Roddy Doyle - Paddy Clarke, Ha Ha Ha

They turned on the lights so Henno could see what he was doing. We got down off the seats in time. We played chicken; first down was a spa.

Once, during the main film, Fluke Cassidy took one of his epileptic fits and no one noticed. It was The Vikings. The sun was covered by the clouds outside so we saw the whole film. Fluke fell off his chair, but that happened all the time. It was a great film, easily the best I’d ever seen. We stamped the floor to make Henno hurry up when the first reel finished. Then we saw Fluke.

– Sir! Luke Cassidy’s having a fit.

We all got far away from him in case we got the blame for it.

Fluke had stopped shaking – he’d knocked over three chairs and Mister Arnold had put his jacket over him.

– Maybe they won’t finish the film, said Liam.

– Why won’t they?

– Cos of Fluke.

Mister Arnold called for coats.

– Coats, lads; come on.

– Let’s look, said Kevin.

We went up two rows, and in, so we could get a proper look at Fluke. He only looked like he was asleep. He was whiter then normal.

– Give him room, lads.

Henno was with Mister Arnold now. They’d put four coats over Fluke. If they put one over his head that meant he was dead.

– Someone to go to Mister Finnucane.

Mister Finnucane was the headmaster.

– Sir!

– Sir!

– Sir, me!

– You. Henno chose Ian McEvoy. -Report what happened to Mister Finnucane. What happened?

– Luke Cassidy took a fit, Sir.

– Correct.

– D’you want us to carry him, Sir?

– OH YOU’RE ALL VERY QUIET IN THE BACK -

YOU’RE ALL VERY QUIET -

– Shut! – Up! Sit – Down -.

– That’s my place -!

– Shut! – Up!

We were all sitting down. I turned to Kevin.

– Not a squeak, Mister Clarke, said Henno. -Face the screen. All of you.

Kevin’s little brother, Simon, put his hand up. He was way up at the front.

– Yes; you with your hand up.

– Malachy O’Leary’s after going toilet.

– Sit down.

– Number twos.

– Sit! – Down!

The music in The Vikings was the best thing about it; it was brilliant. Any time there was a Viking boat coming home a fella on a cliff would see it and he’d blow the music through a huge horn and everyone would come out of their huts and run down to meet the boat. Whenever there was a battle they played the same music. It was brilliant; you remembered it for ever. In the end one of the main fellas was killed – I wasn’t sure which one – and they put him in his boat and covered him in wood; they set fire to it and pushed the boat out. I started humming the music, slower; I knew it was going to happen in the film. And it did.

I killed a rat with a hurley. It was a fluke. I just swung the hurley. I didn’t know for definite that the rat was going to be coming my way. I hoped he wouldn’t. It was great though, the full feeling when the hurley smacked the rat’s side and lifted him way up; perfect.

I whooped.

– D’yeh see that?

It was perfect. The rat lay there in the muck, twitching; there was stuff coming out of his mouth.

– Champi-on! Champi-on! Champi-on!

We crept up to him but I wanted to get there before the rest so I crept fast. He was still twitching.

– He’s still twitching.

– He isn’t. That’s his nerves.

– The nerves die after the rest of him.

– Did you see the way I got him?

– I was waiting for him, said Kevin. -I’d’ve got him.

– I got him.

– What’ll we do with him? said Edward Swanwick.

– Have a funeral.

– Yeahhh!

Edward Swanwick hadn’t seen The Vikings; he didn’t go to our school.

We were in Donnelly’s yard, behind the barn. We’d have to smuggle the rat out.

– Why?

– It’s their rat.

Questions like that spoiled everything.

Uncle Eddie was in front of the house raking the gravel. Missis Donnelly was in the kitchen. Kevin went to the side of the barn and threw a stone in the hedge – a decoy – and looked.

– She’s washing trousers.

– Uncle Eddie’s dirtied his pants.

– Uncle Eddie did a gick and Mister Donnelly put it on his cabbages.

Two routes were blocked. We had to escape over the back wall, the way we’d got in.

No one had picked up the rat yet.

Sinbad was poking the stuff with his spear, the stuff that had come out of the rat’s mouth.

– Pick him up, I told him, and I knew he wouldn’t.

But he did. By the tail. He held him up and he let him twirl slowly.

– Give us him, said Liam, but he didn’t put his hand out or try to take the rat off Sinbad.

He wasn’t that big of a rat; his tail made him look bigger when he was on the ground but not the way Sinbad was holding him. I stood near Sinbad; he was my brother and he was holding a dead rat in his hand.

The tide was going out. That was good; the plank wouldn’t keep coming back in. Sinbad had cleaned the rat. He’d put him on the ground under the pump at the cottages and he’d pumped four loads down on top of him. He wrapped the rat in his jumper with just his head showing.

Kevin was holding the end of the plank, trying to stop it from bobbing.

I started.

– Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee -

It sounded great, five voices together and the wind. Kevin picked the plank out of the water; there was a wave coming.

– now and at the hour of our death amen.

I was the priest because I was useless with matches. My job was done. Edward Swanwick sat on the wet steps and held the plank for Kevin. Kevin turned his back to the sea and the wind and lit the match. He turned and saved the flame by the shield of his hand. I loved the way he could do that.

The flame lasted long enough. It was like a Christmas pudding for a while; I could see the fire but it wasn’t doing anything to the rat. I could smell the paraffin. They pushed the plank out, not too strong like a battleship; we didn’t want the fire to go out. The rat stayed on the plank. The fire was still going but the rat wasn’t changing.

We all made trumpets out of our hands. Edward Swanwick as well even though he didn’t know what was happening.

– Now.

We all did The Vikings music.

– DUH DEEH DUH -

DUH DEEEH DUH -

DUH DEEEH DUH DUH – DUH DUH – DUH DUH DUHHH -

The flame lasted long enough for us to do it twice.

I had a book on top of my head. I had to get up the stairs without it falling off. If it fell off I would die. It was a hardback book, heavy, the best kind for carrying on your head. I couldn’t remember which one it was. I knew all the books in the house. I knew their shapes and smells. I knew what pages would open if I held them with the spine on the ground and let the sides drop. I knew all the books but I couldn’t remember the name of the one on my head. I’d find out when I got to the top, touched my bedroom door and got back down again. Then I could take it off my head – I’d bring my head forward slowly and let it slide off and I’d catch it – and see what it was. I could have seen the corner of the cover if I’d looked up very carefully; I could have got the name from the colour of the corner. But it was too dangerous. I had a mission to complete. Steady was better than too slow. If I went too slow I’d go all unsteady and I’d think I’d never make it and the book would fall off. Death. There was a bomb in the book. Steady was best, steps one two; no rush. Rushing was as bad as too slow. You panicked towards the end. Like Catherine walking across the living room. She walked fine for four or five steps, then you could see her face change because she saw that it was ages to go to the other side; her smile became a stretch, she knew she wouldn’t make it, she tried to get there quicker, she fell. She knew she was going to; her face got ready for it. She cried. Steady. Nearly at the top. The point of no return. Napoleon Solo. When you got to the top you had to get used to not having any more steps to go up; it was nearly like falling over.