She threw back her head, laughed like a hyena, and plunged the
knife into her leg: `D`ye take me for a real stook altogether? I want the bit
of land back and I want it back this minute!`
The next thing I knew the engine was revving up. Jesus, I said to
myself, they're hardly going to heel her out? But they didn't. They just
left her in the bucket and the JCB headed for the road. It was pure bad
luck that there was a match in the field the same evening. I can see it
still. I was never so ashamed. Me out in front with the lights flashing;
herself roaring `God save Ireland! Four green fields. Feck the fecking
Council!` And stretching back along the road, carloads of lads, leaning
out of windows, waving flags, wondering what the hell was going on.
Thanks be to God we got rid of them at the roundabout, but we still had
to go down the Main Street. Did you ever wish you were a midget? Now
and then I looked in the mirror and there she was, sawing her arm,
bawling at the crowds. By the time we got to Saint Fintan's I was
sweating like a pig and I wasn't a bit sorry when they carted her inside.
What's keeping them? Has the shock nailed them to the floor? No.
They're scurrying through the offices, screaming for Form 36A.
Requisition: An ambulance, a priest, four buckets of hot water, four
mops, four Brillo pads extra large. Maybe they got stuck in the snow?
The wind through that window is like a knife. The poor coat's in shreds.
What am I going to do? I can't lie here all night. I know. I know what I'll do. I'll trudge
through ice and snow, head down against the wind, along the lane, the
main road, past the barracks and the football field, the swirling Square,
drunks pegging snowballs at Our Lady, the courthouse, Fortune's corner,
the river, until I come to Willy Mac's. Shake the snow out of my hair,
march up to the bar, howaye lads? bad night out, I put that bastard in
his place, what? put money on the counter and hold the Crested Ten like a baby to my chest.
Listen. What's that? They must've found him. Quick. Quick. Ladies and
gentlemen, Elvis has left the building. Elvis has left the building.
©2006 woodlawn fiction
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