Participles and Portents (40)

Wine, Wind and Song

Fiona had some misgivings about the upcoming evening, but they had little to do with her own circumstances and much to do with Lin and Roary.  She wasn't sure if she was worried that they might rip each other's heads off or that they would not.  There was a lot of tension between those two and her motherly senses told her that it could lead places that might not end up for the best, especially under the heightened intensity of the circumstances they found themselves in.  She shrugged to herself; perhaps it would do Lin some good.  Her daughter could use a good dose of getting her tree shaken, though certainly not in the way they were experiencing now.  A little more on the level ground closer to reality would be nice.  Fiona said little to the garda as he drove her into the village.  He talked on and off about the area, in general acting as a tour guide.  When they made it into the village he dropped her off at the bed and breakfast they had stayed at before and waited to make sure that they would accomodate her before leaving to find his own hearth.

She made her way up to the room and sank wearily on the bed. Unwinding her scarf, she sat with it in her hands, playing the material through her fingers as she let her mind drift over the day.  There was something tickling the back of her mind from what "Darby" had said, she just could not place her finger on it.  She laid the scarf and her coat over the edge of the bed and wandered to the window.  From here she could look out over the small village.  She could see the mud strip that served as the road leading to the B & B and the back of the line of shops and pubs that were within walking distance.  The shops' lights were already off, but the pubs were in business.  She supposed if she opened the window she might hear a bit of music swelling the night.  It was still just light out enough for a bit of color to linger in the edge of the horizon.  She fingered her pebble and thought again of how much she wanted another dance, or perhaps just a walk, anytime at all for that matter.  Perhaps that gift was becoming less of a gift over time, as she found herself wanting more as the days progressed, and she had gotten accustomed to pushing the wants out of the way over the years.

She pushed back from the window and slipped her coat and scarf back on.  It would get full-on dark soon, and she should walk down for some supper before then.  The lady of the house gave her a light, really just a small pen-light, to help her find her way back with, and she set off on the short stroll to town.  The wind was not as strong here in town and the night was actually rather pleasant.  She took a deep breath and told herself to let the day go, to take this time to just refresh herself.

She chose the first pub she came to.  It was a modest place, with a small hearth and a large wooden bar that was relatively full.  A few bench-style tables framed the hearth, with a scatter of individual chairs set right at the fire's edge.  As the tables were taken, she chose one of the seats at the bar.  The man to her right looked up as she took off her scarf and coat and gave her the kind of welcoming smile that said he appreciated what he saw.  She smiled back and turned her attention to the menu that the barkeep slid in front of her.  It was not a large menu, but the fare was what she had anticipated.  She ordered Irish stew and some brown bread to go with it.  When she asked for a glass of red wine, the barkeep struggled to contain his mirth.  Apparently it was not something that was often ordered here.  He rooted around under the bar and came up with a rather dusty bottle of cabernet.  He wiped it down and opened it, giving it a sniff as if to test if it had gone wrong.  Satisfied that it was not vinegar, he poured her a glass.  Fiona gave it a tentative sip.  It was rich and spicy and warm on her tongue, and as she smiled her appreciation, the barkeep filled the glass to the brim.

As she nursed her wine and waited for dinner, her appreciative companion  leaned over and asked her if she always took wine.  She replied that she had never quite picked up a taste for beer or liquor.  The man gave her a wink and nodded.  "That would be the lady coming out in ye'.  I could tell at a glance that ye' were a brau, bonny lass indeed."  Fiona wasn't quite sure what a brau was, but she did know bonny was a good thing, so she thanked him for the kind words. 

"What is that you are drinking?" she inquired.

"Why this is a black and tan," he replied.  "My boyos tell me it's a waste of perfectly good stout, but I like to believe it is a tribute to the blending of cultures, seein' as they make it with an Irish stout and a British ale.  Perhaps if more drank the blend, we might actually get around to being more peaceable in the North.  Do you think that might work?"

