A Galway Epiphany

Before I could front Dysart on his poor showing in front of Keefer, he took me totally by surprise with

“Tell me, Jack, what has scared you in your life. I mean the stuff that haunts you for days after with its image.”

I was fairly spoiled for choice there. I went for evasion.

“Well, the two movies by Ari Aster, Hereditary and Midsommar.”

When I was a Garda cadet I saw Polanski’s Repulsion, which lingered for months in my head.

But for the sheer moment of terror, when my hair stood on end, that would be when the bag moved with a body in it in Audition.

He was annoyed, said,

“You’re being flippant. I mean, have you ever been face-to-face with utter evil?”

Was he fucking kidding? I snarled,

“Don’t be a supercilious prick. I’ve been right up and personal with evil on a nearly fucking weekly basis.”

His hand went up; he let out a fake,

“Whoa, dial it down a notch, buddy.”

After Malachy, after the fracas with Keefer, I went into meltdown, grabbed him by the throat, spat,

“You don’t come into my home and tell me to dial it fucking down.”

He was scared. I thought for a minute the white cold fury wouldn’t ebb and I’d kill him, but some epiphany hit me from left side and I let him go.

Much later, when all this was done, I’d be able to put words to the epiphany but not then, not there. I was too wrought up.

I slumped back, as if I’d been the one struck, and thought I might keel over.

Dysart was shaking, trying to catch his breath. He looked at me, said,

“A moment there, you had true evil in your soul.”

I whispered,

“Believe it.”