The Deportees

by Roddy Doyle

  —Excuse me?

  —D'you ever wish you'd stayed at home?

  She tries to smile.

  —No, I say.

  I do not tell her that I would almost certainly be dead if I had stayed at home.

  —I like it here, I say.

  It is the answer they want to hear.

  —God, she says. —I don't like it much and I'm from here.

  I look behind, and at the queue at the counters.

  —Am I that uninteresting? she says.

  I look at her.

  —Excuse me?

  —Am I boring you?

  —No.

  —What's wrong?

  —Please, I say. —Nothing.

  —What's wrong?

  I do not want this. I do not want her questions. So I smile.

  —Fuck that, I say.

  But she does not laugh. She cries. I do not understand. And now I see the man in the jeep. He is here, of course, without the jeep, but the keys are in his hand. He walks towards me. I hear the keys.

  5

  The man stops at our table. He picks up the remaining piece of my doughnut.

  —Tomorrow, he says.

  He looks at the supervisor.

  —Breaking your heart, love, is he?

  She looks shocked. He laughs. He turns, and his car key scrapes my head. He goes.

  She no longer cries but her face is very white, and pink-stained by anger and embarrassment.

  —I am sorry, I say.

  —Who was that? she said.

  —Please, I say. —A friend.

  —He was no friend, she says.

  I look at her.

  —Sure he wasn't?

  —No, I say. —He is not a friend.

  —What is he then?

  —I do not know.

  I stand up now. I must go.

  —Thank you, I say. —Goodbye.

  I am grateful to her, but I do not want to be grateful. It is a feeling that I cannot trust. I have been grateful before. Gratitude unlocks the door that should, perhaps, stay locked.

  —Fine, she says.

  She is angry. She does not look at me now.

  —Goodbye, I say again.

  I go.

  I go home. My three friends are gone, at their works. I lie on the bed. I do not sleep. I watch our television. American men and women shout at each other. The audience shouts at them. On the programme called Big Brother, a man washes his clothes. He is not very good at this. His friends sleep. I watch them.

  I understand. I will see the man before tomorrow. He must let me see that the decision is not mine. I must know that there is no choice. I will see his violence tonight. I know this.

  I know this and, yet, I am still hungry. I might die but I want a sandwich. I was hungry some minutes after I watched my father die. The hunger was welcome; there was no guilt. It made me move; it made me think.

  I want a sandwich and I make a sandwich. In this house the choice is mine, as is the cheese. The bread, I borrow. I eat, and watch the Big Brother people sit.

  It is time to go.

  It rains. I walk. A drunk woman falls in front of me. I do not stop. She is very young. Her friend sits down beside her, in the water.

  I walk through the restaurant. There are not so many customers. I go to the back door. I look out. There is no one there. I shake the rain from my jacket. I hang it up. I fill the sink. I start. I welcome the heat of the water. I welcome the pleasure, and the effort that the work demands. I scrub at the fear. I search for it. The work is good. I am alert and useful. I have knives beside me, and in the water. I can think, and I cannot be surprised.

  —Great weather.

  It is Kevin. He is very wet.

  —Fuck that, I say.

  —I have a new one for you, he says. —Ready?

  —Yes.

  I take my hands from the water.

  —Me bollix, he says. —Repeat.

  —My—

  —No. Me.

  —Me. Bollix.

  —Together.

  —Me bollix.

  —Excellent, says Kevin. —Top man.

  He dries his hair with a tea-towel.

  —Please, what does it mean?

  —My balls.

  —Thank you.

  —You're welcome. I'm meeting some people after. Want to come?

  I answer immediately.

  —No. Thank you.

  He sees my face; he sees something I feel.

  —Sure?

  —Perhaps, I say.

  —Good.

  He puts the tea-towel on my shoulder.

  —Later, he says.

  —Me bollix, I say.

  —Excellent.

  I resume the washing. The restaurant starts to fill. I am glad of this. I am very occupied. There is an argument between the manager and one of the chefs – the radio is too loud. A pigeon walks into the kitchen. I go out quickly to the skip with full bags, but there is no one waiting for me. It is a good night, but now it is over. I take a knife. I put it in my pocket.

  —Are you coming? says Kevin.

  —Yes, I say.

  I do not want to bring trouble to Kevin, but I do not want to go home the expected way, at the expected time.

  —Excellent, says Kevin.

  Outside, it rains. The street is quiet. I walk with Kevin. He pushes his bicycle. We hurry.

  We go to a pub.

  —It is not closed? I ask.

  —No, said Kevin. —It opens late. It's not really a pub.

  I do not understand.

  —More a club.

  Still, I do not understand. I have not been to many pubs. The men at the door stand back, and we enter. It is very hot inside, the music is very loud, and it is James Brown.

  I talk; I shout.

  —James Brown.

  Kevin smiles.

  —You know him?

  Now I smile.

  And I see her.

  6

  I see her, my supervisor, but she is not among Kevin's friends. She is standing at a different table, with other people. She sees me. She nods. I nod.

