The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nightdress

by Ross O'Carroll-Kelly

  Look at that one. No, look at that one. No, no, look at the one behind her. I swear to God, roysh, our first day on the beach in Tel Aviv and I’ve, like, fallen in love probably twenty times. You see some bird who’s, like, the love of your life, roysh, and your eyes follow her down the beach and then, all of a sudden, the girl of your dreams walks the other way. The local scenario is unbelievable and, just like the brochure said, it’s basically Funbag City.

  Obviously, roysh, we’ve brought the rugby ball down onto the beach and me, JP and Oisinn are, like, flinging it around, with our tops off, giving the locals a good eyeful of the talent that’s just rolled into town, while Fionn sits there on the sun-lounger, with his glasses and his little weedy body, reading the focking guidebook, like the little swot that he is, and every now and then shouting out basically facts and figures like, ‘Israel is actually smaller than Wales,’ and ‘Unlike the Christian religions, Judaism doesn’t recognize priests as intermediaries between God and the faithful. Rabbis are simply teachers, revered for their knowledge of the Torah and the Talmud.’

  I turn around to JP and I go, ‘Imagine coming all this way to read a focking book,’ but I say it quietly, roysh, because I’m not really sure if Fionn not giving me a dig-out with Pikey on Paddy’s Day actually counts as him getting me back for the diary thing. JP goes, ‘I don’t know, I thought it was very interesting what he was saying earlier, about Hebrew being virtually extinct when it was adopted as the national language of the new state in 1948,’ and I look at Oisinn, roysh, and he’s nodding – he’s actually nodding – and I’m there, ‘Sorry, am I the only one who’s actually looking for his Nat King Cole?’ It’s unbelievable that I have to actually remind them why we’re here,

  Those couple of months working with Castlerock have left me pretty fit, it has to be said. I’m pegging it around like the Dricmeister himself and the goys can’t get a tackle in on me. Then Oisinn – probably out of frustration at being made to look the lardorse that he is – just, like, tackles me high, roysh, and I end up flat in the sand with all sixteen stone of him on top of me.

  We’re just, like, lying there, cracking our holes laughing when all of a sudden we look up and there’s Fionn, roysh, being chatted up – not chatting up, actually being chatted up – by these two total honeys. We’re talking total as well. Using the less challenging, geeky friend as a gateway to his good-looking mates is the oldest trick in the book, roysh, and it’s one that birds the whole world over know only too well.

  Of course there’s, like, a stampede to get over there. Fionn – he looks so focking puny in those Speedos – he pushes his glasses up on his nose and goes, ‘Goys, this is Debra and this is Shifra. Girls, this is Oisinn, JP and Ross,’ and we’re all like, ‘Hey, girls.’ Debra’s a total honey, roysh – I’m not saying that Shifra’s not – but Debra is a ringer for Candice Hildebrand and there’s an instant attraction, which you would have to say is mutual from the way she’s, like, checking my pecs.

  Shifra’s like, ‘So what are you guys here for?’ and I’m about to go, ‘Sweet loving,’ when Debra gives it, ‘Shifra and I could drive you around to see some of the sites,’ and I’m there, ‘Big time. You took the words out of my mouth. I want to see them all.’ Debra looks at me and goes, ‘Well, you’re not going to see them all in four days. Which ones in particular would you like to see?’ and I’m looking at the goys to throw me a rope but, not for the first time in the last couple of weeks, they leave me to drown.

  Debra goes, ‘Well, what about the Via Dolorosa?’ and I’m there, ‘You actually read my mind. I think there’s, like, a connection between us,’ and Oisinn goes, ‘What’s the Via Dolorosa?’ and I look at Debra and she goes, ‘It’s the path Jesus took to his crucifixion. You know the Stations of the Cross?’ and I’m remembering being dragged to it as a kid every Good Friday in Glenageary church.

  Fionn – trust him, roysh – he goes, ‘It literally means Way of the Cross. It storts with the Condemnation of Jesus by Pontius Pilate and follows the route of his suffering to his death and the placement of his body in the tomb, from where – according to Christian teaching – he was resurrected three days later.’

  He actually thinks that kind of talk’s going to impress them. I go, ‘Is it, like, near here? Could we walk it?’ and Shifra looks at me like I’ve got ten heads and goes, ‘No, it’s in Jerusalem. Maybe an hour’s drive,’ and Debra goes, ‘We can come back for you in the morning,’ and we’re all like, ‘Kool and the Gang.’

