afraid. Afraid like I should run. Hide. Drink. Escape. Talk to Jesus. In the end I trusted Gabriel and stayed the course.
Our Platoon went out the gate and East. East as far out of sight as we could go. We listened to the battle cry and the terrible shouting and the clash of swords. Our men stood stern, waiting for the signal from Michael. We watched the arrows reach sky highs and then fall into the distant nowhere toward our hoped for victory. At last at arrow came our way with a flame at it’s helm and we knew it was time to charge. Our feet thumped on the ground. Our armour shook. Our minds were set ahead. Towards the fray. Towards the violence of victory. And then. A terrible hawk, black as the night, black as a pool of poisoned blood. It’s wings could make an airplane look small. It’s head, a horrible mess of teeth and beak and blisters. Our men halted, broke the line to look. They were in enough time to see the flame come down and set our wings alight. And there was uproar. And men threw their swords and jumped and flung their shields at the beast, but all to no avail. And then we heard another kind of roar. And it was the roar of the dead, and they were flanking the flankers. Coming at us from behind in tremendous numbers. Arms severed. Legs cut. Balls of flame exploding among us. The bird coming down and picking us off one by one. Carnage is a polite reference to our predicament. And I saw fear in the eyes of the bravest men. And horror in the minds of heroes. And blood on the lands of Heaven. And victory on the faces of evil. And the promise of Heaven began to slip away. A great leak on a beautiful ship. A candle flame starved for oxygen. And to the west was smoke and death. We were close enough to see the Angels fall from the wall and a great dark swarm rush through the gate.
The predicament was to stay and fight here, or run to hold the fortress. Hooves echoed on the ground. The hooves of my dream. The equine filth. They came through our middle squadron with ease. Mowed down holy giants. Put armour flying away like toys. Angels ran with all their might, but such a waste of good souls is painful to record. I ran to the protection of the gate. Stayed focused. Took them down one at a time. Eventually I reached Gabriel. And he fought bravely. And he fought with passion. And he was the only one that could take the horses. And they kept coming for him. Hooves and daggers and ugly riders. And squeals and more of those birds with the breath of fire. Ten score of dead lay around him. A clearing in the battle field. And then as simple as a teardrop the arrow came and pierced his leg. And when he bent to take it out another hit his arm. Stench now, decay. The whole of Heaven seemed to shake with great agony. The dead like hounds smelled a good victory. Like vicious piranhas they came around him. Like rapid ants to a carcass. Bees around a hive. He fought. And he fought. And he fought more. And then it began to rain. Heavy hard drops of thick water. It scolded the dead. Like acid. They covered their smoking backs with their twisted shields. And soon they were forced to retreat once more. Back to their vile camp until the next shrill battle cry. But in their wake was a land of fallen soldiers. A land of pain and loss. The leaves of grass drooped in mourning. The trees seemed to sway a little to the side. Puddles of crystal water formed around our casualties. Eased their wounds. Blessed them with a dignified passing. But no one could deny the massacre that was once our hero. Our brightest star of defense. And now despair grew across the army and Michael roared: ‘They have taken Gabriel!’ And there were tears in his voice, in the echo of his call, in the wail of his loss and it was felt in us all. And the second day of the battle for Heaven ended without hope. Without pride. Without the courage to continue.
