Munter 10: Sadie

Munter woke to find himself in a heap outside a pub in Smithfield. It was about ten o’clock. His new brown trousers were soaked with vomit. His throat and chest were sore from a barrage of cigarettes. He tried to get to his feet by pushing his body up against the wall of the pub. His bones ached as they slid along the cold stone of the wall.

*

He couldn’t remember leaving the house. It was as if some invisible force had come along and lifted him up by the scruff of the neck as he lay peacefully sleeping on the dusty couch. The invisible force carried Munter across the Dublin skyline, unnoticed by the Dubliners below. Before leaving Munter lying in a heap outside a pub in Smithfield soaked with vomit, the invisible force fought off a band of seagulls looking for a fight. The gulls had pecked viciously at Munter’s body, but he didn’t wake. The invisible force was too tough for the seagulls, and scared them off quite easily. Then the invisible force gently lay Munter down in a heap outside a pub in Smithfield soaked with vomit.

&

Munter, said a voice.
It was Sadie. She was wearing a long cream coat and high heels, a glistening blonde halo of hair adorning her pretty head. She was on a night out with three of her friends.
Hey Sadie, said Munter, trying to balance himself against the wall of the pub, straining to detect the last drop of dignity remaining in his persona.
Are you okay? What happened to you?
Sadie's friends were quite visibly disgusted by Munter. They were baffled by Sadie’s concern. They'd gathered she knew him in some way, but they themselves were of the disposition to ignore even a close friend if that close friend happened to look the way Munter did right now. He was covered in bruises, vomit, odour, sadness, and, incongruously, white feathers.
I’m fine, smiled Munter. Just a bit simple-headed, you know.
Are we going, Sadie? said one of Sadie’s friends. We’re supposed to meet Jack and the rest of them in Hogan’s in fifteen minutes.
Hold on, wait, said Sadie. Are you sure you’re alright, Munter? You don’t look too good.
Thanks, Sadie. I’m not too bad. You look fucking great tonight, you know that? Your hair is beautiful. You got it done recently?
Yeah, thanks. I got it done yesterday. Do you want me to get you some coffee, Munter? You look like you could do with some.
Sadie! said another friend. We have to be going.
You guys go on ahead of me, she responded. I’ll get there in time. I’ll get a taxi once Munter’s had his coffee.

*

She took him to a late café near Abbey Street. Munter could barely walk. He bumped and waggled down the street like a skeleton dancing in a nightclub on ecstasy in a music video he'd once seen.
What happened to your face? asked Sadie. Were you beaten up, Munter?
His face was covered in gashes and bruises. He'd fallen a number of times. One of these falls had seen him topple forward and land crashing down on the pavement without any move on his body’s part either to prevent it happening or to abridge the oncoming collision. But this event was not stored for Munter. He had lost it because of a hole in his memory as though it were loose change lost because of a hole in his pockets. He'd acquired some nasty wounds, that was all he knew. He would have to get his memory index repaired, all these holes bandaged up.
I don’t know. No, I think I just fell. This cut here is sore.
You look like you’ve been in a war.
I’m okay.
They sat down at the back of the café. Munter immediately began toying with a packet of sugar. He tore a little piece from the top of the packet and poured the sugar slowly into his hand. He then poured it from hand to hand as though the sugar were sands of time, gradually losing more microscopic beads as they dripped through his fingers, until finally there was no sugar left, save for some tiny scattered white pebbles on the black table like a strewn galaxy in a film set in space. A young man with long brown pony-tailed hair came to take their order. He was very high-spirited for a young man working in a late café. Munter was used to crabby waiters in late cafés. This waiter didn’t even appear disgusted by Munter’s appearance.
What’ll it be? he chirruped in a light American or Canadian accent.
Just two coffees, said Sadie.
I would take a big fry breakfast, said Munter.
Sorry, sir, said the waiter. We’ve stopped serving breakfast. Would you like a scone, or a muffin, or something like that?
It’s okay, I’ll just have the coffee.
The coffee took almost no time to arrive. It wasn’t good coffee. It was pungent and watery. Munter nearly got sick again.
What has been going on, Munter? asked Sadie. You don’t look like you’ve just had a night or two on the tiles. You look like you’ve spent a year on the tiles, and I only just saw you last week, and you were fine then.
I’m okay, really. I just got a bit pissed. Like you’re doing tonight. You’ve had a few drinks tonight, haven’t you?
Yeah, of course.
Of course you have. How many?
I’ve had two vodka martinis.
Two vodka martinis. I’ll admit I’ve had a little more than you this evening, and before this evening, but still it’s all the same. Except for the fact that at this time I've definitely had much more of the drink than you've had.
And more than I'll have, probably.
That’s likely too.

*

At one point, Sadie had to reach over to prevent Munter’s puffy head of hair from dipping into his coffee. His head was hanging very low, his chin near touching the table. He was thinking about all the coffees he’d ever had. He was counting them in his history. He gave up after the eighteenth. Eighteen coffees was strong intake, even in thought.
This coffee’s very bad, said Munter.
Don’t drink it then, said Sadie.
Sorry. I feel obliged. You paid for it, didn’t you?
Actually, I haven’t. The bill’s right here. We haven’t paid up yet.
Oh.
Munter put his hand in his pocket and began to search for change.
Hey, said Sadie. I’ll pay for it, okay. When the time comes.
No, it’s fine. I’ve got enough here.
Leave it, Munter. I’ve got it, okay.
Hey, what do you think I am? he cried, holding out a tenner. You think I’m broke? You don’t think I got this pissed holding out a plastic cup, do you?
Sadie sat quiet for a moment, pushing her lips outward to create a stern pout.
Munter looked proudly at the tenner. There were no holes in his pockets.

