Strength

Uls stood silent. His cigarette burned and grey smoke twisted in the air, and as time ticked away he remembered to take a puff. He felt unsure, wondering what he did here. It was days after the last time he had thought about himself like this. There was a threat here, a lingering death, violent and sudden. For a brief moment he entertained the thought that it came from within him. And that was not an unreal possibility: had he not ever taken a life? He could not remember and yet Uls was somehow sure of his power to kill. Yes. Bringing Death unwanted. Taking a life. It would take real willpower. Strength, yes. He felt a hidden strength deep inside him. And it wouldn’t necessary bring Death ― it was possible of course ― but not really necessary. Strength. Had it always been there? Or grew it slowly into place like maggots in dark warm corners on thrown away food?

Radio played mono far away. Did he hear a horn blowing? Uls listened. A strong classical tune directed the wind, whipped it up and brought it down slowly with deep cellos and a high playful violin. Uls thought he could recognise Barbers “Adagio for Strings” but it was gone in the changing wind before he could catch its tune. Again Uls remembered his cigarette, looked at it and threw it away. It drew an odd look from an elder couple sitting on a bench some metres away. Uls looked back but felt none of the menace that his eyes registered. Slowly he turned around and went for a quiet walk over the dike. It was a nice day for it.

Underneath the dike the sea cobbled softly. A quiet breeze guided seagulls over the silent waters of Howth. The tourists hadn’t found this heaven yet at this time of the year. Only a few people ambled around, slowly and unsure, sometimes stopping to rummage in a travel bag, making pictures and trying out their sunglasses. Uls sent pebbles flying over the water as he gave them a hard toss. Giant clouds drifted overhead, their shadows rolling over the land. Beams of bright sunlight shone here and there through the clouds. Although it was Saturday, it gave the day a more religious touch. The serenity of it all brought peace into some hearts. Uls felt the whole scene looked too grey; he desperately needed some lush green. With a grimace he sent another pebble flying.

‘Zir, would yer stop doing tha’ please yeah? Thank yer.’ A plum lady asked Uls in an accent he couldn’t place. She was seated on a bench a few meters past him and she had that fat appearance that somehow reminded Uls of a proud pig. Taking his time to take a closer look, he decided it was because of the stout voluminous nose. First of all it gave her a nasal tone of voice. And secondly it stood out defiantly, matching the obstinate look she was giving him now, somehow measuring and still confident. Like a wild swine ready to charge, challenging him. What did that stupid cow want? He turned aside and threw another pebble across the water.

    ‘Oi! I jest asked ya if yer could fucking stop doing that!’ she shouted loud enough for a few people on the dike to get startled and give them both the odd stare. It was turning out to be that kind of day. Uls didn’t react, only wondered about that peculiar accent. He whirled around with his finger up and ready to ask her, but as he did she turned her head aside and muttered something that Uls made out as: ‘…Rat-arsed cunt’. He thought better of it and started a steady pace along the waterline where he sent another pebble sailing over the clear water and slowly recollected his thoughts on his inner strength. Death. He made up his mind. The day was too nice to mow over terrible thoughts and Uls started a gentle sprint. In weather like today’s a fit man could run for hours, which was what he needed to do to get back to Dublin and find out who the strange geezer was who had left him here after a grand night of going on the piss. Or perhaps he had been wandering off alone again into oblivion; in any case it didn’t really matter how he got here. Uls took a deep breath as he picked up his pace. Perhaps he would pass a pub along the way and go for a pint. Smiling to himself, he noted that in any path of life, there is a passage through darkness. And perhaps he was now finally coming out of it. He grinned as he found his walkman in his pocket and pushed play and heavy industrial beats ushered Front 242 in his ears.