Rasher had a perplexed look about him. Life was clearly throwing him a ball that was drifting away from his fingers. JP had now noted this a few times in the bar mirror’s reflection. He could see Rasher if he angled his view towards the mirror between the ‘Bushmills’ and the ‘Jameson’. Rasher’s knitted brow would appear every now and again just above the screwcap of the 12-year old Jameson. Donleavy had poured each of himself, Mono and Rasher a big glass of the 12-er one night before Christmas last year. As well he might offer them a treat every now and again. Sure, weren’t the three of them by themselves pushing Donleavy’s profits into a nice health spot on the balance sheet. Donleavy’s accountant was probably worried that the three amigos might switch their allegiance to coffee shops. With drinks in mind – JP noticed that the levels in the reservoir were approaching critical levels.
‘Hoy. Rasher. Come back from Dreamworld. Catch Donleavy’s eye there. If we don’t line up more pints, we could be in danger of shuffling off this mortal coil with dehydration. ‘
Rasher looked at the glasses and then at his drinking colleagues and then shifted his body towards Donleavy down the bar. A finger was raised in the air. It was enough. Communication was complete. Incoming would wing their way to replace three empty glasses in synchronised glass substitution at the perfectly appointed time. It was both an art and a science and the three lads, with the perfect alignment of Donleavy, made it look effortless. But like all these perfected forms – it hid a lifetime of practise that had incrementally got them to this precision.
‘Allright Rasher? You’re not looking like a man firin’ on all cylinders. If ya don’t mind me sayin’ so.’
Rasher took a big gulp of his new pint.
‘Yeah’, Mono added, ‘ya look a bit discombobulated.’
‘Jaysus. Mono. You an’ yer discombobulated. Where the hell did ya hear that word. Ya keep usin’ it. Are we going to have to be listening to the world being discombobulated forever now? ‘
‘Well – only if the world is discombobulated.’
‘Jaysus.’
Donleavy did one of his ‘fly past’ behind the bar and nods were exchanged.
‘Well’, said JP. ‘Is all OK wit de world?’
Rasher decided to take another gulp before he’d order his thoughts.
‘D’ya ‘member at school I was good at the story writin’?’
‘I do.’
‘I do.’
The reply came in duplicate just a bit offset from stereo. More like a wedding response.
‘Well why do ya think I was good?’
JP looked at Mono. Mono looked at JP. They weren’t expecting a quiz. Each had to take some time with their pint to let their neurons collide and spark to prepare themselves for this one. Mono looked to JP for inspiration and guidance.
‘Ya always knew how to write good sentences.’
‘Ya had better ideas than the rest of us.’
‘Yeah. That story about the German tank in Crete. That was a bonzer story. I always ‘member that one.’
Rasher started to smile. His face stretched and his eyes glowed.
‘Thanks lads.’
‘Ya’re welcome Rasher.’
Rasher took another inch of pint before continuing.
‘An’ I have another follow up question. ‘
JP and Mono couldn’t stifle a groan.
‘Naw. Naw. This is easy. Have I ever been to Crete?’
‘Not unless the Rosslare Ferry has suddenly started getting lost.’
‘Exactly. And have I ever seen a German tank?’
‘Not ‘less they’ve recently parked one outside that German language place in Merrion Square.’
‘I rest my case’, Rasher concluded decisively and triumphantly.
JP looked at Mono. Mono looked at JP. Some shoulder shrugging ensued. JP broke the silence
‘Jaysus Rasher. I’m glad you’re not sad and frownin’ anymore. But what the hell are ya witherin’ on about? If ya’re lookin’ for some prize or other for yar school short story – it is a long time ago now. Maybe better to let it go.’
Rasher brought his frown back off the touch line and straight into play.
‘Naw. Naw. Naw. Ya don’t get it. It’s just that the world is screwed up and I wanted to make sure I hadn’t lost you guys to the madness.’
‘Well thanks for the endorsement Dr. Rasher. But ya’re still away with the fairies.’
‘D’ya not get it?’
Blank stares.
‘This bullshit at the moment that ya have to be there before ya can write about it. For me in school – I would have to be a German drivin’ the tank in Greece before I could put finger to keyboard. ‘
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah’, JP piped in. ‘I read ‘bout that. If you write a book about Vikings and you weren’t actually there doing your own share of rapin’ and pillagin’ – then you’re committing the sin of ‘cultural appropriation’’
‘I have no notion what that cultural gig ye’re sayin’ means.’
‘So – not allowed to use yer imagination anymore?’
‘Guess not.’
‘Not allowed to dream or be creative?’
‘Guess not’
‘What do we think?’
‘Bullshit.’
‘Horseshit.’
‘Camelshit.’
‘Worlds gone to Hell in a handbag.’
‘Thanks for your support lads. We’ll need to stick together. ‘
‘Why don’t we stick together over a Smoked Cod and Chips.’
‘Sounds like a plan.’
‘Motion carried.’
‘Drink up.’
‘We’re gone.’
JP@Donleavy’s 