The Crooked Road to Heaven
Robert Connolly
ARTHUR H. STOCKWELL LTD
Torrs Park, Ilfracombe, Devon, EX34 8BA
Established 1898
www.ahstockwell.co.uk
2017 digital version converted and published by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
© Robert Connolly, 2017
First published in Great Britain, 2017
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright holder.
A story inspired by a wide awake, daylight, out-of-body experience.
Chapter One
In the small town of Graig-óg, that straddles the gently meandering Barrow river as it wanders across the plains of Laois in central, rural Ireland stands a large, attractive building that serves as a pub, a grocery store and a community centre. It is named The Rooters’ Rest. It is an imposing presence overlooking the town square and has long endeared itself to the inhabitants. It is a venue for parties and celebrations as well as being an iconic meeting place for friends and acquaintances.
It was there one early evening in mid-March in the spacious lounge of the pub that two young men in their twenties, namely Seán Coyle and Nole Deegan, close friends, sat and engaged in conversation over a drink whilst awaiting the arrival of another mutual associate, Tom Doyle, who had previously arranged to meet them there.
“Do you think Tom will turn up, Seán?” Nole asked, seemingly uncertain about Tom’s commitment to the agreement.
“I’ve never known him not to keep his word and if he should fail on this occasion I’m sure he will have a legitimate excuse,” Seán replied, and added out of curiosity, “Why do you ask?”
“Well, I was just thinkin’ as it’s Friday today, there’s usually a Western film on television after the evenin’ news at nine o’clock. So I was hoping to be home for nine thirty to catch it, that’s all.”
“Well, Nole, you can dismiss that little worry because I have promised my true love, Maura, soon to be my wife, that I would be at her parents’ home by nine o’clock and I’ll be dropping you off just before that, so-”
“Yeah, yeah, I see. That’s fine, then,” Nole agreed. After a brief pause he asked, “Will you be offerin’ to drop Tom off at his house too on the way, as you usually do, if he turns up?”
“Of course, how could I refuse? It’s only a five-minute detour criss-crossing the Barrow river en route and that will save him from having to cycle the two miles home. He isn’t too stable on his bike after a few pints of Guinness. I’ve encountered him on a number of occasions wobbling along and stopped to pick him up and slide his bike into the van through the side door. He was always grateful for my generosity.”
“Yeah, I know. He always showers you with praise when we meet. I watched him set off for home on his bike from here, wobblin’ like a drunken duck, and I used to wonder, and still do, how he manages to make it home safely. He has ended up in a cluster of brambles on the verge of the lane that leads from the main road to his house several times and even ended up in the ditch more than once.”
“I can believe that,” Seán agreed, and continued, “that would account for the bruises and scratches I’ve noticed on his face occasionally.”
“It would indeed and don’t waste your breath reminding him that he shouldn’t drink and ride a bike afterwards because he will answer without hesitation that the drink doesn’t affect his cyclin’ skill. He told me that now and then he was forced to make a sudden swerve along the lane to home to avoid running over a fox that darted out across his path unexpectedly from an open gateway, causing him to lose control of his bike and finishing up prostrate in a pile of brambles, nettles and sometimes, as I’ve already said, in a ditch. According to him that’s the reason for the bruises and scratches on his face and neck. He also said it was a price worth payin’ for havin’ saved the fox’s life,” Nole concluded.
Seán laughed and remarked, “Well, he does have a humanitarian nature, and that aside you’ve got to give him credit for his ingenuity if he does invent seemingly heroic reasons for his lack of balance under the influence of alcohol.”
“Oh, I do indeed, Seán. He’s a lovable character and I enjoy listening to his lengthy explanations, but if I try to question him during one of his charming accounts he simply dismisses it with another unexpected yet believable excuse.”
“Yes, that’s a fitting description of Tom and he - would you believe it, the man himself has arrived!” Seán exclaimed and raised a hand to attract Tom’s attention.
The latter noticed Seán’s gesture and he went directly to greet his two friends.
“Well, hello, Seán and Nole. I’m glad to see you both looking fit and healthy, and I must add neither of you look a day older than you were last week,” and he laughed before continuing, “all’s well with your family members too, I hope?”
Seán and Nole assured him that where their family members were concerned all was ticking over nicely.
“And your wife Nora and the children, Tom - how are they faring?” Seán enquired.
“Well now, Seán, they’re fine, and as long as they are fine then so am I and there you have it.”
“Will you be having a pint of Guinness as usual, Tom?” Seán suggested invitingly.
“Well, Seán, unless they’ve changed the name that’s exactly what I’ll be having,” he answered with a witty laugh.
“Are you having the same again, Nole?” Seán asked out of force of habit.
“I am indeed and I have two suggestions to make. The first is that I pay for this round and-”
“Oh no, Nole!” Seán interrupted. “You paid for the last round.”
“I know, but you’re only drinking lemonade and I don’t think it’s fair on you,” Nole voiced his opinion.