  I thought I was onto a winner when I found out I was rooming with JP. Oisinn snores like a focking elephant and Fionn, well, Fionn is Fionn, a tool basically. But get this, roysh, seven o’clock that night, roysh, we’re getting ready to go out on the total lash and I’m throwing on my new black Sonetti shirt when all of a sudden JP’s standing beside me in the bathroom, roysh, leaning against the doorframe, going, ‘Ross, what do you think of God?’

  I look him up and down, like I’m wondering is he feeling well. I go, ‘You know what I think of him. He’s a legend. We’ve had our differences over the years, mostly involving birds, but I’d be the first one to say he should captain the Lions next year.’

  JP’s there, ‘No, not him. I’m talking about God, as in actual God,’ and I’m like, ‘Oh, him. I try not to think about him. Hey, what’s all this about?’ and he’s there, ‘I don’t know. It was all that talk about the Crucifixion earlier. Made me realize how little I know about my actual religion,’ and I go, ‘The only religion we should be interested in tonight is the worship of beautiful young ladies,’ but I’m not reaching him.

  He goes, ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ and off he goes, roysh, hopefully next door to seek the wisdom of Fionn, who’ll tell him that it’s all focking fairy stories. I’m actually looking really well, it has to be said. The shirt is pretty tight and it actually shows off my abs pretty well, roysh, and the old quiff is the perfect length. Five minutes later, roysh, JP’s back with a copy of the Bible, of all focking things, which he bought downstairs in the gift shop. He flops down on the bed, roysh, and storts reading it, we’re talking actually reading the thing.

  I’m there, ‘What’s the Jackanory, JP? Are you not having a shower?’ and he goes – unbelievable, roysh – he goes, ‘I’m going to chill tonight, Ross. Still pretty jetlagged. Wouldn’t mind an early night.’

  Oisinn can’t believe it when I tell him. He goes, ‘Has he been at the minibor?’ and I’m there, ‘He’s sober as a judge,’ and Oisinn’s like, ‘He was very quiet on the beach earlier.’

  So me, Oisinn and Fionn end up going out by ourselves, roysh, and basically having the time of our lives. We were giving it loads and all the locals loved the Irish accents, though none of us pulled, roysh, and we all ended up in Hot Pants, a, shall we say, gentlemen’s club that some taxi-driver took us to.

  Five o’clock in the morning, roysh, we all arrive back at the Crowne Plaza and when I stick the cord in the door,

  I’m shocked to find JP’s still awake and still reading the Bible. Of course, I stort telling him some of the stories from the night – Fionn’s glasses getting all steamed up when that bird had her funbags in his face – but he doesn’t answer me, roysh, he basically blanks me and just, like, carries on reading. What with the birds calling for us at ten o’clock in the morning, I decide to get some kip.

  The next morning, another miracle happens: all four of us are up in time for breakfast and it’s pretty obvious, roysh, that it’s all to play for today. We have the crack, roysh, mostly talking about the fun and games in Hot Pants and also slagging Fionn for eating the local fare, which is basically meat and olives and all sorts of shit. During all this, JP says nothing at all.

  The birds arrive bang-on ten o’clock in Shifra’s old man’s people-carrier and all the goys dive in. Oisinn gets in the front, roysh, and it’s pretty obvious he’s settled for second prize. He tells her he loves Tommy Girl, roysh, and she asks how he knows it and he tells her it’s the clash of the camellia pe
tals and apple blossoms with the spearmint and mandarin orange and Shifra throws her head back laughing, roysh, thinking the dude’s actually making it up as he goes along, and Oisinn goes, ‘Not to mention that intoxicating bouquet of honeysuckle, desert jasmine and Dakota lily that gives it its unmistakable sensual vibrancy,’ and then there’s, like, silence in the cor, until Debra goes, ‘So what did you guys get up to last night?’

  Of course there’s great amusement at that and eventually I go, ‘We went to a museum,’ barely able to keep a straight face. Shifra looks around and goes, ‘What kind of museum did you find open at night?’ and Oisinn goes, ‘I don’t know, but Ross seemed pretty taken by one particular relic,’ and what can I do, roysh, but lean forward and, like, high-five the dude.

