the Gauche with the Moustache

The Ballad of Johnny Felon

2011-11-06T22:17:00.000-08:00

Samba is left at home with instructions not to open the door for anyone. Unless Bruno should perchance come knocking.
-Samba! You’re not listening, is that clear? And if he happens to be in the company of that accursed Muffin you must maul him viciously. Do we have an understanding? That’s my princess. He shakes doggy biscuits into a silver pan. The party assembles outside. Herman observes the man’s nearly empty leather jacket sloughing closed the door. It is bolted. Ready?
Saundra gambols along with Herman and Ian down New Street to Brown Sugar, a café, for some breakfast where Ian is intolerable, if generally ignored. It’s Tuesday, Ian is supposed to get paid tomorrow. Anxious, Herman picks up the tab for three.
Diverting to the town library Herman’s email/mySpace update is halted by the firewall. Might she’ve written? Herman is anxious anyway to get the Peugeot cleaned up. He has in mind to borrow the Peugeot from Ian just a day or three, provided his patron St. Peter would not object, for the purposes of exploring unencumbered many promising opportunities and contacts in Belfast byway of his newfound well-connected acquaintance Aidan Frasier, Friday night where most assuredly many such encounters within the Irish music industry await him at the ‘Alabama 3’ rock concert. Dog-shit smeared all over the back seat is not a part of this plan.
Inquiring at the local detail shop it is found out the shit-wiping up fee is 75.00 euro, 150 American. It is too much, it is almost too much. Ian barks from the backseat directions to someplace as they are leaving. Naturally, Herman will ignore this directive:.. they are not going anywhere right now but back to Ian’s house to clean up the dogshit that he is sitting in back there presently*$%@&?! Nonetheless, a morbid fascination takes hold, obsessively compelling him to determine just what the maniac is saying:
-The what?
-Left ahead then right well stop in at d’ Laoghaire we’ve got a good paying gig there.
-Where?
-d’ Laoghaire…
-I can not understand what you’r say-ing.
Together now with Saundra, The LEAR! O, the Lir, he understands now.
-We’re going home Ian.
The party has procured paper towels and some top-notch poop-remover from the corner hardware denizen. Herman has hard in his head that it is Ian who will do the cleaning. A water-bucket is brought. Powder is sprinkled upon the various places.
Directions: wait 10 minutes.
-You have a spoon? Something you can scrape it up with?
Ian returns with some towels and a butter knife.
-I must talk to the landlord about the door. Back in ten minutes.
-Give me a cigarette.
Glad to be left alone. Ten minutes. The cigarette burns. Smoke elevating Spirit. Herman gets to scraping dung. Patting. Blotting, applying powder. Hours pass. When it’s clean, Ian has prepared lunchbread and cheese and cracked a Karpacki.
Herman takes a shower and the party is leaving in a short while for Frenchpark: Home of the felon Johnny Phelan and his wife. In a newclean car:

O,
Johnny Phelan MacCumhail of
Sunny San Diego suburban proclivity,
Eternal suffering American expatriate
Banished to the land of his forefathers,
banished pining away in Frenchpark.
One early morn of March it was; while
Driving in nineteen seventy-three,
Alleyooped Hell’s Angel o’er the canyon walls
Of San Vicente reservoir,
Aegis, chasse and all
What do you suppose you would do?
I don’t rather ‘spect you’d a-done just what
‘E done! Run away for life and limb
Bounding from an angry gang of angels!
What a situation.
No.
Only few happy moments before
With Chastity his wife besides him, they
Two drove angrily back-and-forth
Shouting at each other whatever for?
Shouting across the lanes!
Yes,
Good Chastity, good wife
Good creature none could love
Better he! And she, as was her nature,
Cut him like butter; to schmear on
Soda farl and potato cakes (just like Mommy used to
make!)
But now she sat scared alone in the Blue
Ford door wide ajar; keys-dangling!
A man is dead. Friends coming round the bend,
Furious mounts a-thunderin’:
We’re coming for Johnny Phelan!
Johnny Phelan MacCumhail!
Alas! Thank God!
The cops arrived just in time then
Rescuing Chastity and hearing her confession;
-You’d never guess, where my husband has left
To, and fucked me off completely! Down yon mountain!
Now, ein’t that some tin…
For-
Johnny Felon was a felon known of yor:
For possessin’ and selling smoakweed o’ the Devil. He,
Gave himself up so bravely there to be shackled
Facing seventeen-years in San Bernardino.
Pen-it-en-tiary.
Soon out on good behavior, faith: Chastity
Hastened to her husband’s side. Upon his
Recognizance parole was granted contingent on
Their immediately leaving for the island of Ireland,
Their immediately leaving the States.

Here,
Pastel sidings like have old Los Angeleans,
Yankee-style streetsigns and cigs comfort him mildly.
Skyping friends in Europe and America until
Arrangements can be made; now that marijuana possession is O.K.
Arrangements for professional immigration council.
Wife Chastity dotes thankfully on Herman now
Homemade bean casserole for him! While Johnny
Eats up all the latest news and gossip from
America, so brave! Land of the free to him,
America, love it and leave it.

Herman and Johnny and Ian sing songs while Chastity and Saundra speak in the kitchen until early hours. Herman drives them home in silence while the other two are sleeping; holding in his heart a promise for Johnny Phelan.

O~
Blow your trumpet Johnny Felon of Frenchpark!
Destined you are to return to America! Now
And Forever a home is awaiting you: in the ‘Burbs
Retiring on a lawnchair recliner,
Here Here!
Return Good Johnny! Return!
To America,
Slainte!

NEXT: Back to the Pale; Dockets; Mummies; Ian fucks off; New Grange; 3A.M.

The Little Soldier

2010-12-26T12:36:00.000-08:00

-I’m standing here in my kitchen on Pound Street in Ballaghaderreen in the aftermath of Mister Perry’s momentous Hibernian debut at the world famous Spells Pub next door. The entire lower level of my condominium has been completely destroyed. As if some sort of bomb has gone off outside my front door. It’s bashed in completely; the window smashed there; glass erywher in pieces. It’s a shambles. Sh’laf to be picked up by summ’n before the dogs get into it. Here there’s what appears to be blood; human or animals we can’t be sure; Samba! Crashed out on the couch as if nothings happened. My dog, here she is wanting to be let out. Where’s Bruno? BRUNO! Outside? ‘Ere the door can hardly open! Ah ah BACK Samba, BRUNO! Disappeard. BRUNO! Samba, call the Authorities! Bruno’s been kidnapped! Blazes! Only yesterday had his papers signed. Shame, look must bolt this thing to have it closed! Come and have a shit out back: There’s a girl, gowa’n! And what in christsname have they done with the little white chair now! Dashed to smithereens! What could’ve happened?! The Garda might’ve taken our case a bit more seriously if they’d seen ‘is. Pleasant chaps, friends o’mine. Portly watchmen, old Corny and what’us is name? Bugger’em! Neighbors called it an emergency; not surprised. All started as we had just returned from our gig, Herman Gauche and I. Muffin had dropped in on us at the pub and introduced himself. Drunk as a bishop of course they threw him right out. Summ’n invited him to join us here after we’d finished, an event he amazingly stayed conscious for, ‘even thought to bring us linens for our poor American traveler (the skamp! He’s rested soundly last night I’ll wager; hope he’s pepperproof!) illequipped as I am to provide fitting hospitality in my humble station I thanked him warmly from the bottom of my heart and bid him goodnight; He couldn't leave it alone at that, the corker! Started in again on how’s ‘is dog! He’s been on about that since he first appear’d. Bruno was given to me, I’ve e’n paid for the licensing now; all the requisite paperwork; in triplicate! Evidentiary: my signature: whiz bang! My Dog! and so I turned him out to the street and locked the door behind him, the mongrel! Pay me no mind, loose the flood by Dingle! Next I know there came a terrible thunder upon the door. The look of panic on poor Saundra’s face, Ha-haa! I’ll never forget that look! Glo-o-r-ia, wash the spiders out! You still back there? In Ex-el-sis De-e-e-o! Attempted to kick in the door he did, and a strong effort too. The racket, Supernatural! And he’s somehow managed to nab my canine right beneath the noses of the constabulatory. And smashed my poor white chair to pieces too! More than twice they say, is masturbating. Come Samba! Back you go! Hell of a time explaining this ‘the landlord. There you have it. Thank you Samba. And now here’s Nathan Perry, our man on the scene, to tell us more! Top o’the morning Mr. Perry. Trifle of a hangover by the gawdawful looks of yeh. Hair o’the dog?
I slug the Hennessey and wince handing it back to Ian shuddering. The familiar bittersweet ache in my jowls raises a drifting, stinking flood of memory.
-Thanksah. Saundra is coming behind me. It’s cold on the patio. She reaches out and tucks her head under my arm joining hands across my hip.
-And speaking of dogs, O hello Saundra, (what a comedian) Bruno’s gone!
-That’s terrible, Ian! She means it. This ones got a heart-a-gold.
-Yes, missing since this morning! The primary suspect is an ugly Caucasian bastard by the name of Muffin! (That dog left a steaming pile of shit in my back seat I'm going to have to clean up today. Good riddens, let him have him!) Absconded with the victim during the night while the police were busy interrogating his rightful owner. He’as a long history of criminal activity. Unsavory to say the least. Approach with caution!
-Stop Ian, I’m sure he wouldn’t!
-I tried to tell them but even I never thought he’d stoop to this. Dognapping! Samba is safe at least, at last! Glad to be home: what’s left of it! The frontdoors jammed, so you won’t be needing the key I gave you, if you haven’t lost it aready it’s no use to anyone: got to deadbolt the blazes to have it shut properly and I haven’t even got a spare for that. And here in the backyard, someone has cracked my little wooden chair in half! It’s a riot scene and the case of the stolen boxer, a good job for a private dick: over to you Nathan.
-All right Ian, thanks.
-At’s hurrible what’sappened to Bruno Ian. I’m so sorry! He doesn’t hear. Saundra stands straight bending back to see him go still holding me in her arms. I need to untangle myself. She rubs my stomach and I take her hand and turn it free.
-Wa’s happened to tha’h chair? Humm. You did tha’?
The dame is onto me, might as well come clean.
-I was in back here trying to light the stove and make ouselves a meal when Muffin came in the front. I heard arguing. I put down the clicker and that’s when all the banging started. You and Ian were shouting at me. You wouldn’t let me out the front door so I came out back here. I needed a club or a pipe or something to scare him off with before he kicked in the door! I’m afraid the chair was the only thing I could find. I smashed it against the wall until it came in two and the legs fell off. So I had this hammer of sorts made out of the other half the seat and the backrest and I jumped the wall.
-That wall? Springheeled Jack ye'must be!
-I was hanging right there on the other side in the dark. Didn’t know how far it was or when I let go what I was going to fall on. So I just let go. I was pretty drunk. I landed on my feet O.K. and had to jump two more walls and finally winded up in the alleyway; scared as hell with half a chair for protection I caught my breath and stepped out under the streetlamp where Moffett could see me as he was winding up for another stomp. There he was, heaving for breath. Hatred sparkling in his eyes: he set them on me! His face was pulled back in a berserker grin exposing a crooked plate of crowded yellowing teeth!
-You don’t say?
-‘Erman? sayz he. He called me Herman. I tilt my chairhalf to show I’m ready for anything.
-I don’wa’a tangle w’eau ’Erman, still panting.
-I can’t have you kicking down my friends door.
-E’s stolen my dog ‘Erman! Bruno is my dog, I wont l‘ehm!
-That’s between you and Ian. I’ve got to sleep here, my things are there, sayz I. We looked at each other a long time. He kept saying he didn’t want to fight me.
-Put down your chair ‘Erman.
-You’re not going to attack me.
-‘Erman I ga’ no fight w’ya. I’m noh goin’t ehtahk ye.
That stopped him kicking the door down at least. So he talked me into dropping my weapon and we finally went across the street to his place and had tea. This is the strangest trip of my life, Saundra.
-But w’eas Bruno?
-Well when Muffin told me his version of what’s happened I believed him. I don’t know what to believe really. I told him I would talk to Ian and we would work it out peacefully. As I was leaving that’s when the Garda were here. I came back to talk to them and Bruno ran up the street behind me and disappeared into Moffett’s place like he belonged there. Fine I thought; so I went inside and crawled into bed. That’s the last thing I remember.
-Went upstairs and went to bed. On a bare naked mattress? Tha’s quite a story.
-Half-naked. In my sleeping bag. Then someone brought me in some sheets.
-Clean bedclothes: care of the drunken maniac!
-Yes. And someone tucked us in.
-Rubbed your back?
-Yes, rubbed my chest, too. One sticky situation to the next. He wants you to, sayz I.
-Who d'jamein? Ya' little soldyr?
-Yes.

