by Chris Binchy
‘I do,’ Dessie said.
‘And, I swear, if anything happens while we’re away I’ll have you on the first plane back. But for all of our sakes it would be best to have you there.’
‘What benefit will I ever see from this?’
He saw the surprise on Sylvester’s face in the mirror.
‘You’ll be taken care of.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘I don’t understand what you’re saying.’
‘I do this job for you at an hourly rate and that’s fine. But it’s bits and pieces, lumps of money here and there, and I never know when they’re going to come.’ It gave him no pleasure to say this. He didn’t look but he was aware that Sylvester was sitting forward closer to him now, very still.
‘Is there a problem, Dessie? Me paying you by the hour – it works out better for both of us.’
‘I know that. It has. But just now, getting older and thinking of winding down and that… something a bit more official might be better.’
‘This is all out of the blue.’
‘It’s really not. I’ve said this to you before. Just…’
‘What?’
‘You could turn around tomorrow and say, “That’s it, thanks for everything but good luck now.” Where would that leave me?’
‘I’m not going to do that. We’ve got this thing and the driving, all the admin stuff you do. There may be more work from O’Donnell. Why would I let you go? Do you think I don’t value everything that you do? I thought you were happy with the pay.’
‘I am. But I think we need to make it more formal. Draw up contracts. If you decide you don’t need me any more tomorrow, what protection do I have?’
‘We’ll have to sit down and talk about it, but it can be done. We can sort it out. I just need you to come to Prague next week. There’ll be a lot of stuff to set up.’
‘What do you need me for?’
‘Driving. Talking to people. Entertaining.’
‘You don’t need me for that. You can use taxis. Hire cars and drivers. Marek can talk enough for anyone.’
‘But it’s better having you there. The clients love you. They always ask after you.’
‘These people won’t miss what they don’t know.’
‘Oh, come on, Dessie. It’ll do you good to get away. You like these trips. I’ll buy Anne a present. Give you a bonus.’
Nothing had changed. She would tell him that. The conversation about a contract would be postponed and might never happen. She would tell him this over and over as if he didn’t know it, as if he was a fool.
‘I can’t,’ Dessie said. ‘That’s the end of it.’
‘Don’t decide now,’ Sylvester told him. ‘Wait until it’s set up. See how you’re fixed then.’
‘I can’t do it,’ Dessie said, and for a long while after that neither of them spoke.
‘Are we all right for tonight?’ Sylvester said, his voice quieter and higher-pitched, as it always was when he was annoyed.
‘No problem,’ Dessie said. As soon as Sylvester was out of the car, he would have to make the call to set it up.
40
He’d worked for ten nights straight and had managed to get four consecutive days off. He thought he would sleep for the first day, get up, eat something, go back to bed and sleep through the night, and when he woke again on the second day he would buy a paper, look at other jobs. Begin to see what he could do when he wasn’t tired. But instead he slept for the first twenty hours straight and woke at four o’clock in the morning, head pounding as if he was hung-over. He went out to a twenty-four-hour shop and bought something to eat, took it back and watched television. The day had not quite started yet; the news stories from yesterday were still being repeated on a loop. American detective programmes and ads for mops and kitchen knives. Maybe he could keep going, get up now and live today like a normal person. But by eight o’clock he was exhausted and lay down.
He woke again at five o’clock in the afternoon. It was his normal rising time. He lay for ten minutes, trying to calculate how many of his four days off were left, but every time he did it he kept coming up with two and that just couldn’t be right. Had he really worked all those shifts for this? Two days in bed and still he woke up feeling tired? He sat up and saw that it was bright and sunny again, traffic heavy on the road outside with people going to work. Or coming home. Which was it?
It was early evening and he didn’t need to go to work the next day. That should be enough. He could ring Artur to see if he was free. It had been a while. He’d been happy enough to leave it, at least until he got himself set up doing something else. But now, five o’clock in the evening, his headache beginning to fade, the sun shining and a hundred euro of tips in his pocket, he thought it might be time to put whatever it was behind them and have a drink. He made the call.
‘Who’s this?’ Artur answered in English.
‘It’s me.’
‘Who?
‘Me. Marcin.’
‘You.’ The line went silent for a second before he spoke again. ‘I thought you were dead.’
‘No. Still struggling along.’
‘Was your phone broken or something?’
‘No. Why? Were you trying to get in touch?’
‘No. No. Just wondering. When I didn’t hear from you…’
‘It hasn’t been that long.’
‘Long enough.’
‘How are you anyway?’ Marcin asked.
‘I’m okay. Working like a dog, but still… Making money, you know.’
‘Are you free tonight?’
‘I am. Sort of. What for?’
‘Just to meet up. A drink.’
‘Yeah. I’ve to be up early but, yeah, I’d be on for that. Do you want to come to the house?’
‘Let’s go to a bar.’
‘I’m not going into town.’
‘Why?’
‘There’s no point, buses and all that shit. Will you come out here? There’s a local place in Lucan is pretty good.’ Marcin was going to have to work for this.
‘You’re a pain,’ Marcin said.
‘Good man,’ Artur said.