“Well, that’s thoughtful of you, Nole, but I must insist regardless of what I’m drinking. I’ll be driving the van home later with you and Tom for company and I have a rule I never break - namely, I never drink alcohol and drive under its influence. I also pay for my round in company regardless of drink prices. After all, the conversation can be more nourishing than the drink. And now, Nole, what’s the second suggestion?”
“Well, that relates to what Tom answered when you asked him if his drink was Guinness and his answer was yes unless the name had been changed. So, I’m suggesting changing the name to a pet form - namely, bainne dubh. How does that sound to you two?” Nole posed the question.
“Bainne dubh, that’s Gaelic for black milk!” Seán mused and agreed. “Yes, I like it. What do you think, Tom?”
“Well, as long as it doesn’t change the taste I’d say it’s a spark of inspiration, and I’m glad my remark was its instigation,” Tom enthused.
“Right, Nole, I’ll put your proposition to Ben Murphy, the barman, and see what he makes of it,” Seán remarked as he departed to get a round of drinks. When he returned with the drinks on a tray he smiled and said to Nole, “I asked Ben for two pints of bainne dubh and he hesitated a moment before answering, ‘That’s Gaelic for black milk and that must refer to Guinness.’ So, I said ‘correct’ and informed him of your suggestion to baptise Guinness with the endearing pet name bainne dubh, at least here in The Roosters’ Rest, and he agreed that it was an appropriate pet name for the world-famous drink. So, he’s going to put your req
uest to the clientele as soon as he gets a quiet moment.”
“You will be famous round here if that name catches on, Nole.” Tom stoked the embers of excitement and joked, “You’ll still talk to us if you become famous, won’t you?”
“Well now, Tom, I could hardly ignore you since you’re a walking advertisement for the drink.” And he laughed aloud and Tom and Seán joined in the laughter.
A little later Ben Murphy’s voice echoed round the spacious lounge as Nole’s suggestion was put to the few dozen customers scattered about the area. “And just in case any of you have forgotten your Gaelic, bainne dubh means black milk. So what do you think?”
A brief silence followed, broken by a long-time regular drinker of Guinness in the pub who exclaimed loudly, “Hooray for the bainne dubh!” And his outburst was quickly followed by a cascading echo of approval from all present and Nole was showered with compliments as well, much to his embarrassment.
“Congratulations, Nole!” Tom praised, adding, “And I’m glad I played a little part in your success.”
“I’m glad too, Tom, and thanks for being the source of my inspirin’ thought.” Nole thoughtfully shared the credit.
“The thought has just struck me, Tom. You look a bit older than you did last week,” Seán remarked, and Tom was taken by surprise.
“Do you really think so, Seán?” he nervously asked, concerned by the latter’s observation.
“Yes, but it’s merely the visible effect of the bruising on your cheekbone and the side of your forehead. You haven’t been hit by a bucket or walked into a telegraph post by accident, have you?”
“No, no,” he answered, smiling, and continued, “it was an encounter with a fox along the lane leading to my house. I told you about it before, Nole, remember?”
“Yeah, I do. The one that caused you to crash your bike into a hawthorn hedge ditch?” Nole confirmed.
“That’s right! It happened more than once and I’m beginnin’ to think the fox targets me deliberately and always unexpectedly, darting out in front of me and causing me to swerve suddenly, losing my balance in the process and crashing into thorny brambles or nettles. The result of that is the visible bruising and scratches on my head and neck as well as the aches and pains that accompany them,” Tom explained.
“When did the latest incident occur?” Seán enquired, his curiosity aroused.
“Last Monday evening when I was cycling along the lane leading to my home. Out on to the lane from a field gateway the fox suddenly appeared and hesitated a moment to glance at me. Had I not veered sideways instantly I would probably have run over it, but my sudden deviation caused the accident I’ve just described.” Tom concluded.
“Now, wouldn’t you think that a fox, renowned for its cleverness, would have changed its routine after the first near-fatal encounter such as you’ve just related, Tom?” Nole suggested.
“Well, yeah, that was exactly what I thought after several such incidents,” Tom agreed and added, “to add insult to injury didn’t the fox just sit on its haunches a few yards away grinning at me with bared teeth, and I felt sure it was enjoying my plight.”
Nole erupted into laughter and remarked, “Well now, Tom, that’s one of the best I’ve heard - a smilin’ fox. I’ve never heard one being so described before.” He broke into another fit of laughter and both Tom and Seán joined in.
When the merriment subsided Seán suggested that Tom might have misinterpreted the fox’s grin. “It might have been the fox’s natural reaction to shock or fear or even relief. Have you considered that point of view?”
“Well, I must confess, now, the likelihood never entered my mind, but I do understand what you mean, Seán, and I’ll keep the possibility in mind,” Tom assured.
“Another important point to remember is”, Seán continued, “can you be certain that it was a real fox - a flesh-and-blood fox, that is?”
Tom was puzzled by the question and could only answer, “What other kind of fox could it be, Seán?”
“Might it possibly have been a ghost fox that you encountered instead?” Seán posed the question.
Nole laughed aloud and stated, “First we had a never-heard-of-before smiling fox and now a ghost fox. What’s next!”
