Mythology Abroad

by Jody Lynn Nye

  “Oh, that’s better,” Diane said, shaking out the legs of her jeans. “I wish I could wring out my shoes. They’ll squish for a week.”

  Keith watched the bartender inside the bar moving back and forth between customers in the light of the single orange lamp behind the bottles. He was a burly young man with curly, dark hair and a beak of a nose between straight, dark brows. He set down glasses, and exchanged quiet jokes as he cleared away empties. Conversations between the locals, though animated, were in low tones.

  “How about it?” Keith suggested.

  He walked over and casually took a seat at the darkest corner of the bar, far removed from the next customer. Diane sat down next to him, and gave him a conspiratorial wink. In a moment, Holl joined them, sitting on Keith’s other side. He was followed by a reluctant Elf Master, who wedged himself between a post and the wall.

  “You are unreasonably bold,” he told Holl sternly.

  “They think I’m a child, Master,” Holl replied reasonably. “They’ll give me a fruit soda.”

  “Welcome,” the server said, coming over and giving the bar in front of them a wipe with his towel.

  “Hi,” Keith said. “It’s a wet night.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind,” the man said. Keith could see that he was quite young, not too far from his own age. “I was planning to swim home tonight. I brought me water wings.” Diane laughed, and the young man smiled at her. “Americans, are you?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Over here for the holidays?”

  “Sort of,” Keith said, wondering where to begin. “Well, I’m researching my family tree. I was here for a combination tour and college course for credit. We both go to Midwestern University in Illinois.”

  “Do you?” the young man said, pausing in his polishing. “I’m at Trinity College in Dublin. I’m happy to meet fellow students.”

  “We were there,” Diane said. “I went to look at the Book of Kells.”

  “What are you studying?” Keith asked him.

  “I’m reading history,” the young man said with a wide grin on his face, “but I’m learning Mandarin Chinese on the side.”

  “Go on,” Diane said, sensing a joke, “drop the other shoe. Why?”

  “Well, me mam’s expecting her fourth, you see,” he told them seriously, “and they say that one out of every four babies born in the world is Chinese. I want to be able to understand him when he starts to talk.”

  “So why don’t you move next door to a Chinese family?” Keith asked, joining in the game. “That way, if they get one of the other three, you can just swap babies with them.”

  “That’s a grand idea,” agreed the young man, just keeping a straight face while the others laughed. “The truth is that I’m learning Chinese to be a translator. It’d be a grand job. I have three other languages as well.”

  “That’s great,” Keith said. “I know a little Spanish, but that’s all.”

  “And what’s her name?” the lad asked with a wink, and presented Diane with a guileless mien. “Just in fun, miss.”

  Diane gave him her best image of outrage, and then cracked up helplessly into laughter at the youth’s wide-eyed innocence. “I know.”

  “What may I bring you?”

  “Two pints,” Diane ordered for herself and Keith. “Is it still called a pint here?”

  “More than ever,” the young man said. “You ought to have a Guinness. It’s good for you.”

  “Sure,” Diane said, looking at Keith for his approval. He nodded, eyes shining. “Hmm. Must be good stuff.”

  “Oh, it is, it is, miss,” the bartender assured her. He reached for two pint mugs and set them under the pumps.

  Diane gestured toward the two Little Folk. The young man glanced at them and back at her. “And I think they’ll have.…”

  The bartender stopped her short, and turned to Holl and the Master. “I beg your pardon, miss,” he said deferentially. “Gentlemen, what is your pleasure?”

  The two Little Folk looked at each other. Some thought seemed to pass between them, and the Master nodded. As one, they removed their hats and set them on the bar. “A Guinness,” Holl said, tousling his hair furiously with both hands and fluffing it out. “Thank the powers, maybe now it’ll dry.”

  “The same, please,” the Master said, watching the young man curiously. The bartender gave them a wink and stepped over to the pumps. Carefully, he drew half a glass of Guinness into each pint mug and put them on the back of the bar to settle. The mocha froth slowly began to separate into chocolate beer below and cream foam above. The Master nodded approvingly.