  I am introduced to Kevin's friends. The music is loud. I do not hear names. There are five people, three women, two men. All shake my hand vigorously; all offer me space at the table. I stand between two of the women.

  I look. She is looking at me. She looks away.

  Kevin shouts into my ear.

  —What are you having?

  —Excuse me?

  —Drink.

  —Please, I say. —A pint of Guinness.

  He moves to the bar.

  The woman at my left side speaks.

  —Guinness, yeah?

  —Yes.

  —Nice one.

  I nod. She nods. I smile. She smiles. She is pretty. Her breasts and teeth impress me. I hope that she will say something else. I can think of nothing to say.

  She speaks. It is exciting.

  —You work with Kevin, yeah?

  She shouts.

  —Bollix to it, I say.

  I shout.

  She laughs.

  —Yeah, she says.

  She nods. I do not really understand but, looking at her smile at me, I am quite happy.

  One Guinness is placed in front of me. A white sleeve holds the glass. I look. It is not Kevin. The man, a barman, nods at the next table. The supervisor is there. She lifts her glass. She has given me this Guinness.

  She smiles.

  I do not want to touch it.

  The other woman speaks.

  —You've an admirer, she says.

  She is smiling.

  So many smiling women.

  —You'll hurt her feelings if you don't drink it.

  I pick up the Guinness. I smile at the supervisor. I drink. I smile. I look away.

  Kevin's friend, the other woman, is no longer looking at me. No more smiling women. Kevin comes to the table with another Guinness for me. He sees that it is not the first, and is confused.
>
  —What's the story? he says.

  His friend, the woman, turns to us.

  —He has an admirer, she says. —Amn't I right?

  —Fuck that, I say.

  I now have two pints of Guinness.

  —It's good to be Irish, says Kevin.

  She laughs at Kevin, and she smiles at me. I do not know which is more significant, the laughter or the smile.

  —What's your name? she asks.

  Perhaps the smile. I hope so.

  —Tom, I say.

  I have many names.

  —Oh, she says. —I was expecting something a bit more exotic.

  —I apologise, I say.

  I smile. She smiles.

  —Is Thomas more exotic? I ask.

  She laughs.

  —Not really.

  I like this girl's teeth, very much. I like her smile. I like the sound of her laughter.

  I have many names.

  —And yours? I say.

  —Ailbhe, she says.

  —Oh, I say. —I too was expecting something more exotic.

  Again, she laughs. Her open mouth is beautiful.

  —Please, I say.

  I shout.

  —Spell this name.

  Her mouth is now close to my ear. She spells the name, very, very slowly. If she does this because she thinks that I am stupid, for this time only, I am most grateful.

  —Please, I say.

  I shout.

  —Does this name have a meaning?

  Yeah, she says.

  She shouts.

  —It's Irish for the Slut Who Drinks Too Much at the Weekends.

  She sees my shock. I see hers.

  —Sorry, she says. —It's an old joke. Friends of mine. We made up silly meanings for our names.

  She holds up her glass.

  —I'm drinking Ballygowan.

  I understand.

  —And I'm only a slut now and again.

  I think I understand.

  —And it is not the weekend, I say.

  —Well, yeah, she says.

  I am grateful for the Guinness. I can hide behind it as I drink. I can think. I can decide. I like this girl. And I like her sense of humour.

  It is a thing I had forgotten: I, too, have a sense of humour.

  I smile. And she smiles.

  —Out for the night?

  It is the wrong woman who now speaks to me. It is the supervisor.

  —Thank you, I say.

  —Ah, well, she says.

  She shouts.

  —This morning was a bit weird, wasn't it?

  It was just this morning that we drank coffee in Bewley's? I am surprised. It has been a very long day.

  I shrug. I am afraid to speak, but must.

  —It was nice, I say. —Thank you.

  —Ah, well.

  I think that she is drunk.

  —That guy, she says. —This morning. He was a bit creepy, wasn't he?

  I do not want to talk about the man. I do not want to talk to her about him.

  —D'you not think? she says.

  I will leave. I must.

  —Do you need rescuing?

  Ailbhe's mouth is at my ear. She whispers.

  —Please, I say. —Yes.

  7

  —God, she says. —You came a bit fast-ish.

  —Please, I say. —You are very beautiful.

  —You're good looking yourself, she says. —But I'd planned on making the most of it.

  —I—

  —Don't say you're sorry. I'm only joking. Will we get into the bed?

  I have not seen a bed.

  —Yes, I say.

  She stands. I stand.

  I pick up my shoes. A bus passes. The headlights race across the wall and ceiling. She closes the hall door.

  —That's better, she says.

  She turns on the light.

  I follow her.

  I cannot remember her name. This is very strange. I want to run away but I also want to follow this woman. I like her. But, even so, her name has disappeared.

  The hall light clicks off suddenly. It is dark but I see and hear her unlock a door.

  —You do not live in the entire house? I ask.

  —No, she says. —Just this place.

  So, we made love in a public hall. Again, I want to run.

  The door is open. She turns on the light. I enter. It is the room of a woman. I am glad that I am here.

  It is not a big bed. We lie beside each other.