The Apocrypha of Luke

The Apocrypha of Luke

Ken Kelly

Chapter 1

Dad had promised to bring them to a place where the scars of a centuries old battle were clearly visible. Luke the eldest and, more pertinently a self-important teenager, rolled his eyes inconspicuously and began to text a bored friend saying how bored he was stuck in the family going nowhere in the middle of nowhere. Paddy immersed in his football magazine and wondering which club he would sign for on his fifteenth birth day wasn’t listening. Johnny the next in line was trying to peek at Paddy’s magazine and Luke’s text only to find himself attacked on two fronts as he sat between his two older and impatient brothers. Only Mikey in the jump seat in the back responded to his father’s enthusiasm.

Will there be swords and spears? he asked, his mind already picturing armoured knights on snorting white stallions their shields painted with lions and unicorns, and their terrified eyes peering out from silver helmets.

More power than all the swords on the planet said a reassured dad, glad not to be totally ignored by his four children.

Bombs? replied Mikey stretching the word to its limit and he imagined soldiers dashing over smoking, broken ground, the muzzles of their machine guns flashing fire and a tank crushing a barb wire fence as it emerged from a gloomy forest.

Greater than any bomb Mikey.

But Mikey didn’t hear. He had one grenade left and the turret of the tank was turning towards him. This was a defining moment and Mikey had big decisions to make.

Conscious of his wife beside him dad didn’t drive like a lunatic although occasionally he let his eyes wander as he surveyed the landscape. This led to frequent readjustments and swerves to avoid oncoming cars, cattle and old farmers, and bends where the road fell away to the sea. These readjustments in turn led to minor cardiac arrests on the part of mother and some unconvincing lying on the part of dad as he tried to reassure everyone that he knew exactly what he was doing.

The road itself was picture postcard spectacular, a long black snake that followed a course between the soft green hillsides on the right and the harder unwelcoming slate grey sea on the left. At first the hillside had the straight line geometry of farmers’ fields and the sea’s waves politely washed against smooth round pebbled half-moon coves. But as they travelled further west, the farmers gave up trying to tame the land which became steeper and freckled with grey limestone outcrops which nature's blanket of green had never managed to smother. Similarly the sea became hungrier, savagely tearing at the land which now began to bristle with spear like rocks that snapped like dragon’s teeth at the frothing waves.

Seen on a satellite map from space this fringe of the continent was what geographers called a peninsula. It resembled a long finger of land, a misshapen, sapless twig with knuckled intervals. Posted in the sea around it like discarded splinters were small islands and islets, undisturbed sanctuaries to gannets and petrels. At the end of the peninsula the finger raised itself imperiously in defiance of the sea only to be separated from a lost shard which like a ripped fingernail had been violently removed by the angry waters in a time long before men had been around to witness.

The sound of the tyres on loose stone signalled that the car had halted and the four boys, in their own individual ways showed relief that they had stopped. Luke was still thumbing his phone, while Paddy busied himself concealing a page about Bolton Wanderer’s summer signing from his younger brother Johnny. Mikey alone in the back was smiling triumphantly as he had singlehandedly destroyed the now smoking tank and would surely get a shiny medal for his courage.

Well lads I promised you a battlefield. Is there any greater than that? said dad proudly sweeping his arm in an arc across the view in front. They were at the end of the peninsula where the sea raged relentlessly against the land on three sides.

No respite in this conflict hey? And he parked his backside against the bonnet of the car in order to consider the spectacle more comfortably. Unfortunately he had, and not for the first time forgotten to put on the handbrake, so hasty had he been to get out of the car.

Jesus said Luke my phone’s still in the car as he contemplated its destruction. Fortunately his mother was also in the car and saved Luke's phone, the car, Mikey and herself by pulling up the hand brake sharply. She flashed dad one of those what the ……. Looks that always made dad turn silent and go red. Dad on cue went silent and turned red and signalled, with an apologetic hand gesture, his embarrassed state.

Paddy felt sorry for the old man and generously brought him back from his shameful exile.

Where exactly is the battlefield father? Unlike the others Paddy always called his dad father. It was an early adolescent thing.

Well in the blue corner Paddy, weighing in at a lot and comprising of many million square miles is the Atlantic ocean. Paddy nodded as Luke finished his text. And in the green and grey corner we have the Dingle peninsula defending the honour of Europe and resisting the advances of this very aggressive sea.