Fiona took in his wide smile and the wild curl of dark hair that fell in the center of his forehead.  His dark eyes were clear, not bleary from the drink.  She decided she rather liked this stranger.

"I think it is a lot more complicated than a matter of drink.  But every small step toward acceptance helps."

"I knew ye' were a lady with more than just a fine set of legs and twinklin' eyes to add to an evenin," he replied with a wicked grin. "What bring's ye' to our fine little establishement?"

"That is a very long and not very believeable story," replied Fiona.

The barkeep came then with her dinner.  He brought the bottle of cabernet along and refilled her glass without questioning her intent to drink more. 

"I go by Seamus," said the man.

"My name is Fiona," she replied in between spoons of the stew.

Seamus flagged down the barkeep.  "Murph, I think I'll have me a bit of the stew as well, if ye' don't mind."

Murphy waved his understanding and set another black and tan in front of Seamus.

"I thought you ordered stew?"

"I did.  But Murphy knows me well enough to know me other habits too."

Fiona thought about this.  Seamus must be a regular here.  She wondered if he was a sot.

"I'm no sot, if that's what ye'r thinkin' lass.  I just tend to have my dinner's here most nights with a couple of me' favorites and some tea or coffee to follow it up.  Unless the company is grand and I stay a bit longer of course."

"I would never think to judge you," she replied a bit too hastily, making it clear to both of them that she actually had been wondering if he did drink a bit too much and too regularly.

Seamus laughed and took a sip of his beer.  'A lady never does lie well."

That sat in comfortable silence until Murphy brought out Seamus's stew.

"I do love the brown bread," said Fiona.

"They can't really make it anywhere else in the world.  Not like they make it here."

"Seamus!" 

Fiona and Seamus turned to see a young man with wild red hair and a guitar slung over his shoulder making his way to the bar.  He had a huge grin on his face.

"I was hoping I would find you here," said the yound man.

"Of course I'm here, it's dinner time, isn' it.  Are ye' back from ye'r wanderin'?"

"For a bit," smiled the boy.  "Murph, send me a Guinness, will you?"

"Fiona, this fine strappin' lad is Charles.  He thinks he is a modern bard.  Been travelin' wide and far tryin' to get folk to listen to his ballads.  Has a whole host of songs, he has, all about the travails of the past and some even about our folk tales and the like."

"Fiona, is it?" said Charles, pumping her hand.  "I assure you I am better than Seamus lets on.  In fact I am set to play here tonight.  He pulled a sheaf of paper from his pocket.  "I do some for people to sing-a-long with. Why don't you stay and join in?"  Murphy slid the stout down to him neatly along the rail and Charles scooped it up.  He smiled and turned to Seamus.  "I know you'll be in the front leading the group." 

As Charles went off to set up, Seamus turned to Fiona.  "If ye have no other offers for ye'r hand this evenin' I would be happy to accompany ye' to the musical."

Fiona was caught up in the spirit of the camaraderie and laughter, "That would be lovely, Seamus."

They finished their meal, bantering about politics and culture. He seemed to know a great deal about the early Irish literary revival and its place in the press for an Irish Republic free from British rule.  It was a lively discussion and she actually took a few notes for her articles.  She thought about adding this pub as a sidebar, a place to stop and mix with locals who also had a passion for literature and its place in history.  She had at least one character to write about.  Murphy cleaned the plates away and filled her glass again.  At this rate she would end up drinking the entire bottle, she thought.  She could feel a rather pleasant buzz building from the wine.  She wondered if this was what Lin meant when she talked about getting a "swerve-on". 

