Kevin Penny About 6,250 Words


A Time to Dream

The door was closed. Shaun gave it a quick twist. It was locked.
‘Strange, I’m supposed to meet him inside.’
Within a second of his hand leaving the doorknob, he realised someone was behind him.
Grasping a handful of Shaun’s hair, the attacker jerked the teenager’s head backward.
‘Shit.’
It almost yanked the tuft out of his head. Shaun O’Connor was stunned and terrified. Fighting the need to vomit, his heart started pounding. His eyes watered.
If only he had heard the bastard coming up from behind. Suddenly; the cold hard steel of a knife blade, pressing against his throat, sent shivers up his spine.
‘Tell me where the loot’s hidden you piece of shit or I’ll slit your bloody throat.’
Although his assailant remained unseen, there was no mistaking the deep voice. Convinced he was about to die, Shaun’s knees started to buckle. Now the blade was cutting into his flesh. Fear caused urine to run down his leg. His pants became wet. He had lost control of his bladder.

Waking with a start, Shaun quickly sat upright in bed. Startled, frightened and disorientated, the nightmare was surreal in his mind. With his brow covered in perspiration and his teeth clenched, he sat in a half-trance. Although wide awake, his heart was still pounding and he found breathing difficult. His ears were still being assaulted by the words of his assailant.
Several times within recent nights, Shaun had experienced the same nightmare. O’Flaherty, the nasty, despicable school bully, always O’Flaherty and always outside the school toilet block. Because his dream had become more regular, more real, Shaun decided not to lie down, nor close his eyes in case he fell asleep and started dreaming again.
Comforting him were the signs of daylight seeping through the window. He heard the familiar crowing of a rooster. From outside, the cobblestone street rang with the sound of the old Clydesdale’s clip-clop, pulling the milk-cart. Soon, Shaun saw the golden rays of the sun spreading their glow across the rooftops of Dublin. Summer had passed and he knew the residents were preparing for the chill of winter, and the festivities of Christmas.
Blackall Green, the suburb where he lived, could only be described one way by Shaun, an impoverished neighbourhood. He was terrified of spending his life there, in eternal poverty. Every house in the street was old, drab, dilapidated and all alike as far as Shaun was concerned. All were in various stages of decline; all needing recurring maintenance.
Quickly jumping out of bed, Shaun changed from pyjamas to warm clothing. ‘God Almighty, I have to make sure it’s all there!’ He lifted the false panel from the bottom of his old bedroom cupboard. Carefully, he extracted an envelope from its hiding place, a gap between the floor boards of the house and the cupboard floor. He counted his money. Nervously, he laughed because of his stupidity, ‘Nothing more than a bad dream,’ and placed his savings back in the envelope.
Shaun remembered his first wage, a few farthings, and his mothers words, ‘Hide your money, Shaun, I don’t trust banks or bank managers.’ Shaun had saved and hidden his money ever since.
If only he and mother could migrate to Africa where the wild animals roamed free; that was his all encompassing dream. Preferably, he thought, before O’Flaherty killed him. Almost dominating his every thought, moving from Dublin motivated him to save every farthing he earned. Back inside his hiding place, he removed a well-worn sheet of newspaper with an extensive article about East Africa, and started to read. Activity, coming from the kitchen, jerked his mind back from his reverie.
After replacing the newspaper, the envelope and the false panel, Shaun hurried down the hallway to the kitchen, hugged his mother and kissed her on the cheek. He dragged a chair out from under the old wooden kitchen table, and sat. The badly worn linoleum covering the floor repulsed him. Grubby old floral wallpaper peeling at the joins, adorned every wall throughout the house, and Shaun hated it. The cracked paint on the ceiling annoyed the hell out of him, too.
He wished they could be somewhere else; anywhere but here. With a sigh, Shaun placed both elbows on the table, rested his chin on his upturned hands and watched his mother preparing their breakfast. The fresh aroma of bacon invaded his nostrils, awakening the hunger in him, and killing the mouldy musty permanent smell of the old house, if only for a short time. His speech was deliberate and slow.
‘Why do we havta live in this dump of a place, mum?’
‘You know why, Shaun, It’s all we can afford.’
‘But I loathe this place, mum. The floorboards are so old and loose they creak every time I take a step.’
‘We both hate this house, Shaun, but we have no choice.’
‘When I start work, thingsil be better.’
‘You have to finish school first, young man!’
Shaun was worried for his mother, about to marry Arnold, a local drunk.
‘Why do you havta get married, mum?’
‘You need a father, Shaun.’
The teenager shifted uneasily on the chair. He could see Maeve watching him.
‘But-but I dislike Arnold, mum, he stinks of beer and cigarettes.’
‘Holy mother of God, you must not speak that way, Shaun. Do you realise Arnold admires you, the way you save your money? Besides, he has promised to stop drinking when we are married. With both of us working, perhaps we can rent a nicer house.’
When Maeve smiled, Shaun realised she hoped the news would cheer him, but his expression remained the same.
‘I’m glad it’s Saturday.’
‘Why?’
‘Be-because Danny O’Flaherty bullies me every day at school.’
‘How does he bully you?’
‘You’re-you’re a bastard, O’Connor,’ that’s what he says. He calls me Stutters - I hate that name, mum. Sometimes he comes up behind me and slaps me across the back of the head. ‘Get outa my way, you little bastard,’ he says.’
Overcome by anger, Shaun continued with his outburst. Speaking quickly, the words spewed out of his mouth.
‘He-he’s a shit, mum, and he’s older and bigger than I am. I-I hate school and I-I hate O’Flaherty.’
‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, slow down young man and don’t get so excited. Think about what you want to say and speak slowly.’
‘But-but I do hate them, mum.’
‘That’s a lot of hate, young man.’
‘Can we move to Africa? I’m sure we would like living in that country.’
‘Heavens, Shaun, will you never stop asking that question. Where do you think we would get the money?’
The teenager shrugged. ‘We will - when I get a job.’
‘Arnold and I are taking you to the zoo today. You like the zoo, don’t you?’¬¬¬¬
Shaun’s eyes lit up. He loved watching the animals, especially the big cats.
‘Cause I do, mum.’
‘Then promise me you will not wag school next week, Shaun. I want you to promise.’
The smile disappeared. His face screwed up. Thinking about a whole week at school suffering O’Flaherty made him feel like he was suffocating under a tsunami of seaweed. Eventually, and reluctantly, he agreed.
‘Aw right, I spose. But why’s Arthur going with us today?’
‘You will have to get used to Arthur being with us, honey. After we are married next Saturday, everything will work out, you’ll see.’
Shaun felt sorry for his mother. If working four days a week and cleaning the house on her free day wasn’t enough, she had to take in washing at the weekend to help pay the bills.

