-A glass of your finest Vichy Water your grace and whatever takes your fancy.He looked half in a trance. Big white mutton chops adorned a chin that underbit a not unfriendly mouth. The eyes were more modestly protected behind merest gaps than any regulation burka. They picked up whatever light had crawled into that gloomy sort of a place and a glass appeared in front of me. I was surprised to see it full, a fine effervesence adorning its surface. A second glass was leisurely placed on the bar and a bottle of the finest holy water came uncorked to the curates hands. He raised the glass, half full, to his slightly sensuous lips after breathing the usual order of service in the resonant tones that I had half expected. I supplied the responsary as required quaffing more substantially than the celebrant.
-A civilised language to greet in but not one heard much in this watery kingdom.In as much as the acoustics allowed this statement to the body of the kirk boomed. I leaned in to the bar and with a discretion which ignored the empty room and claimed that I believed he had done a bit of translation before now -Ovid and -Beowulf to name but a few! He was taken aback. In as much as I could see his peepers they took on a guarded shift behind the old eyeslits.
-I have done with greetin in this language, my own or any other.
-I wouldn't know too much about that.I realised that the moment had passed and that I had best be on my way. I patted myself down and gathered my accoutrements, such as they were. I was about to head for the door when that noble head leaned towards me and the chin made the universal gesture requiring the subject to draw near and offer a conspiratorial ear to the speaker.
-Ah man you're Famous after all, unmistakeably so. Well we all thought you dead. What is the problem, is it still the Jaffas, Al Caida, the Roosian Mafia trying to muscle in on the old poetry business?
-No. There was some trouble round about the time of the Nobel gong with the Sufis. Idris makes them out to be fun loving, easy come easy go guys, whirling away like dervishes but I know different. I know they are hard men, strictly dancing to a different tune and bearing a grudge tighter than a Jaffa holds on to his Billie Pot. No it was the wife and kids; a man can only take so much. Then there was the prospect of grandchildren and even great grandchildren. I just wanted a bit of peace and quiet after all these years.
-I know exactly what you mean. Haven't I said the same on occasions. A man like yourself though; a curate's work is not going to keep you, intellectually speaking.
- I have a few ideas and one or two projects on the go if you understand. Looking out on the water in the direction of Scandinavia I see the big money is to be made in crime. Don't get me wrong, I'm not about to join the ranks of those chased thither and yon by the DMP. No I was thinking of a verse thriller, taking as inspiration the human traffiking of women from Ireland in the 9th century. Those poor country coleens were famed for their storytelling abilities and brutally ripped from their communities to pour out sagas for the likes of Snorri the priest to scribble down in some traduction or other! Perhaps I've said too much.
-I trust I can rely on your discression and good judgement, pilgrim, as a matter of compassion if not professional courtesy.It was only when I was half way to the car that I realised I had left without making a contribution to the poor box! Ah well the secrets of the confessional come at a price, and Vichy is an expensive way to give yourself bother with the bag!
-As I am an honest man, you have my word!
(Have you been at the Dalkey Archive again...Ed)
