Release wasn’t coming any time soon. I’d shackled myself to this situation long ago, and it went against reason to break away. The chains were firm and fuck they itched, but ridding myself of them would send me out into an unknown place, to hobble broken and crippled over the rocks.
I kept John Carroll there beside me to annoy the others, kept talking to him as they silently urged me to wave him away. It gave me great pleasure to see them visibly uncomfortable in his presence, perchance afraid someone would spot that head-the-ball in their company, or simply afraid that the head-the-ball would say something to them personally, or maybe just stifled they were by the smell of the head-the-ball. He did smell really bad, no doubt about it, but no harm to him, I’d have told the guards if they’d come asking. Some folks were just too up their own arses to appreciate an individual of such pungent extraordinariness.
Emer was the worst. I’d expected her to turn her nose up up and away when Carroll joined us. She’d always had this superior way about her, which she attempted to conceal frequently. But I had a map of her nature drawn on the back of my hand, and looking down at it, I could see a heavy fork piercing the region of Carroll’s type. She had it in for many kinds according to the map. I sometimes wondered how the fuck we got together considering my own type featured, prominently impaled on a bloody spearhead.
‘You can’t wear that,’ she told me once as we were preparing to attend a party thrown together for a new production of Translations in the town hall. I’d donned my favourite cord jacket, a bit frayed and faded it was, but nothing horrendous in the manner of a slaughter or anything.
‘It looks alright.’
‘You think that looks alright? It looks horrible. You should take a match to it. You should’ve done long ago.’
‘It’s not too bad.’
‘Don’t bother, okay. Just take it off.’
‘I don’t see what the problem is. It’s only a jacket.’
‘You can’t wear that to this party. I don’t mind you taking that thing into Murphy’s with you. Sure who the fuck cares in that place? But you can’t wear that to this party. You’re not going to a prize draw in the local. This is a proper social engagement you’re attending.’
‘Yeah, I know, but what’s the difference if I wear this or not? It’s not too bad, it isn’t. And it’s not like they’ll all be dolled up like a Windsor family hurrah, for the love of God. Bloody Pride and Prejudice, that’s what you’re shoving down my throat, is that it?’
‘Jesus, you’ll never get it right, will you. Where’s your sense of yourself, eh?’
‘I’ve a perfectly good sense of myself.’
‘You’ve no sense of yourself.’
‘I sense myself part of a long history of individuals.’
‘What do you mean, long history of individuals?’
‘One of a kind.’
‘One of a long history of them. Plenty of them then.’
‘Yeah, of course, the type who know and show themselves in all their strengths and weaknesses as humans.’
‘Shite. I know what fucking type you are. You remind me every day of the week.’
She got up to go to the toilet as John Carroll began to engage Geary in a discussion about black magic. That was Geary’s gig alright. Black fucking magic. It all came back to me. Same place, same Geary, same topic. Emer touched me on the shoulder as she floated past. I turned to acknowledge it, shocked I was, but she was gone, walking off, away inside heading for the toilet. Carol gave me a puzzled look, and why wouldn’t she, I thought. Shocked I’d appeared at the gentle loving touch of my wife. I was letting the side down, the side being me and Emer. Whatever barbed wires were nestling in the background of our pairing, we were still that, a pairing, team of two. All that shit was not for public viewing, only our inconvenience and nuisance. But this was a weak spot of mine I’d displayed before because even if I played to the audience, Emer only would if it suited her. It was up to her how the twosome show went. If she felt like it, she could direct the show as a fucking shambles to noisily greet the ages. She could play it any way she wanted, and I’d have to just sit back with the other fiddle, which she’d probably bought and paid for with the intention of breaking over my head.