Shaun arose early the next Monday morning. Soon, he was dressed, lightly breakfasted and ready to set off with his mother on their long walk, Maeve to her seamstress job and Shaun selling newspapers before school. They walked several blocks before turning left onto Victoria Quay at the River Liffey. From there it was still two kilometres to the inner city shopping and business centre.
Walking along the road beside the Liffey, Shaun watched tramcars pass by, rattling, clanging and swaying along on the uneven tramlines. They always brought a lump to his throat. If only he could ride in one and feel the wind blowing in his face. Shaun knew his mother would never consider wasting money on tramcar rides. ‘Why do you think God gave us legs and feet?’ She would say.
Soon after leaving his mother, he arrived at the corner of Moss and Townsend, ready to hawk the morning paper. Loving the sights and sounds, he knew they were both food for his soul.
Without wasting time, he picked up a bundle of papers, tucked them under his arm and started chasing customers with his raucous call of ‘Get the morning news here.’ He was undeterred by the activity of the busy morning traffic. A southerly wind sprang up and he was blessed with the aroma of fresh baked bread from the bakery shop, a few doors away from the newsstand.
Directly across the dusty cobblestone road, he hurried to catch some early morning shoppers entering O’Dougherty’s. Zigzagging and weaving through the traffic, he ignored the sound of honking horns, and the curses from drivers of the brightly coloured automobiles. He laughed as he dodged between them, rushing back and forth across the busy street. Their smelly acrid fumes, spewing into the air, brought tears to his eyes.
Several horse-drawn carriages passed by. Shaun kept watch for a large wagon full of barrels, drawn by four well groomed and plumaged Clydesdales. Before long, he watched as they trundled down the street on their way to deliver beer and Guinness to the city pubs. He waved to the driver.
Finally, all the papers were sold. Shaun was ready to start his forty minute walk to school. ‘Check the trashcans on the side of the road, first.’ Luckily, someone had dropped their paper in a bin. Shaun retrieved and stuffed it into his schoolbag. ‘Great.’
That night, after dinner, under the glow of the gaslight, he read every word on every page. He read the world news and current events. Reading about the world emerging from the worst recession in recorded history, as well as the fear generated by the threat of war clouds gathering on the horizon, scared the hell out of him.
Beyond locking himself in the toilet for five days; trying to avoid O’Flaherty proved to be a useless exercise. He endured threats, jibes and the occasional punch in the back of his head. Although painful, he remained steadfast, keeping his promise to his mother.
Shaun was absent when Maeve and Arnold attended the registry office for the wedding, although he knew it would sadden her. Both Shaun and his mother were devout Catholics, and Shaun knew Maeve would have loved nothing better than being married in her own church. Having spoken to Father O’Reardon, Shaun knew that would be impossible. Moreover, she could never afford a gown for such an occasion. Apart from the Celebrant, the only other people attending were two of Maeve’s friends from work.