Marcin fell asleep on the way out and was woken by the driver in the middle of an industrial estate. He was twenty minutes late already. Then when he got back to the village he was coming at it the wrong way and couldn’t see any of the landmarks Artur had been talking about. He hadn’t called because he thought Artur might be late himself and because he felt foolish. But when he arrived Artur was there, sitting at the counter, drinking a pint that was probably his third.
‘Ha,’ he said, when he saw Marcin. ‘Problems.’
‘Listen…’ Marcin said. Artur stood and they hugged briefly.
‘You’re like a ghost,’ Artur said, looking at him.
‘Yeah. And you’re like… I don’t know what you’re like.’
‘I look tough.’ Marcin laughed. His hair was shaved tight, he was tanned and his T-shirt showed arms that were much bigger than Marcin had ever seen on him before. He was solid and he looked strong. He was wearing camouflage trousers.
‘Are you expecting trouble?’ Marcin asked. ‘Snipers?’
‘Don’t be such a snob.’
‘Yeah, right. Would you wear them at home?’
‘We’re not at home. We’re here.’
‘But would you?’
‘What happened to you, anyway? It’s like some curse. I’ve got fit and healthy and strong and you look like you’ve been eating ashes and sleeping in a river.’
‘I’m tired,’ Marcin said. ‘It’s the nights.’
‘You’re still doing that?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Fuck’s sake.’
‘What?’
‘Well, it’s not really sociable, is it? And the money’s not great.’
‘It’s improved. I’m in on tips now.’
‘Yeah, but still. You could be doing better.’
‘I’m not sure that I could.’
‘Well, wouldn’t you rather be working with normal people? Out in the world? Sleeping in the evenings? Or fucking or drinking or at least doing something better than working?’
Marcin smiled. ‘Have you found yourself a girl?’ he asked.
‘I have,’ Artur said. ‘A total slut.’
‘When did you start calling girls sluts?’
‘When I met one.’
‘Lovely.’
‘She’ll be in later. Hold on, though. I had a point.’
‘I know. I’m going to try and get something else.’
‘Don’t just try. You have to. Because this night thing is not good for you.’ He wagged a finger in Marcin’s face.
The way they had reverted to their roles was comforting. He nodded. ‘Okay.’
‘I’m just saying, is all.’
They talked for a while. Artur was a supervisor now, in charge of a crew of ten. He was the only one who spoke English and had organized it so that he told the others what to do. The bosses didn’t much care how the work got done as long as it got done.
‘Could you get me a job?’ Marcin said it so quickly that it might have been a joke.
Artur looked him over as if he was buying a donkey. ‘I don’t think they’d go for you.’
‘Why? What do I look like? An intellectual?’
‘I don’t mean it badly. I just know that if you turned up, they’d take one look at you and that’d be it. It’s different now. They’ve got choosy. Do you know how many people we get wanting work? And if you turned up they’d laugh at you.’
‘I’m stronger than I look.’
‘No, you’re weaker than you think.’
‘You’re wrong.’
‘Want to prove it? I’ll arm-wrestle you now.’
Marcin looked at him. There was no way he could do it. ‘Arm-wrestle? I mean, what are you? Twelve?’
‘That’s a no, then, is it?’
‘Yes, you complete moron. My skills lie in other areas.’
‘Nobody gives a fuck about your poxy archaeology degree.’
Marcin laughed. ‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘So?’
‘Not everyone can deliver a room-service tray in one piece. Open a bottle of champagne. Speak English through the whole transaction.’
‘They don’t want to hear you, I can tell you that. I’ve not even been there but I can tell you for nothing that the last thing anyone ordering a bottle of champagne in a five-star hotel wants is to be listening to your impeccable accent.’
‘I get good tips.’
‘To make you go away.’ They stopped.
It was tiring. Marcin felt out of practice talking in his own language, being with someone who knew him.
‘Are they all still there?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Any of them ask for me?’
Marcin thought. A week ago he and Tommy had delivered a drinks order to a party in a suite. Tommy had done the charm thing, Marcin had stayed quiet. The tip had been large. In the lift on the way back down Tommy had asked him, ‘You still see that mate of yours? What was his name?’
‘Artur?’
‘Yeah, him.’
‘Not in a while.’
‘Awful porter,’ Tommy said. ‘Dreadful. Complete clown. The fucking yap out of him. He never shut up. I don’t know how much he cost me.’ Marcin didn’t speak. ‘No offence, like,’ Tommy said, and smiled at himself in the lift mirror.
‘Not really,’ Marcin said to Artur, hoping he’d pick up on his tone and realize there was something more to be dug out.
‘Look at this,’ Artur said. Marcin turned around. Two girls were walking towards them. Sort of similar. Both good-looking enough but it was easy to see which one was Artur’s as she came towards them smiling, her friend half a pace behind. Part of Marcin wanted to walk out the door.
‘Hello,’ he said.
‘This is Katja,’ Artur said, ‘and this is Basia.’
‘Hi,’ Marcin said.
‘Hello.’ Basia sat beside him, then didn’t say anything.
