Call Me the Breeze by Patrick McCabe

Author:Patrick McCabe [McCabe, Patrick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-06-203019-1
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2003-08-17T04:00:00+00:00

Approximately two miles away, in a mobile home on the edge of a former itinerant settlement, there is a certain person who is not at this point exhibiting any sign of wishing to engage in these noble and uplifting community affairs. No, Joey ‘Mohawk’ Tallon is not at this point ‘up the town’ involving himself in any of the preparations nor offering his services in order that things might proceed like clockwork and present the town at large in a good and favourable light to the greater world outside. Act as an example to them in a certain sense. Not that he isn’t pleased for them. He is. Absolutely delighted, in fact, that things are going according to plan. It suits his purpose perfectly. It’s just that, for the life of him, he cannot sit still. Look at him pacing up and down! A pie! he thinks. Then: No pies! A glass of sweat! No! No fucking sweat!

Poor Joey is tired and can’t think straight. Not surprising, really. For once more he has been awake since early dawn and his mind is a wall of death, with thousands of thoughts careering around it on high-speed racers. How many times does he have to drive to that mountain before he can say to himself: ‘Look, the fucking place is ready! It’s OK!’ and just forget about it?

He sits down to relax. Opens a book. Closes it again. Presses his forefingers against his temples. In days, he thinks, it will all be over. He is happy about that. So happy, in fact, he would like to celebrate it with a spliff. But that, he is not going to do. He is not going to do that because it belongs to a time that was. A time before ‘The Plan’. A time before ‘Total Organization’.

A time before they set off for home, to that Karma Cave of dreams. Of course, he reflects, it will be like what he longed for all those years ago with Mona, a garden where you could surrender your all. Where dwelt all the ones you’d ever known — Bennett, The Seeker, the salesman. Your own father, Jamesy Tallon.

Except that, with Jacy, it would be even more special than that. The ‘onions’ of their personalities methodically stripped, layer by layer just peeling away to reveal within the shimmering, unblemished light of one another’s souls. The very essence of each of those souls.

Before donning his aviator shades, he stared at his reflection in their tinted glass. He looked fine. It was all worked out. He had it all worked out. There was nothing to worry about now. He had been over it fifty times. He knew Jacy was working as a steward at the rally. That had been established. He had watched them practise again and again. He felt proud of her that she had agreed to give her services to the community in this way. When she could, just as easily, with all her knowledge and experience, have poured scorn upon it.

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