There Are Little Kingdoms. Kevin BarryЧитать онлайн книгу.
a normal speed until we got him home. We thought it was funeral pace all the way up through Clare and Galway. And this is the bit I remember vividly, isn’t that strange? We’re in the car, behind the hearse, with my mother up to the gills on tablets, she’s cruising, and my uncle is driving and your man is driving the hearse in front of us through Clare and he must be doing seventy. And all I can remember is the coffin bouncing around in the back of the hearse and thinking, ah Jesus, that can’t be right, like.
A few days later, myself and the brother are kicking a ball again, Teresa, we’re children, we’re Buck Rogers, and you get on with being a child, you do. But are you going to come out of it right?
After the morning’s long walk, after they reached Tobar Pass, they went to a pub for lunch. Soup, toasties, cups of coffee. The pub was rich on hillwalkers and had lately been refitted. A brand new coffee machine gurgled like an excited aunt. The lunchtime rush was just about done, and the slow hours of the afternoon yawned and presented themselves with a certain belligerence. Those who go mad go mad first in the afternoons. There was the usual fall-out of daytime drinkers, glassy-eyed, with their hearty talk and guilty-seeming cheer. A silence had fallen in on the three hillwalkers, it had a knuckly and mannish grip.
Well, said Brian at last, I don’t know about yourselves but I’m going to go out there and get the last of that daylight into me.
Don’t tell me you’re walking again? said Marie, who was out of puff still from the morning’s exertion. She was a pretty but dour woman, with eyes full of dread and rain.
Why wouldn’t I? he said. Aren’t we dead long enough?
Oh Jesus, said Marie, the legs are hanging off me. Are ye watching the calves? I have a pair of calves on me like an Olympic sprinter.
Ah now!
They’re having a great day in the graveyard! said Teresa.
Exactly so, said Brian. You might as well take it while it’s going. We can just circle back and around as far as Drumeenaghadra, then back down into the village. Come on, Marie, for God’s sake! It’ll do you good.
Oh look, I don’t know, she said. I might go back and rest up for a bit first. I don’t know. Ye’re putting me to shame!
Marie, come on! said Brian.
We’ll see you later on so, said Teresa.
Okay, so not only did the two of them go and walk for another three hours, but then they spent another hour in the pub, drinking Smithwicks, and Marie sat in her room looking at the jungle wallpaper. She went to pee in the en-suite and as she sat there a cloud of plaster dreamily descended and settled on her head. It was eight o’clock—eight!—when they arrived back to the B&B. She tried to make light of it, she honestly tried.
I thought the two of ye were dead in a bog someplace! I thought we were going to have to get the mountain rescue out.
Oh stop, said Brian, flushed.
It was hard to make light of it. There was something not far from hatred in her eyes. The three of them went for steaks in the restaurant at the back of the pub. Marie was thinking, am I after letting myself get beat very easily here? Teresa was thinking, she’s much prettier than I am, she always has been, am I only fooling myself? Brian was thinking, all they go on about in the women’s magazines these days is sexual performance.
I’d nearly take the whole cow onto the plate, said Brian.
I wouldn’t put it past you, said Marie, who had looked after half a bottle of decent Rioja in seven minutes flat.
It’s great to see an appetite, said Teresa.
Very quiet and smirky in herself, thought Marie. What went on on that walk?
What had gone on on the walk was that Brian had talked sense to himself. Marie, he decided, was just too good-looking for him: he wouldn’t have a hope in hell. Teresa, on the other hand, was at the back of the line when chins were being handed out and she had the eyes of a crow. Surely this might play to his advantage? Brian was versed in the cruel wiles of natural selection, he knew that the better-looking animal was the obvious choice, but natural selection is quick ignored when you’ve passed forty and you’re masturbating into a sock the grey mornings in a one-bedroom apartment, lounge-diner-cum-kitchen.
And so it was that Brian and Teresa managed a semblance of flirtatiousness on the way back down to the village.
God, Brian, we’re after getting some bit of fresh air into us today, said Teresa.
You’d nearly be driven wild with it, said Brian.
This, by his normal standard, by the normal old go of him, was richly provocative stuff. And suddenly she seemed to be walking very close. Her arm was touching off of his, and just the slight rubbery slap of Goretex on Goretex was enough to make him excited. Is that all it takes, he thought, the one ruby comment?
Some steak, said Brian.
It’s great, said Teresa, it’s done just right.
You can’t top well-hung meat, said Marie, who was making shapes on her plate with fried onions. Waitress! Another bottle of that please.
Partying tonight, Mar! said Teresa.
Why the fuck not? said Marie. Has anyone change for the fag machine?
I didn’t know you smoked, Marie, said Brian.
Many hidden talents, she said.
He sneaked a glance at Teresa then, who made a certain face which said: kid gloves here, pet, we’ll leave her down easy. Brian was already becoming literate in Teresa’s crow-like glances.
After the steaks, there was another painful hour in the pub. It was slow beer for Teresa and Brian, it was fast vodka for Marie. Teresa and Brian prepped each other carefully for the long opulent night that lay ahead.
Back at the St Ignatius of Loyola B&B, they said goodnight so, see you in the morning, bright and early! Brian went left for number nine, Marie and Teresa went right for six and seven.
Drink a glass of water when you go in, Mar, said Teresa.
Fuck off and rot, said Marie.
Half an hour later, Marie heard Teresa leave her room. She did not hear her come back again. She sat there with the light on, she felt headachey. She stood up on the bed and took the battery out of the smoke detector and lay down again and smoked fags.
First bus! She said it aloud.
She looked at the jungle scene on the wallpaper. Probably someplace like Mozambique, she thought. A nonsense jingle from an advert went through her head. Um Bongo. Um Bongo. They drink it in the Congo.
You don’t mind if we wait a little while, do you? he said. Thanks, love. It’s just that all this is very sudden for me, you know? But you ah… you can tell I’m pleased to be here with you anyway, can’t you? There’s no denying that!
There isn’t, said Teresa, coyly.
Teresa decided that she was having a terrific time. This intimacy, she felt, was powerful stuff. Yes, she was greatly enjoying the whole experience but she would enjoy it all the more when she was at home on her couch, alone except for the cat, with the lights dimmed and a glass full to the brim and the late programme on Lyric playing low on the radio. Then she would savour it all truly.
In the kitchen, there was the sound of a kettle coming to the boil, of tea being made, of a pair of slippered feet crossing the polished lino.
I’m thinking of painting the walls blue, Minnie, said the tiny woman. What would you think, Minnie? A blue?
Listen, Teresa, said Brian. I’m totally prepared to give this another go. I have no problem whatsoever getting back up on the horse. Look it, will you come here to me? Oh this is magic.
See The Tree, How Big It’s Grown
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