***

Even though the first two weeks were difficult for Shaun; after moving in, Arnold treated them well. During the third week, however, Arnold started drinking heavily and Shaun arrived home one Wednesday evening to find his mother and stepfather arguing.
Harassed and shouting, Maeve’s blood pressure was rising and Shaun noticed her face was dark with rage.
‘My God, Arnold, you’ve only worked two days at the docks since you’ve been here, and now you are wasting that precious little money on alcohol.’

On Friday afternoon when his papers were all sold, Shaun collected his wages. Before he hurried home, he spent one of his farthings and purchased red roses for his mother.
Greeting Maeve in the kitchen, Shaun called out to her. ‘Hi mum, I’m home, and I have a present for you.’ The look on his mother’s face when she saw the flowers, made him happy. Shaun ignored his stepfather but noticed a fresh carton of beer on the table. He went into his room, took his wages out of his pocket, and opened his cupboard door. When he removed the envelope from its hiding place, it was empty.
Stunned and humiliated, his face paled. ‘My God, where-where is my money?’
Several minutes of thought passed before anger pulsed through his body. Storming out into the kitchen, the empty envelope still in his hand, he confronted Arnold, who was sitting quietly at the table, drinking.
‘You-you’ve stolen my money you drunk. Give it back to me.’
Shaun could see the look of hatred in his stepfather’s eyes. Within the blink of an eye Arnold jumped up from the chair. Momentarily taken back, Shaun was unprepared for the huge fist that smashed into his face. Hitting the floor with a thud, blood started spurting from his nose.
‘Don’t you speak to me like that you little shit?’
Pain pulsed through Shaun’s face. He heard his mother gasp, and saw her place her hand over her mouth. Her eyes opened wide with horror. Shaun knew the sight of her son’s bloodied face sickened her.
‘Holy mother of God, what have you done, Arnold?’
The teenager vainly tried to get up but stiffened when he saw Arnold remove his wide leather belt. Wielded with force, the strap fell heavily on the stunned teenager.
Shaun curled his body into the fetal position, protecting his face with his hands. He could hear his mother screaming.
‘Stop it, Arnold, don’t strap him, he’s just a boy.’
From between his fingers, Shaun watched horrified when Arnold punched her, fracturing her eye socket. Maeve fell into a chair and started sobbing.
All the while during the strapping, Shaun prayed for it to end. Eventually, Arnold stopped. Replacing his belt, he went back to his drinking as if nothing had happened.

