DREAM OVER?
When I woke up it was early morning, around seven. I was sweating. I was panting. I didn't know what way was up, what way was down. All-told, I was a fucking mess.
'Derry!' I called out.
'Yeah,' he answered me back, groggy-voiced.
In relief - that it wasn't a dream - I said, 'Nothing.'
Derry fell silent, back to sleep, again.
Feeling a lot like the poor haunted Johnny Depp in the original Nightmare, I did not dare close my eyes. Just in case I dreamt. . .
My fear was the fear of the unknown, of the nothing to
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be scared of, the Void. I was a living Father Freddy's own dream. I hadn't a baldy about the meaning of things, the meaning of life, what my American dreams and nightmares meant, if anything. Like I say, they just scared the crap out of me, made me think I was losing my mind.
Now though, it's a different matter, at least I think it is. See, I've read up on it while doing my hard time in Isolation (what else is there to do except wank?). If Jung's to be believed - and I'd take Jung's dream theory over Freud's any day of the week - what I experienced was the start of the process of individuation.
Yeah, like Jung says, my unconscious had been activated by a wounding. My unconscious, mind, not the collective unconscious, not the group mind, or the Father's ego. Mine!
And once all that happened, I had to pass through my own shadow - the unconscious as symbolised by Freddy and the dream-Beast - to get to the centre of my persona - the self (a.k.a. the genius inside us all). The centre of my self was an Alien to me, metaphorically speaking, hence my rape-child: the first foetal stage of the Alien.
If only I had dared to close my eyes, to dream, to dare to dream my own Alien dreams like Ridley Scott, I would have probably have woken up to what life is, found more of myself, and wouldn't have fought back so violently against my own shadow.
But—
I was a Loyalist caught up in the Father's own dream. How was I to know? Nobody tells you these things. Certainly not your father - unless he is not a representative of the Father at all but a shaman, who has vision-quested to the Void and sung up the primal rainbow. The red and yellow and blue, of his own lost self.
So there you have it. Freddy. The Beast. Aliens. It was
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beyond me. And I was well trained by the narrowing minds of Ulster that things that were beyond me didn't bear thinking about. Yeah, instead of thinking about saving my self, I figured I should think about what I could do for others, what I could do for my country. I remembered Alco's ol' sayings: 'There's too many Taigs in the world.' 'The only good Taig is a dead Taig.' 'It's us or them so it's them, son!'
I decided I didn't want to go back - to sleep, to dream - ever. I would live in 'the real world', the world my Father dreamt up. It may not have made much sense but it made more sense than nothing. So, I got up, got Derry up, and got on with the day. There was a lot to do. A lot to take my mind off my self.
First things first, we had a quickie breakfast of Rice Crispies. And while the bowl snapped, crackled and popped I set about locating an Army Surplus Store in the local directory. I found one in New Berlin.
'You know where Frederick Strasse is.'' I asked Derry.
'Yeah. I think it's on the main bus route into town.'
'Cool.'
With the destination fixed, we were on our way. It was ten to eight - plenty of time to get there and back and get everything else done in the afternoon.
We'd just opened the front door when—
The Rev called us from upstairs: 'Derry? Wil?'
We both said, 'Yeah, Pops?'
'Where are you guys going?' the Rev said.
Derry fielded that one: 'Wil wanted to do a bit of last-minute shopping in New Berlin before he went back?'
'At this time?'
'Yeah,' I said. 'It's for my Ma and Da.' 'If you can wait an hour your Mom will take you in,' the Rev said.
I was firm. 'No, Pops. We're going to get the bus, OK?'
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The Rev couldn't believe it. 'The bus? Are you sure you'll be able to recognise a bus if you see one, Derry?'
That sort of patronising patriarchal question was insulting to sons everywhere so I backed Derry up - and we both answered, 'Yeah!'
What else could the Rev say?
We left.
We got the 8.10 a.m. bus at the end of the road. We paid and sat down at the empty back seat of the bus. It felt good to be going somewhere without being lifted and laid. Adventurous like, you know?
A few minutes into the journey I saw a wild deer skitter across the asphalt into a suburban field.
I pointed and said, 'Look!'
But Derry was looking the other way and missed it.
I was dead chuffed at seeing my first deer. 'I didn't know you'd have deer round here?'
'Yeah, yeah,' Derry said. 'Me and this guy who used to go to school with me shot one up in the woods not far from here.'
'You didn't?'
'Yeah we did. But it didn't die and it ran away. We couldn't find it to put it out of its misery.'
'That's too bad,' I said. 'You know, I don't know if I could shoot a deer?'
'You could too - if it was a Taig deer!' he said, mimicking my accent perfectly.
Now that killed me stone dead!
Nobody's perfect: we got off the bus at the wrong stop on Frederick Strasse. But we walked up it and sure enough - there was the US Army-Surplus store.
It was just opening up for the day when we tried to get in. I say tried, because our way was blocked by this big
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red-necked lummox in ex-Marine combats, lugging bargain-basement stuff out into the street.
'Howdy,' he scowled as he went by.
'Hi,' we said back.
'You young guns are up bright and early,' he said.
I read his name badge: it said Earl. Then I said, 'Yeah. We need supplies. Earl.'
Earl dropped what he was doing. He stood up and wiped his brow with a massive tattooed forearm. 'That's a new accent on me - where you from, son?'
'Northern Ireland,' I told him.
Earl slapped his thigh. 'No shit - you know your war then!' 'I do.'
'He does,' seconded Derry. Earl held out his hand.
I took it and shook it. To my eternal surprise Earl didn't try and crush my knuckles: he respected my grip strength, or tolerated my grip weakness more like.
'What's on your mind, warrior?' Earl said as he released me.
'Combats,' I said.
'And bala-things,' Derry added, trying to sound like he knew what he was doing.
Earl shot a look at Derry like he was an anti-war demonstrator or something. To me he said, 'I got loads of ex-Vietnam Marine combats - some still have the bloodstains on them.'
Now, I have to say the way Earl evil-eyed me as he said it, I knew not to respond. But Derry, he just went ahead and said, 'Cool!'
Earl was not impressed. 'Son, men fought and died for Uncle Sam in these uniforms. Show some respect!'
I pushed Derry in the direction of the combats.
'Let me do the talking in here, OK?' I told him.
2IO
'I just—'
'We don't want to be noticed any more than you have to be, alright?' 'I—'
'Put a cork in it, will you?'
Derry went into a sulk so I shopped for the both of us. I got two sets of combat fatigues - mine were of course too damned big, but I couldn't for the life of me find the balaclavas we needed.
'You got any balaclavas?' I shouted over to Earl.
'Top shelf at the back, son,' Earl yelled back like a drill instructor.
I searched and found them.
I tried mine on. 'What do you think?' I asked Derry.
'You look a bit like your masked man Jason out of Friday the Thirteenth,' he said.
'Yeah? Put yours on - see if it fits?'
Derry did as he was told.
; 'Right,' I said, 'Let's pay the man.'
When we got up to the counter, I handed over the goods.
Earl packed them up. 'What sort of covert operation have you got planned, son - search and destroy, ambush?' Earl asked, having a military ha-ha-ha-ho laugh at us.
'Aw nothing like that,' I said and laughed. 'Just playing soldiers. Earl.'
'Play Marines, son,' Earl said. 'We have better fun and we win more than the Army.'
I copied Earl's laugh: ha-ha-ha-ho.
Derry did too.
I don't think Earl realised we were ripping the pish or if he did - he didn't want to lose his first sale of the day.
'That'll be thirty-nine dollars. Marine,' said Earl and saluted me.
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Simon Kerr Page 16