Paddy looked below at the very unequal contest where the sea was pummelling the rocks.

Land’s looking battered and bruised father. Will the referee stop the contest? dad smiled and winked at his son.

Smart answer, but you know the contest was stopped about ten thousand years ago. Paddy looked confused.

How?

Ah ha said dad pleased to have a captive audience and just about to return his backside to the car when he saw his wife emerging with one threatening eyebrow raised.

Well he continued a little less vigorously back then everything stopped -the sea, the grass. It was the time of the great ice age when ice sheets covered every acre of this land and froze the sea. Imagine these waves frozen in mid punch.

Paddy stroked his chin with the sarcastic theatrics known only to certain teenagers discovering the beauties of sarcasm for the first time.

This isn’t a real battlefield said Johnny disappointedly. Johnny hadn't yet discovered the possibilities provided by the filters of sarcasm.

Well there is a Spanish ship out there from the Armada of 1588 which was broken on the rocks said dad struggling. The boys' imagination was slightly stirred and dad noted their faces. He would have liked to be able to give the name of the wreck and the details of the crew and cargo but he realised he had driven into a dead end.

What was the name of the ship dad?

Dad hesitated. He could have made something up – San Cristobal de la Trinidad but he decided to come clean and shook his head.

Sorry lads I don’t know

The disappointment was palpable ah father why didn’t you make something up? We would have believed any old guff that you said. We always do.

Dad struggled briefly I couldn’t do that Paddy. History is about the truth not about fiction.

Luke immediately perked up with a mischievous light in his handsome young face. Didn’t you once say that all history was fiction- lies told by the winners? He allowed a wave of smug triumph to roll over him but he felt short changed in his moment of glory by his father’s reaction.

Yes Luke I did say that and I believe it. But we should strive to uncover the truth all the same. That can sometimes mean a dull silence in place of an exciting false symphony. History isn't always a great page turner. Mikey was somewhat deflated and began to see his smouldering tank evaporate into a dream. Mam came to the rescue yet again with her picnic bag. C’mon handsome, take me for coffee.

If Madame will follow me.

Dad led the way over a dry wall made of stones shaped like a baker's loaves which separated the hillside from the road. He lifted Mikey over with a whoosh while the other three declined assistance, Johnny doing so after his brothers had shown the way. It made him feel older. As they started to ascend the slope, their summer sandaled feet felt the long uneaten grasses soaked in the dew and saw the liquid mist which obscured the hill twenty metres ahead of them. Let’s go into the cloud daddy said Mikey excitedly and he started to chase uphill after the mist. Daddy, Johnny, and Paddy followed but Luke realising that he was no longer a child felt he had to pretend that such delights were not for him. Come on Luke said his mother pulling his ear playfully. I’ll race you. And the older boy realising he was blissfully alone from the judgemental gazes of the world gave in to the simple pleasures of cloud chasing.

A strange thing then happened, for as the six bodies scrambled uphill, a warm south westerly wind blew in from the sea. It had been born somewhere in the tropics and had obediently followed its course across the wide Atlantic shedding its stifling heat and picking up berries of moisture from the moody sea until it reached landfall as a strong breeze. And if one could see a wind one would have seen it touch land and start to climb upwards, creeping up on the boys and their parents and then overtaking them. It softly blew the raindrops off the long bending grasses which sprung upright relieved of the liquid weight. Finally it reached the curtain of cloud which billowed like a cotton sheet on a clothes line, and then started to retreat to higher ground. The wind insisted on total unconditional surrender and the mist gradually gave ground until the entire hillside was visible.

The warm tropical air felt good on the boys’ backs and spurred them on till they were within metres of the cloud. Look daddy the clouds escaping squealed Mikey.

And it’s taking its treasure with it. Quick lads stop the cloud escaping. They chased, all the more keenly but their enthusiastic attempts to grasp the elusive mist were fruitless. Finally they gave up panting loudly as they watched the last droplets of mist disappear like ghosts into the sky.

They had reached a crest in the hill which gently rolled into an even platform of soft grasses protected to the north by random slabs of soaking limestone. These in turn pointed to the summit of the hill which rose steeply beyond them. Their action had scattered a half dozen shaggy mountain sheep who now chewed clumps of grass from a cautious distance.

Cool said Johnny what a great fort.