RE: Isle of Merry Madmen

2010-11-21T16:11:00.000-08:00

...Arrived from North America this side the scraggy isthmus of Europe Minor in Dublin Airport to meet a man I'd never seen. He was not there.

It was a perfect welcome to a land of utter madness where we will meet the king and Jester, a princess and a brigid witch, peasants of the realm, within the pale and beyond it; Finns, Finans, Flynns and Flannigans. There will be a hired car, a get-away, public nakedness and exegesis; indictments and regrets; treaties, tree people and a bit of craic! There will be blood! and songs to fill the air.

There will be NO roadsigns! But in the end our simple tale has this moral: Ye must be kind, regardless, for the roadsigns only get you where you want to go.

Herman Gauche Seen Leaving Dublin Airport

2010-11-21T16:09:00.001-08:00

The news that someone had stolen alarming quantities of potentially explosive chemicals from a hardware chain back in his homecity in Colorado arrived by television to Herman Gauche en route to Ireland in Dulles Airport, District Columbia. Opinion on the newsroom floor was that this person might intend to blow up an airplane. He stood blinking as the cold concourse loomed in the dusk all around; planes coming in from afar: the ageless procession to the bazaar. After a ride on what amounted to a arctic personnel carrier over the tarmac, passport checked, Herman received his landing papers and boarded with the Emerald heard to again touch down mostly according to schedule, in fact: one hour early at Dublin International Airport. Breaching customs with your electric guitar is a breeze. Why Am I Here? I Am Going To Ballaghaderreen To Play Guitar With A Friend. Except you ‘forgot’(!) to fill out landing papers and this Irish customs gent is irritated now so grabbing a pen and finding some counterspace to write on Herman leaves his book behind: A Brief History of Ireland [which we’ll get to shortly]. So it was a good thing now that he is through customs with his checked baggage and sees that Ian isn’t there no where, no way no how,.nope. I say, I said Ian’s not there! Help meh! to pick you up because that means, yes Herman its twenty minutes to eight now, and you will realize momentarily that you have left behind the book your momma told you to not loose on the other side of those steel doors down a long corridor so the guy you came to Ireland just to meet is not anywhere here where he said he was going to be. And will not answer. his phone. Set: handset. Yes. But before you can sit down and maybe pass some time and read aBHoI we are realizing that you will have to now get back through customs somehow, because you’ve left it, as commented, on the third or-a-bouts from the last customs booth counter. -Shit.

In short order the lady Elizabeth who answers the phone at the customs number comes out to restore the found item to its misplaced owner and he is filled with joy but can’t concentrate to read right now so after another hour of futile phone calls and pacing and staring at the same people waiting there to pick up someone else: 25 euros to check two bags for 24 hours: sounds reasonable. Thank you, up the escalators looking at the sign where you get some nice old pudding pucks with your Irish breakfast with toast, roundish rashers sausages and two eggs. The young lady who was sitting across the aisle durring the flight is eating here too recognizable by her black hose, black dress just covering her right crossed knee east coast co-ed he’d overheard and some previously arrived Americans perhaps. To ask them maybe if they were getting a taxi if I could come? What the fuck are those mmn-good mealy muffin things? Sopin’ up the yolk! Standing up, his cafeteria tray is confiscated. The credit card isn’t working the payphone now; operators keep picking up to say the card is declined and each at a loss to why? Too-many-possibly-suspicious-transaction-in-too-short-time: cautionary stoppage because of all the phone calls to Aye-Ho-Le. I should have known he wasn’t going to be here I knew he wouldn’t when he wouldn’t arrange last week exactly where in the bowels of this airport I am supposed to meet him just get your Denver Hole on that airplane and don’t worry about anything I have all the arrangements made I'm very excited to meet you, Sandra who you talked to will tell you by the way she says hello, she loves the CD I’ll be damned if I can find a sole who doesn’t like it anywhere listen to me don’t be anxious all you have to think about is getting your Denver Hole on an airplane to Dublin Airport on the 19th of September Mister Nathan Perry, recently arrived from Denver, please come to the information booth. -Silence. The clamoring travelers.

Again the message. Walking down the escalator, it is! Toward the information booth now where stands a small man in a brimmed tanned leather hat and green leather droopy coat sleeves hanging from his elbows. Holy fucking shit you’re not going to believe,

–Nathan is it you, ah I’ve been in jail. The police impounded the car I’ve just now returned. Its good to see you it’s been a fucking nightmare I haven’t slept. The dogs were taken from me, Samba and Bruno, gone. The insurance seal for the hired car the bastards didn’t put one on the windshield. We were pulled over, I never knew you must have a liscense to have your dog with you in your car in ....Ireland...., get them at any post office I never thought I would need it you know? can’t believe it, we’ll have to I suppose on Monday before we can get the dogs from the pound in Mullingar. Of course.

-Hi I need to pick my bags back up. Smile. Ticket? 25 euros.

-You’ve checked your guitar that’s a shame lets hope he’s careful with it. Listen, the dogs, this is costing me a fortune, 60 euros a day or something godawful like that, and today is Saturday Jesus, they took all my cash.

-Thanks. Bags are returned and some concentrical coins. So, you were arrested for not having a license for Samba? Bruno isn’t even your dog you said.

-No thats all incidental, yes a warrant for my arrest was issued for an occasion nearly 8 months ago something which I was short a fare although I forked over all I had and the bastard took me to the ATM that had stopped working before taxiing me directly to the jailhouse, do not pass go and so forth heheheh! Anyways the point is I spent a night in the jailhouse for this once before last night and I still owe him apparently 15 euros and I wasn’t at all aware there was a summons for me to appear and I missed court and a bench warrant was issued. My apologies, very nice to meet you, Nathan, thank god you’re here, there’s so much to show you, first things first we’re going to work on those songs, I’ve been listening to your album and practicing, looking forward to it, lots of gigs I’m waiting to hear back in particular on a gig next weekend. They walk together out of the garage across three directions of cabs’n shuttles towards the rental agency lot, cloudy and the airport grey is swooshing folds of finished metal.

-If I can borrow until Wednesday I can get it back to you if you will be so kind, my check will be deposited then, meanwhile by the way, I have made arrangements with my friend Niall he is looking forward to meeting you and having you play his Spells Pub in Ballaghaderreen. Its just a few doors away from mine and he will pay us 30 euros.

What, a hired car? This one. Is there no hired man to drive it then? He puts his bag on the wrong side as Ian opens the door not having noticed the steering wheel there. Ian closes the door and they are heading to the agency booth to complain about the ‘Insurance Seal’ incident carefully not mentioning the arrest and having to take a bus this a.m. from jail to get this car from impound which contained the cellphone that was ringing in approximate 10 minute intervals taking two consecutive messages of vastly different humors from a perhaps stranded American wanabe rock star who has just allowed this man to talk him into putting his guitar and his bag containing his camera and other valuables in the front seat and walking away. He may be a renegade planning on having his accomplice jump in the car behind them and beat him billy-willie-silly and race-away and he will have no clothes for the rest of his ten days in ....Ireland.... if he even survives but this is only the beginning of the confusion? They put Herman on as a second driver and calmly debriefed the weary customers on their current total lack of any ‘Insurance Seal’ inventory and that since they had no more of those little stickers left that they would be glad to vouch for and explain to the police if it happens again. Lets hope not. They return with some paperwork granting Hermans’ permission to pilot the Peugeot a little after 10 o’clock. 3am Herman’s time.

