Ride On (9 page)

‘We are.'

‘You're not. You're telling me I'm going to go down the bog and live with Sergeant Slaughter here, but I don't hear anyone asking me what I think about it.'

‘Well, what do you think about it?'

‘I'm not going! Cork? Will you get fucked, will you? You can eat my black shite if you think I'm spending a fortnight in the arsehole of nowhere in Norman's Granny's farmhouse.'

‘Aesop, it's to make sure no one knows where you are.'

‘Fuck off! What am I meant to do in Cork?'

‘Not get your throat slit for starters.'

‘Not get my throat slit? Jimmy, you know what I'm like around culchies. They're always trying to beat me up.'

‘That's because you're always annoying them.'

‘It's just a bit of slagging.'

Norman stood up and clapped Aesop on the back.

‘Well Aesop, you're about to learn to have some respect for your country brethren. You might even learn more than manners.'

‘This is bollocks!' said Aesop. ‘You're not s'posed to give in to mad people! It's only when we … when … the terrorists make everyone afraid of … the … when you stop being … and it's because terrorism is after making you not do the things that … that's … that's when they win!'

‘Well done Aesop,' said Jimmy. ‘You should write a newsletter.'

‘Piss off you. You know what I mean. She's fucking up me life here.'

‘I know, man. Sorry. But Norman knows what he's talking about. It really is better if you get out of Dublin for a little while. The cops will catch up with her and it'll be all over. Look, I'm going to call Garda Ní Mhurchú now and tell her about the piss. I'll tell her you'll be heading off to Cork this afternoon as well.'

‘Dónal. Help me out here.'

‘Sorry Aesop. Norman's the boss and he knows what's best. It won't be for long. No one will know you're there.'

‘But you lot know, don't you?'

‘Well we won't say anything.'

‘And what if she grabs one of you and tortures you to find out where I am?'

‘I can't see her doing that,' said Norman.

‘There we go again with the fucking assumptions, Norman!' said Aesop, waving his page in the air.

‘Well, they don't know where the house is anyway, do they? She can torture them to death and they still wouldn't be able to give anything away.'

‘Fuck sake Norman,' said Jimmy, scratching his head and looking at Dónal.

‘Fuck sake is right,' said Aesop. ‘Two weeks in the crotch of Cork? What is there to do? I betcha they don't even have a zoo down there, do they?'

‘What do you want a zoo for?' said Norman. ‘You'll be out in the countryside. There's animals all over the place.'

‘What animals?'

‘Cows and sheep and …'

‘Oh fucking marvellous. Cows. The great natural entertainers of the animal kingdom. For fuck sake Norman, I want monkeys.'

‘Well there's rabbits. Rabbits are a laugh.'

‘Rabbits. Jesus.'

‘And foxes and squirrels and stoats and badgers …'

‘Me hole.'

‘And the birdlife down there is …'

‘Birds are shite.'

‘Well, Christ Aesop, I'm sorry the granny didn't leave us a house in Borneo.'

‘Borneo? They've good zoos there, do they?'

Aesop heard the knocking on the door, but it was like it was happening somewhere else. In the next townhouse or something. Then it thudded again, a bit closer this time.

‘Aesop. Get up.'

Aesop didn't move. It was one of those mad dreams he had sometimes, when he hadn't scored, hadn't been riding late into the night and hadn't been drinking or smoking a spliff. His head was always racing those nights. He stuck the quilt under his chin and up around his ears and began to sink back into quiet blackness. The door burst open.

‘Get up you sleepy fucker.'

That wasn't a dream. It had a Cork accent.

‘Hmm?'

‘Come on. Time to get moving.'

Who he was, where he was, who was trying to get him to wake up … all these things chugged into Aesop's head and finally managed to eject him from blessed, sweet sleep into a panicked alertness. One eye unstuck and popped open, facing the window. It was pitch dark.

‘Fuck. Is she here?'

His head was two inches off his pillow, waiting for the answer.

‘No one's here. It's time for us to get going. Up you get and into the shower. I'm finished already. The kettle's on.'

‘What time is it?'

‘Ten to six.'

Aesop's head sank back into the pillow and he conked out immediately to sleep again.

‘Aesop.'

Nothing.

‘Aesop!'

‘What?!'

‘Get up!'

‘Is it still ten to six?'

‘Yes.'

‘Then fuck off.'

‘We have to get going.'

‘We don't.'

‘We do. The traffic will start getting bad in another hour and we'll be stuck.'

‘I'll follow you down later. I'll get a train.'

‘You won't. Come on, the traffic …'

‘I don't care!'

‘I care. Get up.'

Aesop sat up in the bed and looked at the big figure standing in the door.

‘Norman, listen to me okay? You're just having a bad dream. We both are. Now go back to bed and I'll see ya later. There's no such thing as ten to six in the morning.'

‘Of course there is.'

‘Why have I never seen it then?'

‘Because you're a lazy shite. Are you getting up or am I getting you up?'

‘What are you going to do? Carry me out of the bed?'