Three corbelled beehive huts stood about eight feet tall occupying three points of an invisible scalene triangle. They dominated the western end of the grassy platform their stony spines to the ocean and its gales like three stoic sentinels guarding the land. The four boys ran towards them, the younger two racing like greyhound puppies while Luke and Paddy showed less exuberance but just as much interest. As is typical in these parts the sun for no reason broke through the banks of slow moving clouds and transformed the place into an ideal picnic area.

Care to dine? said dad taking the picnic bag from mam and spreading the foil backed blanket on the ground.

It’s not a fort Johnny. It’s anything but. This is a monastery. Pretty good builders hey? said dad slapping the lichen covered stones. They’ve stood here for a thousand years night and day, winter and summer. He paused, letting his hand run over one large stone married to another by gravity and the care and artistry of the long dead mason. Great silent witnesses to history. They’ll be here long after were pushing up the daisies. You’ll bring your kids here just as granddad brought me. And with that dad gave them another slap which made one of the stones rumble, threatening to dislodge itself from its brothers to which it had been invisibly glued for a thousand years. The boys laughed as dad, red faced once again, tried to redeem the situation. Yes the same as when I came here with grand dad.

Was this place exactly the same when you came here as a boy dad? asked Luke trying to imagine his father in short pants with dodgy hair like in the black and white photograph on the piano at home.

The question threw his father into a reflective silence as he remembered his own now deceased father holding his hand as they stood sheltering from the drenching rain in the first beehive hut.

No it was raining heavily and granddad and I stood in there he pointed at their shelter and the huts were open to man and beast back then, there was no ugly green metal door like that. Dad gave a tut tut in disgust and gently kicked the offending door with his foot. And the road wasn’t as good, more pot holes. But everything else was here. Dad closed his eyes as if in a dream and trusted his ears the breeze and the breaking surf and the cranky sea birds …

Lunch mam interrupted.

And granny. Dad opened his eyes. Granny was there too. The boys were looking at him waiting. There was magic, back then lads. Magic! Before the scientists got hold of the world and answered all the questions and spoiled the mystery and turned us all into faithless heathens. And then as if to disengage from his reverie he suddenly grabbed Johnny’s arm – Along with the magic there were hungry bellies and ham and cheese sandwiches and hot sweet tea and tickles for the last to touch the picnic rug. And with that he took off towards mam leaving the children in his wake. The others sprinted after him but Mikey who had scaled a limestone boulder and was sitting on top was at a clear disadvantage. Dad slowed down to give him a chance but then held him back teasingly, inches from the rug. Oh dear looks the tickle king has his victim and dad tickled Mikey to exhaustion.

The best thing about dad’s pointless excursions was mam’s picnic. Today was one of the best although if the boys were to tell the truth they would have to admit, however reluctantly, that the location especially now with the hot sun heating their freshly freckled faces, was an important element in the picnic’s success. Conversation gave way to silence as each person plucked something from the scene. Dad in particular seemed uncharacteristically subdued as he remembered fondly, times past when he was simply a son and had not yet assumed in his own fashion the raw burdens that settle differently on the shoulders of all fathers.

So father said Paddy who had the hungriest appetite for knowledge Do you know anything about this place?

A lot more than about the Spanish wreck out there son replied his father in a relaxed mellow voice. It was a monastery in Celtic times, a place in the wilderness where men came to think and study and pray. They tried to find remote places where they wouldn’t be distracted by things like women he winked at mam who smiled in return, and money and fighting and anything else".

Sounds awful muttered Luke. I mean why would you so that?

Dad shook his head at how the world had changed. They were trying to understand why we are here, what’s our purpose in life. Get a handle on what it’s all about.

And did they find the answers to such great questions father? said Paddy sounding like a voiceover in a 1950 sword and sandal epic movie.

I don’t know. They got some rough lessons though. The place was sacked on four occasions by the Vikings. The last raid was particularly brutal axe job by a nasty piece of work called Tomar according to the ancient annals.

Ancient annals? asked Luke

Records by medieval monks which give us a brief account of the catastrophes that befell the land.

Daddy can I go to the toilet? interjected Mikey.

Wees?

Mikey nodded.

Go on over there said dad like a knowledgeable guide.

"I suppose Tomar and his boys burned all the wooden buildings, killed all the older monks and sold all the younger ones into slavery.