Chapter 2- Diarmuid’s surf; HowthCastle and Environs or Guiness and a Spanish Cigar; Blow at the Tower; Longfort and Ballaghaderreen; Off-License.After Hours

The Long Road to Ballaghaderreen

2010-11-21T16:08:00.001-08:00

Our emissary, Ian, wrests his bottle from behind the passenger seat: Skol. Small wonder, he smells of booze, likely he’s still drunk, certainly will be when that swill hits his nervous system. They are off, on the wrong side of the street, merging and disembarking through roundabouts,Galic/English signs for Caisleán Nua/Newcastle and Muileann gCearr/Mullingar. Dublin Ireland. Civilizations Magnetic North. Thin Lizzy himself, Phil Lynott, walked these streets in the 1970’s. Holy shit I didn’t even realize he was black let alone Irish as his leather booted wraith passes walking determinedly along the Liffey canal to our right as Van Morrison holds his snifter and looks out invisibly from a high window. Ian has been drumming for bands in Dublin since then. He liked Herman’s music and he’s invited him here to play. Herman’s bandmaate Bob was here this past summer and met Ian in a bar. Dr. Bob was here for a university seminar but Herman had equipped him with half a dozen or so Herman Gauche CDs to spread around. Telphone conversations with Ian are difficult at first until you realized he isn't terribly concerned with making sense. If you just let him talk he would eventually remember some point he was making. There were lots of good reasons not to go and this man was first on the list. But here he is. Behind the airport is reputed to be the oldest bar in Europe, the Boot Inn, est. 1657. Herman wishes to see it. He also wishes to have a beer. The Irish don’t seem to have much use for street signs. The Irishman can ‘smell’ his way and failing that, he’ll ask. This is the third such olfactory failure in 15 minutes. First a woman on the street -O the boot yeah turn around back up this way pass the round about and go straight on... Second a man -You say the Boot Inn? No I don’t know it. Can’t be that great then or else we’re no where near there. Now a truck coming down a narrow green lane big enough for one small car at a time while the other heaves into the shoulders piling upon piles of green blades. Ian lights a rolled cigarette with a piece of cardboard serving as a filter and rolls down his window.
–Boot Inn? Your nearly there, just down here to the end of the lane watch now its a blind corner they’ll be coming up most of them far too fast and people don’t realize until they’ve got right in front of someone coming the other way, its really too bad. You’ll know what I mean when you get down there. Go left and straight up the road you can’t miss it. Careful now. On your right thats the Boot.
-Left and on the right, we’ve got it Cheers! Cigarette ash breaks off over the console as he puts the car into drive and Herman chews his gum. I used to come here all the time with my exgirlfriend, the main road went right over there now they’ve put a runway through it and made a mess of everything so no one has any idea where anything is any more he must mean here and they turn left into the left lane around the ‘blind corner’ and Herman isn’t sure if this is the ‘right’ lane or not he just simply can’t keep track of it all but a few moments later he is relieved, traffic seems to be moving along as orderly as before. Yes there on the right. The Boot, certainly one of the oldest bars in Europe, looks closed. The cigarette is hanging loosely on Ians thin lip. Fuck. It is eleven o’clock, 4 Denver time. Dermit, who is at this moment taking a shower, lives only a short distance away and Ian is on the phone with his wife securing some sort of permission from her for a visit and they are off again. There are surf boards in the front yard of Dermit’s place at the top of the hill end of the cul-de-sac. The surfer comes to the door smiling broadly and welcomes them in shaking Herman’s hand. His son is fighting with his sister in the kitchen about sweets she is keeping from him in the refrigerator.
-Would you like some tea or coffee Herman?
Dermit excuses himself to go to the store for coffee grounds and tea ‘for waking up’ but seeing that the Peugot has blocked him in, returns to request the keys. Sensibly, rather than moving the one car and then letting out the other he simply disappears with Ian’s car and Herman’s everything else inside. Is this the accomplice Herman wonders. His debut CD ‘...All Right With Me’ has found its way onto the stereo and 14 years old Siv, her name is so hard to spell Herman can’t make any sense of it at all when he asks, is flattering to Herman. –This is your music? I thought it was a professional. I like the singing. Is that you? It is. Siobhan is strikingly mature and self-confidant, Hermans glad for the compliment allthemore. Dermit is back from the store thank Brigid. Tea for Herman, please. An airplane come in for a landing outside under a small damp breeze. Two more songs play, Herman is mortified that Siv and the young boy will hear him say Go Fuck Yourself on the next track. He tries to warn them to no avail. Dermit wife is introduced. No one takes exception to the profanity this time. Siv suggests Herman sign the CD he’s leaving for her father. He thinks of the surfer movie Step Into Liquid and tells Dermit of it and the scenes in the Irish Sea. Dermit knows well of Laird Hamilton it seems and the Irish surfer doesn’t appear to be as rare as commonly believed, so far. He signs Surfs Up!
Atop a hill around the corner the travelers view opens up on that sea so suddenly Herman is thunderstruck. The ocean and a Martello tower besides. For all he had known they were miles from the shore. Bleak black rock hacks forward through painted gray waves shining under the sky. They park on anyside of the street. The Martello Towers were built by the British durring the Nepoleonic wars. There are thousands of them all over Britain and Ireland but this is not the one that Herman is looking for.
-That is Lambay Island and there is Ireland’s Eye see there that rock sticking out, beyond there is Howth Head.
-Howth Castle?
-Hōth, yes. It’s an island attached by a peninsula. One day they say they will dig it up and declare independence!
-Will you take a picture of me here get the dog in the background. They reembark heading per Herman’s wishes by coastal route towards Howth Castle and Environs, setting of James Joyce’s Finnegans’ Wake, the unquiring one.
Easier to understand in person though a hopeless mumbler, Ian has been in and out of Dublin since childhood. He has spent much time in Lanzarote of the Canary Islands but is not wealthy by his account. He seems to scrape by, perhaps a fallen star. He might be driving too fast but when he was a lad a friend of his was known as Crash for barreling at 100 km/h the whole length of the peninsula with no regard whatever for traffic let alone stopsigns and never hit a thing! Like he was chosen for it. The clouds are lifting mostly now leaving tattered scarves of grey twisting in the superluminous white haze. At the top of the hill they stop. The scene is a rapture. In south Dublin there is a saying, reciprocated in reverse on the north side, that the best part of North Dublin is the view of South Dublin. Up the road a ways lie the eternally open gates of Howth Castle: open since a promise was secured from the Earl himself 500 years ago by the dread piratess Gracie O’Mally to mind his manners and show some kindness to strangers or suffer to loose all his children to man her pirate ship! Today a golf green has succeeded to the Earl’s Deer Park. They park. Walking in the clubhouse doubledoor, then right, left and right again, down the corridor, turn right, there is the pub. Holding within the promise of a pint of Guiness. The door is locked but people are in there. –Jamjamjam. Still locked, uncomfortable stares. Turn right and left, here is the pubs front door and In! Two pints are ordered. Herman must pay for both, that comes to 14euros. Plus tip. 2€.
-What are you doing?! We don’t tip in Ireland besides thats close to 5 dollars you just gave him! Herman grabs the brass/nickel coin and pockets it. Guiness quality control men come by to inspect and clean Guiness lines regularly. Here Guiness is a sacrament! Still you must Wait! for the horizon- see all that carbonation heads to the top. A good bartender, one that knows what he is doing, can pour you a pint and sign it on top and it will still be there when you get to the bottom. At last a clear deliniation is seen between the black Guiness and its frothcream head. His upper lip and moustache excavate a depression in the foam. Herman tastes Guiness in Ireland for the first time.
They escape again past the restrooms through the catacombs, beers in hand, for the garden and cool air. Arrangements are made by telephone with another friend while Ian lights two Spanish cigars, perhaps he is wealthy. Maybe he really did have all of his money taken when he was arrested last night. Maybe Herman Gauche is really in Ireland right now with a well connected music industry mogul! They smoke them and talk in a light drizzle. Herman is a little weary. Ian never seems to stop cogitating aloud for any reason. The cigars dwindle and are extinguished; they repair to a booth inside by a television showing football games to the faithful asembled, and finish the beer. It is 6 hours to Ballaghaderreen. One more errand and they embark through Newcastle, Mullingar, Longfort where they eat kabobs and pita bread, taking some with them as they overrun green miles strewn with glowing yellow haybails toward the westening sun stopping in for pints and a piss all aloved along the way until at last after one final stop at 'Into the West' to arrange to get a gig there came from the darkness:
-(arising) the cathedral of Ballaghaderreen (dimly ahead).Across the street from the cathedral is Ian’s house. The keys are turned while Herman holds his bag and guitar. The door swings open to a red carpet. A ragged towel covers the doorway to the right. They enter. There is a powerful smell of doghair which covers everything. The main room is populated by a television and a drum set, a couch, some chairs and a coffeetable. Another room behind holds the kitchen. Upstairs Ian shows Herman to his quarters, explaining on the way how you must start the hot water pump before getting into the shower. It is an oddly shaped floorplan with a kink of about 20 degrees halfway through, perhaps the rear half was added later but it is cold outside and not much better here. Herman is tired but Jonny Phelan has just arrived downstairs with his guitar.
-Its like he’s been waiting for us I swear to God we’ve only just arrived and here’s Phelan! Come on.
-Nice to meet you Herman I’ve heard a great deal about you. How are you getting along? Are you enjoying Ireland?
-Yes everyone is very friendly.
-Next door has an Off-Liscense, lets get us something to drink before it closes.
The man who owns Spells has heard Herman’s CD as well. Ian reminds him of his promise to let them gig Monday night.
–Sure, Francie will be there, lovely just jam in Herman, have some pints. I’ll see what I can do to get you a few euros and they depart with a tall Karpackie 4-pack and some Hennessey to fuel the jam session nearly to the sunrise. Jonny and Ian carry on long after Herman has gone to bed. Herman burritoes himself in the comforter on the naked mattress. The long day is ended.

A Cottage, County Mayo

2010-11-21T16:07:00.000-08:00

In the morningtime September 20, In the Year of Our Lord Two-Thousand-and-Nine, Mr Aidan Frazier begins the day by exiting his cottage on a hillside, County Mayo, to his front stoop where he stretches his stout heavy arms into the misty heavens and yawns. Proceedingly he fills tin pales one of oats and one of water for the brown skewbald and feathered-high-white cloven horse of the gypsy traveler left to his custody two days prior; re-locating him by process to another post. He then goes indoors. At a quarter to four he receives on his cellphone a call from his acquaintance in Bellaghadereen, Ian, concerning the recent arrival of the musician from the United States, Mr Herman Gauche whom he also talks to briefly, and some town gossip concerning Ian's dogs. Arrangements are made also for the said parties to arrive at the foot of Aidan's lane near dusk. Just recently, a conversation between Mssrs. Frazier and A. extolling for the later milemarks and recapitulating directions has ended and Mr Frazier has resumed watching television. Still again the cellphone is beeping, and it is Ian:

-We’re fucking lost I think. We've passed the farmhouse did you say on the right yes?

