Gavin Corbett - Green Glowing Skull

A blood sacrifice.

The others were looking at him.

He tried to describe the girl but struggled for precise enough words.

‘She sounds delicious,’ said Clive.

Three minutes later, after trying to describe her better, and telling them how he had seen her a little while before — and how the image of her from that first time and the image of her from hours earlier had moved one over the other and matched like two of the same bloody fingerprint — he had convinced the others that he was smitten.

‘She sounds like the kind of female that a male would know by instinct was beautiful,’ said Jeremiah.

‘Really very beautiful,’ said Clive.

‘You should have courted her.’

‘You should have taken the chance.’

‘You should have heard you there.’

‘Our man is in love.’

Rickard was aghast.

‘But I’ve only seen her twice — briefly.’

‘Briefly is all it takes,’ said Clive.

‘You should have let your heart do the talking,’ said Jeremiah. ‘You should have said to this female there in that Armory concert hall, “X.X., we were put here together at this time for a reason.” Because that is Denny’s message — yes, Clive? Allow the feeling to fill your sails.’

‘Oh yes. Denny is a great believer in acting on impulse.’

‘Go with the life force, that’s what he says. It’s the cord —’

‘The filament —’

‘— that runs through us all. Do not resist. Love’s sweet ways are all that count. Love’s accretions mount and mount. But love’s too shy to show its face. And when it does, it is too late. You must find its hiding place.’

‘Well done, Jeremiah,’ said Clive.

‘These are very stupid songs. They are not philosophies,’ said Rickard.

‘But in them all, taken together — layered, serried, racked — is the truth,’ said Jeremiah.

‘Rickard, you must never let guilt hamper you,’ said Clive. ‘Was it guilt that got in the way last night?’

‘Well — yes, actually.’

‘Rickard, Rickard. Don’t let guilt ruin your life. Guilt is a terrible thing.’

‘And it’s dishonest,’ said Jeremiah.

‘It is,’ said Clive. ‘It’s dishonest. When we feel guilt we are hiding.’

‘Guilt is false. It’s a false emotion, that’s what Denny says. So you must be honest always — he says that too.’

‘He’s all about the honesty. As a singer. As a man.’

‘We could all be more honest, and it would bring pain, but there’d be less pain in the long run, that’s what you’ll find, that’s what he says,’ said Jeremiah. ‘He says where honesty meets danger, that’s love. But we get asphyxiated in all sorts of whores’ front-bottom farts. He didn’t say whores’ front-bottom farts. This is what I’m saying, all of it.’

‘But he says that too,’ said Clive.

‘And … yes, carpe diem . He learnt that in Italy.’

‘Italy,’ said Clive.

‘Desperate,’ said Jeremiah.

‘Don’t talk to me,’ said Clive.

‘All those young females he met over there.’

‘Oh no, the young females came later,’ said Clive. ‘Remember, Aisling was after Italy.’

‘All those young females he met after Aisling.’

‘He never got divorced from her, that’s the thing,’ said Clive. ‘That’s where your guilt comes in.’

‘But even if he could have got divorced, he says it wouldn’t have mattered. He always feels … or felt … I suppose he’s a little past the point now —’

‘Oh, there’ll be life in the old dog, you’ll see, once he comes around from this stroke.’

‘He always feels that he needs Aisling’s blessing. Have I got that right?’

‘That’s what he’s been telling me too. He should have moved on. And everyone saying she was the great love of his life. That was false too. Listening to all that, in his head, that’s what held him back.’

‘When he should have listened to his heart.’

‘Yes! At all times.’

‘So.’

‘There’s a message for us all there.’

‘So go after this female!’ said Jeremiah, cracking a fist into his palm.

Rickard could hold back no longer.

‘Gentlemen! It just wouldn’t do! It would not do to ask a girl out at a murder scene! Especially if the girl in question is complicit in the murder!’

‘Who’s talking about murder?’ said Jeremiah.

‘Murder?’ said Clive.

***

The next morning Rickard lay in his bed, his bladder a balloon of moiling brown bog water, thinking about this girl, and thinking about his coming end. He imagined the words of his death notice — the ‘loved by his many cousins’, and the telling absence of Toni — and the sentimental music that would play at his funeral, and he imagined also how the goo of that sentiment would remain to sicken and spite some, but calcify in time to inspire others. He was never surer that an enemy was ranging against him and his kind, but the only way he wanted to belong to his side now was as a symbol, a talisman, a totem, as some kind of idol that could be held on a bier in battle. He recognised, as a witness to the nefarious act of the night before, and as one who understood its implications, the great solemnity of a calling: as if Justice, with her gold scales, hovered in the roundel of the porthole; or Hibernia, with her gold spear, stood in the grotto of the wardrobe. He could, of course, have willed to his flesh the point of Hibernia’s spear, but that would have been inglorious and meaningless. A more effective use of himself would be as he had first conceived — to force from the enemy the very worst kind of outcome. He would predecease his parents. At any rate, he would force an outcome. He got up and finally went to the bathroom.

Later that evening — he had fallen back to sleep and dozed for hours, terrorised by horribly vivid dreams — he returned to Denny’s building in Morningside Heights and found Jeremiah in the basement. The unmistakable popcorn smell of Bit infused the fuggy air. The dog, now taken into the care of Jeremiah and his brothers, had the run of the place.

‘This is a very serious situation,’ said Rickard.

Jeremiah entered the main part of the basement from a side room.

‘What are you doing here?’ he said. He was grimy from work, and wearing a jersey of the Gaelic Athletic Association county of New York.

‘Your brother directed me.’

‘Oh did he now? Well isn’t he very clever. Would you like a cup of this?’ He held out a mug. ‘It’s buttered coffee what all the youth are drinking. Healthy, they say. And they say only Irish butter will do for it.’

Rickard took one look at the lacquery black liquid with the shining globules on its surface and waved it away.

‘Jeremiah, we must examine this music machine. We must open it up.’

Jeremiah scratched behind his ear, making a scouring sound. ‘And what would you hope to find?’

‘It’s not what I’d hope, it’s what I’d dread.’

‘Would that make it any closer to your understanding?’

‘I’m merely looking for evidence. I feel there’s a link between that machine and what we all witnessed happened to Denny last night. What do you think?’

‘I don’t know. I think he went out like a watermelon, that’s what I think. He wouldn’t have suffered a bit. Now,’ — he took a loud slurp of his coffee — ‘if you don’t mind, I’m in the middle of work.’

‘Oh, and Jeremiah — this girl that I talked about.’

‘Yes.’

‘I want someone to know. I’m going to go to her. To these Puffball people.’

‘And do what?’

‘I’ll have to think about my words carefully. I want to really put it to her. The thing is — I know exactly what it is that I want to put to her, but —’