sixwordstories | (no subject)

What crops did y'farm?

Wheat.

I remember wheat standing near to a man’s waist. You could walk through the fields, brushing your hand over the tops. Come harvest the grain needed to be felled by hand, there’d be beaten chaff in the palm of your hand and you couldn’t help but be remorse over the loss of the wheat standing in fields. The turn of the season you’d forget the grief when the fields are returned, allowing you and your lover to once again lay in the waist high wheat making love under the stars.

M'family owns this mass o' land about sixteen kilometers or so outside o' Dublin. The grass in the fields grows fairly tall. When I was a lad I used t'run out there when I wanted t'disappear. I'd lie back an' stare at the sky, day dreamin' o' bein' somewhere else. Sounds much the same in look an' feel if not agriculturally.

I worked in Dublin for a while and I know what you mean.

I used to run with them boy-o’s in the docks, from sun up to sun down during the week. Come Friday night you’d find us in a pub taking the piss out of each other. There be all fun and games till you mentioned your faith---the Christians hate the Protestants. The Protestants hate the Christians. And every man will beat up an Atheist. The lass’s working there would tell us to get on home before they took to us right royally for messing up their pub. Or a boy’s missus would come around and drag him home. It’s all different now; the docks have changed to make way for new affordable housing.

When you were dreaming, where did you want to be?

And you were unable to do so?

"I hear that." Now there's a grim smile.

[Give him a moment for the surprise to fade. It's so rare that he meets someone who's even been to Dublin, much less run about with people from there.]

Och, aye. M'a very poor excuse for an Irish Catholic much to the chagrin o' m'family. An' they've built Dublin up so much. The city keeps tryin' t'buy my land from me but... what can I say? M'a bit of a masochist an' the memories there're somethin' I'll not let go of yet.

Mmm... I used t'want t'travel. I read quite a bit when I was younger. I'd want t'be anywhere m'father was'nae. Away from him an' somewhere else entirely. Australia, China or... France. I made it t'Paris for awhile, studied there.

Faire arrive vous parler du français, John Porter?

A man believes in what he wishes to believe. I sit in no judgement for where he wishes his…heart and soul to be. That said, it may do you some good to return home, at least once. Do you see much of your family?

If we are speaking of Europe, [he switches effortlessly to speaking in French to Noah],

I’d have thought you would prefer Italy over France. Simply due to the Italians being more masters of Chiaroscuro, such as you do in your own drawings. Aside from Degas's pastels and, perhaps Manet, you’d find very little inspiration with the French Impressionists liking for the sun, only.

As for myself, I have a soft place for the Italians and Rome...when in Europe.

Edited 2012-08-14 22:03 (UTC)

I did, briefly. That, however, was once upon a time.

We all have our past.

They're all gone. Everyone's gone. I return home occasionally though. Walk the halls an' ride the horses through the fields. Drop by a pub for a pint or ten.

Well it was an open-ended scholarship, y'see. M'father d'nae support the career path I was followin' an' he would'nae pay. His brother, m'uncle lived in Paris an' convinced him it would be good for me an' that he'd keep an eye on me were I t'go there. M'life has always been very... very much dictated for me, controlled. M'given a direction an' I follow it... mostly.

[Here, he switches back into French.] Although your knowledge of the great artists of Italia is impressive. I've never been anywhere but Dublin, New York and Paris... which is more than some can say, I suppose.

We all have our losses, Noah.
Seems you and I have a similar fondness for some things. I can ride as well as keep up to your drinking. When it comes to being dictated to, I, unfortunately, or fortunately for you have very little desire to be controlled. I may follow---but like a goodfella of the Italian mafia--- You may find I will follow when I want things to be in the best interest for you only if I believe they can be good for me too.

[This time he keeps to speaking in English only.] The joys of discovering libraries are free to all. New York, alone, would make up for the lack of travel. It is turning out to be quite the city for me.

Y've no family left as well?

Certain y'could keep up with m'drinkin', John? Y'should ken I'm quite the professional when it comes to whiskey or ale. Been called a functionin' alcoholic on many occasion. I'd be willin' t'bet I could drink ye under the table, so t'speak. [His tone says he's both amused and uncertain that he's speaking the truth at the idea. Noah usually starts drinking the moment he gets up and doesn't stop until he goes to bed. But it's in small increments just to keep him the best kind of buzzed, not all at once.] But if'n ye ever made it t'Ireland an' my home, I'd be more'n happy t'go ridin' with ye.

There're times when I'm a bit lost without someone tellin' me what t'do. Not that I c'nae function, just... m'a bit slower than most. Slow's very different from stupidity though. Took me awhile t'realize that.

I like New York. S'easy t'get lost among the masses an' only pop out t'be noticed when absolutely necessary. M'family is very well-known in Ireland. Or it was. Constantly under a microscope.

[The question of family is neatly avoided when John gives Noah a playful slap up the side of the head.]

Get away with you. You’ve a head start, still doesn’t mean this ol’ tortoise can’t win the occasional race. Though there will have to be a few distractions to make you forget what exactly you were doing to being with, to slow you up to my speed. Riding...might be a good distraction.

So you have a bit of spine about you. I can’t abide a person who needs the constant hand of another for anchorage. Such things are tiresome …in bed and out. Well now, it may look like I shall mind my ‘p’s and q’s’ around such a microscope.

You make it sound like a fairytale.

[He laughs at the knock to his head and shakes his head.]

Nothin' can distract an Irishman from his brew, lovely. Not even the handsomest o' men on top o' the most powerful steed.

Well now that m'father's dead nary a one can still be concerned with me, his son. Y're safe from scrutiny, surely. S'just the reason I've stuck t'the City here for a long while. I've not always been so invisible.

There’s a challenge I could rise to. Or I should quit while I’m ahead, otherwise this entire conversation is going to go the way of some terrible innuendoes.

Lose yourself in a crowd is a safe way to hide, sometimes.

Do I? It could be a fairytale or a sweet dream.

A sweet dream would probably be kinder.

Och, we'll steer clear o' such challenges then for fear of all the cliches an' innuendos.

For me it's worked fairly well. So I ken y've been t'Ireland an' Rome. Where else have ye traveled to?

Easy enough done.

New York City. There may be enough here to keep me for while longer.

Are dreams and fairytales any different to each other?

Usually move about a lot do ye?

You're asking a lot of questions.

Sorry. Thought I might learn more of ye. S'that not allowed?

Haven’t you learnt enough? You have learnt of a man who can speak to you about art and drinking. He has a liking for sweet dessert when he seeks comfort. He smokes too much that you have learnt too. He dreams of the past more than he should when he talks about farming. He, according to you, kisses you well enough for a man who has not kissed another man in a while. And, even kisses well enough with a heart which is healing. He has nothing to give to you and by now it should be obvious he is a drifter. You have learnt his name is John Porter.

You have learnt more than most. Why should more be allowed?

Because I thought... I thought we were takin' this slow. Learnin' each other.

We are taking your want to screw me, slow...no correction, for me to screw yo---

[Pausing John, looks away from Noah taking a moment to bring the edge off the conversation.]

I'm sorry. There's not much to learn, that's all.

Edited 2012-08-15 23:44 (UTC)

[Noah stares, sighs out his exasperation and shakes his head, looking away from John as well and grabbing his coat and scarf.]

Alright. Think I'll be goin' for a drink. Give ye some space.

As you wish.