-Theres a red fence come up on ya left there and the lane is just across.

-Right you say or left side, Left Side? Inside the Peugeot Ian and Herman have Aidan on the speakerphone, left side, Ian! We passed it a quarter of a mile ago, it was a red fence right back there on the left, just turn around.

-Left side assright look for the horse I'm coming down the lane now to you, I see your lights just go straight on now two...on the left side there...

-STOP!

-stop, Stop.! That's it you gone too far.

-THAT's the red fence that must be Aidan's drive. Just pull back; watch the ditch as the Peugeot is maneuvered again to its original heading through this area moments ago, Ian makes a righthand turn before a wroughtiron green gate. Man and horse approach in the headlights, untie the chainlinks, swinging open the bar to the passengers, standing off-left. Herman is rolling down his window. Ian is shouting over his torso through the cabin at the stranger.

-O. Aidan Hello there, that's a very nice horse, Beautiful creature!

-I'll take hem up ahead you go'on come through there and close the gate behind yeah¿ He leads the beast away. Herman is despatched to re-tie the gate and return. Rolling beneath the canopy after the cottage they tail the white 'ooves at a safe distance-enough to spook not the beast. Up; up to the pebbled driveway fore her door.

-He's been here dozens of times still can't find the place, smiling to the worn weary passenger exeunt.

-Ah-a; Aidan this is Nathan of Denver Colorado, Herman Gauche; you remember the CD I'm sure I must have given you, I've given one to everyone Nathan, they must be sick to death of you already and you've only half been here two days! yes meet Mister Frazier; How do you do.

The stallion is sidled to the fence and tied again nearby his oats as they are entering the hold; he shying off Herman's nic and openpalm gesture extended to him and embarrassingly withdrawn in darkness.

The three are seated on a couch and chair before a television broadcast. Aidan has been watching sporting news.

-Nice to meet you Herman. Lyric, brogueish speech minus Ian's English touches. His Name's Not Herman. Offers him a Bulmer's from the refrigerator accepted genuinely, ciderbeer schtlkksss, how you getting on? Disorienting, Herman, say again?

-How you getting along, first time here in Ireland, hehe?

-Herman Gauche is the name of the band Aidan, this is Nathan, not Herman, his name is Nathan Perry, he's from the United States, from Denver Colorado.

-What's That In Canada he he?

-No it's not in Canada it in the United States for fucks sake, hehe, we came to see you to discuss music we've got to find the man some gigs while he here in Ireland so he can bring the band back with him in Novemeber, o why I bother we're not getting anywhere.

-Yeah, my first trip, always wanted to though. I'm a huge fan of James Joyce. Shh, discussing literature, I studied a little bit about your history, and History! on the plane too, [BHOI] it's fascinating there's a lot to it. Yes it's very nice though, having a good time so far, everyone is friendly and help out you know, everybody talks to each other.

-James Joyce, yeh? Dubliner: I grew up there in Dublin. My brother's a house near the museaum they have dedicated for Joyce in Dún Laoghaire. Spend a lot of time there and in Belfast. Met him, Ian, on the bus back from there, smiles. He was mouthin' off somethin' I told hem shut his gob duighn' I?

-Eeas something like that I seem to remember?

-Comere! Herman starts. You're a musician! What sort eh musician are yeah, Herman?

-Singer and guitar player. I have a band its sort of, country punk we call it or, Americana. Old tyme country, not like contemporary Nashville, but more like Johnny Cash influence, here I brought a CD in.

-Good, well. Very nice.

-You can have it, hope you like it. A shared look before he turns down his mouth in the manner of a honored chieftain.

-Well sign it for him since you here in front of him, getting out a pen. Aidan knows Shane McGowan, you said you know the Pogues. He'll tell you, says he's Shane McGowan's minder, whatever that means.

-I'm a huge fan of the Pogues!

-Shane, yeah know him quite well. What a time he is. Comere see what he says I'm what ye call a minder, a peacekeeper really. Keep ihm out a trouble, eyes beaming inside his round face.

-Like what, like fights? Yaeh!? How do you come to have a job like that??

-Eh?

-How 'you get that job?

-Showed myself to be useful; proved myself in situations; smiling, he is nonchalant. Know the Alabama Three? Herman is shaking his head. Never heard them.

-Ian was telling me a little about them. But they're not from the states, they're from here not from Alabama. Are they a three piece?

-Eh, there from London actually. I lived there for 7 years' how I come to know them.

-Are there three people in the band? Or a core of three pehple?

-No! Nathan is nothing to do with three, its just a name. Arms gesticulating, Ian paces with his beer.

-O, what you know about it? Nothing? It wa'some civil rights workers in the 60's got hung up by a tree in the South there where they get that name from. You know the Sopranos? The big song in the beginning, that's the A3 there. Here he hands Herman a black plastic case; That's a concert they done in London. They're playing Belfast Friday. Herman studies; returns it. Friday is five days hence.

Plunging through a perfect silvered mirror Herman finds himself this day this moment before all the trouble with Ian seeing again the circumscription of his whole life by that Ian must be ditched at all costs this Friday coming. To go on with Aidan to Dublin knowing this too is precisely why we are here both at once from a long deep past coahhihilating; a soul sacrificed to all the roads not taken.

-Are you going?

-Shelly's got a pass for me, their manager in Dublin. I'll pick 'er up there Thursday night and we drive on to Belfast next morning.

-Can you get me a pass?..!

-Don't see a problem with it. I'll talk with 'er tomorrow.

-Excuse me Nathan, you cant go to Belfast Friday. Into The West say they want you to play on Saturday they've said already they will give you 300 euro, we've got to play a show you and I tomorrow at Spells and we've not practiced even one Herman Gauche song except that meaningless jam session with Felan last night, what a waste that was! Once More Without Felan! he shakes his fist, yes you remember hehe, listen we haven't time for all this we've got to get back to Ballaghaderreen for a show this evening and we've got to feed you for chrissakes I'm OK with my Karpacki protein shakes, he shakes his beer, but you I've got a responsibility to your mother; and remember we've got to go to Mullingar tomorrow before noon to get Bruno and Samba from the dogpound sheessus we'll be up all knight god knows why I spent all day and half the night countless hours assembling Herman Gauche cds passing them out all over Ireland!

-This is good for me, for the band, Ian. Let me use the car. Meeting people is why I came here, I can be back by Saturday night, Aidan? Like by 6 o'clock?

-Sure. Take the bus w'me in Charlestown Thursday we can stay with my brudher in Dun Leary. Get a train into Dublin in the morning Shelly will take us from there. You'll like Shelly, bigtime producer in Dublin her and her husband put on shows. Johnny, our friend in London whose a producer also you should meet, he'll be there, we'll have a good time.

-You? what about me God! No you can't take the car, Peter will kill me, he's likely to kill me enough next time I see him for having the car impounded, absolutely not. It's all right, Ian. Lets play this DVD of the Alabama Three, can we put this on?, thanks, I'm in Ireland, smoking a splendid handrolled cigarette watching who?, the Alabama Three WoW that guy what's His name again Jake he's preachin' to the street freeform goes by the Very Reverend Wayne Love or something, and hear what a voice booming in as from above, Rob Love there: WOKE UP THIS MORNING, there he is. O what a voice. Herman is entertained.

-What the two yous doin' this evening, got a show then?

-Going to Spells, you know it? the Chieftans? Yeah, some of the members of this band we're seeing tonight are in the Chieftans, that's what the owner told me, they're called Tread? Ever heard of 'em? I'm playing there tomorrow night downstairs, just a little show for a few beers. Excited to see these guys though.

-They're playing upstairs at 9 o'clock. We really must go. You coming with us eh Aidan?

-You should come.

-Ah sure I'll close up here and move the horse for the morning if I don't return tonight, you done with that Herman?

-Yes, thanks.

-All right we're off then, good.!

Inside the Peugeot: a3 song accompanies these travelers three along the hillsides all the way back in the dark taking a left by the barnhouse bar pointed out helpfully to Herman; fascinated. He is sitting in the back watching the headlights course over the overgrowing corridors of grass under trees past teaming millions of stones stacked upon the worldfamous walls of the farmlands of the Province of Connacht and Western Ireland. Rob Love is singing low as the monks of Clanmacnoise old this time of Socialism in the Mainline, now dodging sniperfire and helicopters in a rooftop gunbattle; turning fugitive! Brother Wayne admonishing: Don't Go to Goa. A tall Kirpackie is passed between passengers. Bulletproof. The hills roll on to Ballaghaderreen.

They park again in front the Cathedral and exit to the off-license for to purchase more Karpackie's for the anticipated early hours Herman Gauche jam session. Preparations are briefly made at the house and the three party remove to the bar down the street.

Greeted at the entrance by our host and welcomed warmly upstairs as a courtesy of admission for Herman's promised playing with Francie's jam-in in back the bar tomorrow night they file into the theater dimmed. There is furious playing of fiddle and harp. Aidan is seated and Herman besides. Attentions are wrapt. A guitar strounces thrice and the red shoulders crowned seated lassy stage right erupts into the sky like a comet! Her clogs land in blazing pugilism upon the wooden floor's percussive frame. Nose high. Arms to side. Relentless, dancing, masseters slacken. She of eminent beauty; all on stage with her, all winging through windows and ceiling remaining in their chairs. Calling, loudly egging to them, barking the annunciation. They are in Heaven. We are in Heaven, feel it Herman with your ready camera. Observing round the stage, close to their feet. A woman approaches you rounding the far side the stage.

-Nathan, is that you? she says. It's Saundra. I talked to you on the phone?

-Oh, hi! Yes, close to her face. How did you know it was me?

-O I didn't recognize you, suppose that's how I recognized you! in your ear a familiar voice and accent. You came in with Ian, you must be exhausted dear flyin' acrost the Atlantic. Isn't this fantastic though, you enjoyin' it? So glad you could make it! A final trounce and wild applause!

