u
My wife and child.
I just remembered them, was just remembering them.
I had not thought of them since Bray. Since I had been in that room.
The bus.
Yes.
The bus ride back home.
We were moving.
Back to Galway.
Back to Connemara.
To the waters and the wild. The pine and the fern. Green and yellows land of gold, and mountains made of dust that looked like bread.
Huge mountains. Engraved by centuries of wind. The footfalls of thousands.
The bus.
Yes.
The bus ride back to Galway.
We drove slowly through the towns, Eamon and I.
I asked him his last name.
—Moran, he said.
Wanker.
I heard music.
—Where is that music coming from?
He pointed.
I saw horses running through fields. They are free, I thought.
They were not.
All human misery was in my grasp, attached to me like a strangling umbilical cord.
I ignored it.
My wife and child.
Did they exist?
Had Mr. Licky lied to me? To throw me off the scent. What scent? Who was I going to see?
I had no idea.
Horses.
So many horses.
Hooves and muck.
Galloping music.
On.
We were driving on.
Through villages and through fields. It was all remarkable. As if I had never seen it before.
Maybe I hadn’t.
Moran said nothing. He no longer smoked. Maybe he knew I was going to kill him.
I did.
The only thing I didn’t know was how. And how long it would take Mr. Licky and his band of rapists to capture me.
They would try and take me back and torture me.
But they would not take me back there. To that room. With all its cracks and whiteness. They would not tie me to that bed again. Or break my legs so that I couldn’t walk. My limp was testament to their cruelty. They had made me. I would break me.
Thoughts and desires.
They are different things.
It is actions that we have to be on our guard against.
—Where are we?
—Ballinasloe.
—Ballinasloe, I exclaimed. Home of the damned!