Seamus helped her from the stool and collected her coat and scarf.  They made their way over to the hearth and selected two prime seats, which they turned toward the corner where a small stage was set into the nook.  Charles was grinning when he saw them take their places.  He stepped to the microphone and tested it, then stepped back to his soundboard.  "Where did that come from?" wondered Fiona.  He played with a few knobs and tried the microphone again, strumming his guitar this time.  He made a few more adjustments.
When he was comfortable that he had everything the way he wanted it, he announced himself and invited people to come down and join Seamus and Fiona, naming them personally as if they were old friends.  Fiona felt a blush rising to have been singled out in public.  Seamus gave her a friendly squeeze on the arm.  "It does him good to be able to point out the prettiest woman in the room and invite people to come sit by her," he winked.  Fiona's blush rose to the tips of her hair.  The wine was in full bloom in her blood stream and she was definitely feeling fine. The area around the small stage filled up, and soon she and Seamus were surrounded by other patrons.  It seemed that many had seen Charles before as quite a few greeted him by name and only a handful picked up the leaflets that had the lyrics to the songs on them.

The first few he played were ballads that he sang by himself.  Then he played a few old Irish tunes that just about every one knew. He introduced a song that was the story of Diarmuid and Grania, a tragic tale of womanly mischief and heroic feats where love comes very, very close to conquering all.  He had the lyrics printed out, though the audience mostly just sang the chorus along with him.  It was a rousing song and had everyone singing loudly.  Somewhere along the way her glass had mysteriously been topped off again.  Murphy was definitely an attentive barkeep.  Charles did one or two rebel songs and the obligatory drinking song, all of them songs that the audience could sing along with.  He ended with a ballad he had just composed.  This was a slow ballad - the Lament of Dierdre.  Another of the old Irish tales where love comes close to conquering all in this life and does conquer it in the afterlife.  He finished with the plaintive image of the tall tree standing alone within the fingers of the stream that ran toward it, then split around its base only to rejoin on the other side.  It was a sad but beautiful image.  Fiona found she had a bit of tears in her eyes at the end.  Seamus looked at her.  "I knew you had a poet hidden in there, and one whose heart would beat to the ache of the Irish heart.  Tis hard to love the Irish and harder still not to."

He rose and went to talk to Charles along with the other patrons.  Chalres was enjoying the attention and not particularly worried about packing up just yet.  Fiona made her way to the bar to pay for her supper.  Murphy just waved her off. "Ye'r fare's already been paid.  I was told just to ask ye' not to forget our fine place or the people ye' met here."  He slid her a card with Seamus's contact information and the information for the pub on it and walked away.

Fiona turned, uncertain now as to what to do.  She thought perhaps she should thank Seamus.  But that seemed somehow awkward.  In the end she settled for writing a brief note on a napkin and leaving it on their table before she put on her coat.  She thanked him for a lovely night, for the dinner and song, and gave him her email address in case he wanted to stay in touch.  Then she slipped out the door. 

She realized she was a bit more than tipsy when she struggled with her scarf and ended up just looping it around her neck and letting her hair go free.  She pulled out the pen-light and made sure she turned on the right road, then slipped it back into her pocket.  It was far too much effort to carry it, and she could see in the clear light of the moon.  She walked easily, letting the wine bouy her steps.  Twirling her pebble in her fingers, she drew up an image of another Irishman in her minds eye.  His laughing deep brown eyes, his dark hair smoothed back from his face, the one lock that failed to obey and fell on his forehead.  She could see his high brow line and high cheekbones, his wide smile.  As his image formed in her mind, she could almost smell him next to her, sense his heat, feel the large rough hand joining hers in her packet where she held the stone.

She remembered then the words that "Darby" had last said, that it was all real.  She pulled in a long breath and wrapped her hand around the hand in her pocket.  She strolled past the B & B, enjoying the feeling of his presence.  "I love knowing that you are always with me," she thought to herself.  "It is just so hard sometimes to hold you here."  There was no answer to her thought, but she sensed a slight squeeze on the hand in her pocket.  "Thank you for finding me," she whispered out loud.

They strolled back toward the B & B, the woman with her hair floating in the wind and the man floating in her mind's eye.  She took great comfort in the clear moon and the soft, resilient heat that traversed the path with her.  As she made her way into the B & B, she let the image go.  "Seamus was right, you know.  It is hard to love the Irish, but a damn sight harder not to," she smiled and made her way up to the bed and to sleep.