Robert Wilson - Eureka Street - A Novel of Ireland Like No Other

I calmed down a bit and checked out my date. She was about my age, blue-eyed, big-chinned. There was a definiteness about her that appalled and attracted me in equal measure. As she listened to the others talk, her mouth twitched slightly, unable to remain set in the position that she desired. I wondered if this was a tic or her irritation at my presence. And when she glanced my way, it felt like a fight would start. She was pretty Irish, this girl, and it looked like I was never going to be Irish enough. It was very hard. Last week, I'd been beating people up for a living. I wasn't sure I had the delicacy required for this task.

Unfortunately Chuckie let the cat out of the bag once more by letting it slip that I'd been born up West there. I'd figured this girl for a middle-class worst I knew she wouldn't be able to resist the lure of all those credentials of mine.

`You're from West Belfast, then?' she asked me, a new glitter in her eyes. I nearly laughed. Nobody in Belfast says West Belfast. That was TV news talk.

`Yeah,' I said.

Max brightened innocently and Chuckie looked at his plate.

'I wouldn't have guessed it,' said Aoirghe.

And I could have gone in there and then, both hands swinging, but I still tried to let it all slide.

'There you go,' I replied amiably.

She continued, blithe, animated. 'In fact, I was sure that you were a Protestant:

I looked around. I could only see the top of Chuckle's head as he minutely inspected his asparagus. What the fuck was Chuckie doing eating asparagus? Max smiled at me guilelessly. At adjacent tables an eavesdropping couple stared. I'd tried to let it go but, really, who was I to refuse?

'Why would you have thought that? The space between my eyes, the gapless front teeth, the fact that I'm wearing no green?'

I wasn't exactly shouting but my voice was sharp. Some prick had once told me I looked like a Prod because I wore suits and had short hair. I had a low threshold for this stuff. In fact, I didn't have any threshold for this stuff at all.

Max coughed and Chuckie snorted. I even sensed a rumble of encouragement from the other diners. Aoirghe looked untniffed.

'I don't know. You just don't seem very Catholic. You don't seem very West Belfast'

I wasn't a big double-dater. I'd no real experience of the forms but even I guessed that what I went on to say wasn't good blind-date technique.

'I'm sorry but I haven't heard anybody talk crap like that for years. Not very Catholic, Jesus! I'm tired of all that bullshit.'

All the lights in her face switched on full beam. I hated, I really hated to admit that it was quite arresting.

'Very good,' she taunted. 'Does that amount to a political position?'

It was time to start shouting. I was punctual.

'A political position. Oh, for fuck's sake.'

Max creased her face at her friend, hoping she'd stop. Chuckle's face was touching his plate. Aoirghe's chin, already prominent, set further.

`Oh, I'm sorry, do you have some problem with politics?'

She was shrill. Max put her hand on her friend's arm. Chuckie looked up at me and shook his fat cheeks at me. All the fight in me dried up.

`Yes,' I replied, my voice low. `I do have a problem with politics. I studied this stuff. Politics are basically antibiotic, i.e., an agent capable of killing or injuring living organisms. I have a big problem with that.'

Aoirghe was practically purple now and, despite Max's restraining arm, she was winding up to some big barrage when Chuckie piped up in a weak voice. `Hey,' he said, his face bright with lunatic inspiration, `you know the way they call Britain the UK-'

`Actually, Chuckie,' I said, swallowing my anger, `Great Britain and the UK are separate entities. We aren't invited to one of those parties.'

Aoirghe snorted volubly. It sounded like she was saying her name again.

Chuckie smacked half a glass down and went on, `Well, I was thinking the other day that it shouldn't be called the UK at all. It should be called the UQ. It should be the United Queendom.Where's this king they're talking about?' He turned to the rest of us, his chops chubby with his grin. Peacemaker, wit, Lurgan.

There was a big, big pause. There was even a tiny ripple of applause at an adjacent table.

We all ate silently for some minutes, I was fuming and I didn't want to look at the asshole I'd been saddled with so I watched Max and Chuckie instead. It was odd to see Chuckie make out with a girl like her. Again, I was oppressed by the uneasy sensation that Chuckie was going places. It worried me unaccountably. I mean, I wanted him to do well. It was just that I didn't want him to do well enough to show me up. With this swish girl on his arm he was already assuming a patrician air, already giving me grief for not having a girlfriend.

But after a while Max and Chuckle's talk dried up. Aoirghe had caught their eye. I looked where they looked and saw her staring at me with an extraordinary expression. I even looked behind me just to make sure. Chuckie giggled nervously.

'What happened to your face?' she asked.

I poured my wine while I failed to find a quip. Chuckie looked nervous.

'Somebody hit me.'

'Who?'

'I don't know his name.'

'Where?'

'Around the head mostly but-'

'No, I mean where did it happen?'

'Oh. right. On my doorstep'

'What?'

'At my door.'

'Somebody just rang your bell and beat you up.'

'Yeah, more or less.'

'Why did you answer your door to him?'

'He was a cop'

That was foolish. That was my big mistake. I should have known better. Her eyes gleamed with sudden fellowship. She was not a big fan of the Royal Ulster Constabulary, what with her being a Republican and thinking it was a good idea to kill them and all.

'That's disgusting'

'Well, you know, it wasn't that simple.'

She sat back and included our mystified co-diners in her indignation. 'There is an average of one hundred serious assaults by the RUC every year. There is an average of three prosecutions every year. There are no convictions'

I threw the rest of my wine down my throat.'So, Max,' l said, 'what part of America are you from?'

'Don't change the subject,' Aoirghe bellowed.'How can you let yourself be beaten like that and not grow angry?'

`Well, it wasn't really political.'

`What?' she last I was stoking her fire. `It's always political!

I gulped the rest of the wine. Soon I'd be home and everything would be fine.

'I deserved it.'

She was furious. I think she caught fire or something. `Deserved it. Oh, you poor bastard. Is that how you feel about being Irish? This kind of thing will just go on and on until this whole country is united and we are one Ireland.' She half rose out of her chair and looked at me as though she expected an orchestral swell to underline her drama. The other diners were openly staring now and even the waiters looked anxious. Such talk was never profitable in public Belfast, no matter how swish, no matter how bourgeois. People got nervous. People got annoyed.

I spoke up. `Listen, Earache, or whatever your name is, why don't you give it a rest and let us finish our dinner?'

She snarled defiantly at me. It was amazingly arousing under the circumstances. `Don't you want your country united?'

`What country?'

`Don't you consider yourself Irish?'

`Sweetheart, I don't consider myself at all. I'm humble that way.

At last, she started to get really pissed off. `Don't call me sweetheart, you prick.'

From that high point, the evening deteriorated.

She gave us the full whack, the entire job lot. The international perspective, the moral imperative and the historical basis for why it was OK for the people she liked to kill the people she didn't like. I'd had many such evenings, many such listenerships — being Irish, I could hardly have failed it had never been so hard to take, it had never been so ugly.