The Irish Tales

Second Life (11)
　
　
Tell me a story, asked the boy who wouldn’t go away. The man stared deeply into his glass.
No. I’ve told you enough today.
Tell me another one, the boy persisted. Tell me about the tiger and the goat.
I’ve already told you that one, replied the man. He wiped the sweat from his brow and out of his eyes. When he opened them again, the boy was still there, silent and patient.
The same fat, blue fly which had kept him company all day buzzed cautiously near his glass. Too close to hit without spilling the brandy.
Have patience, have patience.
The boy was still there. Waiting, pleading.
I liked that story, he said quietly. It had a happy ending.
The man turned his head to look at him, exhaustion in every movement.
Go away, he muttered. Go away.
The boy said nothing. The fly sat there, daring him. The boy punched his knee.
What now? asked the man.
Tell me ! Tell me about the goat and how he tricked the tiger !
The boy punched his knee again.
The man breathed deeply, then sucked at the brandy. No. Go away.
It had no effect. He simply stood there, unblinking.
Please, tell it to me. Be nice.
I’ve been nice to you all fucking day, said the man. Now leave me alone.
The fly took a chance and buzzed his nose before settling down on the rim of the glass.
The man lowered his head onto his chest and closed his eyes. Tiredness overwhelmed him. Sleep would be nice.
You said the goat won because he was cleverer than the tiger, muttered the boy.
The man stirred, opening one eye. I did ?
Yes, you did, insisted the boy. Without being told, he grasped the brandy bottle and filled up the glass, scaring the fly away.
The man ignored him and slowly let his eyes close again. Soon, he drowsed, soon.
The boy slapped his knee once more and he woke up, startled.
I LIED,OK ? I LIED!
He grabbed the glass, spilt most of it, then lashed out at the fly which hovered an inch in front of his nose.
No. No, you didn’t, said the boy calmly. You told the truth and it was nice. Please tell me again. About the tiger and the goat and how the goat won because he was cleverer than the tiger.
The fly looked up at him, questioningly, as did the boy.
The man nodded slowly, anger boiling up in his throat like lava before an eruption.
Ok, ok. You want the true story ? The goat was tethered under the tree to attract the tiger. The tiger came and ripped out his throat in one lunge. Then it ripped off a limb and made off into the night. By the time the hunters knew anything about it, there was nothing to see but a bloody mess. That is the truth,boy.
And with that he crashed his closed fist down onto the glass, sending slivers of brandy everywhere and only just missing the fly.
That’s not what you said earlier, the boy replied quietly.
The man gazed down at the mess of his hand.
When he looked up, the boy had gone away. So had the fly.
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Sometimes First Life and Second Life get a bit blurred. I’m not sure when this happened. But I’m fairly sure it did.