  “It takes time to pour one properly,” said the young man. “But it’s worth it for the taste.” Holl pushed a few pound notes across to him, but he pushed it back, with a shake of his head. “Oh, no, it’d be unlucky to take your money from you. My compliments to you, sir. It’s on the house.”

  “Thank you kindly,” Holl said in surprise.

  Keith watched this performance with a kind of outraged concern. He looked hastily around the bar to see if anyone had observed them. It was impossible now to disguise the fact that two of the customers in the Skylark had ears almost five inches long that ended in points on the top. Strangely, the Little Folk didn’t seem to be worried. Keith wished that he could feel the same way. He was so used to protecting his small friends and drawing the attention of others away from them, to keep them from being carried off to be used for strange experiments or museum exhibits. He had no idea that it might be all right to expose the truth in some places, but apparently they did. No one at all had turned their way. Maybe it was more of the aversion spell that Holl had used in the airport, and now that Keith looked back, in the town around Midwestern University. Their own sort of protective coloration, he acknowledged.

  The Guinness was topped off and, in a few minutes, set before them. Keith picked his up and offered a silent toast to his friends. He tasted it, and let out a sigh of satisfaction. It was rich and tasty, with a sort of astringency that in a poorer drink would be bitterness. Diane handed the young man a banknote, and picked up her mug.

  “This is better than we got in Scotland,” Keith said, sipping carefully through the foam. Diane tasted hers, with an expression of pleased concentration on her face. She nodded.

  “Ah, it doesn’t travel well,” the server said. “You have to come to Ireland to have real Guinness. The brewery is not far from here, just down the road a bit. They say that it’s the best when you can see the smoke from the chimneys from where you’re drinking it.”

  “Can you see it from here?” Keith asked. The young man nodded, his eyes twinkling. “Have one yourself.”

  “Not at present, but my thanks to you,” the server said, taking the banknote and turning to the cash drawer. “I have to give it all my attention when I drink—in appreciation, you understand—and that’s bad for business.”

  Keith was relieved to be just sitting still for a moment, and not staring at anything through fog. With one hand on the handle of his glass, he watched the goings-on in the pub. A giggling couple came in at the door and made for the fireplace. The girl unwound a scarf from her hair while the man came up to the rail to order from the bartender. He returned to her, sipping the top off an overfull glass, and disappeared into the red-tinged shadows next to the hearth. Other customers looked at their watches, and flicked money onto the bar top, calling farewells. The server picked up the change and bade them return soon.

  A bandy-legged figure in a leather coat and woolly scarf emerged from a darkened corner on the other side of the lounge and waddled silently toward the door. Lit only by the fireplace and the orange lamp, the bearded face under the flat cap bore a slight resemblance to the Elf Master. Of course, half the men over forty in this part of the world did. That didn’t make him any different from most of the other gaffers in the bar. What made Keith take notice was when the bearded man opened the door to leave. He seemed to be no more than eyelevel to the doorknob. Keit
h blinked. It was probably a trick of the light. Keith caught a glimpse of bright blue eyes glancing his way, lit by the swinging lanterns outside. He turned back to the bar, shaking his head.

  “I think we just saw one of your relatives,” he said in a voice pitched only for Holl and the Master to hear.

  “This is no time for one of your jokes, Keith Doyle,” Holl said in a frosty voice.

  “I mean it,” Keith persisted. “I’m not betting my Uncle Arthur’s hotel towel collection on it, but I really think so.”

  Holl lowered his glass, with eyes narrowed. “I thought you said your family broke no laws.”

  Keith assumed an expression of wounded innocence. “I did. He’s in the textile business. He gets one of each as samples.”

  Holl looked over his shoulder. “Then where is the man you saw?”

  “He’s gone now,” Keith said, glancing back too. The outer door had swung shut. “Really, he could have been your cousin.”