*

So what’s been happening? asked Sadie.
Nothing much, said Munter, sipping at his coffee.
Well, something’s been happening. You’re not looking too good. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. Just drink your coffee. We can talk about something else instead if you want.
Munter remained silent, kept sipping his coffee.
What about you? he finally said. You didn’t tell me too much when I met you that time in the Grove. What’s been happening with you?
Oh, nothing much, she answered.
Come on, you can’t expect me to unload the slimy details of my life for you if you’re not prepared to talk a little about yourself.
The slimy details of your life?
Munter paused for a second, then said, Most details are slimy. When you get down deep enough, things are always messy and mucky.
You’re looking quite messy and mucky right now, you know that?
I happen to have been bathing in those slimy details.
Sadie stopped then to have some coffee.
This coffee isn’t too bad, she said. What were you talking about?
I don’t know.
Munter wanted so much to tell Sadie about Nobuko. He longed to tell somebody. He wanted an opinion. He wanted for someone to tell him that Nobuko was fine. That nothing could have happened to her. That he was worrying for nothing.
I was really amazed when you told me that you were Katinka Otter, Munter, said Sadie. It’s fantastic. A friend of mine worshipped that book. He got me into it. It’s funny because I remember thinking of you when I first looked at it. I remember thinking about the cartoons you did when we were at college and hoping that you still did them. It’s strange, that. There I was thinking about you and it was you who was responsible for what I was reading.

*

Sadie peeled a white feather off Munter’s shoulder as they left the café.
A white feather, she said. What's this? Have you been wrestling a swan today?
I don’t know where they came from. I had a dream that I was flying over Dublin and some seagulls attacked me actually. Then I woke up and I was covered in those things. So maybe it really happened, I don’t know.
I never knew you could fly.
It’s something I don’t like to talk about too much. They’d give me funny looks.
You must get funny looks from the people down below, eh? When you’re swooping over them like Superman.
They never see me. I’m faster than a speeding bullet.
Then I don’t need to call you a taxi then?

*

Sadie waved a taxi down easily. Munter was feeling a kind of contentment, having been sobered slightly by the coffee, but retaining the initial dizzy thrill of drunkenness. He was contemplating Sadie’s concern, her friendship, her being there alongside him, and the chance he now may have had with her.
Do you have enough money for the taxi? Sadie asked.
Munter flashed a fiver proudly, the change from his coffee.
Well, you can take this one, said Sadie. I’ll flag down another. I said I’d meet my friends at Hogan’s.
Hogan’s. I drank in there once or twice.
I don’t like the place. Too crowded and I don’t trust any of the people there for some reason. Except for my friends. They mostly go there when they’re going out. That’s the only reason I go there.
I may go along with you, said Munter. I’m feeling a little better.
I don’t think so, Munter, she replied. You wouldn’t get in looking the way you do. You look like…well, let’s just say, you’re not suitably attired to gain entrance to any late drinking establishments this evening. I’m sorry if that sounds bad. But look at yourself. You’re covered in bruises and…white feathers. Just go home. You need to get some sleep, I think.
Munter suffered a shiver of rejection.
Okay, you’re right, he said. I look like shit.
Sadie smiled at him, and gestured that he should get into the taxi.
Munter pressed his lips suddenly against hers. Their lips maintained the sudden meeting for a moment before evolving slowly into a kiss.
Sadie pulled away; she was no longer smiling.
Okay, she said, gravely. I want you to get into the taxi, Munter. I’m sorry. Just go home, will you.
Munter nodded and began to walk to the passenger seat side of the taxi.
I hope you’re okay, Munter, Sadie told him as he was getting into the taxi. Take care, will you?
I will, he said. Thanks, Sadie.

*

For a moment during the taxi journey Munter didn’t feel so lonely anymore. Loneliness had withered to some extent with the kiss, even though he understood it to be a borrowed kiss, pleasant and wonderful maybe, but ephemeral. If he ever did see Sadie again, he felt it would be an awkward encounter, in which she would probably show less interest than she had done this evening. He knew she liked him. She wouldn’t have kissed him if otherwise. She liked him even though he was covered in vomit and bruises. But he could tell that her current life didn't have that kind of space for him. She was perhaps in love with someone, and in the beginning stages of a relationship, or maybe even right in the middle of a relationship, or maybe even getting out of a relationship, and still in love with whoever it was. Even so, he felt less lonely. The kiss had soothed him somewhat.
Have you heard this? said the taxi driver, directing Munter’s attention to the news broadcast that was on the radio. They found another dead woman in the canal. Just a few hours ago. What sort of fuckin twisted minds are we sharing the land with, eh?
Munter muttered to acknowledge the taxi driver, but said nothing substantial. He noticed a small white feather on the taxi driver’s arm.
What’s that? Munter asked, pointing to the feather.
The taxi driver looked down at his arm.
Oh, that? A weird thing. It was raining white feathers over the river earlier. Did you not see?
No, said Munter.
The seagulls were ripping each other apart in the air. It was a sight, I can tell you. One for the tourists to remember. Cead Mile Failte.
Munter closed his eyes and laid back his head.

***************************************************

New cans. He went to put them in the freezer. He wanted each one to achieve the perfect cold that a can could achieve. He would leave them for thirty minutes in the freezer, then take them out, crack one open, and store the others in the fridge. With any luck a perfect cold would be achieved by that time. And hopefully he could stay away from them until then.