Sanctuary

25

The country went Lotto mad. A rollover brought it up to sixteen million and tickets were selling at the rate of twenty thousand a minute.

Summer was coming in Irish fashion — teeming rain and lashing storms. By a supreme effort of will, I reined my drinking way in. But I needed help lest I go on a bender again. Next time, I didn’t think I’d wake by the canal but in it.

You want to score dope, it’s beyond simplicity. Go and sit on Eyre Square, wrestle a bench from a wino or backpacker and wait. Course, you’ll also be offered everything else that a city drunk on new money has to offer the not-so-discerning buyer.

My first day, I struck out but did manage to part with some euros to a drinking school who blessed me with ‘Bheannacht leat’, ‘Blessings on you’.

Benediction indeed.

I was sitting on the bench the second day, listening to Johnny Duhan’s album Just Another Town. Been a while since I listened to J.D. as his music reminded me too much of harsher times — the horrendous killing-of-the-tinkers episode and the tragic conclusions I’d reached. Track three kicked in and I nearly jumped; it was titled, ‘Benediction’.

How the fuck did I forget that?

Before I could get to listen to the lyrics, a guy in his twenties, with long dank hair, combat trousers and a sweatshirt asked, ‘Where were you when John died?’

I looked at him. ‘I was in a pub in Donegal, drinking poteen.’

‘What?’

Obviously the question had been rhetorical.

He said, ‘You looking for something?’

I cut through the shite. ‘What have you got?’

He got suspicious, asked, ‘You a cop?’

I turned away.

He moved a little closer, went all hippy. ‘Hey man, no offence, but like, I gotta watch my back, you hear what I’m saying?’

I was going to snap, ‘I’m not deaf.’ But I was certainly heading that way.

He said, ‘I see you got you a limp there, dude. The citizens putting it to you right?’

I gave him my granite look and he went into the rap. Uppers. Downers. Beauties. Ice. Weed, Colombian Gold.

I put up my hand, said, ‘Xanax.’

He let out a long breath. ‘Got me some Valium, 10mg. . chill you right out.’

I gritted my teeth, said, ‘If I wanted fucking Valium, you think I wouldn’t have said?’

He smiled like a rodent with a plan. ‘Heavy vibe, dude. But yeah, I can get you those bad babes. Gonna take like an hour, and gonna cost. You down with that?’

All the Irish youth talked like this now. What a fucking tragedy.

I told him I was indeed down with that and told him how many I wanted.

His eyes widened. He stood up and asked, ‘You be mellow, I’ll be back in, like, warp speed. Anything else you need?’

‘Just that you don’t call me fucking dude.’

He was striding off and I had to ask, though I doubt he was even born, ‘Where were you when John died?’

He looked confused.

‘John who?’

Such times, I love the sheer lunacy of my country.