**********
Mourning falls like a mist across the world. Heads hang heavy and uncertainty reigns. We carried the body of Gabriel through the gates among many tears. Some came to lay their hand on him one last time. Light touches. Blessings. The rain got worse and the feathers of angels sagged with the weight of wet wings. Gabriel’s pale face was proud, defiant. Displayed inner peace and conviction. Jesus hid his fear. Arrived with a serious air. ‘To the hall.’ He said. It was there among the heroes of the past, that we left him. There was no time to concentrate on his death. He’d say the same himself. Fight on you fools. The third council of war was convened. It was a vibe somewhere between rage and frantic. Peter screamed: ‘Where was Raphael?!’ Raphael stayed calm, composed. ‘They re-treated before we got a chance to attack. The divine rain was falling.’ ‘That’s not good enough!’ Jesus spoke. ‘The divine rain is a positive sign. It’s the first indication of re-unification, it comes to cleanse the lands from sin.’ Michael’s head was bowed. Thoughts deep as an ocean. He looked up. ‘My Lord, their strength is equal to ours if not better. They have taken our greatest warrior. Forgive me for saying so, but I don’t see anything positive at all.’ ‘My father said…’ ‘Your father’s not here!’ Said Peter. ‘Perhaps if he was…’ Something snapped in the air. Jesus glared at Peter. ‘Peter.’ ‘I’m sorry.’ Jesus went on. ‘It hasn’t rained like this since the last war. Although we lost Gabriel, this is a victory.’ Raphael spoke. ‘My Lord, our casualties are enormous. I’m not sure if we can withstand another day.’ Jesus looked at the table. ‘We’ll need everyone. Not just the army. Everyone in heaven has to fight now.’ ‘Everyone?’ Asked Peter. ‘The women. The children, the teenagers, the old. Everyone. There’s nothing left to lose. Raphael, you lead the assault tomorrow. You’re our greatest asset now. Michael, how many archers left?’ ‘Few.’ ‘Gather them together, train as many new as you can.’ He still looked uncertain. ‘Yes sir.’ Outside the rain rolled down the window. Raphael asked: ‘Is the Bambino palace still intact?’ ‘Yes, they got close but we held them back.’ ‘And how is she?’ Jesus looked at me. ‘Low. We don’t have time to talk much longer.’ He took out the map again. It was time to go strong with Raphael. Fly in. Take out the horses. Then head on assault with troops. Everyone understood the next battle would decide it all. We got outside. The rain had abated. Johnny Kelly’s son was waiting. Jesus said: ‘Just the man.’ He was delighted to be involved. Jesus gave him a task. Find the strongest men you can. Get them ready for war. He obeyed. We got to the Astra. He looked at it, shook his head. ‘What were ye at?’ Back window broken. Dents on the side. Soft tires. Covered in shit. Dodgy back indicator from a Massey 135. I told him. He shook his head again. ‘We’ll have to get it looked at.’ There was a distant explosion and a plume of smoke. We looked towards it. I asked: ‘You worried?’ ‘Can’t afford to be. Eva and Dyane will have to fight too.’ ‘As troops?’ ‘No, they’ll be on the back line, in protection of the Palace. I’m going in myself.’ ‘You’re gonna fight?’ ‘Yeah. Me and Peter. I know what you’re thinkin, they get me, it’s all over, but there’s no choice. Let’s drive.’ We sat in. Smell like something fecal. I opened the window. He was confident in the passenger seat. Straight back. Observing all the dials and fans. ‘And this is the car that caused it all.’ ‘We going to a mechanic?’ ‘Yeah. Drive fast. We’re in a hurry.’ I did. A lot of rattles but she made it. There was an old guy outside a warehouse. He was sitting on a stone. Jesus said ‘This is the place where the Astra was made.’ The old guy stood up when he saw it. Thought he was gonna cry. We got out. He hobbled over. Long beard. Rheumy eyes. Raspy voice, asked: ‘What have you done?’ We gave him the details. Didn’t know if he was more excited to see the car, or in despair over the state of it. We didn’t have time to ask. Just got going. Walking back, Jesus said: ‘You’re going to have to deliver the car to her.’ ‘When?’ ‘When we win. It’s the last act of unification.’ Young Johnny Kelly ran over. ‘I have what you asked for, sir.’ ‘Good man, Johnny. Assemble by the gate, wait for the signal.’ ‘No bother.’ ‘Get armour from Michael.’ ‘Will do.’ He took off. Jesus turned to me. ‘We’re going to attack in three hours. Be ready.’ And he disappeared. It stopped raining altogether. Everything seemed new. I thought a lot about Gabriel. His absence was bigger than the Grand Canyon. I went to the hall.. Candles around him. Darkness. Still holding his sword. Even if you were blind you’d know you were in the presence of something powerful. Then I remembered the letter. I took it out and read it. Thought. ‘Oh right.’
The third battle for Heaven brought bravery but too much pain. Raphael gathered his Angels above the wall, Blocking out the blue sky, hovering with honour and The glory of the blessed. Below stood a multitude, Lower in count now, Johnny Kelly at the helm, Dancing from one foot to the other, Swinging his sword in practice swipes, Eager to join the fray.
