Posted on January 18, 2009 - by Joe

The Dubliner

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.