On Monday morning, Shaun packed his lunch ready to leave. His arms and legs were covered in red welts. Arnold was still in bed.
‘I’m sorry honey, I’m so sorry. I mistakenly thought I could help Arnold stop his drinking once we were married.’ His mother attempted to hug him. Shaun pulled away. His body still hurt.
‘It’s not your fault, mum.’
‘I have never seen him violent like that before. It must have been the drink.’
Maeve’s face was badly swollen. Shaun knew she would hate going to work looking like that.
‘Don’t make excuses for him, mum. I-I never did like Arnold, and now I hate him.’
Too late, the words were out. The look on his mother’s face made him wish he hadn’t spoken. He had no wish to add to her misery.
Shaun’s thoughts ran riot through his mind.
To live far from Arnold, school and O’Flaherty; how great would that be?
He wanted no one at school to see him; so, after he sold his papers, he started walking west, toward the zoo in Phoenix Park, three kilometres away. With a rapid step, his pace quickened the closer he got to his favourite place, a tall pine tree, growing in the park adjacent to the rear brick wall of the zoo.
Securing his lunch bag firmly on his shoulder, he started climbing. Two thirds the way up the tree, he stopped where several strong limbs grew outwards; his favourite spot. He settled in position with his back against the tree trunk, legs up on the limbs and a clear view of the monkey enclosure and hippo pool.
Every day of that week, Shaun worked, but skipped school. Late on Friday afternoon he arrived home to find his mother and teacher waiting for him. That night, Arnold took the strap to him.

Several days after the latest beating, during the school lunch break, Shaun and his only friend, Dennis Hanlon, found a spot away from the other pupils. They were making plans to run away from home.
‘My older cousin did it last year, Shaun. He lives in the basement of an old abandoned warehouse down near the docks.’
‘Where does he get money for food?’
‘Money isn’t a problem because he forages for food or steals it. He says it’s easy.’
‘Any-anything he wants?’
‘Sure, even clothing. He will show us what to do. We can live there too. There are three of them, no one else knows about the place.’
Shaun likes what he hears, this would solve all his problems, but will it be hurtful for mother?
‘Where do we sleep?’
‘They sleep on corn sacks, piled up on the concrete floor. There will be plenty for us, we can do the same.’
Shaun makes his decision. ‘That’s it then, what-what’s the plan, when shall we leave?’
‘Friday night, wait until your parents are asleep. Make a bundle with two blankets and stuff some warm clothing into your school bag. We will meet at my place. When you get there, wait for me beside the front stairs if I’m not already there. Are you sure you want to do this, Shaun?’

***

Christmas had passed and winter was galloping into spring. Shaun knew O’Flaherty and his friends would be searching for them. They would look in all the likely places where they thought the two could be sleeping and hanging out.
More than anything, Shaun felt sad for his mother. Months had passed, and now he was desperate to see her, knowing full well that she had despaired of seeing him again. Under no circumstances could he go back. ‘Bloody Arnold, I wish he were dead.’