There was a noxious smell, like poison gas and The enemy howled loud, beat their armour. We were close enough now to see their horses, High as a house, ugly as sin, as puss from an infected wound; On scaling hind legs; a gathering of evil bones, Skin like hard black ash or burning leather And their riders as skeletal and decomposed As Hell itself. Their defiance was in their moves, Their confidence in their action, their surety in their number.
Our hearts lifted at the sight of Jesus, Taking a stand on the wall alongside Michael. Raphael turned to his troops and when they were ready They flew into the midst of flame and arrows and hate. They came at the enemy with fury. They came at them with precision, Flames and crystal lighting bolts. Holes began to appear in the black front line, Our number roared, scarcely able to contain themselves. Jesus turned to us and shouted – ‘Be ready!’ But the words weren’t out of his mouth when the sky darkened, And a million arrows screamed from the centre of death, And Angles fell from the sky like beautiful birds, Inexplicably stricken with a mystery illness, And the ground shook as each one landed with a groan, And the blood of God was spilled once more. Then green fire came at them, clouds of it at first, Then round stormy orbs, and it knocked them down Ten at a time and our army quivered as we watched,
Then young Johnny Kelly shouted: ‘That’s fuckin it!’ And he ran alone towards them, and the sight of him, Sword above his head, sure he could kill them all, Even Jesus and Michael watched in confusion And then we knew it was over, over if we didn’t do Something insane, and then the tactics were gone, and The fear evaporated, and Jesus took out his sword and Ran after Johnny and Michael beckoned his men From the wall and the ground assault was on.
Raphael fought over head, swooping at the horses, Soon he had taken them all and the odds were even. We came in droves and they reciprocated with more, And for each soldier that fell, we killed one of theirs, And for each one of ours that passed, Our fury increased and we brought Hell to Hell itself,
But just as a champion swimmer realises the sea is too vast, Or a cyclist the road too long, or a climber the mountain too high, Or the arm wrestler watching his hand inexorably grinding towards defeat, So we recognized the coming end of our abilities, The fading light of our strength And the first dissipation of our courage began as Our swords became heavy, and our hearts and energy slowed, And the dead spat and heaved, and roared over us, And came in more droves, but then as dying man Finds a final strength, a final rage against the darkness, So we gathered another torrent of wind and inflicted great wounds Upon our enemy, and for a while we felt and saw victory for heaven, We saw concert, harmony, decisive good rolling over bad,
But better no dawn than a false one, for when they came again, Like terrible dogs, like sick roaring infected lions, Like two legged fanged insects, full of venom, When they finally killed Raphael and tore his body to pieces, We felt our legs go weak and the desire to lie down and pray for A quick release.
The sky became dark, dark as to make blind look bright, And Michael never swayed, in the death of his friend, His flying companion violated, now two of them gone, Great warriors like himself, their fate threatening to become his, And Jesus fought indefatigable, and they feared him, But came nonetheless, and some of them were small creatures, And others abnormally large, and Johnny Kelly had The nature of a warrior, the heart of twenty tigers, And more than once he saved the saved the life of Jesus from a dwarfish knife or a giant’s sword. But now the climber is on his last steps, The swimmer on his final strokes, And the arm wrestler ready to stop resisting and the Light from the dying mans eyes is clouded with the mist Of true inevitability.
Where was Peter during this great fray? The man of action, the favorite disciple, Had he once again denied knowledge of God? Had he fallen prey to his fears, despite his talk And demand for action. And The Bambino, why has she Not appeared, done something,? And God himself, What does he do as his Kingdom burns? And these were the kind of emotions that stung us all, In our breathless state, with our blood spattered armour, These were the bitter thoughts that haunted our souls, Is this the Heaven that Gabriel fought and died for? That his mother sat for so long in purgatory? And under it all, in our heart of hearts, We knew now we were truly alone, And still our companions fell And then there was a demented cry, And something ruptured and growled And everything shook, and everything seemed To be falling apart and it was near impossible to see anything, Sky torn like scratched paint, And then Jesus shouted: ‘Beware the gate is coming down!’ And if a man was an object a million times smaller, And if he sat below a mountain, and one day the mountain collapsed, Not a fraction of the roar would it cause as did the giant golden Girders that bellowed upon us; and the dead were delighted As it fell and destroyed everything in it’s path, Mostly angels.
