It was a typical winter’s midweek night in Donleavy’s. The pub was only lightly populated. The doors and windows were respectively shut tight and curtained to keep in as much heat as possible. The open fire slowly consumed large logs and burned glowingly in the wide hearth. If a winter season was necessary – then Donleavy’s was a good place to wait it out until the daffodils poked their heads up. JP, Rasher and Mono sat at their usual positions at the bar counter. The conversation had been sparse up to this point. JP scanned the array of bottles across from him on the shelves. Donleavy really liked to collect alcoholic beverages from all over the world. JP often wondered did he actually sell any drink from these bottles or were they just like some sort of collector thing, like stamps or coins or model aircrafts. His scanning picked out Limoncello. Ah yes – Donleavy had shared some of this liqueur with them previously. Italian. Lemony – obviously! Nice refreshing taste. Italian – that sparked something in JP’s eccentric train of thought.
“Hey lads. D’ya ever hear of Janus?”
Rasher looked at Mono. Mono looked at Rasher.
“Genius O’Toole? Yer man who lives down The Avenue. A few sandwiches short of a picnic?”
“Nah. Janus. A Roman God.”
“Guess that’s a bit away from Genius O’Toole, so.”
They reached for their pints and indulged themselves in some synchronous pint drinking. Some buttock re-equilibration occurred, and everything settled back into a nice calm place.
“So wha’ about him?”
“Who?”
“Janus!”
“Oh yeah. He had two heads and could look backwards and forwards at the same time. They often put a bust of his head on doorways.”
“Good thinkin’. I’d say Donleavy would love to have him as a bouncer on the door on Saturday nights. Very bleedin’ efficient tha’.”
“True for ya. Donleavy would have ‘im signed up. Janus the bouncer.”
They went back to their pints for another synchronous visit. Same action. Same timing. Same volume. Same return to the bar counter. Poetry in motion.
“Hey, JP. What of it? What ‘bout this Janus two-headed dude.”
“Oh yeah. I forgot. I was thinkin’ of this Palestine situation.”
“You and the rest of the bleedin’ world. How do ya pronounce yer man’s name. The war crimes fella?”
“Well, there’s a couple of guys already dead, but its Deif on one side and Gallant and Netanyahu on d’other side.”
“Yeah. The last fella – how do ya pronounce it?”
“Net – en – ya -who.”
“Yeah. A right bleedin’ yahoo if ya asked me.”
At this point Donleavy was gliding behind their area of the bar counter. As he slid past Mono threw out a question.
“Hey Donleavy, how would you like a two headed bouncer. His name is Janus.”
Donleavy, never short of a quick response, was already past them while his words made their way back the counter.
“Janus. D’ya know. Give me two of them. They can keep an eye on each other as well.”
The boys gave him a recognition guffaw.
It was approaching time for glass volumes to be given extra attention. Re-order triggers needed to be keenly observed if empty glasses (serious transgression!) were to be avoided. Subliminal messaging seemed to favour Rasher as the one to raise that finger in the air (no – not that one) – the universal signal for ‘same again’. While re-order was being taken care of, Mono attempted to get the conversation realigned.
“Still not tunin’ in to yer frequency JP, what are we even talkin’ ‘bout?
JP looked left to right and pushed out his chest.
“Ah yes. Janus and Yahoo. Well, if Yahoo would only be a bit more like Janus, he wouldn’t just look back but try lookin’ forward as well. Then he might realise that he’s not wipin’ out his troubles. In fact, he’s makin’ sure that the troubles go on for decades to come.”
Mono looked at Rasher. Rasher looked at Mono.
“How so, JP, sure the bleedin’ country is in ruins. Did ya see the pictures?”
“Well, the Gaza boys shouldn’t have done what they did, but just you imagine if you were a recruitment bod in the future. Just imagine. A couple of pictures and the mention of 2024. They’ll be signing up in their droves. Ya can’t completely wipe out a nationalist movement. It just doesn’t happen. Ask history. Ask Janus.“
“Jayzus. Ya could be right, JP. And Yahoo will have moved on. He won’t have to see what happens in the future.”
They went back to their pints. There was quiet contemplation as each, no doubt, conjured up their view of the future. Maybe. Maybe they were only contemplating whether a burger or battered fish would go better with the inevitable visit to the ‘chipper’ at the end of the evening. It was Rasher again who broke the silence and pushed the conversation on.
“Yahoo won’t see much of what happens in the future.”
It was a bald statement. JP sought some additional clarification.
“That’s very probably correct. He’s no spring chicken. Is tha’ wha’ ya mean.”
Rasher looked to them both.
“Yeah. That. But they are all chasin’ him down. Not only on the war crimes gig but do I remember that he’s up on corruption charges as well?”
“Jayzus yer bang on Rasher. Only thing that stopped him being put in the dock for bribery and fraud was the ‘Rona Virus first and then followed by the war crimes.”
“Ya’d have to wonder.”
“Deffo.”
It was getting to that point in the evening where decisions needed to be made. Another pint? Or a trip to the ‘chipper’. Sometimes these decisions followed a democratic process – a proposal was made and then voted upon with majority deciding. Sometimes the communication was at a subliminal level and decisions got made without the need for overt communication. One way by which the latter would occur would be when the reorder level in the pint glass occurred without any of the three beckoning additional incoming. That was a tacit, unspoken agreement that upon draining of the current pint the pub night was at an end. This seemed to be the case in this instance. Critical volume level in the glass was reached and none of our heroes signalled to Donleavy. Therefore – this was it. Last pint of the evening. No words required. Intentions understood.
“It’s weird, isn’t it?”
“Wha’?”
“Yahoo has been declared a criminal and he, no doubt, will be supported by the bullyboy, orange criminal in DC.”
“Ya couldn’t write this shit.”
“Yeah. Well, ya could. But no one would believe it. Too far-fetched.”
They mused on this for a while. Each in their own thoughts regarding this new world order. One which they would not, or could not, have ever predicted. One which their parents would have tut-tutted as being outlandish daydreaming. One which their children would have to clean up to get the world back to some reasonable semblance of normality and maturity. JP took them into the next level of conversation.
“I think in these days we all have to be open to different approaches.”
There was no take up to progressing this idea until Mono made the enquiry.
“So, are ya suggestin’ somethin’, JP?”
“I am indeed Mono. I’m suggestin’ we try somethin’ different this evenin’. “
“Wha’?”
“How ‘bout a battered sausage? Ya’d get fed up with the burgers or fish.”
“Sounds like a mighty idea.”
“Give Donleavy the nod.”
The pundits would have completely backed a choice of either fish or burger. But the ‘chipper’ actually did a superb battered sausage. This would become evident later when the three amigos chased some battered sausages down with wonderfully fried chips lathered with salt and vinegar. All it took was a little bit of out-of-the-box thinking to open up new vistas and better outcomes.
Just another night in Donleavy’s.
JP@Donleavy’s 