Summer 2014

36.

At the Western Light art gallery I get inspired to try making a collage myself. 

'To publish a book is very affordable nowadays'- tells me an owner of this gallery after finding out what do I do in this life. People in Achill are nosy. I think they preserve the conversations (just like they do with money) for a winter time, when this island becomes lonely planet.

'My son published three hundred and seventy pages book for only eight hundred euro'- he says. Ah. That is good to know, but book, what are you talking about? I write grey colours with no contrast lately...

'You can make money from your withdrawals'- he suggest.

'Oh yeah?'- hopelessness sharpens my tongue I am tempted to ask him does he manages to do that, because there is nothing that much transcendental about what he is selling here either (I am back to my retarded teenager personality) but I smile and walk away, apologising inside for being such an eejet and thanking him for an idea of collage; before he gets deeper into the suggestions how I can make money selling my knowledge of Russian language to a BUSINESS WORLD... again... hehe

 

For an afternoon coffee I choose to go to Doogort, that old school hotel, where my struggling will fit right in- I can count dead flies on a window boards chanting mantra I just read-

 

I remind myself

Of someone I never met

Of someone I'd like to meet

Of someone I can't forget

I am not insane

I am just half way

Have a nice day

 

An evidence of glib martyr. Recorded.

 

Church of Doogort . Briga Saulė, 2014

Church of Doogort. Briga Saulė, 2014


DEAD FLIES

 

I walk into this place as I would have a lifetime pass to the places of nostalgias around the globe. Their coffee is the worst; I know that, but it is part of the deal I am looking for. So I go straight to the bar, slip on a high chair and ask for it.

'It is usually three euro'- tells me tooo nice middle aged man- 'but I will charge you two'- he smiles.That is how they preserve money for winter- it is always been two, by the way. Little leprechaun I'll tell ya, but say nothing and give him three. Not long to wait and they starting to chat me up- four local men in a bar with golden liquid almost over in pints- four pm, not too bad I suppose, hehehe

'You should come and live in Achill, I'll get you a place to work here'- they all bored- 'once you learn to pull a pint you'll never be out of job'- sounds encouraging, ha!

'Maybe last year's offer'- I laugh- 'Cork is on the cards this year'- so stop romancing the stoned, hehe (where have I picked up this expression?)

The man besides me eats me alive with his sight and with no ceremonial introductions asks me would I?

'Say yes'- he leans towards me and whispers.

'Yes for what?'- I don't get it.

Patrick is middle aged man and, I am sure, very famous bachelor of this island, pulls out a photo from his wallet of his newly build house with a cat on a window and a dog by the gate, can you believe it? He paints for a living. Exterior and interior of houses... I see... Lived in England for five years, but back to this island again, no place like home with a dog you see, agree or disagree... And this is his uncle, and two school friends, and a niece with her daughter... who is already taking pictures of me and Patrick, asking to put our heads closer- for a better shot, hey!

'I like the way you look'- Patrick whispers proudly- 'I like your figure...'

'Patrick, buy young lady fresh picked strawberries with cream'- leprechaun is tricking Patrick to open up his wallet once more...

'Say yes'- Patrick leans closer to me again, probably trying to make a decision do I deserve those strawberries.

'No!'- I laugh back.

'Why not?'- he asks- 'you never work again, you can look after children and get Social Welfare...' WOW! And in a blink of an eye fresh strawberries (two days old, from a fridge) lands on the counter...

'What the hell is this?'- I get into a bit hysterical laugh- 'leave me alone, I just want to sit here and count dead flies!'

'I will heat your coffee'- offers leprechaun gently winking an eye. For a photo with Patrick- heads close, of course.

'Why not?'- Patrick is extremely assertive. Now I notice his moustache, shaped in style of seventies England, his t-shirt from Lanzarotte with camel drinking cactus through a straw; his hard working hands and desperate eyes. My coffee has been topped with hot water (cannot get worse than that) and Patrick declares his further going plan of tonight 'for you and me, baby...' He has everything I want and whatever else there is.

But now I jump from my seat and telling him that I have to go to make a phone call to Canada- my friend had a baby two days ago- I lie. So I tell quick goodbye to all of them and off I am ready to go. Well, polite kiss has to be included, free strawberries- reminds me Patrick. Ok, let it be, I kiss his both cheeks, ran and ban myself from this hotel at least for this stay in Achill.

Patrick and all his family waves to me taking the last pictures when I drive past the window...

 

I love cracked people, but do not steel my dead flies, please, do you mind?

 

Patrick . Briga Saulė, 2014

Patrick. Briga Saulė, 2014

by Brigita Stasun