“Rough break-up?” said a muscular college kid in a University of Miami t-shirt.
“Fuck you,” said Archer disdainfully.
“Shit like that gets your ass kicked,” said the kid, stepping within striking distance.
Archer felt a swoosh of air as Alvin’s well-aimed fist passed over his shoulder square into the face of the shitty American marauder. The kid’s nose exploded like a blood-filled water balloon. His body sat down hard on the tiled floor, followed quickly by his torso and the back of his head, which was saved from shattering by a size-fifteen sneakered foot.
Archer, still staring at the wreckage of the kid’s face, wasn’t surprised to feel a bear’s grip on his neck guiding him roughly to the exit. Alvin’s big body hurled along at Archer’s elbow at the whim of the monster bouncer who treated them with the skill of an accomplished cattle hand. Archer wasn’t as impressed with his body’s flight into the gutter, but as Alvin’s laughter echoed up the alley walls he couldn’t help but join in, his wounded ribs infusing their jolliness with intermittent whimpers and gasps.
“That was brilliant,” said Archer, getting to his hands and knees. “I’ve never seen anyone go down so hard.”
“Sure he had it coming to him. He deserved it,” said Alvin, shakily getting to his feet and pulling Archer after him. “Let’s find another pub. There’s a damn sight more than one in Dublin, and with the shite has been troubling me these weeks, it’s going to take a load of booze afore I’ll be able to get any sleep.”
The Fat Crow was as good as any place to get away from the tourists; it was known for a dark brew so thick, Alvin claimed “you could stand it up from a glass and it wouldn’t crumble and you blinking and blinking.”
Halfway into their first Fat Crow pint, Alvin took a breath so deep, he took thirty seconds to exhale. “You said your twin brother’s an Indian?”
“Yes.” Archer could tell he was supposed to listen, only listen.
“I’ve had the black demons.” Alvin swirled his tongue on the inside of his cheeks. “And I can’t explain why. At first, I thought it was grief over my girl, but it’s a year since I saw her and I manage that pain as well as I manage my weight. With the fair measure of a blind person.” He chuckled with Archer, pointing vigorously at his impressive stomach. “Don’t say it’s touched I am when I tell you this. You swear?” Alvin looked genuinely concerned that Archer might reject him.
Archer nodded.
“It’s two weeks now I’m having dreams about your Indians.”
Archer recalled what Alvin had said at the last pub: the Indians were murdering him. The comment sent chills down his spine.
“Sure it’s bad enough to be hatcheted to death every bleeding night in your sleep, but the depression that comes with does be even worse. I used to be happy as Larry. They’ve got me thinking I’m off my head. I can’t sleep. I can’t feel. My love for my Tatiana is changing, slipping from my fingers like it never was, and she all I ever had.”
A short, golden-skinned beauty walked past them on her way to the bathroom, her short blue dress swishing cat-like around her legs.
“I think…if you’re crazy, I’m crazy, too,” said Archer, still trying to piece Alvin’s disjointed story together in his mind. “I’ve been dreaming of Indians, too.” Though the nature of their conversation had the awesome ramifications of two men sharing similar nightmares, Archer found his tone cautious, a voice used to feel out its listener’s intentions.
“What?” said Alvin, alarmed. He focused every scrap of sober attention on Archer. “I don’t twig. Tell me what you mean. How can you be dreaming of Indians and me to be dreaming of Indians? There’s no rhyme nor reason to it.”
Archer was feeling drunk enough that it was hard to respond in the face of Alvin’s raw emotions. His brain buzzing, Archer managed to find answers for Alvin that he hadn’t wanted to find for himself. He liked how they made so much sense coming out of his mouth. “At first I wanted to blame the cowboy and Indian movies we watched on American movie night at Trinity. But the truth is, I haven’t seen him in five years, since we graduated from high school and he moved to the reservation. He got fucking married and I didn’t go. What kind of brother am I?”
“So you’re dreaming about your brother’s wedding bells and me to be getting my head scalped.” Alvin looked fully prepared to justify the unique validity of his pain.
“Alvin. The Indians kill me, too. Every time they strike I can’t do anything but watch their blades enter my body. I can barely sleep.” Alvin was the first person Archer had confided in. It was obvious by the imploring look on Archer’s face that he wanted Alvin to believe him, and that he felt a degree of relief just getting the truth of it out.
Alvin grasped Archer’s shoulders. “I am sorry, friend.” Alvin looked on the verge of tears again.
“Don’t you cry on me, Alvin. Dublin’s not big enough to get kicked out of two pubs a night.”
“Aye.” He relaxed his arms and managed a modest grin.
“Drink up.”
“Forgive me, Archer. I’ve one last question.” Alvin clasped all ten of his fingers around the remaining pint. “Is it depressed you are then, too?” Alvin looked silly as drunken people do when trying to be inquisitive. One eyebrow cocked itself dramatically, like the arm of a pitcher.
Archer considered Alvin for a second. “It’s a queer depression I have. Queer for its suddenness. But I have an excuse for that, too—at least, I thought I did.” He rubbed his hands together, trying to organize the words in his head. “I’ve been blaming it on college graduation more than the Indians. I’ll be going home to the States in a few days, after final exams. I’ll be leaving Ireland and Susan, and I’ll have to start living in the real world, cook up a resume, find a job. Seems like explanation enough for feeling a little down.”
“With me already having a great drop taken, I’d be likely to agree to anything. But I can’t help feeling we’ve a relationship to each other, something I wouldn’t have expected…” Alvin’s train of thought was interrupted when he was distracted by the exotic woman passing on her way back to her table.
Archer wondered if he could stand long enough to make it into a cab. He guessed there was a better than average chance he would have a hangover from hell tomorrow. Training on his bicycle the next morning might be out of the question if he didn’t retire soon.
Too drunk to remember exactly what they’d been talking about, Alvin fell back into ranting about his favorite football team and how bad the keeper was. Hardly able to hold his head up, Archer managed to put a ten-pound note on the bar.
“Is that for the mouse’s tab or is it leaving you are?” asked Alvin.
“It’s late. I promise I won’t forget you since you’ve been a good friend to me tonight, but I need my sleep for tomorrow and another drink might kill me.” They both laughed.
“Well and if you must go, then get you gone. I would besiege you further, but far be it from me to keep a man from a passing mark,” said Alvin. “Now get you gone again. Just promise you’ll see me back at my favorite pub before you do be returning to
