The Hissing Of Summer Lawns

McGivney’s mind was turning, a clicking clacking broken wheel, a noisy painful bastard that wouldn’t go but won’t stop. He passes a long abandoned petrol station, an old Fanta sign faded by the incessant weather, falling off, hanging on, above the door. There’s a man sitting on a chair by the Texaco pumps, he’s smoking a pipe, he’s impossibly ancient, McGivney recognises him but he can’t place…..

Early June and the sun is splitting the stones I remember that summer in Dublin standing in the garden smoking a fag the light is too strong, it blinds him as he sucks the life out the cigarette. The babble indoors pulses on the breeze he snatches fragments of understanding fragments. He’s had too much to drink, the white wine untangles his inhibitions. He feels close to madness, close to cashing in his chips the clatter of knives and forks on the tables of neighbours, of people he despises for no good reason and who despise him too and Johnny and Mary are burning the fuck out of some poor cow in the name of summer living, in the name of pretending this rotten pit could be worse that this sea of low-level never-ending disappointments and having a cheeky little chardon-fucking-nay and he’s close to pulling out his gun and blowing their fucking heads off…..anything to get away ….walkabout he wanted to go walkabout and he’s certainly gone walkabout now.

First light bleeds from a disaffected sky, bleeds out across the bleak bogs of East Mayo and the radio cackles and fizzes and Gerry Adams Saint Gerry is talking about police commissioners and he’s staring out at the empty land and wondering how many bodies did you bury in a place like this Gerry?  and did you know they’re up all night to get lucky Gerry, they’ll get you in the end (if they haven’t got you yet then it’s not the end) what does it take to look them in the eye and pull the trigger? a mother, a son, a 16 year old – or was it in the back of the head? or is it easier to give the orders?  but it must require some degree of detachment,  of standing outside yourself and wasn’t he as bad himself that night out on the headland with Sarah he knew the truth….does Gerry know the unquiet dead are waiting for him here? Maybe he walk these roads at night as well. Maybe he’ waiting for them so he can kill them twice.

He came to you Gerry, I mean he was just a kid and he knew he’d done wrong, it was his sixteenth birthday, all he wanted to do was make it ok, he worshiped the ground you walked on and you sent out the order and now he’s gone. The empty spaces where he used to be. His mother’s looks. She knows, she accepts, she carries her broken heart every day and she hides it well and she prays to our redeemer and she’ll get you too…

And what about his sidekick, Martin McGuinness,  the psychopathic parallel-universe Art Garfunkel?

He said the man in the gabardine suit was a spy…….So he was summarily executed in a falling down cottage outside of Clones and buried under cover of the night, another bog baby

Doesn’t have quite the same ring. Look pull yourself together Mick pull yourself together…pull…

Climb down from your cross Tooler pick up your thorn of crowns and walk. Dimitri lies by the dead pool, by the well, the dark silent entry. He picks him up and drops him in, returns to sender, back down to hell, back down to heaven and how can you tell the difference?

He pulls open the barn door, there’s another smaller room within, pitch black. There’s somebody in there as his eyes adjust he sees him sitting at a school desk, bound and gagged, struggling, staring manically. Tooler spits out a couple more teeth, it’s blood and spit and bad teeth what made this country great. Tooler realised the Nuncio isn’t staring, his eyelids have been removed.

Bodhidharma, in a fit of anger after repeatedly falling asleep while attempting to practice meditation, he cut off his own eyelids. Closer my God to thee.