An Rí Na Pop

2010-11-21T16:05:00.000-08:00

Downstairs at Spells after the show Herman and Saundra talked by the bar. She loved him and he put his arm around her easily in the cramped crowd. Ian had been speaking with the harpist from the Tread and given her one of Herman’s ‘…All Right With Me’ cd’s. She reciprocated with one of the band’s own cd’s which Ian now delivered to Herman. It was important for him to meet her he felt and insisted. They met Triona by the stairs and exchanged pleasantries. Ian had grand ambitions for this man, he hoped to introduce him to everyone in Ireland and they would tour together, Ian playing bodhrán and hand drums behind Herman and his band. So it is hoped. He had scattershot hundreds of discs to friends and neighbors, bartenders and owners, here and Dublin and points between, some he copied himself and stuffed into makeshift envelopes xeroxed from the cover, 30 of them mailed to him from Colorado with liner notes and thermal-printed cd’s. Last night he had given one to the owner at ‘Into the West’ as he and Herman were passing through Franktown from Mullingar on the road to Ballaghaderreen. It was his impression, not shared by Herman, that the man had agreed to pay them 300 euros (euro?) to play there Friday night. What was assured was that Herman would play here at Spells tomorrow night. The owner, Nile, had liked his copy very much and said so. When Herman rejoined Saundra by the bar, she had just been asking him how he felt about Michael Jackson passing in June. Assassination was Herman’s word for it.
-Yes I know, it’s horrid.
Ruled a homicide by the Los Angeles Coroner the murder had hardly made the news though the posthumous cavalcade of new titles and knicknack merch from the Gloved One had jammed every printing house on the planet with orders booked out for the rest of the year! Charges were brought against the doctor but was anyone going to investigate further, before the trail grew cold? No. This was a powerful man, a hero to millions. The King of Pop, the fool. It would have been made to look like an accident. A perfect crime to take down someone like that! Worth more dead than alive he had been killed for the insurance money and the headlines grabbing guarantee of tabloid TV, tabloid Radio, tabloid Papers and the Internets, live in concert. Profit at all costs! And just you nevermind about the murderer. A conspiracy is a ‘theory’ by definition and not true. Michael was a freak, so he was efficiently removed, the real conspiracy is everyone goes along with this. Thus we have tolerated far too much for far too long. The era of Bob Geldoff’s Live Aid and Michael Jackson and Lionel’s We Are the World was over 20 years. The hopes of the world lay dormant again. Saundra agreed of course, wholeheartedly, but there was a detail here, a tid-bit which now absorbed his curiosity. This trip had been long and strange from its inception, he liked it that way, he’s never even seen a picture of the man he was to meet at Dublin Airport, and he wans’t there! Meeting Aidan this afternoon and the possibility he would be meeting the A3 and their manager this Friday in Belfast was stupefying! The home of James Joyce, U2 and the Celts, it was utterly enchanted. Could any of this be real? Michael was acquitted of all charges in 2005, so let’s presume him innocent as is our Way. He was kinda weird though,
-So you knew him?
-YES I knew him! He was a dear friend of mine.
-Michael Jackson.
-YES!
-W’how did you know him?
-I was eleven when I met him. My mother new John Lennon through her brother Jerry whoas John’s dear friend from groen up and when Michael come through Ireland that yea’ I said “Please Please Uncle Jerry can I come whiches to Shannon to meet Michael Jackson at the airpart!” and we were best of chums from the second we met!
-Wow Herman shook his head as if to jar this loose somehow it stuck there and he pondered this land where people moved almost through eachothers psyches and identities were shared among them and the past or was it only the boose that made him feel that it was special or was this girl, this woman’s heart, could it be broken for loosing a relationship which was real with the real Michael Jackson who was dead now killed after being hidden away for his own protection for so many years from everyone, his friend, from her, maybe thousands like her, or maybe she really made that connection and Michael felt what Herman is feeling that there is magic on this island in these people that he should have loved to hold her dear to him but for the separation his fame had demanded and damned his fate to banishment from everywhere on Earth to be poisoned at last was nearly mercifully. Oh well, hold my hand and we’ll go back to the hotel, just kidding, to Ian’s to play once more with Fėlan, he’ll be there I’ve hopes though he is apparently eightysixed from Spells probably Ian’s doing in some way that HaHa I heard that! In you go in you go where the hell is Felan?!
Aidan is smiling.
-How you getting along Herman?
-All right.
-Are you Hungrey? Yeah?! What you got ta eat in this dog-run Ian! Where are those mongrels their traces of them erywhere. She! The pound you say? Yes! In Mullingar? C’mere listen that’ll over three our from ‘ere, what time you say they close at? Noon! so we needs to be outtowere by eight o’clock eigthirty. Herman’s going to drive us, I won’t get into another car with you behind it again he winks at Herman replaying earlier the view from the backseat on the ride in watching tractor lights ahead closing on the Puegot until Ian slammed the brakes at the last minute, Now lets eattand go ta bed!
-Aidan. aidan listen we’ve got to REHEARSE we’ve got a gig at Into the West on Friday night or Saturday whatever I’ve just got to talk to the man, we’ll do it tomorrow it’s on the way in from Mullingar, eight a.m. as you said yes that’s correct. I haven’t got any food I can’t afford to eat and besides I get plenty of nutrients in my Protein Shakes haha. Ian drinks his beer. “He who should not be mentioned” is going to be here any minute, he’s sure to ruin everything, pound pound, that’s sure to be him speak of the devil! Leave off Aidan, this isn’t a boarding house for unemployed Americans, we’ve got work to do Herman Gauche has a gig tomorrow night, excuse me. Saundra goes to the door ahead of Ian. She is edged away.
-Felan! Have you brought your guitar? Ian. Evening. hello Sandy. Hello Jon have you met Nathan yet? Yes yes what was the name? It’s NATHAN!
-Hello Jonny!
-His banhds cauld Herman Gauche so he’s taken to callin’ himself Herman for efficiency you see! Ecstatic she. Herman smiles to her, nodding, turning, attending all best he can, black hornrims to square thin frames, the returning nemesis looks out over his and raises his eyebrows into the others.
-Herman! Giant, pointing to his own head indicting his brain through his long blond locks, that’s what you said last night, a scowl, from America! “Whats Up”, a sly fold. Sleep any? The maniac h’ant run you screaming mad into the street a’redy? I’m surprised at that?! He’s very drunk now I’nt ‘Ee?
-I don’t notice any difference.
-He’s been terrible to ‘im. Hasn’t fed ‘im a thing! I’m gona steel ‘im! Take ‘im home wiff me? I can’t bear it I won’t stand for it she crosses her hips. Aidan swings back the door from the kitchen amid.
-Don’t worry Herman, found this in the fridge o’er theah, holding a greenishued round-steak on a tealcolored plate.
-I know I saw it earlier but Ian says the stove is broken.
-Broken? Is that the case?
-More shite in the van, I’ll be right back, the archrival sets away his cables and guitarcase.
-Can I lend a hand?
-Sure, sure. Ian’s cowboy boots are descending again the staircase outside the room. They are met upon the landing backs turned to him shouting from the stair.
-Excuse me, where are you taking my singer?
-We’ll be right back Ian.
-Nathan you can’t trust this man, don’t take you eyes off him!
-Fucksake Ian, we’re only grabbing gear!
-Jesus Felan, I’ve only asked you to bring your keyboard we’ve no need for all that.
-I’ll be right back Ian! …all right take your time; what do I care you’ve come all the way to Ireland to chitchat outside with Felan, he ducks under the sheetcurtain in the doorway. Herman emerges to Jonny’s giant staccato laughter resounding daimonically from the opposing faces of the joined-houses ringing the avenue in the darkness between the nearer streetlights intermingling disorientingly with him on their return.
-Jonny Na Hossaleen, from Finnegans Wake, Ian then would be, who? Ian is as infuriating as Herman’s favorite book, but look! He knows now how to pronounce Howth, not How, but Hoe rather, and a th, and boot means trunk, cute, a Wooden Plank would say, Herman is one, a Yank, come yesterday, gray outside the airport, the hassle finding the Boot behind it, Felan’s keys, keybard, two amps, I’ll take that, the boot’s closed, and shelling out 75 euro(s?) for a dime under the tower at the mall, he’ll need more of my money tomorrow to get the dogs out, why does anyone put up with it? Jonny is here; and Aidan and Sandy. Spells, a show, a gig!, free beer, be back, tomorrow evening, tough act to follow, weren’t they terrific: TREAD! The closing rolldoor of Jonny’s Westfalia thunders and reports. The Puegot is parked against traffic, facing the van.
-That the hired car? You haven’t got a seal?
-Yes. That’s why Ian wasn’t at the airport when I got there. He was pulled over for it. They took him to jail and impounded his dogs!
-Weren’t there? Where was he in the pokey!? Haha. The Guarda took him? Yeah. They wouldnt’ave taken him in for that? A seal? No, he mustav been harrasin’um. I’m sure of it! He’s fond of calling them Guarda na Sicín, maybe he’s went and said something stupid like that? Piss drunk too I imagine.
-He was drinking vodka from a bottle under his seat when he picked me up. He said he refused to take a breath test for the Guarda though so I guess we’ll never know.
-We’re smart enough to gin whether its true.
-What does that mean, Guarda na Zitsheean?
- Guarda na Sicín. That means Guardians of the Chickens snarlf! in Gaelic it’s nearly the same as Guardians of the Peace: Guarda na Siocháin.
-Ah, yeah I’ll wager he said something, he never stops I think! Anyway, I’m hoping he’ll let me and Aidan take it to Dublin on Thursday. It’s weird being a passenger on the driver’s side but I’m starting to get used to it.
-O you get used right quick. I’ve lived in America you know, it was the same goin’ over there the first time. Christ I miss the States. I want to go back to but they won’t ever allow it.
-No? Why not?
-It’s a terrible story brother. It makes me ill just to think about it. I’ll tell you another time, there will be time for it. Molly, me wife, I’d like for you to meet ‘er. We lived in California together for fifteen years, she’s an American.
-Oh yeah? I’d like to. Here, you got that? I got this. They turn and reenter the doorway.
-Ian’s looking for you I was just comin’ to find you com’on Saundra smiles and winks. Herman places the amplifier he’s carrying next to Jonny’s guitar and goes toward the kitchen looking at Ian who’s been shouting at him over the din of Wishbone Ash being played at ceriferous volume. He indicates that he can’t hear him as he walks past, Ian is shouting and assembling a cymbal stand. He finds Aidan by the hot stove burner well pleased.
-You got it to work!? Aidan gets things done in the rock and roll business. Herman feels like a rock star. He is lucky to have met this man and they are getting along famously. Herman’s is a mixed bag.
-BANG! the kitchen door is kicked open by a cowboy boot.
Aidan could snap Ian readily in two; but, a handler handles things and that is what he does in accordance with the situation at hand, that being a friendly get together and jam session when Ian shouts that it is time to practice and there is no time left to spare and he returns the uncooked roundsteak and the white plate from the countertop at Aidan’s elbow to the refrigerator and slams the door, he smiles, rolls his eyes and follows Ian to the next room and has a seat on the couch. Herman is crestfallen, hungry and resentful. He joins the party despairing of having come but plays the Ogallala Exit to Lake McConaughy and Always Lonely, his original songs, for them and Jonny plays guitar with him and Ian drums while Saundra and Aidan look on smiling. Jonny begins to play Purple Haze by Jimi Hendrix but the jam session must come to an abrupt halt as Ian has become entangled in some sort of argument with himself and Saundra and decided to kick her out of his home and have Felan drive her home. The plug is pulled on Jonny’s amplifier midriff. Aidan, meanwhile, has seasoned and cooked the roundsteak and served it whole to the hungry Herman with a knife and fork while Ian rants to himself behind the drums. Thin Lizzy sends Herman off to bed and Aidan and the Renegade keep company straight through ‘til dawn.