All three momentarily enjoyed the developing scenario.
When the laughter ran its course, Tom asked, “What made you think it might have been a ghost fox, Seán?”
“The thought just crossed my mind, Tom, that the fox might have been the disguised spirit of your guardian angel that appeared in that form to warn you of the danger of drinking alcohol and then riding a bike afterwards to get home without considering the possible consequences for yourself and family dependants.”
Tom pondered on Seán’s line of thought before commenting, “Yeah... yeah, I see what you mean, Seán, and it’s certainly no laughing matter. And furthermore I’m not goin’ to forget what you just said in a hurry.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more, Tom. Wise words indeed,” Nole stated, and added, “and the smiling fox and the ghost fox suddenly seem more meaningful now.”
“Yeah, yeah, I agree, Nole.” Tom endorsed Nole’s statement and continued, “I always felt there was something about that fox appearing unexpectedly in my path somewhere along the lane home. So, your explanation Seán... well, it can’t be dismissed. It keeps gnawing away at my mentality,” Tom confessed.
Seán smiled and replied, “I’ll say this much about my suggestion, it was a deep-thought-inspired opinion, and yourself and Nole seem quite interested in the possibility.”
“Well, credit where it’s due, Seán, and I confess you may well have hit the nail on the head,” Nole conceded.
“Neatly summed up and delivered, Nole. And now are you ready for another pint of bainne dubh?” Tom uttered, rising to his feet and adding, “I’d like to buy you one too, Seán, but I might be offendin’ if I were to utter the words of temptation.”
“Oh no, Tom, you wouldn’t be offending me in the least, but the fairies might take a dim view of it,” Seán remarked.
Tom smiled and repeated, “The fairies might take a dim view of it. How would they even know if I were to ask?” he probed.
“Because they would have overheard you, Tom,” Seán remarked.
“But how would they have heard me if they’re not here?” Tom’s curiosity led him on.
“But they are here, Tom,” Seán assured him.
“Well, if that’s the case why can’t we see them?”
“Because they’re invisible, Tom, just like the ghost fox. You only see them when they work their magic, and there’s always a good reason for that.” Seán spoke like a man who had an insight into the world of the little people.
Tom was impressed by Seán’s knowledge and remarked, “Well, I’ve got nothing against the fairies. I respect their unseen presence and I have no intention of stoking up their ire, not after some of the stories I heard whilst growing up and still hear from time to time.” He paused briefly before asking, “Are there a lot of fairies wandering about, Seán?”
“More of them than human beings, Tom - a hell of a lot more,” Seán stated with conviction.
“So many!” Tom exclaimed, surprised, and Seán nodded affirmatively.
“If that’s the case I had better be extra careful about what I say from now on with so many ears secretly listening,” Tom reminded himself, half convinced.
“And don’t forget your thoughts as well, Tom,” Seán added, pointing a finger to his head.
“You mean they also know what we think!” Tom exclaimed with a surprised expression.
“They know what we all think, Tom, whether it is good or bad, and if the latter they activate our conscience and that makes us pay for our iniquities sooner or later,” Seán revealed.
Tom pondered the signific
ance of Seán’s revelation and then remarked, “So, might that mean that the unexpected accidents with the fox that caused the bruises and lacerations to parts of my body weren’t as accidental as they have seemed to be, Seán?”
“Well, that possibility can’t be ruled out, Tom.” Seán stretched the point.
“I’ll be lying in bed tonight wide awake thinking about that.” After a slight pause Tom reminded himself, “Well, I’d better go and get the bainne dubh! Do you want anything with yours, Nole?” he asked.
“Ah well, just remind him to put it into a jar,” Nole jokingly suggested, and erupted into laughter which the other two joined in.
“As witty as ever, Nole,” Tom commented and continued, “you want to be careful or you might pass yourself out one of these days.”
“Ah, there’ll be no fear of that Tom since I’m not a fast talker,” Nole answered with another short burst of laughter.
“You’ll need to rise very early in the morning to catch Nole off guard, Tom,” Seán remarked with a wry grin.
“That wouldn’t be good enough, Seán.” Tom conceded, adding, “Even if I were to stay awake all night I’m sure it would be a waste of time.” And with a broad smile he headed for the bar.
“I did say, Seán, that Tom would have an excuse for every wound, scratch and bruise on his body noticed and questioned by anyone with whom he came into contact and I was proved right, but I must admit your out-of-the-ordinary explanation all but convinced him and me that you were right. So, my question is, were you serious or were you leading him on in a ring-a-ring-a-rosy?” Nole asked, seeking clarification.
“I was as serious of the possibility, Nole, as another person might be of the impossibility; and as I don’t believe in the impossible, all that I said was my opinion of what is possible. As you know, opinions differ and everyone’s entitled to their opinion.”
“There now, as always you gave me an honest answer. I know you are a deep thinker, but I didn’t think you were that deep. Still, it was a thought-provoking possibility you posed and I certainly wouldn’t have the audacity to contradict it.” Nole declared his acceptance of Seán’s theory.
The Crooked Road to Heaven Page 1
