The Big Pink

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by Erwan Atcheson

The Hamish shuffle, happ’ly pioneered

  By Carlin’s eldest son, did first appear

  Within a mosh pit in a club. This dance

  Preserved one’s pint from spillage. By a stance

  Hunched over and with both hands on the drink

  One moved one’s feet from left to right. Just think

  How many times you’ve upped to dance but stopped

  Because you’ve too much drink left. Nothing dropped

  From out of Hamey’s pint.

  Twas the New Year.

  The Pink folk had returned from Christmas cheer

  Back to the Pink House. All of them preferred

  The squalor of the Pink. Each one declared

  The pleasure felt in setting up one’s feet

  Upon the sofa. Now they could regreet

  Their old friend marijuana, left behind

  Too many weeks. By some means undefined

  They picked up where they left off; down some track

  That took them further from the herding pack

  And deeper into lands and ways unknown.

  In January examinations drone,

  And ill-prepared the students wish they’d tried

  To work more during term. Had they applied

  More effort then, instead of smoking gear

  And talking shite while drinking cans of beer

  Then now they wouldn’t be in such a mess.

  So strategies on how to pass the test

  With min’um actual work were thought out. Though

  This didn’t really work; the stereo

  And video games were too distracting. Free

  From home for four months now a good Degree

  Had less appeal than once it had. Instead,

  Our heroes found they’d rather lie in bed

  Til afternoon, then stroll down to the park,

  Go through museum’s doors to see what mark

  An artist left on canvas; or else stare

  At turtles swimming like they didn’t care

  What chap threw money at them. Fish

  Confined behind a thick glass plate; a swish

  Of fins across the surface. Then a glance

  At dinosaurs encased in plastic. Chance

  In form of asteroid had done for them.

  Then up the stairs to see which shining gem

  Engaged the eye the most. The fur-lined rocks

  With glass instead of moss received most gawks.

  The radioactive room, a major draw,

  Enticed with its fluorescence. Greatest awe

  Was felt when down some stairs was passed

  An iv’ry sculpture, spheres in spheres amassed

  Five layers deep, and carved to show a scene

  Of men and women, houses, a ravine

  Formed by two mountains tall. To understand

  Why several of our heroes took unplanned

  Excursions to this place requires no thought;

  There’s little joy in doing as we ought.

  “To do things as we ought” – what does it mean?

  To do as others do, keep things routine

  By working hard and building up enough

  Reserves to buy a house and overstuff

  With things that other people have. Some folk

  Inside the Pink House started to invoke

  The shades of Marx and Engels to explain

  Why working for the man is such a pain.

  Then two or three began to think TV

  Was shite and propaganda and should be

  Thrown out the window. Some folk just felt bored

  With studying a topic they abhorred

  And wished to leave their college. This in due

  Course Levin, Hamish did; they felt the screw

  Of daily concourse to their class a waste.

  They waited for a job without great haste

  And Levin got one. Hamish meanwhile played

  The waiting game for longer. He betrayed

  No great anxiety to find some work

  But this was not because he wished to shirk

  The daily slog. His motivation weak

  He simply didn’t mind what happened. “Seek

  What you might find,” the proverb goes. The chair

  Beside the window ’came his home. Twas there

  He ’came acquainted with the “schizo kid”

  A child who twice a day walked by and did

  A lot of visionary waves and shouts

  Concerning hell and school. The boy was stout

  And seldom seemed much happy. Hamish bode

  His time, a-sitting on his chair. It flowed

  From day to day and week to week and folk

  Dropped in occasionally to talk and joke

  And ask if Hamish'd seen a job walk by

  Yet. Hamish, patient, knew with certainty

  That what was his wouldn't pass him. So

  Within five months he'd got a job to go

  To. Twas a night club, named as 'M.' He went

  There several nights a week, to earn his rent,

  By picking up used bottles, glasses, crap,

  Returning to the bar by any gap

  He could, and going out again for more.

  He'd dance about to make it less a chore

  But always when he got home his poor feet

  He'd have to fill a bucket them to steep.

  But all in all, the work was not unkind

  He liked the crowds and company. But mind:

  The vicissitudes of fate cannot be dodged

  They find us in the end to fair dislodge

  Our sense of confidence. When Hamish felt

  His stride becoming firm, then he was dealt

  With fate's destabilising shake. Once night

  He went to work as usual. Thus his plight

  Began. Before commencing, drawn aside

  Was he. The manager, dissatisfied,

  Asked Hamish for the laptop back. "The wha?"

  Asked Hamish in return, bemused. "Ah, hah,

  You know just what I mean." But Hamish dint.

  He wanted to start work. He made a squint

  And shrugged his shoulders. "No," he said. "OK,"

  The boss said. "Right. You came in yesterday

  And took the laptop underneath the stairs

  Out with you." Hamish, man not of affairs,

  Did not deny it; looked instead perplexed.

  "Don't think I took it." Now the manager flexed

  His muscles. "Got it on the tape," he said;

  And pointing at the cameras overhead

  He seemed to say the case was closed. "Now why

  Don't you go home and bring the laptop by

  This evening." So Hamish went on home

  But couldn't find the laptop with a comb

  Which made him think the boss was wrong. Going back

  He told the manager there was no crack

  He hadn't looked in. Logic seemed to say

  That if he couldn't find it then no way

  Could he have stole it. Strangely though the man

  Did not seem swayed by this. "All right; you can

  Go home. And don't come back until you've got

  The laptop with you." Hamish felt a knot

  Of intricate design was tying round

  Him. Sense was missing; if he had not found

  The thing by now then never would it be.