Standing outside the bakery shop near the newspaper stand, Shaun watched as customers entered, and then left the store after making their purchase. He was leaning against one of the council trashcans. Not having eaten for days, the smell of freshly baked bread seduced him. He waited for an opportunity to arise. Finally, just one customer, an old lady, was inside being served by the attendant who went in behind one of the heavily stacked shelves. Without wasting time, Shaun raced inside and snatched two buns from the countertop.
Startled, the old lady screamed out. ‘Stop - thief!’
Speedily, Shaun exited the store. He headed for the safety of an alley, a few blocks away. Sitting down on a timber box behind a stack of garbage bins, he started eating. He was unaware that O’Flaherty had seen him and followed him into the alley.
The familiar voice of the bully boomed out at him. ‘Give me that bun Stutters, you thieving little bastard.’
Shaun looked up in wide-eyed amazement; stunned. He tried not to show fear; or intimidation.
‘You’re a bastard, O’Flaherty! Get stuffed. It’s mine. Go-go and steal your own bloody food.’
Sufficiently malevolent, however, and with boundless depths of rage to draw upon, O’Flaherty’s intentions were soon evident.
He pulled a flick knife from his pocket and exposed the razor sharp stiletto blade. Menacingly, he pointed it at the teenager.
Shaun’s jaw dropped and he tried to swallow. Suddenly surging through his body, a charge of Adrenalin hit him. He jumped up to run.
O’Flaherty lashed out with his knife. The blade grazed Shaun’s left cheek making a shallow wound.
With blood seeping between the fingers of the hand holding his cheek, he ran down the alley. Clasping his stolen food to his chest with the other hand, Shaun looked back to see if O’Flaherty was following.
Immediately, he realised his mistake.
‘Shit!’
Out of balance, he veered sideways and crashed into a stack of empty wooden fruit cases. Falling heavily, he smashed and shattered some of the slender timber.
Flies and mice scattered in all directions. Aching all over, and with pieces of timber pushing into his body, the stench of rotting vegetables was overpowering.
Before he could recover and get up, O’Flaherty was on top of him. ‘Now you stupid bastard, I’m going to slit your bloody throat.’
***

Maeve was desperate and hoping for a miracle. Although she was not aware Shaun faced death at that very moment, she suddenly became overwhelmed by the thought that she may never see her son again. She sank into her old worn sofa, handkerchief in hand and tears coursing down her cheeks. Realising her marriage was a mistake; she had no alternative but to accept her fate without question. She had put her faith in God now, hoping her prayers would soon be answered.
Arnold had made her life a misery. To ascend the dark staircase of her marriage, a vast void, tugging her downward, and to seek a quiet space of her own, away from her husband; that was her eternal prayer. Continually stunned and humiliated by Arnold, she now faced the realisation of her situation. ‘Would he never leave?’ She thought not. Besides, she had no way of making him go. He had what he wanted, a bed to sleep in, a roof over his head and someone to look after him.
Under no circumstances could she leave, ‘What if Shaun decides to come home?’ Arnold would be furious, he would hound her at her work, or worse still, keeps his promise to kill her if she even thought about leaving him.
Whichever way she looked at her situation, she knew it was hopeless; like a crushing, grinding wasteland of emptiness.

***

The look on his assailant’s face caused Shaun to panic. Hoping for a miracle, or some sign of divine intervention, he found it when he pushed himself backwards on his behind. Although pieces of timber pushed into his body, Shaun’s right hand landed on the thick end of a piece of splintered timber. He took a hold and gripped it tightly.
‘Don’t be stupid, O’Flaherty. Do-do you want to go to Gaol?’
O’Flaherty was sneering now. Moving forward, he held out the knife, ready to strike again.
Shaun thrust out with the piece of timber, aiming at his assailant’s head. The sharp broken end struck O’Flaherty on the side of his nose and skewed up into his left eyeball, almost ripping his eye out of its socket.
O’Flaherty jumped back and screamed. ‘Awrrrrrr...’ Instinctively, both hands went up to cover his eye. The knife fell with a clatter onto the cobble stoned floor of the alley.
Without wasting a second, Shaun scooped up both the knife and the bread. He ran from the alley as fast as his legs would take him.
O’Flaherty screamed after him.
‘You stupid bastard, I’ll kill you.’

