I got home Wednesday evening. Killian mentioned there was a message from Cathal.
“Nothing specific,” he said when I asked him what it was about. I was hungry and tired but pulled my boots back on and stepped out into the December snow. The sky was littered with stars where a half hour previous it had been oozing pink clouds.
Pink sky at night, sailor’s delight, I chuckled to myself.
Cathal lived a few blocks down a street many people had termed a rough neighbourhood. “Fell on Black Days” was grinding out of a window somewhere nearby. Trash was ubiquitous, mashed in with the sloshing snow from the ing cars. It was not uncommon to run into a bum looking for some change for a little bottle of rotgut to make it through to tomorrow. The real hell of it was his tomorrow would be the same as his today and many of the preceding days.
The flat I was looking for was a dismal walk up a set of rattling, rusted stairs. I asked Cathal once if those stairs bothered him, if he ever felt like he might fall through. He dryly replied that the rattling of them meant no one could ever sneak up without him noticing, thereby making them an asset. I could see those famous stairs in the distance.
As far as intelligence went, Cathal was probably one of, if not the smartest individual I’d ever encountered. His only rival in that regard was his neighbor from Trinidad, Asa. It was not uncommon to stop by and find them debating the merits of space exploration, abortion, organized religion and eugenics. To a stranger they may have appeared friendly or hostile to each other but that was simply their way.
I’d seen Cathal infrequently before he’d moved to this new place. Previously he’d had himself a place near the university but had left that house with some deep resentment. He’d somehow fallen in love with the tenant he was subletting from. The whole deal was over before it started. I had never met the girl. From what I’d heard she was quite attractive in may of the ways Cathal might appreciate, but she’d seen some hardships.
Among these, the death of her father when she was barely twenty and the end of an engagement. She was, or had been, religious. She believed in physical fitness, which was something Cathal had undoubtedly appreciated.
When I had seen him a month ago he’d looked pathetically depressed. He’d put on some weight from all the drinking, his face was shadowed with a week’s worth of facial hair. His skin had looked awful; acne ridden and pale, as though he had been bleached with a load of laundry. His hair was great. He had been working at a dead-end job where the money he made was barely enough to cover the rent and goods. This had been somewhat in agreement with his idea of simple living. I was worried he’d been reading a bit too much, expanding his horizons a little too rapidly.
I was at the base of the stairs now, slipping, barely catching hold of the railing. Steadying myself, I clomped up the steps, a metallic clanging heralding my arrival.
I knocked. A muffled reponse over some low music. I walked in, careful to tap the snow off at the door. The first thing I noticed was the incredible heat. The next thing that caught my eye was Cathal, sitting on the futon arm with some gorgeous girl. He sprang from the futon, a smile engulfing his face, and rushed over. I noticed his face was now clean-shaven, blemish-free; a lean, hard face.
“Glad you could make it. How’s it going? Get you anything to eat or drink? There is some food here and it’s plenty hot if you haven’t had a bite yet.” I was starved and mumbled in the affirmative.
Cathal retreated to the kitchen and came back with a large plate of some exotic mishmash, green salad, and a glass of water. I noticed a poster of James Brown on the wall behind the futon.
“What is this you’ve got playing?”
“Jose Gonzalez. Jillian bought it for me. I saw him play live at Bluesfest in Ottawa two years ago,” he said matter-of-factly. Becoming nervous, he sat down with a woman who I presumed to be Jillian on the futon while I delved into the dish. I’m sure I was biased by the fact that I was bone weary, but the food was equivalent to manna.
“So, what have you been up to lately?” He was looking at me now like a curious pup. I was mid-chew and reasoned I would have to continue on with the peristalsis before attempting to answer, condeing that choking to death would put a real damper on the evening.
When I cleared my throat, I responded, “Nothing special. School has been suffering due to work. Things at the house are getting tense. Marcel and Ange are moving out. They don’t want to be around Gabel and his conspiracy theories and drunken antics anymore. I’m glad they’re leaving, to be honest. They weren’t even bothering to do any dishes or set out the recycling. Ange wasn’t paying any of the rent. I told Marcel that would be a problem but he said he’d straighten it all out. He didn’t. We’re looking for a third wheel to take up his share. I guess I didn’t catch your name,” I remarked, shifting my gaze towards the girl.
“I’m Priya.” That was all I got out of her. My initial feeling was that she was a little aloof, but I guessed she was shy. I offered a handshake. Her hand was firm in mine, a good sign. There is nothing worse than someone with a limp handshake. It seems awkward holding their hand, trying to segue into intelligent conversation, as though they were too lazy to comply with this minor social courtesy. I tended to read more into something like that than I should have, but oddly enough it seemed a good indicator of character.
I turned back to Cathal. “What is it you wanted to see me about?”
“Pardon?”
“Why was it you wanted to see me tonight?”
“Right. I meant to get to that,” he said, turning serious. “It basically boils down to the fact that I’m heading to Ireland for a work-study program. I’ll be studying Gaelic language and culture. What do you think?” Cathal had been saying this for a few years now and the fact that Asa had been to Ireland goaded him about it had evidently sealed the deal.
“Where will you live over there? More importantly, how did you come up with the money for that? Are you going together?” I indicated Priya, who at the moment seemed to be scrutinizing me from head to toe.
“All of that has been taken care of, my friend.” “Taken care of by whom?” “By my brother, he’s been over there for years now.” “I didn’t even know you had a brother.”
“There are lots of things you don’t know about me.”
“Only because you’re secretive as hell and it takes a bottle to loosen you up.” “I’ll give that up.”
“Say that again, I might have misheard you.” “I quit drinking. I don’t eat meat anymore either. I’ve been simplifying a lot of things in my life, cutting out what I don’t need. When I fly over I’m just taking the clothes on my back. That’s why I called you here, I want you to take whatever you life and I want you to have all my music. Vinyl, cassette, compact disc, digital, all of it.” “I don’t own a turntable.” “You do now.” “This is a bit of a surprise.” Cathal had an immense and eclectic collection. It was his only real sense of pride in anything he owned. “What spurred this on?” At this point, Priya got up and went into the back room. She slammed the door. She didn’t slam in anger though, more accidental, if anything. A little disconcertingly, she laughed. Loud, feminine laughter wafting out from under the door, reverberating in my ears. Then silence. Deep. Somber. Deafening. Silence. My fork clanged to the floor as I clumsily shifted my weight, having bumped the scarred coffee table with my foot.
I glanced to my left and noticed a menacing tower of books. Animal Farm, The Idiot, Dubliners, On the Road, City of Ice, Dharma Bums, The Short Stories of Truman Capote, The Troubles, Into the Wild. Nearby, another intimidating stack: Frankenstein, The Omnivore’s Dilemma, I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead, Portnoy’s Complaint, Voices in Time, Walden, Tales of An Empty Cabin, Less Than Zero, and Barney’s Version.
“When do you leave?” I inquired cautiously. Prior to his sudden metamorphosis, Cathal had been quick to anger and was not prone to volunteering personal information. He told of himself what he wanted people to know and stored the rest far away in a vault in his mind, effectively editing what he deemed acceptable in himself.
“Tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“Tonight. Technically early tomorrow morning but that is why I wanted you to come by this evening.” “How will you get to the airport this time, steal a car?” I feebly joked.
“Priya has a car. She’s offered to drive me. She’s changing right now. We’re leaving shortly.” At this point I rose slowly, pushing back on the arms of the recliner. Cathal stood, rising to his full height. Priya laughed from behind the door…
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