Cowboy Songs

2010-11-21T16:02:00.000-08:00

Ian and Aidan are conversing downstairs in his Ballaghaderreen apartment after Herman has retired for the evening without too much fanfare:

Off to bed? The hoedown’s only starting! Understandable, his first rodeo and eryhing, he’s exhausted, Well they’ve all left us it’s just you and me listen to this song its Phil Lynot or whatnot, Thin Lizzy, yes as he’s better known around the globe lets play it for Herman, Na’an I mean! err you’ve all got me doing it too names are’nt the thing at any rate what’s important is that he’s a wooden plank! ha ha that’s it and you’re a Paddy. What am I? A Lanzaroten!

-An idiot; rotten tha’s‘alf righe’!

I wish I was there now Aidan it’s absolutely fu’kn beautiful there where I belong if you want the gods honest truth I don’t know how I’ll ever go back ther now with the debts I owe they may have me arrested at the airport if I was to show up there frall I’noe, and worse if I were to run into the wrong people haha I can’t return to the Canaries unless I can pay off the quid I owe, I’m sure to make it bloody rich playing bodhr�n with Herman Gauche “next big thing!” gulp, “Johnny Denver!” gulp ah, that “Yankee Doodle” upstairs yes, can you see it now? “From Colorado, Canada!” riding his pigmy pony all over Ireland fuck to hell and I’ll be Sancho Panza, anyhow yes where was I as that wooden plank in cowboy boots Na’en has gone off to bed now before we could practice it would behoove us I‘hink to play a little song if he’s to play a cowboy in Ireland naturally then he’ll wish to play the Cowboy Song which features a black Irishman called “Phil” of all things bloody just when y’thoug’hings couldn’t get any more bloody wonderful and let me see here I can’t read it without my glasses there y’go: Tonight There’s Gonna Be a Jail Break, Bah. Bah. Bah-bah Come Aidan can you feel the rock! Don’t You be Around… Aidan? Ol’ Johna Dreams’ paid us a visit, too much excitement for you?

-Hrmn?!

No-o-o? Fine. Just resting yr eyes a bit OKey. then I won’t be needing the sand and shaving set just yet ha ha,

-You’ll be need’en broken thumbs.

Just a joke have a laugh there just a jest listen!

-Thas what I’m doin�

-WHoOoOoOoO! JANK JANK JANANG! hold on, hold on! that’s not the one this one when the band gets here we’ll play it all together, sing it with me Aidan for every American within earshot there I see it’s number eight what in the blast!

-WHoOoOoOoO! JANK JANK JANANG! I’ve gone the wrong way.

-You’ve lost the plot.

Wrong way that’s all backwards must be can’t see without my spectacles here fast forward almost there track what was it o yes here: 8 there listen. Ah harmonica plays mournfully by a campfire under the milky way, I Am Just a Cowboy; Lonesome on the Trail. The Starry Nigh here you’re not singing Aidan of course we don’t want to disturb the American no telling what they’ll do if you disturb them I’ll play it for you softly bhap-bhap-bhap-bhap-bhap-bhap-bhap-bhap-bhap-bhap-bhap-bhap-bhap-bhap-bhap-bhap-bhap-bhap-bhap-bhap-bhap-bhap-bhap-bhap-bhap-bhap-bhap-bhap-bhap-bhap-bhap-bhap-bhap-bhap-bhap-Bam-Boo-Doough-Duhm-Boombaloom I AM JUST A COWBOY! Bam-shx-Boo-Dhambahm-shx-Boo-booo Watch the stand is falling over AIDAN! Aidan! aa, ahh there, Bam-shx-bam-boo-boo-Xsssh LORD I’M JUST THINKING ABOUT SOME CERTAIN FEMALE! XSH XSH!!! Any rate you get the idea! Let’s ROLL ME OVER AND TURN THIS THING DOWN! I Can’t Hear Myself Speak much less think, TURN ME A-round, Let Me Keep Spinnin’ Til I Hit The Ground, I had a beautiful kit at one time wonderful had to sell it I’m afraid had this one for several years now it has got a cowbell at least, we’ll need that, more cowbell! yes heh he, three years I’hink to be exact or somehing like that been playing drums for eternity gluhg, Heh you laugh, heh! Listen I learned the drums first from Noel Bridgeman from Skid Row you remember, Brush Shiels’ band, plays with that asshole Van Morrison now, any rate he’s the greatest drummer in the pale; the greatest I’ve ever seen with the exclusive exception of Buddy Rich whom I was fortunate enough to witness with his orchestra at the Guiness jazz festival in nineteen-seventeight I used to be a cabbie in Dublin when I was your age how old are you you’re the youngest of the Clan yes, well doesn’t matter perhaps I was a little younger than you are now in those days I would take people when there was a party and I’dhang out there at each stop along the way until my next call came in I would go to dozen of parties that way I suppose it was quite a scene every kind a person could meet all sorts of interesting people it couldn’t be helped though it was the mark of my decline ever since you might say discovering sex and drugs and rock and roll still hang me I had a perfect driving record until yesterday morning all this nonsense with the Guarda and the dogs; the ‘missing seal’ has put an end to my illustrious driving record and caused me to leave our very illustrious guest stranded at the airport for a short time being directed to the voice mail of a cell in the boot of an impounded Peugeot the lessee thereof at the moment being behind bars at eigh to’clock in the morning having just flewn across the ocean seeing not a sole there to great him poor bastard very funny actually he-he eh-hah! Mnn, puff-puff, well it’s not over yet I suppose there’s all sorts of trouble to sort out, I digress, as I was saying o yes ‘was Noel Bridgeman once gave me a pair of drumsticks and shewed me how to play some rudiments you might say the basics on a notebook or coasters usually, anyhing Bap-bip-pib-pab-Pab-bip rim Pab-pib-bip-bap-Bap-pib and sof’orth like this theres unly so much you can do with the rhythm of the thing the song requires adherence to the beat the finesse comes later once the basics are learned they come together and combine as intended though summon might disagree even Old Blue Eyes for example had a terrible dislike for Rich cleaned his clock right off his stool in rehearsal when they were workin with Tonny Dorsey’s orchestra Rich hated Sinatra and by this point it’d come to fucking with’m openly on stage playing too fast you know the beat at the wrong tempo you see Heh-Ha! completely embarrassing! he was approached later by two hoods after this show they asked if he was Rich he answered h’course expecting maybe they’ud be requesting his autograph somehing, hehe they left him unconscious in the ditch as a show of respect from The Chairman of the Board that he didn’t come up missing the next day the only man who ever told that man to fuck ‘imself and saw the morning! The man played his teeth for the love-of-christ as though they were a xylophun’ or sm’ing? Mnngh, gasp! The orchestra was tr’ific as well where’s my hanky HEEEE-HAAAAW-phff! my mind was completely blown! I was back stage h’course I heard him screaming at his hornplayers at the top of his lungs ‘Who the fuck was that in tha fourth bar the third measure the chorus playing C#? The poor man attempted to say somehing in his defense to speak up for himself and he got such a thrashing for it as y’ve ever seen Are you Homesick! You want to Run Away! You’ll Starve to Death out there! the man tried to crawl into his hat and Buddy threatened to fire the whole band it felt bad to listen to it all and all for one half step in a 3 hour concert that’s how you run an operation! that’s what we need ‘ere is a little discipline! where’s that wooden plank we’ve got to rehearse!

-Wa’yeu gon’eel be driving the both of us all to Mullingar in a few haurs on the other side of the road he’s used’ta wough’nt yas let ‘im rest?

My friend. We may as well practice in the meanwhile we won’t have another chance again before the gig tonight.

-You’ve lost the plot again. Yea out a yea head.

Huckleberry! Come down and have some STEAK! Ha ha ha where’s my cigs? O here I phund jem nevermindth, a shoe weh shaying; phallowing uva imphident uif zha mishing sheaw on zha hi’ed cah mye dogzh have been imphounded i'Muwingah ash well! ck. Yesh. Phhhhhh~shhh. It’s completely inappropriate nonetheless they’re threatening to keep them at 50 quid each day which I haven’t got and shall have to borrow from summon until my check is deposted Wednesday B’pff. they’ve had my Samba locked up for the weekend already poor animal God help her I hope they’re feeding them properly I have no intention of letting them get away with all this but very well, there’s nothing for it now but pick them up in Mullingar this morning as you’ve pointed out and for that we shall have to rely upon some good old fashioned American ingenuity!

-’night. Give us y’hat t’cover my eyes?

G’night! Have you looked outside it’s nearly morning! Going to be cloudy again looks like Bo-boo-boom-Xsh! Yes all right you get a few hours rest and when the sun comes up we’ll caravan; we’ve got to be there by noon before the lazy thugs close shop and head for the pub! Here some lullaby music, The Best of Nina Simone, hear ye are bh’oom bh’oom bh’oom -It’s a New Day and I’m Feelin’ Good, yeh! Time to hit the trail soon, rest. I’ll be right back I’ll see if I can scare up somehing besides blues for breakfast, swing swing, I’VE GOT RESPONSIBILITIES YOU KNOW, I’VE GIVEN MY WORD! Somewhere in America there’s a mother having a nightmare her wooden plank’s been abducted by a mad Irishman!