And then as a man that buries his father, As he lowers the coffin to the grave, and The ropes glide through his hands, And the clay rests on his fingers and palms and The misty rain falls and the smell of wet grass, And as the priest reads the final rites And he feels the weight of the world come upon him And from his chest comes that hollow sound, That choking sense of finality, and he knows now The end of the ceremony is near and ahead of him Is a dark road for which he lacks the strength,
So it was the image of that gate falling, And the sight of the holy fallen trees and the The sparks of fire dancing in the devil’s night, And the putrid smell of burning flesh and hair, So it was that same feeling of weakness that That rained upon all our hearts and was compounded By the fate of Michael, as he saw the towers collapse, And dropped his sword to the side and his arms went limp, And for a second he lost his faith in the war and his belief in victory And it was only that second it took for the ghouls to over come him.
Jesus ran to his rescue, but to no avail, He was lost, and the saviours fury increased, He became possessed, Destroyed more in minutes that he had in the Long winded battle that had preceded, And then there was dissent among the evil ranks, An internal battle began, and like starving dogs, Prepared to eat each other, so they began to fight among themselves. First it was a small rising in the east of their battalion, But then it formed shape, and somewhere in the centre of the That evil mess someone rose the flag of Heaven and the mere Sight of it was enough to rouse new courage in our forces, And we gave a great battle cry and raced into the black force With renewed energy and vigor.
It was the gypsies that had helped save Eva, Finally they had the courage to rebel, And now the numbers were almost even once more, And the battle flared and we saw the Confidence of Goliath wane and felt The surge of David’s promise.
And our second wind became a third, And our third a fourth and a fifth, And soon the ground couldn’t be seen And we fought on the bodies of good and bad, Our balance affected by standing on a head Or a broken archers bow. The enemy hissed and puked and couldn’t Tell who was their own, and soon Our friends crossed the battle line And now we stood once again, Face to face with the enemy. We had beaten them back from the walls, Suffered the loss of Michael and Raphael, Over come the destruction of the gates, And yet there was more to do, Except now we saw their weakness, We saw their assurance dwindle, Their numbers decrease and ours accumulate, Their move, our move, but Like two boxers at the end of twenty rounds, One man falling against the ropes, The other too tired to knock him out, That’s how we stood facing each other, Breathless, barely conscious, but unbeaten.
EPILOGUE
Gabriel,
The lands are quiet where your mother prays. The water runs tranquillo from the fall. I’m writing this with tears in my eyes. A man is on the way, a man that will deliver to you this letter. It’s contents are not good, and I’m afraid we may never see each other again. Time is off the essence so I will be brief. The Bambino appeared to me in a dream. The prophecy is wrong. It has been corrupted through the centuries and only now barely resembles what it once was. True, the Astra must be delivered. True the Saviours must cross the barren lands. But our release from Limbo is not assured even then. Believe me, I’d gladly stay here for eternity if it meant you would be safe, but this is not the case. A war will occur shortly after the saviours arrive. It will a brutal and terrible war, but it must be fought, and many men will fall and a lot of sacrifices will be made. My son, my beautiful brown eyed Chico, she has asked me to suffer your death for the greater good. I offered my own life but she declined. It has to be you. The dead are stronger than Heaven now. You are outnumbered and outmatched. They will surely overcome you. There are thousands of us here in Limbo. Daily they pray to see the grass that grows soft beneath your feet. They long to see the holy waters and to be re-united with their loved ones. In my heart, my selfish heart, I’d leave them all here to save your soul, but I brought you up to be an honorable man, and Honour you must obey. The gates of Limbo are locked until the Divine rain comes. It has not been seen since the last war that led to the creation of Earth and Hell and Purgatory. God decreed then that there would be no One True Heaven until that rain fell again. My eyes sting, my son. My legs shake. The pen dances across the page. In order for the gates to open, Heaven itself must be on it’s knees, it must suffer such a great blow that the sky cries and it’s tears scold the demons that attack it. Imagine a nettle that burns when touched, or a wasp that stings when threatened, such it is with Heaven. And you are like a great tree. A massive strong oak that provides solace and nutrients for those around you. You are the protector. To you they look when in danger, to you they pray when asking for hope. She has told me God is absent. That your are under the command of Jesus and Peter but your loss is even greater than theirs. This is why only your death can inspire the skies to open. You will die on the second day. A military tactic will go wrong and they will kill you. Once this happens the rain will fall and the assault on Heaven will abate and give your troops time re-group. You must make sure the saviour is out of the action so he doesn’t get hurt. There is a guardian at the gates of Limbo that awaits this sign. When he sees the rain, his task is to open the locks and we can come through. My son, he is coming. Please read this letter with your mother’s love in your heart. By now I imagine you are the man you were destined to become. A leader and a warrior. A friend and a brother to all Angels. It breaks my heart to tell you this. I feel now that a thousand heavens could not end my pain but we are chosen. You will die a solider, an Angel, a hero and I will remain forever proud. I love you as only a mother can,
Walking with you always, Melissa.