There was a moment of silence. He didn’t really feel up to this. ‘So what do you do?’ he said.
‘I work in a café in Maynooth.’
‘And do you like it?’
‘It’s okay. And you? What do you do?’
‘I work nights in a hotel.’
She nodded. ‘You look like someone who does that,’ she said.
‘Why’s that?’
‘You just seem very tired.’
‘Really? I thought I was doing okay. I spent the past two days in bed.’
‘Doing what?’ she asked.
He laughed. ‘Sleeping.’
‘Oh.’ She seemed disappointed.
‘Well, I enjoyed it anyway.’
‘So if you work nights, when do you go out?’
‘In the mornings.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, well, you know, there are pubs that open early and I go with the guys I work with.’
‘In the morning? You drink in the morning?’
Marcin became aware that the other two were listening to them. ‘Sometimes. It’s like our evening. We finish work, we go for a drink.’
‘At what time?’
‘Half seven.’
‘A.M.?’
The other two were laughing at him now.
‘Not every day.’
‘You’ve started drinking with Ray and Tommy and those?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Who are they?’ Katja asked.
‘They’re the bunch of alcoholics this guy works with. And apparently drinks with.’
‘They’re not alcoholics.’
‘Really?’
Marcin thought. Tommy. Ray. George. ‘Well. Not just because they drink in early houses.’
‘Despite that, then?’
‘Yeah.’ Marcin laughed. A little tug in his stomach at the minor disloyalty.
‘What kind of people are there at that time?’
‘Other night workers.’
‘Night workers? You mean prostitutes? Thieves?’
‘No, I mean postmen and bakers and other porters.’
‘Are there women there?’
‘Imagine the kind of women in these places,’ Artur said. ‘I wouldn’t say we’re talking beauty queens.’
‘You’re right,’ Marcin said to the girl. ‘There aren’t many women there.’
‘So if these are the places you go to socialize…’
‘I wouldn’t call it socializing so much…’
‘If these are the places you drink, how do you ever meet people?’
‘I ring him,’ he said, pointing at Artur.
Later on, back in Artur’s house, the four of them were in the living room. Marcin was lying almost flat out on a couch and Basia was beside him. They were passing a joint around and talking quietly, music playing in the background, lights off, with an orange glow in the room from the street-light outside. Marcin was full of the bonhomie of several pints, a couple of shots to drink to home, being away, working and meeting these lovely girls. Andrzej and Basil were gone for the night. Everything was good. If there was a bedroom spare upstairs he thought he might make it.
‘I’d like to see you again,’ he said to her.
‘You’re still here.’
‘Yeah, but another time. I’d like to meet up with you and do something.’
‘I’ll set my alarm.’
‘No, I’m going to get something else. Something that lets me sleep at night and get up in the day. I’m sick of working like a fucking… badger.’
‘This guy’s drunk,’ she said across the room, to the other two coiled up together on an armchair.
‘He’s a lightweight,’ Artur called back.
‘They’re nocturnal,’ Marcin said. ‘That was the point.’
‘Too sophisticated for me,’ she said.
‘I did archaeology in college. I know a lot about the impact of animals d
oing things in the night.’
‘You look like you should be an archaeologist,’ she said, pushing his hair off his face. ‘In some old dusty room. Like a mad professor. Dressed in black.’
‘It’s not mad. It’s normal. He had his cut the same way until he came here and got all… tough. Shaved head and working out.’
‘Just working, Arthur said.’
‘Yeah, whatever. Army chic.’
‘You’re just jealous.’
‘I’d come over there and kick your arse if it wasn’t for the girls.’
‘Yeah, right.’
‘You’re lucky.’
Basia pulled his face towards her and kissed him.
‘We’re going to bed,’ Artur said, as if on cue, and Katja and he stood up and left the room. Marcin lay on the couch, Basia on top of him. He put his hands under the back of her T-shirt and felt her skin, smooth and soft. It had been a long time since he’d really touched anyone.
And then he was waking up and it took him a moment to realize where he was. The room was still bathed in orange light and he badly needed to piss. He was alone. He tried to remember what had happened, but after his hands on her back there was nothing. Above his head, a rhythmic thumping kept going at an even pace. He looked at his watch and saw it was four o’clock. The thumping above got faster and he heard Katja yelping. He thought about going to look for Basia but, really, he needed to piss and there was no way he was going upstairs. He wandered into the kitchen, picked up a bread roll and found the key to the patio doors. He went out on to the grass and stood there, eating the bread and pissing. When he threw the stale end of it to the bottom of the garden the neighbour’s security light went on. He went back in quickly and locked the door. He saw now that Basia’s jacket and bag were gone from the kitchen table where she’d left them when they’d arrived. He thought about getting a taxi, but at four in the morning, drunk, half stoned and sexually frustrated, he didn’t trust himself to get out of the estate. He lay on the couch and tried to sleep, using a small rug as a blanket.
He woke again slowly. Somebody was tapping his face. He thought it might be Basia come back. When he opened his eyes he jumped.
‘It’s alive.’ It was Andrzej or Basil. ‘Just about. Fucking hell, boy, you don’t look good.’