-WER ‘AVIN h’SAME DRIHM!

DON’T WORRY MRS. PERRY HE’S IN GOOD HANDS! quiet Aidan, go to sleep, I Put A Spell On You, marvelous voice in’tshe Nina Simone listen to that OK I’ve hidden some rashers here somewhere Caauussee Yoouu’rree Mine! Here they are little doggies and the bread that’ll do nicely let’s see where’s my lighter here -xch’xch’xch BLAST Aidan! You’ve used up all my gas x’BOO-Ah! The ring of fire ha! there. lethem sizzle like ‘at a copland we’ll av’ourselves a meal O, butter! and a cool clear glass of waters sure to help anyuns revival. I’m. Just A Soul. Whose In’ten’stions Are Good, some American cheese that should make him feel at home Lord Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood, there’s your cheese and bread and rashers! COME AND GET IT! Hip hop, Here I Am, ah, Cowbell! CONK CONK CONK COME AND GET IT! Bet you wer’nt ready for that! More Cowbell ha ha-

-Tha’zenoghf a Thagh’h!

...All right sorry here’s a plate I’ll take up another one what’s happened to your music? The Godfather of Soul speaks to the occasion a thinck! There’s a smilin’ set of choppers in you go pompadour! BAP BAP BAP BAP BAP BAP BAP! Ragtime, that’s the thing! GIT UP!

Bah-bah-baa-bah, Get Own Up

Bah-bah-baa-bah, Like A Sex Machine

Bah-bah-baa-bah… knock knock;

O you’re up good well half-decent anyway be a good houseguest and make up your sleeping bag ha ha! Sleep well last night? Here: an Irish Breakfast fit for a Barron, cheese and bread with some hot hog sausage as I believe you Yanks’d say. My appologies ‘havnt goteny sheets for yeo Muffin insists he’s going to bring a set with’em he promises to be in attendance at our show tonight at Spells.

-Muffin?

Yes, the one I’ve been telling you about? Well Aidan and I’ve been up all night Ian’t slept a wink, we’ve got a big day infront of us, you’ll be driving to Mullingar I imagine, if you believe you’re up to the task, you nearly took the drivers seat from me three times yesterday so either you’re telling us you’re ready or we’re in for having a terrible time, let’s see…

Next Reunion at the Mullingar Pound, Baguettes, An Evacuation, Francie & Blithe, Tea with Muffin, the Little Soldier

Mullingar Pound

2010-11-19T16:31:00.001-08:00

-Thanks Ian, Herman says squishing most of half a square of whitebread and cheese into his gaping gob. Ian has brought him in a modest breakfast. Are you going to let me drive this time? he chews.

-Aidan can’t do it been guzzling our beers all night. Someone had to mind him, Shane McGowan’s minder claims to be, eh! He’s pissed.

-Megoewinsmeinder. Ha. sounds german.

-German? Herman the German, heha thasfunny. You’re funny, listen I don’t care a plastic tit who drives the car so long as we’re in Mullingar by noon I’ll be happy. After sitting up with Aidan all night ‘is all I can do to stay lively, I shl’ave to sleep it off on the way, you remember the way to Mullingar? Peter will have my balls if you smash into any’thing. And if we’re hassled by the Guarda I’ll have to explain myself a second time which I simply can’t bear though I suppose there isn’t any alternative. I simply can’t afford to have the dogs locked up another morning. Do you think you can handle it for Christ’s sake?! Pass on the right drive on the left all that?

-Yeah. I can do it, I’ll get us there. Don’t worry. Why is Aidan pissed? Herman thinks it a small wonder Aidan should loose his good temper for having spent the evening with his guide. Resentful now for his and their unenviable association in Aidan’s mind.

-HA had to much to drink you suppose? Pissed you know, a wooden plank would use the term a bit different I would think.

-So he’s not pissed.

-Quite pissed to the contrary, and quite happily. Charming, by all events it will be dangerous but we haven’t any choice. The Irish are agile; they’ll learn soon enough to steer clear of you.

-I did get on the insurance Ian. Ian has turned to leave. That and gas and smokes. I counted last night and I spent half my money already unless I stashed some somewhere I’m forgetting. It’s only the second day.

-Smoked most of half that. Pouch is half empty. I thought you were quitting, he says with shoulders shrugged? Shl’ave to buy more in Mullingar.

-I smoked maybe a couple myself besides the ones we shared. You smoked the rest yourself. Your check gets deposited Wednesday, right?

-Yes. Your point.

-Just making sure I understood you. Is that disability money, you mentioned. Maybe it was Bob Schatz told me. Aidan said he gets “the dole”, do you get that?

-Unemployment? Everyone in Ireland gets it, between jobs anyway as most of us are. Share and share alike we say, Our Country goes for us as your mother and father does for you. Mines a hundred quid extra for disability: can’t work: take pills: bad back. Dreadful. Hardly enough to live on these days! Two hundred Euro goes just to have a TV to stand your flower pot on, the TV tax! Doesn’t matter if it works or ever turn it on for fucks sake cost you a fortune to live in Ireland.

-Two hundred euro?

-Yes, I know, you Yanks would never tolerate such ridiculousness. Now, put yourself together and meet me downstairs once you’ve enjoyed your authentic Irish Breakfast. We’ve got to be at the pound by noon or there’s another day’s night they’ll charge us!

-How much will it be?

-Poor Samba, she’s been locked up there with Bruno since Friday.

-How far to Mullingar?

- Hunderd kilometers.

-Will we make it?

-Just. Tally ho; stop dallying! We’ve got to stop at the post office too, before we do anything. Ian is walking to his bedroom where he will look for his keys. The meal is more than he expected and Herman descends the stair heartened, joining Aidan awake in the living room with an empty plate of crumbs in hand, happy to be in Ireland.

-Good morning Aidan!

-‘Morning. Sleep wewl? He is gruff. Disinterested and kind.

-Yeah it’uz a little chilly up there. There’s no blankets or sheets or just sleeping bag on a mattress but it’uz all right; didn’t cost me anything! and the room comes with breakfast I found out! He lifts his plate and swipes his hand twice on his jean swallowing his last bite. Iget yourzh?

-Good. There you go. Herman is taking it away and cleaning up in the kitchen, staring through the cold glass at the lambent cloudcover outside. Placing washed upon the rack from amid the general clutter: the teal plate, the white plate; cans of tall Karpacki crushed and disposed of in a brimming white plastic bag sat by the back door. Here is the coffee mugs and tea cups, more than a man could use (tip), here’s the dishes, here’s the pots, things are clearing up a bit. Rinse hands and through hair. Outside for a bit of Irish air. To the side, a pile of empty propane tanks. Through the shed to the light- no. Around then, the crowded shed- through the wetted spreading laburnum tendrils to the rear of the long yard. A road back here behind the narrow fence there ten feet further facing from below the gentle grade from here which levels again picking up beyond it, descending again into a glen of Elder. He breathes.

Back inside and toward the den. Here is where Ian’s stacked a box of CD’s I sent him from America: on the cluttered chair beside the stacked up kitchen table, next to an inner window upon a suspended light from a six foot by six foot or so, triangular courtyard; bound about on one side by a wall of the neighbors home and another containing the window from the den area, looking back nonplussed. Ian’s home is bent it seems around this odd space.

Swinging door. Aidan’s repose. Arms crossed cross his breast. Eyes closed. Silent. Dim; the flapping door.

-Er? he sits up and scratches his shoulder.

-You coming with us to Mullingar Aidan? Herman hopes.

-Whar’s Ian? Time to go. His left hand sits upside down on top his head. Cocking back thother into a fist and yawning. Let’s have a piss and fuck off. Aidan dons his black hoodie and stands straightening left and right as he walks through the kitchen and goes out pushing the wobbly screendoor to the back. Herman goes upstairs to get Ian. It’s time to go.

At last they emerge on the street a little after 10 o’clock in the morning. Herman takes the helm upon the starboard side, Ian has parked them into traffic approaching from the port side. The party wishes first to get underway by heading in the completely opposite direction.

-Ignitions over’ere, Aidan points. Herman starts the car.

-There you know how to do that at least. Sure the brakes not on have you found the clutch? There’s your transmission, Ian points out between the bucket plastic-leather seats, all the way up and to the left there’s first, just like America, that’s right. Everything is backwards. Herman gets it. He tests the clutch, same side, like home.

-Turn us around we want to go that way, Ian shouts at the front of the car twisting himself backwards, mind you traffic’s on the right! Turn all the way around should be clear after this car NOW! There we go. Untwisting, you got it?

Herman releases the clutch briskly and the small car halts a moment before circling out into the oncoming lane from the reverse direction before gaining full heading in their native lane on the left side the street heading ---------west by northwest. In short order they arrive at the first turn: a left, which they will follow out of town. Trusting in the end to fate he willn’t be headlong into oncoming traffic on the other side he rounds the three-way intersection holding to port and pushes the accelerator. They leave behind them at bottom the hill the town of Ballaghaderreen for the more open spaces on the narrow N5 highway.

-You’re doing fine Herman, eh you’re brilliant. Aidan looks out the passenger window. There is power in the stereo.

-When D’Wayne left the hospital. Afterbeingoperatedon; he couldn’t walk. He couldn’t.even.talk. When they asktestory, he had to gedowt both’is hannze. And he Sign’d this song to me I hope yunde’ stand.

-I got two heads (gonna bang my heads together)!

-I got ONE leg (gonna hop to Heaven’s Gate)!

-I got two Eye’s (gonna pluck one out for Jesus)! And I ain’t gonna have no trouble anymore.

The view is of home in Aidan’s window. Herman’s, from the New World, opens on another world. A thatch roof something like a triple-story Beatles haircut spins by, where is there a thatch roof in all of North America: Nova Scotia. A marvelous sculptured hedge whisks by. A flimsy wooden fence wouldn’t do? Making a pit stop at a post office in Frenchpark, Ian hits up Herman for twenty quid and secures licenses for his dogs. Political billboards propounding the benefits of an upcoming measure are everywhere, they never say what they are talking about, only VOTE ‘YES’. Herman noticed them in Dublin and has gleaned from a few NO posters that the issue is referred to as Lisbon 2. He is listening to the radio and staring: WE’RE STRONGER WITH EUROPE VOTE ‘YES’! They have struggled here a long time. Their power is in their blood, memorialized in their songs. Every mile from here to all horizons, the land, for centuries and counting, is soaked in it. All Europe: drenched. Youngblood. Herman feels vital Force is unpaired from living Message in his America where fear hangs everywhere like a monoxide smog. He feels it’s absence here, maybe just because it’s all so new to him, feels Unhated.