The fortunes of the Great War changed with the arrival of the Limbo army. First we saw the light in the distance, a tame beacon like a firefly, then it got gradually bigger and Nola led the charge towards the rear of the attackers. They were caught now having to fight on two fronts. And the tables were turned. The black night was illuminated The dead scowled and shot stray; ill aimed arrows. Our number were confused at first - Who were these new souls, And warriors, why did they side with us? Then young Kelly shouted, ‘It’s my fuckin oul fella! And Old Johnny was there, Takin the heads off all that came before him, And now as two walls might close toward each other, Or two great magnets gradually attract, Our party fought towards theirs Destroying everything that came in it’s path.
And now we were re-born, And the aches in our bones were gone, And the last of our fear was killed As the sky brightened more and more, And we mowed through the unholy aggressors, And they battled with everything. If they had no sword they tried to bite, Or spit or throw a helmet, But their time was up and They cried and some even begged for mercy.
The gypsies that sided with us made sure To prove where their loyalties lied and they Cut and killed with skill and passion equal To any angel and Nola looked beautiful, Serene, determined, She flew above the battleground and opened her wings And a blinding light shone from her chest and now It was as day; and the night was over And the true dawn had finally arrived and We knew we had saved Heaven and Everything was going to be as it should be. And in the midst of everything was Peter, And his skill was in his hands, From which a blue flame always shone, And when he touched the enemy they fell Into the endless sleep. He could throw His blue fireballs from a distance, and With such accuracy that soon the dead Ran in fear at the sight of him. Now Jesus flew overhead and placed his palms Toward the fray where the dead Were mostly centred and among them A tremble began and then an earthquake And some of them fell over and more Still crashed into each other in a desperate bid to escape. And then the ground opened and a giant crater Appeared below their feet and they all tumbled down And soon Peter joined his lord in the sky And he too raised his palms and shot an Almighty blue flame at the remaining mass, And they began to burn like ants, Or cockroaches under a magnifying glass With the sun’s rays pouring toward them. And soon there was nothing left only A pile of ugly ash and relief And a smell like burnt rancid meat, And a sigh swept across the land And we knew the last of the dead had fallen When old Johnny Kelly met his son In the middle and they embraced with Passion and tears, And it was finally safe to let your guard down. Because the promise of Heaven was restored.
Shtop. That was the war anyway. Dicey enough. Pulled it off in the end. Everything gradually came together like the giant pieces of a jigsaw floating together in outer space. Aquinas met Nola and they cried affectionate tears for a while. Chris and Eva were re-united with a lot of relief too. Dyane ran into Peter’s arms and even Jennings landed back with Kohlia. She was prettier now. Youthful. Jennings was all handshakes and compliments on a good job. The clean up operation was going to take a long time, but of all the thing we lost, time wasn’t one of them.
The next day, there were some issues outstanding and Jesus called a court of everyone involved to discuss them. We were all there. Chris and Eva. Aquinas and Nola. Peter and Dyane. Jennings and Kohlia. And me. The major issue was how to get God out of the mental home. Hell had been eradicated and Purgatory dissolved but the Earth was still necessary to learn to appreciate God, although God was trapped in that same Earth now by people who insisted he was insane. Peter said: ‘I reckon we go down and break him out.’ ‘How?’ Asked Jesus. ‘When we’re on Earth we assume human shapes. They could incarcerate us too.’ Peter looked at the ground. Chris said: ‘Maybe get him to say he’s cured and he’s not God anymore. ‘He’ll never go for it.’ ‘And he’s on Morphine?’ Asked Eva. ‘No,’ Said Peter. ‘That’s shite. We thought it was at first, but it’s not. One of the guys that came to Heaven said they saw him in there, taking needles, but he’s just on Anti-depressants.’ ‘Great.’ Said Dyane. ‘Much better.’ ‘What’s he like?’ Asked Aquinas. Jesus explained. It sounded incredible.. I wanted to meet him. Nola said: ‘Well we have to do something. And we have to give The Astra to the Bambino.’ She was looking good. It was great to see her. Took her a while to get her head around the Dyane thing, but it passed over. I said: ‘Jennings, you were there before, you could re-enter, say you’re gone wrong with drink again.’ He shook his head. ‘No.’ ‘Why not?’ ‘I can never go back to that place. Sorry. But no.’ Jesus said: ‘We’ll have to figure it out. Anything else outstanding?’ Peter said: ‘The funeral for Gabriel and the other archangels.’ We all bowed our heads. He said: ‘Of course.’
