Crannog / No - Crannóg

Crannóg No 7 winter 2004
emerges from the trees. Fuck’s sake I didn’t want to talk
with him. He is as drunk as he was on the day he died.
“Right Arnie…what are you going to do when you leave
school?”
“Dunno”
“Most of us have to make a living,” he says.
I curl up in the sheets.
“Come on lad…what are you good at…”
“Nothing.”
“Gar… Gar O’Donnell private. In Philadelphia, Here I
Come.”
“I never learnt that one,” I say.
“You have…I know you have…the floorboards are worn
away with your walking.”
“I…”
“You walk while you recite the lines… I know you do…
come on.”
“Fuck’s sake…”
“Mind your mouth.”
“Leave me alone.”
“Come on,” he says
“All right, here goes… I’ll fuck up… I always fuck up,” I
get up off the bed. “Directions. Walk to centre beach….
fuck there’s not enough room here… tides in… ah well
he’ll have to make allowances… private gets slowly to his
feet. He stands looking down at him. Daddy’s changing…
longer nose… dead eyes… flat face… He’s Gar’s father now…
here goes... accentuate the Northern accent… God maybe
Screwballs…. isn’t that a nice name for a father? It was an
afternoon of 15 years ago…
“Get a move on Arnie.”
Fuck the lines, I’ll do my own stuff. “We went down the
forest park and you put the jeep in the car park next to
some old green car. The paint was peeling and rust
worn. You didn’t take the lads I think not, because they
couldn’t make it but because you wanted me. We were
going to plant conkers the way you did in Barna when
you were a child. Didn’t I run ahead of you most of the
time… I was looking to see if there were imaginary
dragons on the path. Maybe I would protect you with
that great big imaginary shield I always took. There was
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