It was a Tuesday night in Donleavy’s. The place was empty. You could hear yourself swallowing your pint. Every step that Donleavy took behind the long counter echoed off the ceiling. To say business was slow was a little like saying snails weren’t built for speed. At one stage Donleavy turned off the lights in the alcove area. He was probably thinking he wasn’t covering the overheads of the electricity. Not that he could really complain. All through the previous weekend the punters had been hanging from the rafters. At least there was always JP, Rasher and Mono. The ‘lads’ sat at the bar on their usual stools. For these three boys alone, it was worth keep the lights on. And right on cue JP raised his finger.
“Hey, Donleavy. If you’re not too busy. If you can manage a free moment. Three more pints whenever you can.”
Donleavy started pulling a pint with all the care and attention it deserved.
“Quiet tonight.”
Nothing like a barman to state the blindingly obvious.
“Yeah.”
“All the money blown over the weekend.”
“Yeah.”
“Too bloody cold and wet to bother venturin’ out on a Tuesday night.”
“Yeah.”
“Good thing I have you three or I’d be on welfare.”
“Yeah. We should have shares in your business by now.”
“Too late – shoulda asked me twenty years ago.”
“Story of me life.”
The Three Amigos went back to the ritual silence of watching their pints settle. Only when the division between black and white was so sharp that you cut yourself with it, did they allow themselves to raise their glasses in perfect synchronised imbibing.
“Aaah.”
“Aaaah.”
“Aaaaah.”
All was good with the world.
JP stared at the mirror behind the bar for what seemed like an inordinate amount of time. This journey of light that caused his reflection to impinge on his retina was often accompanied by moments of great lucidity. Tonight, was no exception.
“Mono – d’ya like where you live?”
“What ya mean, JP?”
“D’ya like where ya live? What’s so hard to understand ‘bout that question?”
“Well. Do I like me house? Do I like the footprint me house is on? Do I like the area? The postcode?”
“Oooh”, interrupted Rasher. “Footprint. Footprint. Whose been watchin’ house programmes on the TV. Footprint – how are ya. Far from any bleedin’ footprint that ya were reared.”
“At least I was reared. I’d say you wuz dumped.”
JP stretched out both of his arms, encircled both of the lads’ pints with his big calloused hands and pushed the pints further away from them to the edge of the counter. The ultimate sanction. Being dislocated from your pint.
“Aisy now gents. We’ll keep it Country.”
The two boys nodded and immediately retrieved their pints and took a good sup to mitigate against any further temporary drought.
“Well, Mono. D’ya like yer house and d’ya like where ya live.”
“I do JP. Its not a castle but it does for me. Me neighbours are sound as brown trouts. I’m elected. Only way I’m leavin’ is in a box.”
More sups were supped while these definitive statements were digested.
“And you…Rasher.”
“Jaysus, JP. I couldn’t top Mono. So eloquent. He sounded as pretty as a twenty-dollar whore.”
“So – you like yer house.”
“Yep.”
JP stared at the mirror and ruminated some more.
JP took a long mouthful of his pint and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He replaced his pint glass on its beermat very carefully – almost reverentially.
“So neither of ya live in a Ghetto?”
“Wha’…?”
“Jaysus…JP!”
“You know well where we live.”
“Ghetto…how are ya!”
“Ya’r a sandwich short of a picnic tonight JP.”
“Yeah – musta lost a few of yer marbles in the wind comin’ here tonight.”
JP was unabashed. He was obviously on a roll.
“What would ET think if he dropped down to look at how people live?”
“Oh no…oh no…not the ET thing again.”
It was a game that JP had started playing recently when he was trying to get across what an objective view would look like. Kept calling it the ‘ET Perspective’ – like as if it was the title of some mystery thriller film. He lorried the remainder of his pint and beckoned for more incoming before he landed with ET.
“ET would say we have Ghetto bookends across loads of books of different shapes and sizes.”
“Donleavy – bring the pints quick will ya? Quick. JP’s gone delusional through lack of alcohol.”
Donleavy made his way up the bar with three pints held in his big hands in a neat triangle.
“As a bar person, I probably shouldn’t even get into this conversation – but I thought the delusions would come from excess rather than not enough?”
“We’re talkin’ ‘bout JP here.”
“Silly me – everythin’ in reverse.”
JP raised one eyebrow and raised his pint as well.
“It’s as simple as this. A Ghetto is a restricted area? Yeah?”
“You got that one.”
“With a minority group in it? Yeah.”
“Well, that’s one way of putting it.”
“So – Martha’s Vineyard would be a Ghetto? Or Dublin 4? Or any gated community?”
The two boys looked at each other for a long time. They were processing this. You could almost smell the friction of the neurons beating off each other. It shouldn’t be true…but…then again. Mono had this anguished looked on his face when he spoke.
“So…it’s a bit like ‘The Projects’ where you wouldn’t want to wander into and then ‘Martha’s Vineyard’ where they don’t want you wandering into…is that the ET bit.”
“Jaysus Mono – I swear you’re getting sharper and brighter with every passin’ year.”
Mono’s chest expanded and he couldn’t stop himself smiling.
“Full marks. And for that amazin’ ET moment – you can buy the battered sausages on the way home tonight.”
“And I want curry sauce with mine.”
Mono put a peeved look on his face, but his chest still stayed out there at full expansion. The battered sausages would be a small price to pay.
JP@Donleavy’s 