***

Almost a year had passed since the unfortunate incident in the alley. Shaun knelt down beside his friend. His face looked pale and he refused to eat. He complained to Shaun about the cold.
‘You must try to eat, Dennis. You need to keep up your strength.’
The teenager shook his head. Shaun placed his hand on Dennis’s forehead; he was burning hot. Without doubt, his friend was gravely ill. Shaun knew he must do something quickly or Dennis could die. They were now into summer and Shaun pleaded with Dennis’s cousin, to take the young man home to his parents.
Shaun was finally on his own and desperately hungry. In a dead end alley, foraging in a garbage bin behind a respectable eating house, he was hoping to find something edible.
‘What might you be doing at that bin, young man?’
Shaun turned to find the chef observing him. His hand dived into the pocket containing the flick knife and he backed away from the bin. The chef was blocking his way out, his only escape route.
‘Would you like something to eat?’
Shaun was apprehensive, but nodded. His hand was still in his pocket.
‘Come inside with me, we’ll see what we can find for you.’
The chef produced a plate of left-overs. He pointed to a chair at the rear of the kitchen. ‘This should fill the empty spots. When you’ve finished, let’s talk about working for your meals, proper meals.’
Shaun wolfed down the food.
‘When I finish my shift, providing you’re interested, I will take you home with me where you can bathe and try on some of my son’s clean clothing. The owner will not allow you to work in the kitchen unless you are spotless. You can work as a dishwasher, three hours a day helping the kitchen hand. What do you say?’
‘That’s fine by me, I don’t mind a bit of work.’
Within weeks, the chef knew he had made a good choice. He provided Shaun with a bed at the back of his garage. For the next month, for regular meals, Shaun worked hard. He was eager to repay the man who had befriended him.
One Wednesday, the kitchen hand, Matthew O’Rielly, went on a drinking spree and failed to show for work.
‘Can you work his shift for me, Shaun?’ The chef asked.
It was a long day for Shaun but he worked with gusto, wanting to make an impression. For the next three days, Shaun took over for O’Rielly.
On Saturday night, at the end of the shift, Shaun received the appropriate pay. The desire for Africa still burnt bright in his mind and Shaun thought about the money he could save if he was the kitchen hand. Unfortunately, O’Rielly was back at work the next Monday morning.
Formulating in Shaun’s mind was a plan to dispose of O’Rielly. If only he could make that happen.
Purchasing a scarf, a cap and a pair of gloves from a charity clothing store, Shaun followed O’Rielly home after work each evening. Pulling the cap down close to his eyes and keeping the scarf high up on his neck, he remained well back so O’Rielly would not become suspicious. He soon got to know the kitchen hand’s every move.
For three nights in a row, Shaun got close to his intended victim; however, he couldn’t go through with his plan. On Friday evening, after work, Shaun lost sight of his prey when O’Rielly went into a nearby pub. Unsure, Shaun went in to check.
Never in his life had he stepped inside such an establishment. It was noisy and crowded. A group of men and women were over in one corner, singing to the accompaniment of an old out of tune squeeze box, in the hands of a bearded man. Shaun looked at the three sided bar thinking it was something out of the arc.
With his eyes wide open in awe, he watched a barman pour several glasses of ale and slosh them down in front of some patrons. Huge amounts of foam splashed onto the bar increasing the smell of alcohol and tobacco smoke. Badly in need of repair with nail heads exposed, the wooden pub floor was filthy. The air was oppressive. Overwhelmed, Shaun wanted out of there. He looked around and saw O’Rielly, drinking with another man at one end of the bar.
He was glad to be back outside and waited in a darkened doorway. It was almost closing time before O’Rielly left. Shaun followed close behind. Flushed with excitement, thinking of the life he could have in Africa, Shaun decided it was now or never.
Before O’Rielly reached his front stairs, Shaun removed the knife from his pocket and exposed the blade. Suddenly, his knees went weak. Fighting the urge to vomit, he stopped and leant against a street light pole, watching O’Rielly disappear into his house. Shaun was annoyed at himself for being weak and he slunk away into the night.