  We arrive in Jerusalem. Shifra porks the cor and we go and find a tour guide called Bakir, who mentions in the first ten seconds that even though he’s a Palestinian, roysh, he loves Christians and Jews as much as he loves Muslims because we are all brothers under the same God, and if anyone asks us to come into their shop during our tour of the Old City we should tell them No because they are thieves and criminals and he can take us instead to his brother’s shop and he will offer 10 per cent discount to Irish customers.

  The place is jammers, roysh, what with it being Good Friday, and there’s millions of people milling about the place, we’re talking monks, we’re talking nuns, we’re talking normal people, we’re talking Muslim birds with their faces covered, we’re talking all these dudes with long beards and hats and then kids with, like, skullcaps and ringlets, who Fionn says are called Ascetic Jews, which is all very fascinating… I don’t think.

  Bakir was spot-on, though. Everyone in the place is trying to port you from your shekels, literally shekels because that’s what the currency’s called over here – obviously someone’s idea of a joke. People are selling, like, rugs and sandals and walking-sticks made of real Mother of Pearl, whatever the fock that is, and pipes and hand-crafted chess sets and all sorts of shite. It’s all, ‘Come in, I give special price.’ Debra says she’s embarrassed at how commercialized the Via Dolorosa has been allowed to become. In between the Sixth Station, where Veronica wiped Jesus’ boat, and the Seventh, where the dude fell for the second time, I point out this little, like, coffee shop and I go, ‘Look, that’s where Jesus stopped for hummus and a cappuccino,’ and she looked at me, roysh, like I was the devil, even though I was basically agreeing with her.

  So suddenly, roysh, she ditches me and storts walking next to Fionn, who’s spouting all sorts of BS about the Armenian Quarter and the Christian Quarter, roysh, and he’s even telling the tour guide shit he didn’t know, the nerd that he is. By the time we get to the Tenth Station – where Jesus was stripped of his, like, garments, thank you, Fionn – the two of them are having this really intense discussion about, like, the political situation in Israel and I’ve basically decided that Fionn’s welcome to her.

  It’s too late for a tactical switch, though, because Shifra looks totally smitten with Oisinn. Meanwhile, JP is walking, like, twenty yords ahead of the rest of us, deep in conversation with Bakir about – of all things – religion. We go and see the spot where Jesus was crucified and this tomb, roysh, where he supposedly rose from the dead and it’s like, ‘Whatever?’ but me and Oisinn actually had to drag JP away from the tomb, roysh, because he was just stood there for, like, twenty minutes, staring at it like a total spacer.

  So before he frog-marches us to his brother’s shop to buy overpriced Susan’s Ears of our visit to Jerusalem, Bakir brings us for coffee, which is very generous of him considering it’s me who ends up paying for it. So there we are, roysh, sitting in this little place, JP just, like, sitting there – we’re talking picture, no sound – Fionn telling the two birds how he would love to come back and work in a Kibbutz, and me and Oisinn listening to Bakir banging on about how people are the same, no matter where you go. He goes, ‘I have met people from all over the world…’ and he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a stack of business cords, which he storts laying down on the table, one by one, going, ‘… from Russia. From England. From Brazil. From Iceland. From Japan. From Albania. Even from USA.’

  I look at the USA cord. It’s some dude called Paul Sperber who’s, like, senior vice president of Casteneda, Sandys, Mewshaw and Partners, whoever the fock they are, in Boulder, Colorado. ‘Whip it.’ That’s what I hear Oisinn whisper. I look at him and he goes, ‘That one. Go on, whip it,’ and when Bakir turns around to tell the owner how much he loves the coffee, I whip the cord out and slip it into my Davy Crocket.

  We buy a whole heap of tat from Bakir’s brother, then head down for a gander at the Wailing Wall, which, according to Specs Express, was called the Wailing Wall because it was here that the Jews lamented the destruction of their temple by the Roman emperor Titus in AD 70, though now it’s more popularly known as the Western Wall. The birds have to wait outside while me and the goys walk towards it. Fionn gets involved in some really deep conversation with a couple of locals while me, Oisinn and JP put on the old skullcaps and write out, like, wishes, which you then stick in between the bricks in the wall, to be supposedly read by God.

  In the cor on the way back to Tel Aviv, I ask Oisinn what he wished for and he went, ‘That Giorgio, Yves or somebody recognizes me soon,’ and he asks me what I wished for and I went, ‘That I get loads of birds while I’m here,’ but that was a lie, roysh, because what I really wished for was that Sorcha would take me back and that we’d live, like, happily ever after, roysh, but I didn’t say that because it sounded too bent.