  Returning home he fixed a cup of tea

  And thought things over. But he couldn't make

  Much reason from it. All night kept awake

  The next day he went down to see his friends

  Inside the Pink House – hoped they'd apprehend

  Some vital link he'd missed. They were incensed.

  The manager had clearly took against

  Young Hamish for no reason and made up

  A plot to oust him. They would put a stop

  To all this nonsense. Donning their trench-coats

&
nbsp; McCochall, Erwan, McIlroy, did vote

  To march straight to the V-Bar and demand

  To see the so-called "tape." They went as planned

  In early afternoon. The bar was dead;

  Just them and bar staff. Hamish went and said:

  "Gon let us see the boss." One left to get

  Said individual. He seemed rocked; the sweat

  That beaded on his brow bespoke his fear

  At seeing three young toughs a-coming near.

  But wily was he: played the age-old game

  Divide and conquer. Single was his aim:

  He asked that Hamish come aside to speak.

  This left the other three alone to seek

  What mischief that they could. So surlily

  They asked for water at the bar. The three

  Returnéd to their seat to wait it out

  Since Hamish, innocent beyond a doubt

  Had but to show the manager twernt he

  Had been recorded on CCTV.

  But soon did Hamish reemerge. The cops

  Arrived some moments later. With their props

  Of batons and of cuffs they went to talk

  With Fat-Face, he the manager. They walked

  Into the other room. Young Hamish sat

  Beside his friends. "He hasn't shown me that

  Tape yet," he told them. All the three were 'raged

  The farce continued. Levin himself gauged

  The cops would side with Hamey's boss. The pigs

  Came out again ten minutes later. "Frig

  That swine," did Levin spit. They took aside

  The hero of this tale; twas clear what side

  The cops were on, for promptly did they put

  Young Hamish in arrest. The boss, a brute,

  Did sneer as Hamish frog-marched through the door

  Held either side by pigs. The three were sore

  That things had ended up like this. "How long

  Will he be gone?" they asked. To right this wrong

  Was all that they did wish for; but alas

  The State was much too strong. The upper class

  Could stamp upon their necks all day. The three

  Went home. The Gortenaghy wan would be

  Alone on this. So meantime Hamish went

  To Musgrave Street Police Station. He spent

  A good few minutes locked inside a dark

  And tiny room before the peelers parked

  Their overweight and portly bums on seats

  Beside him. "All right. So you're" – glance at sheet –

  "Here, Hamish Carlin, now; so what d'you have

  To say?" His tone, of bored attempt to chaff

  His suspect into speech did not succeed;

  Young Hamish simply shrugged and asked why he'd

  Been 'rested when he'd done not one thing wrong.

  The tired old peeler made like this here song

  He'd heard a thousand times. "You're here because

  You stole a laptop." Hamish looked the fuzz

  Between the eyes and said: "I didn't take

  It." "We have seen the video son; you'd make

  A poor career from theft. So tell us why

  You went back home to look for it." The guy

  Leaned forward, pressing. Hamish scowled and said:

  "The boss just tole me to." He wished instead

  He'd told his boss to die in hell. This line

  Of questioning was boding ill. Like vine

  The tendrils of the facts were creeping round

  Him. "Told you too. I see. I feel I'm bound

  To ask you why you went to get it if

  You knew it wasn't in your house. A whiff

  Of contradiction here, you see. A lad

  Who felt completely certain that he had

  Not taken something wouldn't go to look

  To just make sure." The police aimed to hook

  Young Hamish like a fish. But Hamish did

  Not wish to be fried yet. His healthy id

  Was good enough for this. He did explain

  Things thus. "It's cos of all this talk of seein'

  Me on the video. I don't think I took

  The laptop, but yous keep on sayin I snook

  It out and that the tape shows me. I'm sure

  I dint but maybe its my mem'ry. See when you're

  Bein told that you're on tape, but never shown

  You start to doubt yourself. So I was goin

  To see the boss today to see the tape

  Myself. So what's it show?" To pull a drape

  Around this latter question, act like he'd

  Not heard, the peeler claimed that Hamey's deed

  Could land him in hot water. Hamish pressed:

  If everyone who'd seen the tape assessed

  That Hamish'd done the deed, then why was the

  Accused alone denied the chance to see?

  But Hamish didn't know the peelers' rule:

  You ask but never answer questions. Mule

  Himself though Hamish was they wouldn't budge;

  They merely took down notes in case a judge

  Would ever want to see the case. The chance

  Of that was slim; twas evident by glance

  The case was going nowhere. Hamish: "Why

  Is RUC still on your station'ry

  Instead of PSNI?” The peelers wrote

  This question down, like others I could quote;

  The transcript still exists somewhere, Lev thinks.

  The author couldn't spell so oft the ink

  Would state that Hamish hovered up the stairs

  And down again. For three hours more they were

  Locked at it. Then the tired old peeler let

  Our hero go. His friends had gan to fret

  That never would they see the lad again

  When calmly on the door he knocked. The zen

  Art master seemed to take it in his stride

  E'en though he had been misidentified

  Accused of something that he did not do.

  The peelers never called for him. Adieu

  Did Hamish bid to Belfast after that;

  Not keen on being treated like a cat

  That chaséd by a dog is.

  Take your oar!

  We sail straight onwards. Next stop Canto Four.

  Canto Four

 

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