Rob Doyle - Here Are the Young Men

She burst into laughter at the question. ‘My God. Why not send a formal written request next time, like applying for college or something. But yeah, go on, you can.’

We kissed for the first time in the weakening late-afternoon sun. I had wanted to do this for a long time, but now I found that the moment was in danger of being ruined — the drink was making my head swim. I felt her tongue on mine, tasted the vodka on her breath and saliva, felt my vodka mix with hers, an airlock of alcohol forming between our wet mouths. I had to open my eyes because the spinning was getting worse.

‘Uv to gsick,’ I mumbled, pulling away.

I clambered to my feet and looked around for a discreet place to vomit, but there was nowhere because we were in the middle of a beach. In desperation I ran towards the sea. I was almost there when I threw up, dropping to my knees and spewing over the wet sand. For a few moments I was oblivious of everything but the sensation of vomiting, the gagging and nausea, the heaving and stench and the vile taste. Then I became aware of the people around me, the families and couples who were still on the beach. I looked to my side and saw the little girl with the ball, standing there, still wearing only a vest. She watched me quizzically, her little sister waddling towards her to take her hand. Then the girls’ father hurried over to take them away, saying, ‘Come on, come on over here, let’s go.’ I started to laugh and let myself fall forward on the sand, my head thudding into the ground beside where my vomit lay in multi-coloured splatters.

I lay like that for some time. Then I got up and plunged into the water, washed all the vomit off my face and felt better.

Sobered up with the vomiting and the cold water, I felt more embarrassed at what I’d done and kept my head down as I paddled about in the bobbing waves, watching the people onshore with a shaded gaze. But I laughed inwardly, looking forward to telling Cocker and Rez about it. I could see Jen lying on the blanket, still resting on her elbows, looking out at me. I waved. After a few minutes I emerged from the water and sat back down beside her.

‘That was so romantic,’ she said, putting her hand on my leg. ‘I’m glad ye enjoyed kissing me so much.’

I smiled and put my hand on her thigh. She put her hand over mine, stroking my fingers. ‘Where are the lads?’ I said.

‘They said they were goin to walk down and find a shop to get some skins. All Cocker’s were ruined. A can burst open in his bag.’

We watched the dwindling crowds depart. It started to get cold and we put on our shirts and tops. I kissed her neck. She put her hand on the inside of my leg, her fingertips near my balls. When I scanned around and saw no one was looking, I slid my hand up her thigh, letting it rest between her legs. She was wet and warm.

A few moments later, I drew away from her.

‘What is it?’ she said.

‘Nothin.’

‘No, what is it?’

‘No, nothin. Never mind.’

I gazed at the sea. She watched me for a while. Then she said, ‘Matthew, are you annoyed because you think I was with Cocker the other night? Is that it?’

I didn’t respond.

‘Well, I wasn’t. Just so you know. Nothing happened, Matthew, I promise. Yeah okay, I was with him once before, but that was ages ago. The other night he slept in my brother’s room.’

I turned to look at her. She met my gaze. ‘Seriously?’ I said.

‘Yeah, seriously. I’ve been hoping something would happen with you and me for a while, Matthew. But ye never seem to do anything. Ye just, like, go into yerself, ye sit there scowling and smoking, ye never make a move. I was always just waiting around.’

I was silent, wrestling with the question of whether I could believe her. Eventually I smiled. I put my head into her neck, kissing her hair.

Some time later, Rez and Cocker appeared on the horizon, silhouetted against the rocks where seagulls squawked. Me and Jen were lying together, hand in hand. I waited to see if she’d take her hand away from mine when the lads got close enough to notice. She didn’t.

‘Jesus Christ, what are you two up to? Can’t leave yis alone for half an hour,’ said Rez with a look of mock disapproval when they reached us. He seemed cheerier than he had been earlier on. We smiled. Cocker didn’t seem at all bothered.

‘Let’s have a smoke, will we?’ said Jen. ‘Half past eight and we’ve only had a couple of joints. What’s goin on?’

It was getting chilly and soon we decided to leave.

When we got up and walked off the beach, there were still a few people remaining: a lone child building sandcastles, an elderly couple on deckchairs. They wore sunglasses even though the sun was waning, giving no more warmth.

It was nearly dark by the time we got back to town. Jen stayed on the train for Blackrock. ‘Let’s meet up again in a couple of days, will we?’ she said as I was getting off.

I tried to persuade the others to stay out with me for a pint, but they said they had to go home. I thought about having one on my own, but suddenly the idea only depressed me, even more than the thought of going home to bed depressed me. I had been euphoric about getting with Jen but now the feeling had vanished. I kept thinking of the junkie’s broken face and feeling that I was to blame. I wandered around town for a while as the rain started falling on the twilight streets. I had enough hash left for a couple more joints, so I went into the jacks in McDonald’s on Grafton Street to roll one — a McSpliff, as Cocker had dubbed such efforts. Then I walked home along the canal, smoking on the way.

The streets were unusually quiet and there was no one else on the canal-bank walkway. Loneliness and melancholy swirled inside me, thickening the more I started feeling stoned again. I paused near a bridge to watch a swan gliding over the oily-black surface of the water. The swan was quite small; probably it was very young, and everything about it gave off a sense of fragility. I looked up and down the canal but could see no other swans, no brothers or parents for the little thing.

Deeply stoned now, I found myself captivated by the creature. Its long, slender neck seemed so delicate. I had a vivid, awed sense of all the ultra-fine nerve endings, bones, muscles and other parts that must have been in there, functioning in complex ways beneath its smooth white exterior. It seemed a miracle that the swan had survived this long without being mangled or smashed to death.

Enchanted, I followed the swan as it floated downstream, its black eyes tilted towards the water. It was drifting closer to the dark mouth of the tunnel formed by the bridge’s arch.

Suddenly I was overwhelmed by anxiety: I became convinced that something awful was going to happen to the swan. In an instant every muscle in me had tensed up, my heart started speeding and my palms sweating. I was breathing too quickly, staring through blurring eyes at the little white shell of life floating through the dark water. I wanted somehow to protect the bird from whatever horrible thing it was that was going to happen, but I felt I would never be able to. The swan was tiny and weak and the world it drifted through was brutal and pitiless like some awful machine. The crazy thought occurred to me that maybe I should bash the swan’s head in, just to get it over with as quickly as possible.

I watched the swan drift towards the tunnel’s mouth. Just as it was about to be swallowed up in darkness I averted my gaze. I hurried away, badly disturbed and struggling with an anxiety that verged on outright panic. I crossed the road, getting away from the lonely canal, and forced myself not to look back, not even to think about it any more.