  The Master said nothing, and drank his Guinness gloomily. Frivolous references to his loss thickened the shell around the small leader. He ignored Keith and Holl stolidly.

  “We ought to think about finding a place where we might be able to have dinner,” Diane said, and did a double take. “God, I’m starting to talk like the locals, with the eightfold sentences. I’m getting hungry.”

  “Me, too,” Keith said, referring to his watch. “It’s just about the time they start serving. We’re dry now. I think I could face the car seats again. Come on.” Diane smiled at the bartender, and the four of them stood up.

  Amid merry calls of farewell, Keith assured the publican they would stop by again soon. “We’ll get back here at least once before we go home,” he promised. The door swung shut behind them. The moon overhead was not far from full, and Keith felt alive and full of good spirits, both figurative and literal.

  He jingled his car keys, and started across the car park to the blue compact, followed by Diane and the two Little Folk. It was full dark, and the sky overhead was clear and spangled with stars. As they passed under the shadow of the brick arch, a voice issued from the darkness, smooth and warm like melted caramel. It asked a question in an unintelligible lingo. The Master’s head went up. He stopped, and replied tentatively in the same language. A small figure darted from behind the wall and waylaid the Master, pulling him to one side. Keith jumped forward to defend his teacher, but the Master held up a hand.

  It was the small man in the cap. He slapped out a barrage of words, his nose within inches of the Master’s, who replied to him slowly in the same tongue, without a trace of the Deutsch accent with which he spoke English. Keith hovered nearby, getting more and more excited.

  “Listen!” he hissed to Diane. “Listen!”

  “I think they know each other,” she murmured. “Is that your little man?”

  “Yup.”

  The small man turned his head to glance at the Master’s companions. The two Big Folk he dismissed immediately, and ignored thereafter, but Holl he studied. He asked another question, a short one, and Holl, clearly fascinated, approached more closely to answer. The stranger clasped his forearm and drew him forward, looking him carefully up and down. Keith was burning with curiosity.

  The stranger made a final exclamation, and guided the two Little Folk under the archway toward the road. Keith, with Diane holding on to his arm, started to follow them. Holl heard the crunch of gravel behind him and looked over his shoulder.

  “Go home,” he ordered. “Don’t follow us.”

  “But, Holl, I want to know who he is, and where …”

  “Go home, Keith Doyle,” Holl repeated seriously. “This is not Gillington Library. You might wind up with your teeth pulled, not only your fillings. We will be safe, and we’ll find our own way back.”

  Keith’s hand flew protectively over his mouth. Diane tugged him back into the car park.

  “Come on,” she said. “He’s right. Let’s go have dinner.” Keith stayed next to the car until the three small figures disappeared into the darkness. Glumly, he unlocked the door and climbed in.

  After changing out of their sodden jeans and running shoes at the guesthouse, Diane asked the proprietress for recommendations of good places to eat. Mrs. Keane had flyers from a number of restaurants, but she pointed out two as being the best of the lot. They chose the one that was the easiest to find, a small restaurant named The Abbot’s Table a few miles to the north.

  The daily specials and their prices were chalked on a black slate over the hearth in the small dining room. The candlelit tables, about twelve in number, were crowded fairly close together, but there was still some elbow room left over. They slid into their seats, and read the menus in silence. Diane ordered their meals for them, and chatted for a few minutes with the waitress. Keith sat looking glumly out of the window at the darkness, wondering what Holl and the Master were doing. Who was the little man? A relative or a friend? Did he know they were going to be in that pub that day, or was it chance?

  “Come on,” Diane said, breaking into his thoughts. “You’re obsessed. Let’s just have a nice time, and you can interrogate Holl tomorrow morning. Let’s talk about something else other than them.”

  “Sorry,” Keith said apologetically. “I’m only half human, you know. The rest is pure curiosity. I won’t be rotten company any more, I promise.” Keith roused himself, determined to be entertaining. Over the excellent dinner, they talked about the countryside they’d seen and travel in general. He was fine so long as he avoided any of the bodach’s prohibited subjects.

