Кен Бруен - A Fifth of Bruen - Early Fiction of Ken Bruen

He was well perplexed. I think he truly didn’t get it. At least I’d shook some crap from the trees.

“The Pioneer Movement was founded...”

I hit the turn-off switch. You couldn’t even call him a bolix. The lights were on. But who was home... I don’t think he knew any better than I did. I tuned in again as he was looking into my face.

“Were you perhaps considering joining our crusade and getting yourself pinned...”

... or nailed.

“No... I’d be more attracted to the militant wing of your organisation.”

“To what, I don’t understand that...”

“A.A.”

Enough. I stood up and wished him a merry Christmas. At the door I glanced back and he was fingering his deerstalker. What was running through his head. Decaffeinated probably. Avoid the kick...

I got nicely scuttered at work. Customers passing through slipped me those minatures of spirits, packets of cigarettes... and even a turkey leg from one woman. I reckoned the Traders perimeter needed checking and patrolled. I chugged whiskey... brandy and gin. Whoa-hayed, I was getting the spirit. Our most persistent shoplifter extended the seasons greetings to me as I returned to the store’s entrance. I spotted Robbie. Parcel laden, he scurried past. I hoped he spent my twenty wisely. I’d be seeing him soon. Come New Year. Gurteen roared past on a lethal looking motor-bike... and threw me a Hitler salute. Deference to the uniform. My supervisor showed. The worse for drink himself, he praised my diligence, my height, my attitude. I asked him if he’d my pay. Producing a rake of envelopes, he had to ask my name.

It included overtime and a Christmas bonus. Yip... feckin... ee! I nipped behind the store and toasted Christmas with something called, “olde England malte.” Hoping it wasn’t aftershave, I supped. M... m... m. I topped it. Glow full.

With an approximation of a step, I resumed duty. I was humming “little drummer boy” when a young woman marched up. Homely face but warm wonderful eyes and well shaped. A little excited though.

“Aren’t you Eddie Dillon?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t you remember me...?”

“No, ma’am?”

“Allison... Allison Brown... I’m the nurse from the hospital.”

“Uh yes, sorry, I didn’t recognize you... in clothes... with clothes on... oh Gawd, I mean, out of uniform... am... you know...!”

“I hate to bother you at work but you said to let you know. Padraig... your friend... he died last night... and I only just got off work... I’m so sorry.”

“Oh Lord...”

At that moment, a “Biddy friendly” grabbed me. Her purse was stolen and she wanted “ACTION.”

“Where is he?” I asked Allison.

“The morgue... at the hospital...”

“Thanks... thanks, I have to go... I’ll go down later.”

The woman pulled me into the teeming crowd. I could see her red face, yapping and shouting. I didn’t hear it... any of it. I could put that down to “olde English malte.” Immunised. I went through the motions with the woman and had her fill out the forms. Her own agitation blurred any reaction from me. I had a uniform. Right. So I knew the score. Right. Behave accordingly. Intimidate the daylights outa her. Eventually she left, in a medium cloud of shock. I kept humming that woeful drummer boy... beat on.

I called Marisa after work... and lied wholesale.

Emergency due to staff shortage... see her in a few days. An effective lie as I didn’t care if she believed it. She wanted to grab it, and we buried our own sides of the fabrication. Yeah-oh, we threw some happy Christmases in there. The morgue was closed. I emerged from the off-licence with a crate of booze. Food...? Food for thought... darkest of all...

At the flat, I dredged up the track suit. A bottle by the neck. Jack Daniels. Did I buy that... and a mug. I sat on the floor and began to shape oblivion. Sip... ah... think... no... no thanks, not today buddy, I’m way through with analysis. Giving ole Jack D. a run for the money. Sour mash it said on the label. Better yet, the sourer the finer. The bell went... why not... ghost of Christmas something. Julie. Bearing gifts... beware of Greekophiles bearing!.. what.

“I didn’t expect to find you in—”

“Me neither... you wanna get yourself a mug and a bottle of somethin...”

“I’ll have whatever you’re sailing with.”

“No you won’t... this personal... ’tween Jack D. and me. There’s vodka...”

She handed me a gaily wrapped parcel and got the vodka. I had some coordination problems but got there. An Aran sweater. I gave her the Kazankatakis. Silence. She was dressed in a heavy black sweater. Black cords... black boots. The pale face looked luminous. The clothes were fitting on every level. Black as my attitude... levels indeed. The vodka took her onslaught stoically. Julie wasn’t big on verbal gratitude but mebbe there was a smile in there when she opened the books.

“How’s the romance, Dillon?”

“Do you care...”

“A whole lot... no! But we can open a conversation on any point?”

“I haven’t been to a funeral for... phew... three weeks.”

“Congratulations... welcome to the land of the half-alive... any withdrawal symptoms or side effects—”

“On your terms, no, life is hunky dory. How’s Robbie?”

“Not too fond of you, Dillon. In fact, he’s on the town with Powl or Rowell... your wan’s brother.”

“He’s going to be meeting his obligations real soon...”

Julie was massacrin’ the vodka. I felt a deep disturbance within and around her. I didn’t know if there was friendship left enough to address it.

“I saw your father...”

“Screw him...”

And that closed that line of inquiry. The Jack Daniels had thrown the care-not switch, but I went again. She was hunched over on the floor. As near as rain and as distant as contentment.

“Julie, what’s eating you... you’re like a bag of cats...”

The smile. Oh, a bitter one, but you took the appearances.

Let’s go Jack.

“Is it on meself but have you trouble in rising even to civility with me.”

“Well, Dillon, you piss me off... but then everything and everybody does. I want out... and I’ve even got that... they want me to return to Greece. Lemme read you a bit of Cavafy.”

Out came the black book. She lit two cigarettes and pushed one at me. She drew on it as if it also was irritating the hell outa her. Perhaps it was... why should cigarettes get exemptions. The piece was from Cavafy’s The City .

“You said, ‘I will go to another land, I will go to another sea.

Another city will be found, better than this... ’”

She gave me the look. Did I want to comment. No. I drank and felt the inner cold. Someone didn’t walk on my grave, they were having a full-blown jig on it. The vodka seemed to have no effect on her. She gritted her teeth and read the next piece in smart-ass American tone.

“New lands you will not find, you will not find other seas.

The city will follow you. You will roam the same

streets. And you will age in the same neighborhoods;

in these same houses you will grow gray.

Always you will arrive in this city. To another land –

do not hope –

there is no ship for you, there is no road.”

I’ll be honest... I enjoyed the American twang... it blended nicely with the Jack Daniels. I poured the vodka. A tremor had laid hold of her voice. No amount of smart-ass-ness could disguise it.

“And here’s the kicker,” she said.

“As you have destroyed your life here in this little corner you have ruined it in the entire world.”

A conversation killer full. They said Julie cared and felt for nowt... ’cept Carlo. A dog. Three years before, we’d been standing on the Square after closing time. There’s time and there’s pub time. Rely on the latter. A dog was weaving back and forth across the road, bewildered by the traffic. A cross between a fox and a tinker’s greyhound. “That ejit will be killed,” Julie had said and called him. Coaxing and cursing, she’d lured him to her... and he’d moved into her life. The dog’s eyes were brown. Pure affection... and it was all for Julie. “Someone forfeited love itself,” she said, and she believed he had the appearance of an abandoned dog. “A crowd from Carlow dumped him here,” she reckoned. To keep his imagined roots, he’d retained the county’s name. That her father hailed from there wasn’t mentioned.