Leaving The Light Of Day

Katrine: 1 vodka

Masterson: 1 beer

Stinson: 1 beer

Masterson: 1 beer

Katrine: 1 vodka

Masterson: 1 whiskey

Katrine: 1 vodka

Stinson: 1 beer

Masterson: 1 beer

Masterson: 1 whiskey

Katrine: 1 water

Stinson: 1 beer

Masterson: 1 beer

Katrine: 1 vodka

Masterson: 1 whiskey

Katrine: 1 vodka

Then there was a mighty rifting like machine gun fire as if war was starting up again somewhere – explosive stomach-rupturing blasts that varied in resonance, that were loud in places, then sometimes thinner and distant, as though the sot responsible was a ventriloquist master of chunder. 

Gruup                                   Gruup                                      Kruup                                          Gruupk

Kruupg                                                     Gurrpk                                        Kruukp                                              Gruup

Gurrpk                                          Kuurpg                                                  But it turned out no drunk was to blame for the cacophony heard in the bar; it was just Dagny’s pet frog, released from its cardboard box for a hop – which she did from time to time being as Dagny was not only a good bar-owner but also a good pet-owner – and the croaks bounced too for the stereophonic din these amphibians were capable of producing knew no perimeters in space and time.  At one stage, the slime of brown with legs landed on the table beside Father Stinson’s beer giving him such a scare that he yelped, prompting tipsy giggles out of Katrine.  The frog eyed the skittish priest for seven seconds total before vaulting upwards and vanishing in the smoke......to drop out of nowhere and into someone else’s life later no doubt.  What a showboat this frog was.  Tophat and tails unnecessary.  The seven seconds with Dagny’s slimy pet affected Stinson’s psychology more than time spent with any frog breed beforehand.  His initial response was shock; but then came repugnance.  It came with the marble yellow eyes staring.  And the hard putrid-wet skin.  And its feet, ugly green suction cups.  There was no beauty in the creature.  And it upset Stinson that he was now capable only of seeing the hideous side of creation.  In this moment, Darwin he wasn’t.  Or even a first year naturalist still struggling with his chosen field.  Father Stinson generally felt he held sufficient reverence for the animals; he often walked the park with a bag of breadcrumbs for the birds and he enjoyed it when his parishioners’ pet cats got up on his lap during house visits.  Yet here was one of God’s creatures that enkindled mere disgust within him.  He took another drink of beer and tried to relax.     

Dagny’s bar was busier than yesterday.  Dagny herself was run off her feet, but evidently happy to be so – judging by the smile on her face.  The place was filled with laughing and some whistling and then it would all die down as though the room needed to take a breath and then more laughing and some more whistling.  It appeared a work do was on as many fish girls were there in blood-spattered garb and they were chuckling flirtatiously with the fish factory bosses while their male co-workers stood by with jaundiced smiles.   There was music playing also; a man was standing in front of the whale’s jawbone with his neck in a fiddle and beside him another man was singing a tune that was common enough for others to sing along to.

Stinson realised he was getting somewhat used to the whole business of dipsomania when during an improper exchange between Katrine and Masterson he was able to infer the jocular nature of the back and forth and felt no need to seek penance for having anything to do with the two of them.  He even started to form a few epigrammatic remarks to issue himself but he lacked the b***s to communicate them forthrightly.  It was only when the subject of marriage came up that Stinson remembered God was still watching him; and then was restored his unfailing angel-face.  

How it happened was Masterson asked Katrine, like an inquisitor trying to goad his suspect into divulging secrets: ‘And you have no husband?  Why is that?’

‘I have not,’ she said.  ‘I find the very notion of monogamy tedious.’

‘It’s a bit strange.’

‘How so?’

‘Well, you look like you’re getting on in years – though you have a fine shape for someone your age, I’ll admit.  How old are you – thirty-five maybe?  Most young women that age have a husband by now.’ 

‘Well, I hope they are happy.  And I hope also that when they eventually seek analysis, they are met by a respected professional.’

‘I have wonderful memories of the weddings I presided over,’ added Stinson.  ‘Those are the best days as a priest.  Everyone all dressed up so nice.  Even the usually less than fragrant ones make an effort.  And you feel so privileged to be sharing the moment with the young couple.  But I cannot pass judgement on you, Katrine, for your unwillingness to take those vows.  It is your choice.  I would like to believe however that one day you will meet a person who means so much to you that you would lighten on the subject and pay matrimony some heed.  Regardless of....the God part, you know.’

‘You see – that’s the kind of vainglorious nonsense I detest.  You would have my position to be frivolous and all the girl needs is someone to come along and send her eyes fluttering and in no time she’ll be in front of one of you pious idiots as you stand there with your pamphlets selling the classic tripe.’

‘Steady on,’ said Stinson.

‘You are not very patient for a psychoanalyst,’ said Masterson.  ‘Are you not supposed to speak calmly to restrain them in your couch?  I’d run a mile from ya.’

‘I would let you.  I’m aware of the squalid mind that is yours, priest.  I can only imagine the debased fantasies we might dig from that head of yours were we to have a session – not to mention the malfeasances that would surely see the light of day.’