Mikey no! Not over there shouted dad as Mikey was about to pee against the side of one of the beehives. Those stones are sacred fellah show some respect. Do your wees over there.

Mikey smiled and went over to the place designated as a latrine by his father. Of course he was unaware that this was the most sacred place in the old monastery for it was here that the first nine abbots had been buried and their saintly bones lay encased in stone three feet below where Mikey now urinated copiously while singing a nursery rhyme. I need to wee too said Johnny. Ok said dad, over to the unholy toilet. Stay away from the sacred stones. And so Johnny too went off to pee all over the dead abbots.

How about we get a metal detector up here and hunt for treasure? suggested Luke remembering the gold chalices he had seen when dad had inflicted a day in the museum on them.

I’d say all you’d find is grass and stones Luke. This wouldn’t have been a wealthy monastery like the ones in richer parts of Ireland and besides these Vikings were a pretty thorough bunch. If there had been any gold old Tomar would have swiped it as quick as you'd pull up this grass. And to make his point more dramatically dad ripped up a clutch of grass from the earth.

Of course he was unaware once again, that less than two feet below the exact point where he was sitting was the largest undiscovered hoard of Celtic gold which had lain in a leather bag under a flat block of limestone, buried there on the morning of that fateful raid which the analysts had recorded.

There were fourteen monks in the monastery and that summer’s morning as the sun broke on a calm ocean they had seen and heard Tomar’s single ship with thirty warriors hugging the shore. It was apparent to all that he would have to beach his long ship at the first beaching point two miles further along the coast. Mass was said and the abbot an old man of forty called Dualta, issued instructions for an evacuation. He alone would stay to face the northmen. He dismissed the monks with a solemn blessing. Some wanted to fight and others wanted to die the martyr’s death. Most were happy to run off and scaled the heights of the hill unaware that Tomar had divided his squadron and that a further thirty berserkers were moving in their direction as they ran. One young monk Fionan stayed alongside the old abbot. He had suggested poisoning the mead which the Vikings would naturally make for and of which there was a copious supply. But the old abbot would not condone murder so he laced the honey mead with a heavy laxative which caused the two men to chuckle. Fionan then carefully dug a hole away from the huts to conceal the monastery treasures; two finely wrought chalices and an equal number of patens, a bell and a jewel encrusted crucifix. So as not to know where they were hidden the old man retired to the first beehive cell where he knelt in prayer to speak with the god he would soon meet. Fionan carefully replaced the sod so that the earth would bear no marks of disturbance, the Vikings would know of no buried treasure. He released the sheep from their pens to scramble into the hills and hearing the hoots of butchery as the fleeing monks met the Vikings coming from the north, he hurried to the west assuming correctly as it happened – that the Viking raiders would not seek him there where the land tapered dangerously into the sea. Many years later as a half-starved crippled old beggar, disillusioned and dying without faith he told his tale to the annalist who gave it three lines in his embellished vellum book.

Are the annals very big? asked Luke. Imagining a dusty leather bound doorstep of a book with magic between its covers.

Tragically short replied dad once again puncturing the silent atmosphere of wonder. Two or three lines. Just the date, Tomar, the monastery was sacked and not much else.

Luke shook his head and he showed annoyance in a facial scrunch that might end up giving him worry lines before his time. Only a couple of lines in what was such a big event in those people’s lives. Deserved a lot more.

Dad agreed but suggested that recording history was for much of human existence an expensive luxury. Too busy just trying to get by. It was a hard slog just putting food on the table. And he popped the last ham sandwich into his mouth.

They all then fell to finishing the delicious rolls that mam had rustled up and so conversation surrendered briefly as mouths were used for other purposes. The descendants of the sheep who had once filled the bellies of the dead monks and Vikings without discrimination looked on, casually chewing clumps of fresh grass. While the bees whose ancestors once furnished the world with honey and mead and the accompanying stings sang their summer symphony in the wild flower meadow. Dad who always wolfed down his food finished first and so broke the silence.

Well boys imagine it’s the summer of the year 925 A.D. and you hear an alien sound on the sea and you look out and behold a great Viking long ship with a dragon’s head at the front and a blood red sail slapping in the wind and thirty bearded warriors, their arms and shoulders rippling with muscle singing a rough song to their war god and the prow of their boat ploughing intently a road of white froth through the calm sea. You have an hour before they get here. What do you do?

