In 1907, Irish Ernest Shackleton, set on Nimrod expedition to the South Pole, using ponies for transport for the first time in the history. Unfortunately, they didn’t resist in the cold weather and ended up eaten but the expedition’s members.

 
            The bag with the two pairs of shoes bought from a discount store from Belfast dangled on every curve the bus was taking. Narrow and wet, the road to Dublin lay ahead of us in the night. On both sides of the road, on the green hills covered in fog dark little houses were waiting for Christmas.

When I opened my eyes, Army was still sleeping with the head on my right shoulder. I hadn’t time to do anything. A black leather shoe named “Poker” because of the double seam in the shape of a heart fell out of the bag and hit him in the head.

- Oh, did it hurt? I ask him while petting the spot where the enemy-shoe which I insisted to buy hit him.

- Who are you? He asked me back in confusion.

- Ha, ha, what a joke. I’m the same, you know!

Army wrenched away from me, smoothed his clothes and repeated the question looking straight into my eyes.

- How can you ask me this question? I’m your Pony! I said, thinking this was just a game he invented to make the journey shorter.

- I am really sorry, but I don’t know you! He said as seriously as a man could be.

- Army, don’t be mad, it’s me, the Pony. That’s how you’ve been calling me for the last 4 years of our relationship. We are lovers; we came together to Dublin to celebrate my birthday. We a have a dog called Nero who is waiting for us at home.

- Sorry, but I really do not remember all this. But I can tell you for sure I don’t like dogs, I am a cat fan. And I am living and working in Dublin. I was to Belfast because I had some work to do. So, it’s obvious I cannot be the person you think I am.

The bus was moving emotionlessly into the night. I started looking out of the window.

A milestone grinned at me: “40 km up to Dublin”. Inside the bus the heat became overwhelming. “To hell with it, it’s the first time I’m not cold in this country.”

I continued to look silently through the window, waiting for a sign that this stupid game was over. “He is just giving me a bad time. He is pretending to experience amnesia to see my reactions. But how should I react? What’s the right answer?” As usually, when I found myself in a situation like that, I couldn’t think of anything. And it seemed that my natural reaction was not enough. He was expecting something else from me. But what? The more I thought about it, the more palsied I was. I felt I should have said something, but I didn’t know what. And I was angry because I knew he found my silence very convenient.  I found it more and more difficult to focus on my situation, I was tired. I sank into a deep resignation.

Behind us, two old Saxon exchanged some money. From their conversation, I understood that they were on a trip that day; they had some Guinness in a pub and had a great time. Good for them! The problem was that one of them owed some money to the other. And now he was calculating the sum. When he got to a result, took it over again: once, twice, three times, and then once again…

In the end, he reached the final amount of 57 euros. The debtor took 60 euros out of his wallet and gave it to his friend. The latter hunted his pockets for the change, but he couldn’t find anything. He told his friend to give him back only 50 euros.

- Out of the question! Shouted the debtor. I don’t do such deals.

And he began calculating again hoping he would get another result. In vain, the sum remained of 57 euros.

-          Search better, it’s impossible not to have 3 euros! I cannot believe you are one of

those who don’t’ have change on them! He insisted

-          I hate coins, replied his friend.

The IPod music of a couple of teenagers sitting on the back seats of the bus prevented me from hearing the final old men’s agreement.  

The bus stopped for a few moments at the Dublin airport. I looked fearfully at Army, but he didn’t show any intention of getting down. I suddenly felt very angry at me: “Of course he doesn’t go anywhere, for God’s sake! He is your boyfriend” I said to myself.

Only a few elephant like maneuvers on crowded streets and the bus reached the final destination: Busaras Station, in Dublin.

Army got up hastily, put his jacket on, took our backpack and the bag with the two pairs of shoes and rushed out of the bus. I remained in my chair watching him through the bus window.

In the station, a good looking red wavy woman holding a little boy was waiting for him. Army hugged them both, kissed the woman and took the boy on his back before the three of them went away.

Behind them, the kid’s question hung in cold and damp air of Dublin: “Daddy, daddy, can we go to the game shop?”. Army said something, the redhead laughed. I found myself thinking he bought two Xbox games from Belfast but they were not proper for such a small kid.

In 1907, irlandezul Ernest Shackleton, porneste in expeditia Nimrod catre Polul Sud, folosind poneii ca mijloc de transport pentru prima data in istorie. Din pacate, acestia nu rezista frigului si sfirsesc mincati de membrii echipajului.

Punga cu cele doua perechi de pantofi cumparati dintr-un magazin cu reduceri din Belfast se lasa zvicnit prada gravitatiei la fiecare curba a autocarului. Drumul spre Dublin se asterne umed si ingust in noapte. De o parte si de cealalta, pe dealurile verzi invaluite in ceata intunecata casutele cochete astepta luminoase Craciunul.
Cind am deschis ochii…

Army inca dormea sprijinit pe umarul meu drept. N-am avut timp sa schitez nici un gest. Un pantof model Poker, din piele neagra si cu un rind dublu de cusaturi fine in forma de inima cade din punga si il pocneste in cap.