***

Shaun was happy several weeks’ later when good fortune smiled. O’Rielly disappeared and Shaun was offered the kitchen hand’s job, permanently.
Shaun saved his money and through hard work and diligence, he repaid the faith shown in him by the chef. The seasons passed and Shaun prospered. Shortly after his eighteenth birthday, he informed the chef of his desire to live and work in Africa. With the chef’s blessing and a beaming reference, Shaun applied at the Mariner’s Office for a job on a ship as a galley hand. He supplied the officer with his name and work experience.
‘Any ship plying the waters between Dublin and Africa,’ he informed the officer.
Shaun started training a replacement. Weeks passed before he was informed he had a job on a ship leaving the next day. One of the crew had suddenly taken sick. On a Thursday morning in midsummer, Shaun hurried down to the Mariner’s office to finalise the paperwork.
‘Be here no later than eighteen hundred hours,’ he was told. ‘You will be shown to your quarters, supplied with a work roster and briefed regarding your duties. The ship is docked down at pier six, ‘The Alistair,’ it sails tonight, at midnight.’
Shaun gathered his belongings from the rear of the chef’s garage, went for his last meal in Dublin, and caught a tramcar down to the dock.
Overcome by a burning desire to see his mother one last time before leaving, so he could tell her he would come back for her when he was settled in Africa, Shaun decided to go home. He remembered Thursday was her day off work. ‘I will visit her this afternoon, with plenty of time left to be back on board for the briefings.’
To save time, because it was a long walk to the old house, he caught a tramcar from the dock. He approached via the alley at the back of the house. The area was filthy. Garbage was scattered everywhere, blowing about in the breeze. Trash cans were out on the walkway behind the houses, ready for emptying. Most of them were full and overflowing. Some of them had already spewed their foul contents onto the ground, encouraging rats. Shaun smiled and shook his head. ‘It’s just as I remember.’
Unsure if his mother still lived there, Shaun stood in the alley for some time looking up at the house. Is she in good health? Is she sick? Has the drunken slob she married driven her to an early grave? He felt a pang of regret; to have made no contact with her in all this time was remiss of him. A burning desire to see her one more time before he departed, forced him to move.
Like a nervous soldier entering a minefield, Shaun walked up the few steps to the back door. It was unlocked.
He entered the house. There was no sign of his mother or stepfather. In the kitchen, empty bottles of beer were scattered on the table. The house looked filthy.
Walking down the hallway toward the front of the house, he heard the familiar creaking of floorboards with each step taken. Something was different from what he remembered; then it hit him, the offensive odour. Inside his mother’s bedroom, he saw an old photograph of her on the bureau, taken sometime before he was born. Picking up the old battered bronze frame, he studied the photo carefully. There was evidence of an attractive woman when she was younger. On impulse, he removed from its frame, the small photo, and stuffed it in his pocket.
Shaun heard the back door slam and the scraping of a chair on the floor. He walked back down the hallway toward the kitchen, hoping to see his mother.
In the kitchen, Arnold was sitting at the table, a fresh carton of beer in front of him. Smothered in grime, his clothes in disarray and decisively filthy, he was about to pour himself a drink. His face was red and like the house, he reeked of alcohol and cigarette tobacco.
‘Where’s my mother, Arnold?’
Arnold placed the bottle back on the table. He looked up at his stepson standing in the doorway.
‘Well, well, look who’s here? You’re too bloody late, she kicked it months ago.’
‘You - you - Jesus, are you saying my mother is dead?’
‘You’re bloody right she is you miserable little bastard.’
‘How did she die?’
‘Who cares?’
‘Where do you get money to live here and buy alcohol?’
There was a sneer on Arnold’s face.
‘You don’t know, do you?’
‘I don’t know what?’
‘About the money she saved.’
‘Huh? Waddya mean? Mum never got the chance to save money.’
‘Bullshit, she was saving for years to take you to Africa, that’s what she told me.’
Shaun’s jaw dropped.
‘How-how the hell did you get your hands on her savings?’
