A Fifth of Bruen: Early Fiction of Ken Bruen
- Автор: Бруен Кен
- Год: 2006
- Язык: английский
- Год: Busted Flush Press
- ISBN: 978-0-9767157-2-6
- Жанр: Триллеры
Электронная книга - «A Fifth of Bruen: Early Fiction of Ken Bruen». Краткое содержание книги:
But Larkin’s father...
“Another one,” muttered Danny.
Sydney Larkin, fascist. He kept a statue of Hilter on his mantelpiece. When you touched it, it gave the famous salute. Philip Larkin said of his family life that it filled him with
Black
surging
twitching
boiling
HATE.
Danny knew all about that. He thought that yet again he might use as his won defense, the dictum of Marx,
“the past weighs like a nightmare on the brain of the living.”
“Yea’... let them chew on that, the bastards,” he said.
He chewed on the toast and washed it down with scalding tea.
“Hits the spot right enough,” he’d said when Nora appeared.
“Who are you talking to?”
“England.”
“Ary, you’re not all in it, is that toast for me?”
She leant over, kissed him on the neck, and helped herself to a slice. Danny turned the radio on, he felt fairly turned on himself.
The DJ was talking about RAGGA, the music of the angry black underclass. It began in Kingston, Jamaica, in the violence of the dance halls. White urban America was apprehensive about some of the lyrics, which appeared to glorify guns, gangs, homophobia, and a hatred of women.
Danny switched it off.
“You can’t beat the old songs,” he said. Nora looked concerned.
“I’m afraid of black people.”
“Why?”
“I don’t even know why... ’cos I’m white, I suppose.”
“Believe you me honey, there’s white folk out there you should be afraid of.”
She picked up the paper and read the police were confident of an early arrest in the vigilante case.
“This poor devil, this vigilante, he needs help so he does.”
Danny smiled.
“He seems to be doing all right on his own.”
“Silly! I meant medical help, he’s obviously off his head.”
Danny got up and made fresh tea. He needed a moment before he could trust himself to reply.
“You’re a psychologist now are you, or have you been reading Cosmopolitan?”
He heard her cup clatter on the table.
“You condescending little bastard, Danny, how dare you insult me like that. You sound as if you approve of this lunatic.”
Danny sat.
“Look, ordinary people live in fear. Every time they go out on the streets they have to wonder if they’ll be mugged, raped or attacked. While they’re out there, they also worry that their homes are being ransacked. There’s no let up.”
“But it’s the times we live in... all the unemployment.”
“Ah, don’t give me that. I’m talking to you about the way it is, not why it is... No, no, let me finish. Now imagine if it were possible to reverse things a little. If it were dangerous out there for them,
the muggers
thugs
the predators.
When yer average thug is combing his hair with his knife one evening... what if he was to worry about being attacked... eh, how would that be?”
“Ary, that’s nonsense, Danny. Can I have a shower? I’m free today, would you like to spend it together?”
He wouldn’t.
“Sorry, Nora, today’s the day I go to the cemetery... to see... well, to visit Darcy and her Mum.”
Nora had a lost expression for a moment, then took the risk.
“I could come with you, if you liked... that is, if you wanted me to... for the company, you know... am.”
“I don’t need company there, in fact, that’s why I go there, for their company.”
“Yes, well... O.K.... I’ll just have a shower and get out of your hair. I won’t be two seconds.”
After she’d done that, she seemed not to quite know how to leave. She said,
“I’m not sure how to leave.”
“That’s no problem, Nora, I’ll walk you to your car.”
He did.
They didn’t kiss, and he said he’d ring later. She had an expression of full sadness, and said,
“I better not hold my breath.”
Danny resolved he’d think about it later. Right now he had to get ready. The Morse suit was trotted out again. En route to the cemetery, he bought six red roses and an ALF doll. Darcy was dead before ALF made it big on the children’s favourites. But, for a long time, he had watched TV to gauge what she’d like. He didn’t want her to miss anything, she’d already missed everything. The ALF was a small fortune and he’d have paid that twice over if he could once again see her smile.
“Jesus,” he muttered.
As he entered the gates, it was one of those cold, brisk April days. Earlier rain had washed over the headstones, they gleamed and shimmered. A drinking school was gathered under a tree, bottles of V.P. and Jack being passed round. Danny wondered what he’d have done if they’d perched on his family’s plot. He knew exactly what he’d have done, and tried to get a hold of his temper.
Looked at his Citizen watch... minutes before noon. The two headstones were midway in the place.
“Hello, Katie,” he said, and laid the roses before her.
Then he placed ALF down and said,
“Honeybunch, this is ALF, he’s a bit crazy like yer old Dad.”
Time passed. He felt somebody behind him and he whirled around.
A priest in his early 30s was standing there. Tall, with a huge head of black hair. Some broken veins in his face told of his fondness for the bottle.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, but you’ve been standing there so long.”
Danny checked the time, 3.30, and felt aches in his legs. He shook his head to end the trance he’d been under.
The priest moved a step closer.
“Loss is a hard burden.”
“Yea... tell me about it.”
“Well, God’s hand seems heavy at times, but we mustn’t lose hope.”
Danny gave a tight smile.
“Well... how many of you exactly am I talking too.”
The priest lost it momentarily, then rallied and tried anew.
“I’m Father Riordan, but most people call me Joe. A new era in the church, less formal.”
Danny didn’t call him Joe. He didn’t say anything.
“Well, then, if I can be of any help, if you feel you need to talk.”
“I’ve just talked to the ones I needed to talk to.”
“Yes, there it is, they’re in a better place.”
“Hey, Padre, do us a bleeding favour, eh, give it a rest.”
Danny strode past him and heard the Priest rush after him.
“Those things... am, the flowers and the... toy, they’ll be lifted, you know! I mean, it’s terrible, but it happens all the time.”
Danny said without turning,
“Not while I’m here, they won’t. When I’m gone, it doesn’t matter.”
He was glad of the ache in his legs, it kept him from dwelling on the devastation in his heart. Searching his mind for an old song, he couldn’t find one and said,
“Sometimes, you just can’t sing ’em.”
Danny rang the newspaper when he got home. First he was put on hold, then a young voice,
“Can I help you?”
“No, I want to talk to Mr. Baker.”
“Yea, you and the rest of the world. Ring back on Friday.”
Danny smiled.
“Do you have a pen?”
“What, oh right.”
“Write this carefully, as it will probably be your final piece for the paper.
‘Mr. Baker, the Vigilante rang, and
I told him to ring back Friday.’