Mum lay back and watched the marriage of two clouds in the sky overhead and let her mind drift to things other than the early middle ages slaughter. The boys on the other hand were thinking of the very few permutations available to them in this tricky situation. Mikey, who was a prodigious poker player, was thinking in terms of bluff. Cardboard soldiers on the hillside like the three beehive cells would make the Vikings think twice about trying their luck. Johnny who had been exposed from early on to the thuggish fists of his older brothers was a hardened warrior for whom life was a series of (mostly lost) brawls. He was all for meeting the invaders on the beach as they got off their ships. If there was going to be a fight than there was no point in waiting for it to come to you. And he could see himself smashing them to pieces like one of the movie heroes who wins against the odds.

I’d take out Tomar dad said Paddy who nearly always saw conflict in terms of sport. You know like in rugby match you whack their hard man and it weakens the other teams psychologically. Yeah I think if you got to Tomar early they might lose their stomach for the fight.

Interesting approach Paddy. I don’t know if Tomar would be would be so obliging. Would you be brave enough to go looking for him?

Ah sure you’re probably going to die anyway. Both son and father, player and coach smiled. Most games they knew were won before the first kick. Luke was pursing his lips, shaking his head unconsciously yet intently. This was bad, very bad. He was thinking, he was processing the data, the landscape, slope , distances, numbers, weaponry, skill in battle and eventually came to the conclusion that the monks hadn't a chance and had only themselves to blame.

What do you think Luke? invited dad. Hopeless he blurted in a hopeless voice you might as well jump off the cliff over there. They were amateurs when it came to defence. No wonder the place was sacked so often and then abandoned. For smart men they were right fools.

Maybe defence wasn’t a priority fellah.

I think I’d have been a Viking replied Luke. Dad laughed.

Here my warrior lord said mam handing her husband a steaming hot cup of coffee. The clouds decided that the sun had hogged the heavenly stage too much and started drifting across his face reducing the temperature instantly by a couple of degrees. Dad wrapped the coffee with both hands feeling its warmth on his ageing fingers on whose rough knuckles were written the chapters of fights which he had won and lost.

Do you know what I’d like? he said slowly, deliberately aware that unanswered questions evoke the curiosity of all humans. All that is except his sons who showed no interest in what their father would like. Slightly crestfallen, but stubbornly determined he continued.

I’d like to get a hoist and suspend myself over that beehive hut he waited for the inevitable inquiry which inevitably didn’t come.

Would anyone like to know why I’d like to be suspended over the hut? He paused. There was silence. Luke and Paddy were enjoying themselves ignoring their father’s clear need for attention, but Paddy couldn’t hold in the laughter and it burst from him in a big guffaw which frightened the curios sheep on the hillside. Luke followed his brother and the two rolled on the grass laughing together.

Mam I think these two were switched at birth. We have nothing in common genetically complained dad.

Hooray the gods show kindness at last replied the two older boys as their laughter started to subside.

Ok father said Paddy still giggling I’m sorry, please tell us why you’d like to be suspended over the hut like an eejit. More belly aching laughter.

Dad waited until the comedy subsided. Well you see that capstone sticking up. I’d say the last thing to touch that was the hand of the monkish builder. So imagine I could touch the D.N.A. of that builder resting undisturbed for a thousand years he wrapped his hand around the mug and drank. You'd be touching history lads. And then as if to emphasise the profound nature of the point he slowly repeated touching history. Paddy stroked his beardless chin and rolled his eyes skyward.

The old abbot also wrapped his hands around the wooden chalice and drank what his faith told him was the blood of his god. His eyes were closed but he could hear the raiders around him and he could smell the sweat of one no more than a metre in front of him. He cared not to open his eyes to look upon his murderer so he kept them closed in prayer. But he heard the swoosh of the battle axe through the air mingle with the breaking waves below him to the west where the world tumbled to oblivion. The sea birds scratched the air above his head wondering if the Viking raid might provide them with some cheap pickings, and the angry bees whose hives had been turned over mingled their buzz with the curses and unholy vows snorted in a foreign tongue. A good time to die and the battle axe did its work.