Three seconds later the light in the bedroom was on and Aesop was curled up on his bed and squinting through his fingers as his quilt disappeared out the door.

‘Ye fuckin' bastard!' he yelled after it.

‘Downstairs in ten minutes,' called Norman from the stairs. ‘I'll have the tea made.'

Norman carried the quilt into the kitchen and threw it into a corner. He stuck some toast on, and heated up the kettle again to scald the pot. Then he walked down the hall and cocked his head up the stairs. He could hear the shower running, so he went back to the kitchen to rinse the cups from last night. When Aesop didn't appear after twenty minutes, he started up the stairs to find out what he was doing now. He knocked on the bathroom door.

‘Aesop, are you right?'

Nothing.

‘Jesus, did you fall asleep in the shower now?'

He flicked the lightswitch on and off a couple of times.

‘Aesop?'

Still nothing. He grabbed the door and pushed it open. The bathroom was full of steam but Norman could see well enough to know that Aesop wasn't in the shower cubicle. Oh fuck. What was going on? This wasn't good. He ran back into Aesop's room. The light was still on, but there was no sign of Aesop. Good and worried now, Norman ran down the stairs and checked all the rooms. The front and back door were still locked. The radio was on in the kitchen, but Norman was sure that he'd have been able to hear anything going on in the house while he was getting breakfast together. He ran back up the stairs and checked the bathroom and Aesop's room again. It was only when he practically sprinted into the spare room he'd slept in himself that he found his quarry, curled up in the bed and fast asleep.

*

They were just coming through Abbeyleix before Norman would talk to him except to bark orders.

‘Will you be careful?' said Norman, looking around. ‘You're getting milk everywhere.'

Aesop was eating a casserole dish full of Rice Krispies next to him in the van.

‘Well stop driving like a fucking madman then.'

‘I s'pose you thought it was funny back there in the house.'

‘Honestly Norman, I wasn't thinking at all. I was just trying to get some kip and this big fucker switching lights on and robbing me quilt.'

‘You turned on the shower, sure! Why didn't you just get into it?'

‘Hard to get some kip in the shower. I knew it'd give me ten minutes of peace and quiet.'

‘Well, aren't you the resourceful prick when you want to be. That's something anyway I s'pose.'

‘Would I have made a good Ranger?'

Norman grunted and shook his head.

‘Christ, they'd eat you.'

‘Speaking of which, why did you fuck my toast out the window?'

‘I don't want crumbs in the van.'

‘Yeah, well can we stop? I need to get a sausage or something. I'm still hungry.'

‘We'll stop in Johnstown. Half an hour.'

‘You're just fucking getting me back now.'

‘I want to get into Kilkenny before we stop.'

‘Kilkenny? You mean that's a real place?'

‘As opposed to what?'

‘I thought it was just a word, y'know? Like Carlow or one of them makey-up places.'

‘No, Aesop, it's a real place. Sure where do you think Kilkenny beer comes from?'

‘Oh right, yeah. They named it after the beer?'

‘Christ,' said Norman, checking the odometer to see how long more he'd have to put up with this shite. ‘We should have flown.'

‘And another thing …' said Aesop.

‘Jesus, what now?'

‘Can we change the fucking music?'

‘What's wrong with it?'

‘What's wrong with Joe Dolan at this hour of the morning? Will I make a list for you?'

‘Well put on whatever you want. The CDs are under the dash there.'

Aesop pulled out a CD case and flicked through it. Then he looked over at Norman.

‘Are you fucking winding me up?'

‘What?'

‘Is this it?'

‘What's wrong with it?'

‘The Fureys, Planxty, Stocktons Wing …'

‘That's fine music for you now, boy.'

‘It's fucking not. It's bogger music.'

‘Have a look out the window, Aesop, and tell me what you see.'

Aesop rubbed the window and peered out.

‘Desolation,' he said.

‘Well, it's New York City compared to where we're going. You might as well stick on some Planxty there and get yourself in the mood.'

Aesop stared out the window for a minute and then his mouth dropped open.

‘Look at the size of them shites! How big are the cows in Kilkenny for fuck sake?'

Norman looked out at the stacks of turf drying in the bog they were driving past. He shook his head and sighed.

‘Christ save us from dopey jackeen fuckwits.'

Aesop folded his arms and said nothing for a minute. Then he looked up.

‘I miss Dublin,' he said.

*

When they finally pulled up outside Norman's Granny's cottage, Aesop was asleep. Norman cut the engine and gave him an elbow.

‘Come on Sleeping Beauty. We're here.'

Aesop opened his eyes and looked around in confusion.

‘What's up?' he said, rubbing his face and sitting up straight.

‘We're here. Come on. I need to get a cup of tea into me.'

They both got out of the van and stood there, stretching and bending to get the kinks out. Then Aesop looked around.

‘This is it?'

‘Yep. What do you think?'

Aesop did a full three-sixty, taking in the fields, the other houses dotted around miles away and finally the cottage itself. Then he looked at Norman.

