Rip

"You, on the other hand" said the elephant "are rightly fucked," unless of course you did the deal on suffering",
"Did you suffer?" asked the panther in a patronising voice, shifting lazily on the chair. "I dunno," I said, " I think I did enough, I tried much harder in the early years and then I think I forgot because so much went wrong, it was more survival than suffering"

"That's a good one" said the blonde haired woman in the corner, "survival of the fittest, grade A bullshit". She drew a puff from a cigarette and crossed her legs anxiously, a pale grey raincoat covering pale grey skirt and top. Her hair could have once been shiny but was dank and brassy now, unkempt and cut short in random chunks. She was systematically strangling a handkerchief with her fingers, twisting and untwisting, her crossed leg jigging nervously.

Looking at my own attire, I wasn't sure what the dress code was for this kind of thing, Sunday best or casual smart. I didn't give it much thought this morning when I left for work, polo shirt and bog standard chinos for the West of Ireland summer. The sandals being a kick back to the 70's, the class I taught had me nicknamed Jesus. How ironic.

Near the door I saw the nervous darting eyes of the sallow tinted business-man. Well cut suit and crisp white tie, the only clue to imperfection being the smoked stained fingers of his left hand. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and jumped nervously every time the hatch shot up and a stranger shouted "next".

It reminded me of a Chinese takeaway where the hatch bangs open and the food appears through a mist of steam and voices. You know there's someone in there but all you see is white steam before it shuts abruptly. The room was small and dull, felt like a temporary prefab with no windows. I wondered where the light was coming from, harsh and glaring it showed up all the dustmites and the grease spots, and although there didn't seem to be a ticket system, I knew it was the elephant, the nervous woman, the panther and then me, in that order.

"Next" the hatch shot open and the keeper barked, and the elephant rose and sauntered towards the exit. I tried hard not to laugh at the tiny Raybans on his forehead, dead giveaway. "Toodle pip" he chirped as he made his way out the door and down the hall. Funny how I always thought elephants were huge, and yet I was the same size, in fact, we all were.

Feeling anxious now I tried to replay the last 41 years and reckon up the suffering. The early indicators were all over the house to help me out. Side by side his and hers in gold enamel, open shirted bleeding organs. A semi naked carpenter with crown of thorns stared down at an anxious 5 year old and willed me to be guilty. It was all my fault. Their fault, in fact, the whole damn population was responsible. Except or course, the Arabs. They didn't concern themselves with the carpenter so they didn't count. And the heathen Africans just didn't know the gig so it wasn't really their fault either. Nope it was all our fault, and more important, mine.

Down the hall I heard a door open and the elephant singsonged "no worries, I'm sure I'll find it" and the hatch cracked open "next!" The business-man jumped and got physically sick onto the carpet, Jack Daniels, Rothman cigarettes and cold pork dinners all in one dissolving pool around his feet. He straightened up and took a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the corners of his mouth, careful not to meet the eyes of the nervous woman who was walking slowly with her head down to reach the door. "Good luck" I tapped her gently on the shoulder to which she stopped and turning full square facing me replied "luck has fuck all to do with it asshole!". Shocked I turned my head away and heard the door slam as the panther sniggered softly.

"How do you think the elephant did?" I asked him, partly to make conversation and partly to get a handle on how the day was going so far. "Shoe in" he replied and stretching lazily turned to take up 3 chairs lying on his back. "I hate this waiting game, don't you?"

"Well, in this case no" I said " I'm trying to think of everything that might make a difference."

"Tedious" he replied to no one in particular and dismissed me with a flick of a jet sheened tail.

A long screeching wail pierced the air and my heart sank because I knew it was the nervous woman. The hatch shot up and the sallow faced shufflers eyes were wide with fear and once again he threw up, this time foaming dots of opiates and Paracetemol. He cringed and tried to move away from the pool of pungent mess around his feet without drawing attention to himself. I looked away tactfully.

The panther jumped down nimbly and began to gather up his bits and pieces, gracefully in no great hurry. "Wait" I said the panic rising, "what can I do, it's my turn next?" He sighed and slowly raised his eyes to meet mine in a level gaze and then he told me. It wasn't really our fault in particular, just a bit of bad luck with the gene distribution. It was the original sin business that wrecked our chances. Somewhere along the line our lot decided we were born with it and wasted the duration of the earth walk trying to get rid of it, in the process often commiting more sin that we started out with. Suffer little children was a myth, but many did and in great numbers. No guarentee though, luck of the draw on the day really.

And all this time we thought that we were smarter. Had the largest proportion of grey matter. The dolphins apparently have been trying to fill us in for years. That said there is a logbook for attendance at a fair amount of rituals for humiliation, if your name is down for any of those it might help. My mind went hurling back through 40 years desperatly trying to rack up prilgrimiges or some such on a blank and barren landscape. "Shit" I thought, " there must be something". The panther moved to the open door and fixed me with a knowing smile "I'd love to chat but don't want to keep the old man waiting" he said as he slipped around the door and padded softly down the flood lit hall, confidently humming to himself.

Jumping to my feet I called to him in panic, "Wait, how come you're so sure you'll get a yes?" With a low, exasperated sigh he stopped and turned his head towards me. "Eazy Peezy mate, started out with no sin, just a little bitty ole black cub. Occupation panther. Did that. Got killed by Ed the elephant you met earlier in a misunderstanding over territory. Natural law, no crime no time. Cheerio!".

He nosed the door open and padded in and I was left alone in the empty hall. I felt the blood stain on my back still damp and begin to smell that sickly smell that mixed with mud and diesel. I wondered if the driver of the car was here, couldn't see him, maybe he got lucky. Not much contest between 10 speed lightweight racer and a Ford Mondeo on a straight road with black ice in the middle of May. Didn't know what hit me really, slam dunk, call the relatives.

My heart sank as I heard the door open and the barker's "next" in one movement, the panther slinking down the hall and round the turn without a glance in my direction. For no reason other than habit, I tucked my shirt in and dug my hands deep in the pockets of my trousers, and shoulders hunched against the glaring light took measured steps towards the office. I knocked softly and pushed the door. The steam was overwhelming here, and I felt my nostrils burn when I inhaled. "Hello Danny" said a voice familiar and polite "what's the story?" When the steam cleared I made out the figure of a male, about my height and weight standing by a window. "Come in and have a look down here" He gestured to the window and I crossed the room and tried to stand beside him but he seemed to move so the distance between us stayed the same. Peering closer I saw he wore a shirt and chinos and I felt the blood drain from my temples when I looked down towards his feet. Jesus sandals. Looking up into my own reflection I heard him say " Danny Gallagher , this is your life".
©

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Biography

Anne MacDonald has been published in Hot Press, Women's Work, Women's Work 2, Women's News and has won the Ballina Litrature Prize for poetry and the Skerries Poetry Competition.