-Keep On Reachin’-reachin’-reachin’, Val Harrison.

-Who is that guy? Herman points.

-Brian Cowen? The Taoiseach. Ey want us to pass the referendum so he can say he’s done what Bertie cun’t.

-Teeshock, that’s Gaelic for president?

-‘Could say.

-Those posters are everywhere in Dublin. It’s a big deal huh?

Ian overhears getting back in the car.

-Lisbon your talking? They want Ireland to give over control of her military. That’s what it’s all about Nathan. It’s blackmail. We told them to get fucked the last time so the cunts decided to have us keep voting until we get it right! Ireland gave over her Pound to get on the Euro you’ve got to trade back in for Pounds at the Heathrow Airport. As if Londoners just can’t be bothered to uphold their side of the bargain HA! Good For Ireland. Fuck all for Ireland! Ask Johnny Felan, Nathan. He will tell you.

Herman starts the car. Song 04: Woodie Guthrie

-Another psychopath in Iowa loading up another round, while the NRA in Columbine hunt Marilyn Manson down. Gold pistils in white cups held in blueviolet tasseled calyxes: Colorado Columbine grow on the steep valleys of the Rocky Mountains our state flower. Love’s acknowledging Herman’s homestate tragedy. Ten years ago Nathan Perry sat in his car and wept on his lunchbreak; listening to crosstown reports coming in: two men with automatic weapons were shooting up a local high school. They would die by their own hands, they were cowards that was sure. The pall has lingered from that day though like it marked an Autumn dawning on the Nation.

-I don’t need no country! Don’t fly no flag! Cut no slack for the Union Jack; Stars and Stripes got me jet lagged! Yeah!

The music is laced throughout with references to the American tradition; Stackalee, San Antontio, with a tribute to Springstein’s ‘Badlands’ thrown in. And house beats? Rob Love sings he wanna be somebody, this Aidan is obviously somebody. Even Ian’s somebody. Herman wanna be somebody too. It’s the year Zero, a little after eleven.

They come to Longford where Ian and Herman had shared kabobs and Ian purchased a Franz Ferdinand CD at Herman’s recommendation two days before.

-Here take a left! Ian shouts and Herman switches lanes. They are still fifty kilometers from Mullingar. By his calculations, if they are allowed to go straight there from here, they will arrive at the Mullingar Pound just as they are closing. Herman is experiencing a feeling of frustration. They discover at the edge of town that they have gone the wrong way and are helpfully guided back towards the kabob shop by a pedestrian.

-You said they close at noon Ian?

-Yes yes pleanty of time just step on it!

They indeed arrive in outskirts of Mullingar well after noon and after asking directions once, Ian an Aidan are agreed that they should ask again.

-Come ‘ere! Do you know where is the dog pound? Aidan asks.

-O, the pound? Yeh? Straight on two roundabouts this way you come to a third roundabout and take the third turn that take ye right under the bridge there’s a warehouse across the traintracks and the municipal pound is the second right after bottom a the hill, got it?

-Second right yeh! Thank you, Aidan says. Herman has no idea. They arrive at the blue building at a quarter to One in the afternoon. Ian is dispatched doubtfully to call upon the inhabitants. Aidan watching, waiting.

-by hell they must’v let ‘im in.

When Herman enters the hold Ian is playing the harmonica he has always stashed in the inside pocket of his kingsized leather jacket. Officers Lil and Brian listen in apparent enjoyment. It seems Ian has already caught them somewhat up to speed as he introduce Nathan Perry the American and they anticipate his question. It is explained that the normal fee for the dogs tenure at the facility will be negotiated, we suspect due to their sympathy at Herman’s plight at having to pay for it, he being a guest and all, from one-hundred-fifty to seventy-five Euro, as a courtesy. Of course, no credit cards.

-Can you tell me, wheres the nearest A.T.M.?

-Glad to yeh! Jump in you car there and go top of the hill where you came in, says Lil. Straight on past the first roundabout before you come to the primary road on the right there’s a cash machine yeh? she turns to Brian.

-At the filling station there, yeh. Brian says. Once there Aidan sends Herman in with some cash for a beef baguette ordered at the rear of the store after procuring the ransom for the dogs. To Herman it is a “submarine sandwich”. Ian is impatiently waiting, looking in from the pumps while Herman is paying for everything.

-You couldn’t come back for that?

-I’m hungry Ian.

-fucksake. It’s a miracle that they were open! Theyl’ave cleared off for the pub by now. They return to the pound and Ian asks Herman for the money he needs. Herman gives it him feeding ravenously the while. Bruno comes a minute later in a bound toungue-hanging round the corner, a large Boxer with a midnight snout and paws. He is beautiful. Samba, skiffling after, a modest size. Small pointy nose and long shapeless black coat. The backseat of the Peugeot is full of them as they are on the road again for home. They stop in Strokestown where Ian insists they drop in on a friend whom Aidan knows to never answer his bell. Failing they instead drop in for pints nextdoor and watch Scooby-Doo with the barkeep and her 5-year-old nephew.

-5 years old is he? Ian orders a round. Lovely little chap!

Aidan is asking Herman about Colorado.

-It’s where South Park is. You know, the show with the little cut out guys? Aidan does know.

-Yes awful funny. Awful stuff! Eiyaver herd of Podge and Rodge? O that’s the show right? Things they say to women! A puppet get away wit’it what get a man kicked in is priveys! Perverts same as your boys only they’re interviewing the stars, see. Big performers from Europe all o’er the place they want to be on his show. It’s very popular. Seen Ron Jeremy. Eh, know Ron Jeremy? Eh-he-eh’ey have a crack w’him!

-Scoohby-dooby-dooby-dhhoo! The boy stares up from his barstool. The pub is empty. Ian is screaming back at Bruno dumbly edging for an exit. Once in the car Aidan is clarifying with Ian something.

-But Muffin says is ‘is dog.

-Bruno. Yes somehow he’s taken the notion, hardly matters now I’ve got the license for him does it? (thanks for the cash by the way) This should lay it to rest! He produces the papers he received those few hours ago.

-Why Muffin want w’your dog? He valubwl?

-Six hundred euro to stud. Listen that’s not the point, he’s my dog! Muffin’s had his eye for him since he saw him. Stupid, I asked him to look after the dogs for a few days while I was in Dublin this summer and he’s been trying to steal him from me ever since. He’s got claim to Bruno! Aidan is working his cellphone.

-Com Er! You know who this is! He say after setting it at his ear. He looks ahead. What do want with Ian’s dog? Pause. Tha’s Ian’s dog now you understand? Another pause. You fuck off. Tha’s Ian’s dog! He folds the phone and flips it aside.

-O christ, you didn’t have to do that. Why in God’s name did you do That Aidan? It’s not your business. Christ.

Troubled by this new quarrel Herman is all the more entertained that at Aidan’s stirring it up. Are they saying Muffin? They stop again in Frenchtown at Into The West. Ian is insistent they peak in with the owner and see if he’s listened to the CD they’ve left him with two night ago.

-NO Bruno! God damned stupid animal. Ian slams the door motioning and shouting to the other passengers to come. Herman wants to drive away. He doesn’t want to pester. It had been told him there were gigs lined up for when he got here; although the details were dodgy. He should have known. Getting out joylessly; assuring Aidan and the anxious dogs that he will hurry. Ian is found inside already seated with two pints: ostensibly one is for Herman, who is too furious to drink.

-I don’t want that. Aidan is waiting, he emphasizes. He watches helplessly as Ian gestures for calm and cautiously sips and slugs. It is relayed, Ian tasting now from the second unclaimed pint, that the owner has not yet listened or heard Herman’s CD however he did mention about something coming up on Friday which, knowing the man, Ian takes to be as good as bonafide offer of 600 euro to gig. Herman blankly interprets this to be a fairy tale. He can only think about Aidan waiting in the Peugeot with the dogs. He urges Ian to finish his drink and returns the second to the bar.

-What, you can be hanged for that in Ireland?!

-We have to go. They have to go. At last they go.

They travel on country roads by haystacks. Conveyed through cobbled boulder corridors born hewn from farmers’ long generations gone ancient fields. They are entering familiar scenes; Aidan’s lane is just out of sight when a sordid odor pelfs the cab all at once.

-Huh! Did your dog fart, Ian? says Herman. Aidan winces. They are coming to a stop before his red steel gate, there is ill comport. Cries Herman, God! Did your dog shit Ian?!

Aidan exits the vehicle.

-Em, seems to ‘ave, it may appear.

-Bruno SHIT in your lap and you didn’t notice? Ian! Herman snaps back the handle and leaves the car too saying holy fucking shit. Bruno bursts forth at last, besmeared. Samba running sniffing behind him trotting up the road as Aidan disappears ahead.

-BRUNO! Ian steps out. Bruno sniffs the ground and comes running back in happy ignorance.

-It’s all over him! It’s all over you! O, God! Feces covers much of Ian’s pants and seals in the creases of the back seats in places and is wiped on the backs of the frontseat. Herman, rolling open the driverside window gets in and closes the door! Close the door! IAN!

-NO BRUNO! Ian kicks after Bruno. Bruno tramples in and pants in the back seat and sits. Inches away Herman could punch it in the head. NO BRUNO! Go!

-Bruno, Come! The dog follows at last and Ian slams shut the door as Herman drives away half-hanging out the side with his nose in the air like a Duke of Hazard, up the shady lane, craning his neck for the breeze. He parks again at top the lane. Dogs in tow Ian plods up behind as suddenly seeing it Bruno leaps ferociously for the horse! Aidan, having just retrieved a bucket and towels flings them across at the dog and charges rushing at it as the terrified horse tears at his reign. Ian just secures the collar of the barking Bruno as Herman corrals the other somewhat by stomping at her. Aidan swears and goes to relash the horse on the other side the house in the field. He then goes inside. Herman and Ian are left to task as Ian is gathering the tossed about rags and bucket. Herman ties both dogs, now leashed, to the leaning fence and goes to where the pretty horse is tied. Brooding, he stares. Incomprehensibly ahead; golden grasses light away over the landscape beneath the glowing halo of feathered horse before the setting Sun.