‘When she was dying, she told me to pay for her funeral and then give the rest of the money to you. She made me promise to look for you, before she would tell me where the money was hidden.’ Arnold smirked. ‘Can you believe that? I wouldn’t give you shit!’
Stunned and humiliated, Shaun became enraged. Without thinking, the knife was in his hand with the blade exposed.
He could see immediately the sight of the knife angered Arnold. Shaun was unprepared for what happened next. He watched Arnold push the chair backward and jump up. Grasping the neck of an empty beer bottle, fear gripped Shaun when Arnold smashed it against the side of the table, scattering glass over the floor. He pointed the sharp jagged edge of the bottle at his stepson.
‘Come on then you little shit. Let’s see how good you are.’ Arnold shouted, before lunging at his stepson.
Like a sprinter out of the blocks, Shaun moved swiftly, side stepping out of harm’s way. ‘Is that the best you can do, you drunk?’
Although badly shaken, this time Shaun was ready when Arnold snarled and made another lunge.
Shaun threw down a chair in front of the slow moving man, and then watched Arnold stumble, but somehow manage to grab hold of the table edge and steady himself. Shaun likened him to a mad bull who was about to make another charge. Crashing into the side of a chair, he knocked it over and, off balance, he fell heavily.
Lying on his back with the blood draining quickly from his face, Arnold screamed out in pain. ‘For God’s sake help me.’
Shaun kicked away the broken bottle from his stepfather’s hand.
‘Don’t be such a fool, Arnold, get up.’
Although he tried to answer, there was no sound. Shaun could see the pool of blood, quickly spreading out on the floor. He could see that Arnold had fallen on the bottom half of the broken bottle and impaled himself. A long sharp shard of glass was embedded in the man’s kidney region.
Shaun stood over his still conscious stepfather and realised he was bleeding to death.
‘You’re a drunken slob, Arnold. I can’t help you. In spite of you, I’m going to Africa and you’re going to hell, you miserable excuse for a man.’
Eventually, when he could no longer feel a pulse, Shaun walked away from his mother’s house for the last time. Stopping at the end of the street, he glanced back, saddened that his mother would not be joining him in Africa. With the death of Arnold, there was no hate and no remorse, rather, an empty feeling.
Shaun made it back to ‘The Alistair’ with little time to spare before the inaugural ships company meeting. When it was over, he went below to the galley for a meeting with the head chef and his staff. Although it was an early start for him in the morning on the breakfast shift, he decided not to head for his bunk.
Up on the main deck was like being in another world for Shaun. Near the ship’s bow, he got caught up with the ebb and flow of the night activity.
The last of the cargo was being lowered and stashed in the forward hold. Frantically, seamen were running around under overhead lights, attending to last minute details prior to departure. Nearing midnight, Shaun hurried along the starboard side of the ship, on his way to the stern.
Grasping the rear rail with both hands, Shaun watched both fore and aft lines cleared. He felt the throb of the steam engines vibrating under foot. Two small tugboats manoeuvred the steel giant toward the middle of the Liffey. The huge twin props started spinning, creating a turbulent mass of underwater fluorescent bubbles behind the ship, driving her forward.
‘The Alistair’ soon cleared the harbour, out into Dublin Bay. While the ship steamed out into the Irish Sea, Shaun stayed rooted to his spot at the stern, watching the lights of Dublin, and the bad memories of the past, disappear into the distance. Excitement started building as he readied himself for his African Adventure.
Shaun was not aware a merchant seaman had joined him at the rail. ‘Great, isn’t it?’ he spoke loudly, almost yelling to be heard above the throb of the engines and the noise of the wind. ‘Is this your first time at sea?’
‘I joined the ship’s company yesterday,’ Shaun answered loudly, ‘and yes, it’s my first time on a ship.’
‘Not to worry, you’ll soon find your sea legs.’
‘I guess so,’ Shaun said with a smile of anticipation. He turned to face the man. ‘However, I can’t wait until she docks in Cape Town.’
Even in the poor light, Shaun could see the merchant sailor give him a strange look.
‘Didn’t they tell you when you signed on young man, we’re not doing the African run anymore - this cargo is headed for South America.’


-The End-

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 23.02.2010

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