The Irish Tales

This is the first page of another short story of mine.......

Carimba, caramba, my friend Jack.
　
Jaime wends his way through the sweating, coupling crowd like a bulldozer with manners, never quite causing offence, but not feeling the need to stop and check either.

Like the air before a storm, the space immediately before him clears, as if advance notice of his progress has reached it and though there are some dark scowls and muttered threats, they never rise above the obligatory and certainly never trouble his ears.

I slip-stream him, cocooned by his bow-wave, muttering similar obligatories to ruffled men and raffled women, corners of my eyes catching the pursed drinks and slopped lips, the visceral stink of futile envy that hangs low over the company of men.

Carimba ! My friend Jack will be here tonight, Jaime has assured me.
Caramba ! My friend Jack will give you audience and listen to your tale of woe, for that is what he does.

And then we are in clear water, a vacuum of calm and peace.

But Jack is not happy. Oh no, he is far from happy. Listen to what Jack has to say and see if you don’t feel a certain sympathy.

"You know what pisses me off, old love ?
You know what really, really pisses me off ?
I’ll tell you….. what pisses me off is that after all I’ve done, for all the women in my life, at 54 I still have to make my own fucking bed."

For a moment, I’m stunned. This is not what I was expecting. Not from My Friend Jack, who de man and more.

He can’t make his own bed ?? What kind of a poof cant make his own bed and what kind of a poof would admit that in public ? And why ?

But please, do not think I let any of this show. I am too wise in the way of the world and the way that thing works to make any comments just yet. Oh no.

And besides, after taking a long swing of his brandy, Jack begins again, as follows :

" Were you ever lectured, my lovings, were you ? Were you ever told about your obligations as a man ? Were you ever told how you must behave if you wish to be considered a MAN ? Well, were you ?"

Now I start to worry, for before, Jack merely talked to the glass, but this time he is asking for a response and suddenly I feel the fear of being in his company.

He is not one of us and doesn’t want to be one of us.

"You’re a cunt," I say loudly, but nobody hears me. This is no good. I need to get his attention quickly and relevantly.

"You’re a fucking cunt who could do with a good kicking," I scream.

One of Jack’s boys tries to push me away and I slice him good with my ring finger. He screams and bleeds.

"Woo, woo," says Jack and pulls me a chair. "Sit. Have a proper drink. Call me a cunt again. To my face, this time."


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(Warning : not for the easily offended ! )