A choir of angels the next day. Bombastic trumpets and tear jerking cello. Everyone present eternally wounded by their loss. I spent the night before with Melissa. Just held her. Head buried in my neck, her arms strong around me. Sometimes she cried, others she was breathing heavy. There was no need for talk. Just don’t let go. We attended the funeral together. I told her I read the letter. She said she knew I would. I talked about her courage. Her sacrifice. She said she didn’t want to hear it. Jesus gave a sermon. Summed it up with talk about the greater good and the history of Heaven. It made sense, just not to Melissa. She was never without a watery eye, or rubbing a tear away. After, over a pint, I told her everything that had happened. She wanted every detail. Every move, every characteristic, everything about the battle. Part of her was gone. It was easy to tell just looking at her. Time passed. The life of Heaven began to assume a normal routine again. Johnny Kelly and his son were given a place in the army but they spent most of the time trying to round up enough people for a Hurley team. We were waiting for the Astra to be fixed. And hoping we could come up with a solution to the God problem. Both happened on the same day. It was a Tuesday when Jesus came and told me. Spike was here. He’d been sent to the St. Mary’s for drink. Had met God in there. Told him about us, and the Astra and all. This got the Almighty excited and they hatched a plan to escape. The plan involved windows and fire escapes. It was dangerous but they’d made it. They were chased to the Headford road til God found the door and they jumped though. After that he was the Almighty again and they just flew over here. I ‘d been lying on the couch with Melissa. Our mouths touching. Our breath in sync. Jesus said: ‘We better go and meet him.’
It was good to see Spike. We shook hands. He had his guitar with him. Fuzzy hair and lip ring. Where do you start with meeting God? He’s everyone you’ve ever known in one person. We talked. He thanked me for my efforts in the war. Got sad at the mention of Gabriel, Michael and Raphael. Got sad about ALL the killing. I asked him about St. Mary’s. He said he didn’t want to talk about it. Told me it was time to meet The Bambino. ‘At the palace?’ ‘No, that’s just a smoke screen. I’d left orders, if the dead attacked, where she should go. She’s in a much nicer place. Now go get the Astra.’
Went to get it. Chris and Aquinas and Jennings came with me. Four amigos. Blue sky.. New trees starting to grow. The mess of the dead cleaned up. The smell of burning flesh gone. Rabbits and deer hanging around. Various types of flowers. The old guy was sitting on the same stone outside the warehouse. He frowned when he saw us coming. I shook his hand. He said: ‘Tis a shame to give it to ya.’ Chris said: ‘In fairness now, it was a rough journey.’ ‘She was destroyed.’ ‘Have you fixed it?’ Asked Aquinas. ‘Yes I have. Even took the tractor indicator off the back.’ He gave us all a stern look. Jennings said: ‘It’s a great car all the same.’ ‘Where are ye going with it this time?’ He was smoking a cigarette. No tip. Brown fingers. Beard. Long grey hair. I said: ‘Galway first. Then Clare Island.’ He looked at the ground. Shook his head. ‘C’mon inside.’ There. It was like the place behind the Blue Note. Astra in the middle. Back to mint condition. A proud shining horse. New tires. Wing mirrors. Wipers. Dents all sorted. The old guy’s name was Chambers. He rubbed his hand on the bonnet. ‘Best car I ever made.’ ‘We’re bringing it back to The Bambino.’ ‘I fuckin hope so. Things still aren’t right til she gets it. People here might starting thinking they’ll bring it for a spin, she doesn’t deserve it, and the whole lot gets fucked again.’ It went on like that. It was time to go. We all sat in. Chris and Jennings in the back. Aquinas and in the front. He said: ‘Drop me at Nola’s.’ We did. The car surged. Rearing to go. We tore outta the warehouse and Chambers was far from impressed. The plan was this: Drive back to Galway. The road would be much better now that Hell had been cleared. The Bambino was in Clare Island. Waiting for me. It was the last act of unifications. But important nonetheless.