The raid had yielded little for Tomar but he was content to butcher older monks, enslave the younger ones, roast a few sheep and drink heavily of the monks’ mead. In a feat of athleticism amid the burning barns and sties the drunken chief leapt onto the top of the beehive hut to the applause of his brothers in arms. He drained the phlegm from deep inside his lungs and spat heavily onto the capstone. He then took another deep draught of mead but quickly started to feel his bowels loosen. Fionan’s laxative had worked its magic and a river of liquid diarrhoea poured out of the great man onto the capstone of the hut.

Yes said dad still imagining the builder proudly patting the last stone in place. Just imagine what you’d be touching.

Luke and Paddy gave one more of those juvenile sarcastic hmms while stroking their chins and then chuckled some more.

Chapter 2

Luke’s Story

Luke was not just a self-important teenager. He was also bored. There is a time in the affairs of all teenagers when they outgrow the family. Summer holidays with his dysfunctional parents and brothers, punctuated by meaningless excursions, bad weather, trips to the same old same old places which hadn’t been interesting the first time, and so many rows didn’t do it for him anymore. He wondered how he ever found the family holiday anything but the equivalent of a two week relationship with a polite ugly girl. You hate it but you don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings so you let it linger.

He had been saving the big chip with its sharp carbonised point till last. Still thinking about a polite but ugly girl he had managed to escape from, he lost himself in a day dream prodding and pushing the beast of a chip around the now empty plate, imagining it to be a savage Minotaur that had to be controlled and manipulated at a safe distance. The chip seemed to snarl at each contact with the metal fork which Luke was starting to use as gladiators of old used Neptune’s trident. He then considered the option which a large net would provide. A well timed and precisely targeted cast and the manic, growling chip would be reduced to impotence. However miss and the crazed bloodthirsty creature would grow in confidence and now be able to focus single mindedly on the trident. Luke swished the chip across the plate and with one rapid swoop stabbed it while still in motion piercing its crisp hide and feeling the softer mushy flesh beneath its armoured coat. He twirled the fork while the chip still writhed and wriggled, then satisfied that the combat was at an end he popped it into his mouth. Thanks mam and dad that was delicious he lied.

The ‘treat’ of fish and chips in a restaurant overlooking the crashing Atlantic as his dad had promised had turned into a disaster. His younger brothers both wanted to sit facing the sea but Paddy the older of the three had craftily occupied one of the two seats with the necessary view and had steadfastly refused to budge. Dad was about to declare war and give the long winded, over used account beginning with the hated words when I was your age and ending fifteen minutes later with a sulky so a bit of gratitude would be appreciated, thank you. Mam knew that if dad got to make this speech all would be lost, so she went into United Nations mode digging deep into her deep wells of tolerance and patience. How about we share? she smiled wearing her imaginary blue helmet. Mikey you can sit there for ten minutes then Johnny you can sit there for ten minutes.

And what about Paddy? they both complained in chorus.

Ah ah said Paddy teasing most unhelpfully possession is nine tenths of the law he said recalling what his dad had said in a conversation only yesterday.

Isn’t that right dad? he added smugly. Mam looked at dad and then all eyes turned to him. Dad was about to explode but a grumpy waitress had arrived and everyone had to put on their happy family faces.

Of course Johnny and Mikey didn’t like anything on the menu except the cheese burger which was predictably off the menu because they had remarkably run out of baps for the burgers. Eventually they grudgingly settled for fish and chips which dad promised would be exquisite. Chapter two of the disaster struck when the waitress brought out four glasses of lemonade. Mikey had only taken his first sip when he replaced the glass on the table accidently knocking it over and creating a Noah like flood everywhere. Dad didn’t need to go to the bathroom but was sent there by mam. Mikey began to cry while the others hugged their lemonade tightly in case they were asked to share.

Chapter three began when dad tempted fate by heartily observing how hungry he was. I’m starving. I’m really looking forward to a big plate of fish and chips. Cod straight from the ocean. The cod in fact came from a box in the freezer. The plate was big but the fish was a skeletal dwarf from a famine stricken part of the ocean, accompanied by a countable number of chips who had failed P.E. at chip school, the empty space on the plate filled by sagging pieces of lettuce who were in need of therapy for depressed lettuces. The silent disappointment was loud.