-          Aoleu, te-a durut?, il intreb stringindu-l in brate si mingiindu-l  in locul unde l-a lovit pantoful inamic pe care chiar eu am insistat sa-l cumpere.

-          Cine esti tu?, ma intreba el, buimac.

-          Ha, ha, lasa glumele, eu sint aceeasi!

Army se smulge din bratele mele, se indreapta de spate, isi netezeste hainele si imi repeta intrebarea, distant, fixindu-ma cu ochi mijiti.

-          Cum cine sint, sunt eu, Pony!, ii raspund gindindu-ma ca intru intr-un joc inventat sa mai scurteze drumul.

-          Imi pare rau, dar nu te cunosc!, raspunde el cit se poate de serios.

-          Army, nu fii nebun, sunt eu, Ponelu’. Sintem impreuna de 4 ani, am venit la Dublin impreuna sa-mi sarbatoresc ziua de nastere. Acasa avem un catel care ne asteapta, Nero!

-          Scuze, dar chiar nu-mi amintesc  asa ceva. In plus, nu am cum sa am un catel, mie nu-mi plac cateii, eu iubesc pisicile. Eu sunt din Dublin, locuiesc si muncesc acolo. Am fost la Belfast cu treaba. Imi plac pisicile. Deci, clar nu pot fi cine spui tu ca sunt.

Autocarul inainteaza impasibil in noapte. Ma uit pe geam, deznadajduita. O borna de la marginea drumului imi zimbeste soptind rautacios : “40 km pina la Dublin”. Caldura din autocar e din ce in ce mai coplesitoare. “La naiba, e prima data cind mor de cald in tara asta!”.

Am continuat drumul in tacere, cu fruntea lipita de geamul autocarului, asteptind din dreapta mea un semn ca Army si-a revenit de la sine. Nimic. “Ma pune la incercare, mimeaza amnezia ca sa vada cum reactionez. Da’ cum ar trebui sa reactionez? Care-i raspunsul corect?” Ca de obicei, cind sint pusa in situatii de genul asta, nu-mi trece nimic prin cap. Se pare ca reactia naturala de “sint eu, sint eu” nu e de ajuns. Se asteapta la altceva din partea mea. Dar la ce?  Cu cit ma gindesc mai mult, cu atit sint mai incurcata si mai blocata. Simt ca ar trebui sa zic ceva, dar n-am ce sa zic. Si mi-e ciuda ca tacerea mea pare sa-I convina de minune. Mi-e din ce in ce mai greu sa ma concentrez, simt ca sint din ce in ce mai obosita. Ma resemnez fara vlaga in scaun.

In spatele nostru, doi mosi saxoni paseaza niste bani intre ei. Din conversatia lor, inteleg ca au facut  si ei o excursie in ziua aia, au baut niste Guiness intr-o circiuma si s-au simtit bine. Bravo lor! Problema e  ca unul a ramas dator cu niste bani celuilalt. Si acum se incurca in calcule. Si o iau de la capat: o data, de doua ori, de trei ori, si inca o data… Intr-un tirziu, ajung la suma finala de 57 de euro. Datornicul scoate din portofel 60 de euro. Mosuletul nr 2 se scotoceste prin buzunare, dar nu are 3 euro sa-I dea rest. Ii propune datorinicului sa-I dea doar 50 de euro.

-          Exclus!, vocifereaza datornicul. Eu nu fac deal-uri din astea.

Si incep din nou calculul, doar doar or ajunge la o alta suma. In zadar, ies tot 57 de euro.

-          Cauta mai bine 3 euro, trebuie sa ai! , insista datornicul.

-          Nu am, scinci celalalt.

-          Nu pot sa cred ca esti unul din aia care nu are marunt la el, pufneste suparat datornicul.

-          Urasc monezile, se dezvinovaeste timid partenerul lui de excursie.

Muzica de Ipod a unor adolescenti din spatele autocarului acopera acordul final la care ajung octogenarii.  Autocarul opreste pentru citeva momente la aeroportul din Dublin. Il privesc cu teama pe Army care nu schiteaza nici un gest. Am rasuflat usurata cind l-am vazut ca ramine pe locul lui, apoi ma enervez brusc. “Si normal ca ramine, ce naiba!”.

Doar citeva manevre de elefant pe stradutele strimte si aglomerate si autocarul ajunge la destinatia finala: Dublin, statia Busaras.

Army tisneste de linga mine, isi pune geaca in graba, insfaca rucsacul si punga cu cele doua perechi de pantofi si coboara. Ramin tintuita in scaun, urmarindu-l pe geam.

In gara, il asteapta o roscata cirliontata, inalta si subtire, cu un tinc de mina. Army o stringe in brate, o saruta, ia pustiul in circa si pleaca toti trei. In urma lor, in aerul umed si rece, ramine doar intrebarea pustiului: ”Daddy, daddy, can we go to the game shop?”. Army raspunde ceva, roscata chicoteste.

Ma surprind gindindu-ma ca Army a cumparat din Belfast si doua jocuri pentru Xbox doar ca nu sunt potrivite pentru virsta pustiului.