It was hard leaving. Dyane and Aquinas and Jennings and Kohlia were staying. Chris, Eva, Spike and I were heading back. Eva had to get back to work and Chris just wanted to go wherever the hell she was going. They were serious now. Sticking together. All loved up. I spent the night before with Melissa. Watching the clock tick towards our departure. It wasn’t the intensity we had felt before, it was the fear of leaving. She wanted me there because somehow it made her feel close to Gabriel. My going was like another part of him dying. The morning came and she was asleep. It was the calmest I’d seen her since she got here. Her hand was rested on the side of my face and her breathing was tranquil. Smell of lavender from her hair. She sensed me move, sensed me looking, and opened her eyes. And for a second she almost smiled, like it had all been a bad dream and now I was here and everything was alright, but then she remembered and her smile faded and she said: ‘It’s time for you to leave me again.’ She didn’t come to the car to say goodbye.. I left her place in roaring regret. She closed the door lightly. It was terrible.
God had explained everything about music. How it was important when meeting The Bambino and how only one song was appropriate. It was imperative that I acquired the third state. He gave me an MP3 player. It was new and fancy. One album in the whole thing. I was enlightened. Excited. The send off was emotional. Shook hands with Peter and Jennings. Hugged Jesus. God didn’t come down, just told Jesus to tell me he’d be watching and to treat the Bambino with respect. He was all about keeping his distance, but letting ya know he was there too. Tom the mechanic arrived. It was good to see him. He eyed up the car. Was impressed, said: ‘Drive her easy now this time.’ Told him we would. And then I said goodbye to Dyane, and there was something sad about it and I know she felt it too in the way she hugged me. And when she pulled away she turned so I wouldn’t see her tears. And then Aquinas. I thanked him for everything and he admitted his reasons were selfish. Then he looked over at Nola. She was in a white dress, pearl earrings and huge eyes. And when we said goodbye there was something nostalgic about it, like we’d known each other many years. She caught both my hands and stared at me and said: ‘Don’t mess it up now, you still have to get there.’ The two Johnny Kelly’s were annoyed cos the Bambino was on Clare Island instead of one of the Aran Islands which were in County Galway, not Mayo. And old Johnny said Mayo was only a cunt of a place, but he shook my hand all the same and wished me luck. Then Chris and Eva said their goodbyes. And Spike too. And they were just as emotional but we were all glad we weren’t going to: Limbo, Purgatory, Hell Or War.
The sky was blue when we pulled away. It was hard to drive, like there was an anchor in our stomachs holding us back. Spike in the front. Chris sat with Eva in the back. She said:’ Could be worse, we coulda lost the war.’ ‘I just want to get to Neachtains,’ said Spike. ‘Hey, is that true what I heard?’ Asked Chris. Spike was proud. ‘Yeah.’ I asked: ‘What?’ He turned, giddy. ‘God gave me a lifetime tab in Neachtains for saving him.’ ‘Yeah?’ ‘Yeah, never have to pay for another drink!’ ‘That apply to us aswell?’ He frowned. ‘I don’t know. Don’t want to fuck it up either. Sure we’ll chance it later.’ We got back to the entry point at the sun. The Universe had contracted when we won the war and now the door lay immediately outside Heaven. Half way through the Garden of Eden we hit fifth and burst through with a wallop and arrived bang in the middle of the Headford road roundabout. We were in the same moment as when we left, as if nothing had ever happened. Forty chins still looking in awe. The scumbag in the Honda Civic. The siren. Thought it was the cops. We were up on the grass mound. Tryna get friction. Skidding like fuck. It was just a fire brigade tryna get through. They beeped all thick when they passed. We eventually got out and back on track.. Drove up through Woodquay. It was raining. Stella was smoking outside McSwiggans. I gave her a beep and a wave. Her face said: Who’s that wanker? ‘Drop me at Neachtains, anyway.’ Said Spike. We drove up Eglington. Passed Red Light Records and The Cellar and dropped him off at Brown Thomas on the top of Shop Street. He said: ‘Thanks boys. I’ll give ye a ring later when I suss them out on the tab.’ We said good luck. And cheers for bringing God back. He said no problem, and didn’t he get a mighty reward. And then he left and Eva said: ‘I better go to New Look and see what the story is.’ I parked outside the A.I.B. by Corbett Court. Double indicators flashing. She had some stuff in the boot. We got out in to the rain, holding our heads. It was afternoon and cars swished past. Homeless people drinking in Eyre Square. ‘Fuckin rain.’ Said Chris.’ Eva took out her bag. We stood on the path. It was impossible to know how to say goodbye. She said: ‘You’re a hero.’ ‘You’re beautiful.’ ‘Just don’t fuck it up.’ ‘I won’t.’ ‘Call me when you meet her.’ Her hair ticked my ear. I kissed the side of her face. She kissed back. It echoed. She said: ‘I have to get out of the rain.’ And ran under a canopy outside the shopping centre. Chris shook my hand, said: ‘Shtop.’ ‘I know.’ ‘You couldn’t write it.’ ‘Could ya fuck.’ ‘Will ya bring her back to Galway?’ ‘I don’t what the shtory is. It’s kinda up to herself I think.’ ‘Here. Get there safe anyway.’ ‘I will, and stay outta the Telesales.’ ‘Fuck that.’ ‘I’ll ring ya tomorra.’
Waved at Eva again and got back into the Astra. Hit the wipers. Turned on the heat. A bus beeped behind me. I got going. Up prospect hill and around the Tuam roundabout. Down Sandy Road and straight out by Tirellan. Cloonboo – one pub and a few houses. Headford, the afterbirth of Galway. A mess of dodgy placenta. More rain. Phone reception back Missed calls from FÁS and my parents. No time to think about it. Went through Shrule and Kilmaine and into Ballinrobe. Passed my house and two men were standing there with clipboards talking to the oul fella. Tore on. Got to Partry and took a left towards Westport. The sky was clearing. Sun coming up. Proud Croagh Patrick in the distance. Sensed her as I got closer. Her body. Her presence. The first taste of the third state. Thin roads. Bog either side. Got to Roonagh Quay. They gave the Astra a funny look and then let it on. Choppy waters but more sun above. I thought about them all on the other side. Waiting. The boat engine spluttered. The captain wore a cap. Had images of him turning around and being one of the dead. Like an evil clown, asking: ‘Where the fuck do you think you’re going?’ And then he’d sink the boat. But it didn’t happen and we docked an hour later. I could see why she liked it here. You set foot on the place and you know you’re somewhere special. Like it has a force field around it, keeping out the shite and industry. A timeless spot. Left to yourself. Ocean spread before you. Next stop America. God had told me where she’d be. Over the hill, and down at the cove, watching the water and waiting. The captain drove the Astra off the boat. I asked him about the hill. He pointed. Said: ‘Up there. That’s a fine car. What is she?’ ‘An Opel Astra.’ ‘New?’ ’94.’ ’94!?’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘I coulda sworn she was zero nine.’ ‘Might as well be.’ ‘You’re not sellin her?’ ‘No.’ ‘Would ya ever?’ ‘Aragh…I’m just kinda minding it for someone.’ ‘Oh that’s fair enough.’ We said goodbye. My hands weren’t my hands. I was outside my body. Still tangible,but aware of everything. The music in the wind. The growing of the grass. The lap of the water. The tick of the engine. I drove up the hill as far as it would go. Then walked the rest of the way. I felt older. Nervous. Wiser. Confused. Then calm and certainty. I knew everything. Knew that she was everything. The sun was beating down and it was incredibly hot. Sheep grazed. The ocean floor sparkled. Blue sky. A smell like a meadow. An engine tractor in the distance. A silent ship floating beyond. I was an atom. A giant. All things. Nothing. God said I’d see her once I got over the hill. She’d be sitting with her chin on her knees. Arms around her shins. Contemplating the horizon. I had about five more steps to go. First state,second state. Third. Took out the MP3 player. Found The Waterboys. Scrolled down.Fisherman’s Blues. Hit play and walked.
