CC 70: Serpents, Ultimately

The front room seemed to get very cold all of a sudden as though a window had been opened and frosty gusts were blowing inside.  But the window wasn’t open.  Too cold for those antics.  It gave me a jolt, but nobody else seemed to notice the chill swimming in.  Maybe only I experienced it – a feeling brought on by what you might agree was a warranted unease as Paidi and Emer’s voices had turned to whispers in the moments preceding; they grew distant, making a third wheel of me, so I gave up chewing on my own lips and said, ‘I’m going to mingle, talk to yous in a bit.’

Minus all the guests with their sparkling dresses and tweed waistcoats, the front room at Mitchell House was half a kind of grotty shell; it was long and wide, but rather bare with hard scratched wood floors and wear and tear.  The walls looked like they hadn’t had a coat of paint in decades, blemished with black stains like charcoal scars, and speckled with dust and daddy-long-legs.  The only furniture to be seen: two tables at the top by the window – one for the books, one for refreshments; the famous marble mantelpiece with its history of heads banging off it was also there; a large shelf of books at the back.  Though the room was aged and slightly unkept, refinement came with the crystal chandelier that sprouted from the ceiling and sprayed bangles of light over all the kooky heads.  The owner, Rosemary O’Kane, was a wealthy widow who wasn’t often seen in town.  She lived in a mansion out near Dromiskin, and she stayed there most of the time.  But she was here tonight, across, conversing with Paddy, Ross Young, and James Douglas.  Mrs. O’Kane was a very jolly woman.  Her late husband, Christopher O’Kane, was an architect who was fascinated with Mitchell House and acquired it in the early 80’s, but hardly set a foot inside.  Mr. O’Kane, rich as fuck, was prone to splendid folly, which his wife bravely put up with until his sad passing in ’89 of a brain haemorrhage; Mrs. O’Kane opted then to rent the building out, and it began to see some life behind its walls again.

As I got closer, I heard them talking.  The talk mostly came from James Douglas as far as I could tell. 

‘Insurers…premiums…through the roof…gamble…win-win…knock down…settle…increase…multiply…proceed…develop…explode…protected,’ he said. 

‘Uh-huh,’ responded the others.  I couldn’t put together complete sentences from the mouth of James Douglas – it was all shit-talk to me – but I heard these words, and I knew these words, and found I could grasp the essence of what he was saying, as opposed to the particulars:  Money, that is.  From the sound of it, he’d be in hot water again for some scandal or other in no time at all.  I observed nudges and nods amongst this circle now which suggested stronger binds between them.  It occurred to me that I was now standing a few feet away from the Order of the Last Serpents, perhaps the leadership, and there I was eavesdropping like the best of them.  It felt good.

‘Hey, Pascal.’

It was Jane. 

‘Ah, Jane, how are you?  Long time.’ 

‘I’m fine, yourself?’

‘Grand, I am.  Where’s Geary?’

‘Ah, he’s arguing with Father Flynn over there about causality or cosmology or some shite, but the priest will soon wipe the floor with him, I guarantee ya.’

‘Sounds about right.’

‘How’s your night been?’

‘Not too bad.  Interesting.’

‘Good, yeah, I like things like this sometimes.  A little different.  Instead of sticking to the same pubs week by week.’

‘Yeah.’

‘This must be a bit weird for you, eh?’

‘Eh…a little, yeah.’

‘That idiot Geary over there.  What the fuck was he thinking bringing you here?’

‘I’m not sure he was thinking straight.’

‘He never thinks straight.  Foolish.  Anyway, cheers.’

Our glasses met.

‘Cheers.  They invited me out to this party later.’

‘Who?  Emer?’

‘Yes, kind of.  Paidi mostly did it, but I think she was in on it because she didn’t say much.’

‘Aw….well, that’s cool.  As long as Emer’s cool.  And you’re cool.  It will be good to spend a bit of time with you again, Pascal.  It’s good to be out with you now actually.  You know, I found it all strange, didn’t know how to behave with you the few times I have seen you in the last year. Because, you know, Emer’s my best friend.’

‘No need, Jane.  I understand completely.’

‘It’s good to see yous are getting along, it really is.  To be honest, I thought this would happen.  In the last few months, she’s been talking a lot more about you.  In fond ways.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah, she has.  And it makes things more comfortable for me because you’re probably aware that I’ve listened to a fair amount of shite about ya.  Me and you have never been best buddies or anything but I did sort of feel a bit stuck in the middle.  It was very draining.  That’s why it’s such a blessing to see you both rising above it now, putting things behind yous, even with all this crap going on with the house, yous can still get beyond it and be civil with one another.  I’m impressed with that.’

‘What about the house?’

‘Well, with them deciding to sell it and everything.  I meant to ask you actually.  You’re still living there, aren’t you?  What are your plans?’

‘Eh…I don’t know yet.  I’ll get fixed up.  Not a major problem.’

 

I’d been coasting along in that house on the Castletown Road in the last year, comfortably oblivious to the fact that I was only there by the grace of God.  The house belonged to Paddy Klerkin.  It was put in place as temporary digs for me and Emer until we got so dug in that it came to represent our life together.  I’d been living in hope she would return, but if Paddy chose to sell the house, it might be much harder for me to hang on to her.  Even with the noise we brought in our last year, Castletown ultimately housed much of the good Emer and I had come to conjure together in our time.  If the house disappeared, I feared much more would be lost.  Not to mention, where the fuck would I live?

 

‘He’s some oul boy, isn’t he?’ said Jane, looking over at Paddy Klerkin.  ‘Always up to something.  Whether it’s the books or whatever.’

‘Who, Paddy?  Yeah, he’s some boyo alright.’

‘You hear he’s talking about running for council now?  Politics.  He’s some boyo.’

‘Sounds about right.  He knows a lot of them, like that prick over there.’

‘Ah, yeah.  Douglas.  He is a prick.  And his brother over there, Mickey.  He was out with us that night when you saw us.  He tried to kiss me when Geary wasn’t looking, I swear to God.  A married man.  I nearly went for it just for a laugh, but he’s a pain in the hole too.  But the brother’s far worse, if I’m honest.  What do you think they’re talking about?  Bunch of fancy pants.’

We were encouraged in our conversation by the wife of James Douglas as she approached Paddy waving his book of poetry above her head; she had that voice they have said could alter glass.

‘Paddy?’ she screeched.  ‘What’s this you’ve written at the front?’

Jane and I moved in a little closer to hear what was going on.  It was good to have someone else eavesdropping alongside me.

‘I don’t know, Geraldine,’ answered Paddy, confused somewhat.  ‘Have I signed your copy yet?’

‘No, well, I don’t think so.’

‘Well, there shouldn’t be anything written there.  Are you sure it’s not just the type you’re looking at?’

‘Fuck off, no.  It’s handwritten, look.  An inscription.’

 Paddy took the book from her, and read:

 

You serpents, you serpents in your garden

Listen, you don’t live in this time

I do

 

‘I didn’t write this,’ said Paddy.  ‘That’s not my handwriting.  Who did this?’

‘Oh,’ Mrs. O’Kane broke in.  ‘There’s writing on the front page of mine too.’

 

Your words be damned

As my life at your hands

 

Jane turned to me.  She also had a copy of The Recommended Fisherman.  She opened on the contents page, and showed it to me.

This is what I read:

 

Thanks for reading

and dying as the dreams

after

 

All the kooky heads stirred, then fished out their Recommended Fishermen to see if anything was written in theirs, and the serpents in the room stalled and nervously hissed in unison.