‘It's quiet,' he said. ‘Too quiet.'

‘Grab your stuff there.'

‘Where is everyone?'

‘We're both here. Are you right?'

‘No welcoming party? And what are you bleedin' grinning at?'

‘I'm home Aesop. I love it here. Christ, can you smell that air?'

Aesop took a whiff.

‘I smell something all right. I thought you were after letting one go.'

‘Fresh country air Aesop. Fill up your lungs with that and it'll put hairs on your chest.'

‘And your back too probably. And where's the noise. What's going on?'

‘What's out here to make noise? Look at the view, sure.'

‘All I can see are mountains and rivers and sheep.'

‘Yeah, that's what a view is Aesop. And nice job spotting the sheep by the way. I thought I'd have to explain to you what they are.'

‘What's that over there?'

‘Where?'

‘Over there next to the cow looking at us.'

‘That's the holy well.'

‘What does it do?'

‘It's just a holy well. People come to pray for healing or luck or to find something they lost.'

‘That's a bit fucked, isn't it? You're not allowed pray for luck. That's like asking God to let you win at poker. He'll just tell you to fuck off.'

‘There's wells like that all over Ireland. They were here before Christianity came along, so a lot of the older traditions are still attached to them. The church took them over, but didn't change too much. That one is for Saint Ita. They say she lives in it still as a trout.'

Aesop looked away from the well over to Norman, frowning.

‘Saint Ita the trout? I would've thought I'd remember something like that from religion.'

‘Serious. You go over there and make an offering and circle the well three times clockwise as you're praying and Saint Ita will see what she can do for you in terms of bringing it up with Himself.'

‘Can you see the trout?'

‘I never have. Granny did, she said.'

‘And the mucksavages around here believe that shite?'

‘They do. Are you planning on making any friends in Cork, Aesop?'

‘Hadn't thought about it.'

‘Because you go around calling people mucksavages and they're going to get annoyed with you and take it out on your bollocks.'

‘Ah, come on Norman. A magic fucking trout …'

‘It's just a tradition. We have them in some parts of the country, y'know? That well goes back fifteen hundred years at least.'

‘Is that your Granny's land it's on?'

‘Yeah.'

‘And did she not get a pain in her hole with people traipsing through it the whole time and leaving footprints and butts all over the place while they're waiting for their turn to have a word with the trout?'

‘It's a holy well, Aesop, not a street corner for people to hang around on. Will you get your bag and come on? It's cold out here.'

‘That cow is still looking at us. What does he want?'

‘It's a bullock. And he's probably wondering what the fuck you are.'

‘Who owns him?'

‘Mikey Pat.'

‘Mikey Pat?' Aesop laughed. ‘Jesus, I can just picture the fucking head of Mikey Pat now and the smell of cabbage off him.'

‘Mikey Pat is about six foot six Aesop. County hurler in his day. A lovely man, my cousin and a legend in the parish. I'm telling you boy, you'll have to try and keep that big gob of yours from swinging between your ears like a skipping rope or someone will let fly at you.'

‘And yet this is where you bring me for me own protection? I haven't even gotten me bags out of the van and I'm being threatened by my so-called fucking bodyguard. And by the way, do you realise that the further we got from Dublin, the more you started talking like a mullah? And what's a bullock anyway? Is it the same as a bull?'

‘It's a bull that's been squeezed, Aesop. Will you get your bags and come on?'

‘You squeeze them? When you get lonely, is it? For fuck sake, what would you squeeze a bull for? Would he not get annoyed?'

‘He gets a bit of a shock all right.'

‘So why don't you just leave him alone? Do yiz not have women down here to squeeze when you get the horn?'

‘I'll explain it to you later Aesop. Come on.'

‘Do you squeeze the sheep as well?'

‘We do.'

‘Yiz filthy fuckers. And I thought Jimmy's porn was sad. So what do you call a squeezed sheep?'

‘A wether.'

‘Whether what?'

‘Fuck sake. I'm going inside to get the fire going. You can do what you fucking like.'

Aesop stood on his own for a minute looking at the bullock through the slight drizzle and then shouted in the door.

‘I think he needs another squeeze, the head on him.'

*

‘But why?' said Aesop. He was staring into the fire, his hands wrapped around a mug of tea and his face a picture of disbelief and pain.

‘You have to.'

‘But why?'

‘They're no good to you otherwise. They'll be worrying the heifers.'

‘But … you castrate them!'

‘Yeah. It's what you have to do. Otherwise they'll be no end of trouble.'

‘Jesus, what do you do to your kids when they get out of hand?'

‘Aesop …'

‘Would you not be better off letting them ride all the girl cows and then you'd have more baby cows? It's simple maths, Norman.'

‘The calves would be shite at giving milk later.'

‘But you didn't even give the poor bloke a chance. Maybe his kids would be brilliant at being milked.'

‘They wouldn't. It's a business they're running, Aesop. They can't afford to take any chances. You only let prize bulls near your cows. And anyway, that doesn't even happen all that much any more. You get the AI man in.'