At this stage the disaster was upgraded to a catastrophe, in the long wait for food Mikey had unscrewed the top of the salt seller. Johnny now picked it up and emptied a small mole hill of salt which as it was Johnny quickly became a mountain, all over his dinner. He instantly burst out crying, while Mikey equally instantly burst out laughing. In his defence Mikey told mam who was trying to rescue Johnny’s unrescuable dinner that dad had told them how he had done something similar to his friends when he was a kid. Mam turned with fire in her eyes towards dad who red faced and silent covered his eyes and went to eating.

Johnny’s dinner, like the promised treat was beyond hope trapped, in the ninth circle of hell reserved for hopeless causes. The ship was sinking and dad was frantically trying to salvage some of the floating wreckage of their excursion. His eyes lighted on the ice cream menu which pictured all sorts of attractive desserts at inflated prices that would have been a rip off in down town Paris. He was dangling these in front of Johnny and Mikey as a weary parent dangles a rattle in front of a screaming child who looks like they’ve got another couple of hours of high octane crying left in the tank and has every intention of using it. The boys naturally weren’t impressed by the idea of the banana split can I have it without the banana?

Mam took the desert card and gathered the chicks together to explain and entice in her primary school teacher voice. Dad seized the moment. Here, he said to Luke and Paddy handing them a five euro note each. Stay together. You know where the car is. We’ll see you back there in thirty minutes. Remember stay together. Luke and Paddy were glad to escape but their siblings saw what was happening and Paddy couldn’t resist letting them see the five euro note as he needlessly changed it from one pocket to the other. As Luke reached the door of the restaurant he could hear his father saying when I was your age…… the ship had finally sunk.

The general warmth of the late afternoon sun felt good on his face and the cocktail of wave sound and salty fragrance from the sea was refreshing to his senses. He briefly felt like a man unfairly condemned who had escaped and was scouring the breeze of freedom and sanity.

What will we do with our unimaginable riches, Luke? inquired Paddy who was two years younger than Luke. They had shared many pages from the book of life, not always harmoniously but in time this would be the glue that would cement their relationship.

What are the options?

Main St. man for two reasons.

Which are?

One, it’s the only place with shops.

Luke nodded, the reason was sound. And the second? he enquired

There’s a sport store there.

Not so sound thought Luke but the first reason was good enough. They walked along the marina towards the main street past the pleasure craft bobbing on the oily waters. On the far side a large commercial trawler was unloading boxes of frozen fish into waiting trucks whose doors smoked with icy vapours while seagulls cackled like aggressive beggars their hungry bellies aggravated by the bloody smells and sights in tantalising abundance before them. The fishermen themselves scurried about like the gulls, and like the gulls they spoke a language which Luke could not comprehend. It made him think of the wider, rougher world from which these strangers had come. Had they wives and children waiting for them in some backward country where the very fabric of nature and life was different to this relaxed and sun dappled marina. He took in the people drinking ice cold drinks in designer clothes. Here was a country of law and order, of fresh running water and electricity where the stuff of life was so plentiful and white toothed ladies had big decisions to make about whether to wear their designer sunglasses around their neck or use them to push up their freshly laundered hair.

Luke had reached the age where life, his own and that of the planet he was trying make sense of, was no longer simple. It was all so very complex at times throwing up big thoughts that hurt his brain.

They had come to the sports store a small colourful cave of overpriced clothes and foot wear. A pyramid of precariously balanced footballs was the only evidence of sports otherwise it was really a clothes shop. Paddy was immediately drawn towards a pair of Nike football boots whose tag screamed out half price in psychedelic colours which reminded Luke of the lures used to catch fish. These metal baits swam like quicksilver in the ocean, their magic twists too powerfully irresistible for the beguiled fish. He thought of the dead fish frozen in boxes at the marina who should have resisted the charms of the fishermen. Luke had some sense that these shoes had been made by someone younger than Paddy in a Vietnamese sweat shop being paid a bowl of rice a day. Some poor half educated kid who would be dead before he was thirty from exhaustion and environmental poisoning, coughing up his guts in a twenty first century workhouse, then dumped without a prayer in an unmarked pauper’s grave and sheeted in lime to accelerate the process of decay. The price had been slashed from 215€ to 104€ and was a must buy! Luke shook his head in disgust.

Can I help you? Said a smiling young and very attractive shop assistant who was folding some clothes that a previous customer had left in a disorganised heap.

"Actually Yes. I’m having a really crap day. My younger brothers have spent a large chunk of it fighting, my parents are at the end of their shelf life and my other brother is going to spend twenty minutes in here trying