  I asked JP what he wished for and he said it wasn’t a wish, it was a prayer, and when I asked him what he prayed for he didn’t answer and I’m beginning to wonder whether I’m the only normal person on this trip.

  Oisinn opens the door. The first thing he says is like, Where’s JP?’ and it’s obvious I’m not the only one worried about the dude. I go, ‘Remember when we went to Australia for the World Cup? That CD he kept playing night and focking day in the Chick Wagon?’ Oisinn’s like, ‘Elvis’s Gospel Hits,’ and I’m there, ‘Exactly. I think this has always been in him, Oisinn. We should ring Father Fehily. He’ll know what to do,’ and Oisinn goes, ‘Let’s just give it the weekend. It might pass,’ and then this real, like, evil look passes across his face, roysh, and he goes, ‘There is one phone call we should make, though. I’m there, ‘Who to, dude?’ and he tells me to get out the business cord that I whipped from Bakir.

  He says I have to do the talking, roysh, because I do a pretty good American accent, but he says he’ll tell me what to say. The phone rings three times and then a voice answers and it’s like, ‘Casteneda, Sandys, Mewshaw and Partners. Good morning, how may I direct your call?’ and I’m thinking, Morning? – oh yeah, I forgot about, like, the time difference and shit – I’m there, ‘I’d like to speak with Paul Sperber, if I may,’ and she’s like, ‘Certainly, Sir,’ and she puts me through.

  He answers on the first ring. I’m like, ‘Is that Paul Sperber?’ and he goes, ‘It most certainly is.’ He’s obviously one of those really big, jolly septics you see hanging around the lobby of the Westbury, the big fat ones in elasticated jeans; for years I thought the Westbury was a focking health farm. I’m there, ‘This is Agent Ross O’Carroll-Kelly. I’m with the FBI,’ and chirpy as you like, roysh, the goy goes, ‘And how may I be of assistance?’

  I’m like, ‘Hey, I’ll ask the questions if you don’t mind,’ which is actually a line of my own and Oisinn, roysh, who has his ear next to the receiver so he can hear the other side of the conversation, gives me a wink to say basically, nice touch.

  There’s, like, silence on the other end of the phone. Oisinn goes, ‘Ask him did he recently travel to Israel?’ and I’m there, ‘Mr Sperber, did you at any time in the recent past basically travel to the country of Israel?’ and he’s like, ‘Yes. In January. My wife has a sister in–’ and I’m there, ‘I’m… not… interested. During your time in Israe
l, did you meet with a man named Bakir?’ and I can’t think of a second name, roysh, and Oisinn shrugs his shoulders and goes, ‘St Laurent,’ and it sounds stupid when I say it, but the goy buys it. He goes, ‘Bakir St Laurent? I don’t think so.’

  Oisinn gives me the next line. I’m there, ‘Can you think of a reason why your business cord should be found in his aportment, Sir?’ There’s, like, silence for a few seconds, roysh, then he goes, ‘Bakir? Yeah, we did meet a guy called Bakir,’ and I go, ‘Oh, your memory’s improving. This is good,’ and he goes, ‘Yeah, he showed us around the Holy City,’ and I’m like, ‘He did work as a tour guide… among other things.’

  He goes, ‘But he told us his name was Bakir al-Omary,’ and you can tell the goy knows he’s in deep shit here, roysh, because all this, like, verbal diarrhoea storts spilling out of his mouth. I don’t say anything, of course. I just let him stew in it. He goes, ‘He seemed like a very nice man. He had as much love for Jews and Christians as he did… well, my wife remembers the exact quote. She remembered it verbatim. He was very nice, though… he knew a lot about the Holy City. I suppose he’d have to being a tour guide… er, how is he?’

  I go, ‘I don’t know, Mr Sperber. By the time they found him, all that was left was his boots and cloud of smoke. You know what I’m saying?’ and he’s like, ‘No! He wouldn’t have…’ and I go, ‘Oh, you feel you can vouch for this man?’ and suddenly he’s on the big-time retreat, giving it, ‘No, I don’t even know him! He was just our tour guide,’ and I’m there, ‘Do NOT raise your voice to me, Sir,’ and he’s like, ‘Look, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m just trying to get you to see that this man, this Bakir St Laurent as you call him, he was just our guide. My wife wanted to walk the Via Dolorosa. He was a nice man and I gave him my card and said that if he happened to be in Boulder, Colorado…’