  “My dad always wanted to come here to Ireland. I think with all the stuff I’ve found for him, he’ll be even more rarin’ to come over and pick up where I left off,” Keith said. “There’s a list of Doyles in the phone book a mile long. Dad will be thrilled. I found two Eamon Doyles. You know, given names sometimes run in cycles, skipping generations, so one of these guys might be a direct descendant of my multi-great-granduncle.”

  “It’s fun to watch you working on your family tree,” Diane confessed, after they had ordered dessert. “I don’t have the energy, or maybe not the interest, to do my own. Part of the problem is that I don’t speak Swedish or Danish, or any of the other parts of my family’s background. I could do the maternal line, I suppose. Some of my mother’s family is English.”

  “Shh!” Keith silenced her playfully, looking suspiciously around the restaurant in case they were overheard. “Don’t talk about that here!”

  “Oh, knock it off,” she retorted, shaking her head at him affectionately.

  “Excuse me,” said the older woman seated at the table next to them.

  “See,” Keith told Diane. “Now you’ve done it.”

  “Oh, shut up. Yes, ma’am?”

  “You’re Americans, aren’t you?” They nodded. “I thought so,” she said to her husband. “How are you enjoying Ireland?”

  “Oh, tremendously,” Diane enthused. “It’s gorgeous.”

  “I just had to ask, watching the two of you. You’re so happy together. Are you on your honeymoon?”

  “Um, no,” Keith said hurriedly, shocked all the way down to his new shoes. “I mean, no. We’re here for research and some sightseeing. We’re not married.”

  “Well, then, you could hardly choose so lovely a young lady as this one when you come to be settling down, now could you?” the old man said, nodding charmingly to Diane. “So, when are you going to declare yourself?”

  Keith looked helplessly at Diane, but she gave him an expectant blank stare. On that particular subject, she wasn’t giving him any assistance. Anything he wanted to say about that was going to have to come out of his own mouth, however garbled. Mustering his words carefully, Keith tried to make some nondescript compliments to Diane without falling headlong over his own tongue. The bodach’s curse seemed to see them coming, and stuck out a foot. What Keith sputtered out sounded like gibberish.

  The old man and his wife exchanged knowing glances. This young man
’s tongue-tiedness must mean that he had honorable intentions sometime in the future. He was certainly in love.

  “Your very good health, young man, young lady,” they said, toasting them with glasses of wine.

  “Um, the same to you,” Keith said, raising his own glass. He looked back at Diane, who was still watching him. He did a little pantomime, spreading out helpless palms toward the older couple, and pointing at his mouth. She shut her eyes and shook her head long-sufferingly.

  The waitress returned with their desserts and refilled their glasses, rescuing Keith from his efforts to explain himself. He let out a relieved sigh. Diane relented, and gave him a warm smile.

  “That’s all right. It would be nice to know where I stand. But I’ll wait until you can tell me what you’re thinking yourself,” she said.

  “Thanks,” Keith offered humbly. He wished he could tell her how lovely she looked in the candlelight or how much he cared for her, but he knew none of those phrases would ever make it out of his mouth alive. “To you,” he said at last, raising the full glass to his lady. There was no stammer or stumble over the two simple words. Ha, ha, bogey, he thought. I’m showing you.

  ***

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  “A pity you had to struggle to find us,” said their new companion, whose name was Fergus. “We’d never have left our home, as well you know, only the honest country folk were moving out, and the fast-moving ones coming in their places. It was only a matter of time before they’d want to intrude upon us, so we made tracks first.”

  Fergus led the two Little Folk down the road and through a break in the hedge. There was a small pathway that led downward.

  “Watch your footing, if you please. It slips a bit.”

  The moon disappeared as they passed under a canopy of boughs. Fergus went first, indicating that the other two should stay as far to the left of the pathway as they could.