breathing and less to the sharp ache in my chest. I knew my heart was breaking but it made no difference. Zachariah urged me on as if I were some old greyhound on whom he had foolishly laid his life’s savings. I craved that final bend and that ever lengthening home straight like I had craved nothing before.
As I was about to implode, I was grabbed by Zachariah’s huge hands. He had me by the shoulders, stopping me just where I stood. It was like hitting a wall. He then took his right hand and placed it flat across my mouth. I recall to this day that taste of death as I inhaled his odour. At times, I lie awake and that same smell returns. On such occasions, I can do nothing but pace the floor until a less ungodly air fills my lungs.
After some moments my captor removed his hand and dragged me stumbling down some uneven stone steps. The mist was clearing yet a darkness prevailed. I felt cold water dripping upon my head and the smell of salt permeated the air. We were underground.
At last, Zachariah bade me stop and I sank to my knees. I was shattered in every conceivable way, within and without. Silence abounded. I hardly noticed the moment when a light crept up the wall, a light dancing from an oil lamp. When I looked up from the stony floor I saw I was in a small cavern, no bigger than ten or so square feet. I may as well have been in the belly of some vile creature.
“Sit boy. Sit and rest. They won’t find us here.”
Zachariah Leonard lit his pipe and smoked.
And me, well I just wept. I wept for my son, Robbie, and for hope and for dreams. I wept for John Lennon and for Joe Strummer. I wept for Rick Danko and for the boy I once was. But most of all I wept for Robbie.
Yes, I don’t mind telling you, I cried until I could cry no more. And then, do you know what I did? I smiled, grinned almost. I stood up, walked over to where Zachariah sat in some sort of maudlin reverie and I deftly snatched the pipe from out of his hand. Just like that.
He did not move other than to raise his eyes to me, eyes that were so red with his own tears they could have been bleeding. The tears seemed to have washed some of the grime from his face. There was a difference in the way he held himself, a complete change in his countenance. But his stench was worse than ever. It was then that I realised why that sickening smell seemed so intense. For it rose from my own body, not Zachariah’s. Interesting, I thought.
I swept a hand through my lank hair and took a puff on the pipe.
“You don’t scare me,” I said, slowly, choosing my words with reverence.
He continued to gaze at me with those bloodshot eyes of his.
“I should hope not,” he said, eventually. “For you and I are more alike than you know.”
The thought appalled me but I knew he spoke the truth. I sat down beside him and drew him to me, holding him whilst he shook. I brushed the hair from his ragged face and rocked him to sleep. I did not know whether it was day or night and, to be honest, I didn’t care.
Zachariah Leonard was in my arms.
Robbie was in my burgeoning heart.
And I was about to be reborn from the deathly womb of this fetid land.
8. It Has Begun
Time passed.
Blood flowed through my veins and my mind throbbed as if it had taken the place of my heart. Blackness was all about me and the shallow breathing of the fading Zachariah Leonard was the only indication that he was there at all. Though I could barely see him through the density of the gloom, I had a sense that something about him was diminishing - be it his overpowering presence or that indefinable potential for hostility that ever held me at bay.
Well, I’m not a fan of the dark so you can imagine how I felt stuck in that small cavern cold drops of water spattering around me. The only other discernible sounds were the exhalations of two weary men lost in life. Oh to be so adrift, so far from the shores of normality, so alien a creature in so persecutory a world; well such was my fate.
As I was about to implode, I was grabbed by Zachariah’s huge hands. He had me by the shoulders, stopping me just where I stood. It was like hitting a wall. He then took his right hand and placed it flat across my mouth. I recall to this day that taste of death as I inhaled his odour. At times, I lie awake and that same smell returns. On such occasions, I can do nothing but pace the floor until a less ungodly air fills my lungs.
After some moments my captor removed his hand and dragged me stumbling down some uneven stone steps. The mist was clearing yet a darkness prevailed. I felt cold water dripping upon my head and the smell of salt permeated the air. We were underground.
At last, Zachariah bade me stop and I sank to my knees. I was shattered in every conceivable way, within and without. Silence abounded. I hardly noticed the moment when a light crept up the wall, a light dancing from an oil lamp. When I looked up from the stony floor I saw I was in a small cavern, no bigger than ten or so square feet. I may as well have been in the belly of some vile creature.
“Sit boy. Sit and rest. They won’t find us here.”
Zachariah Leonard lit his pipe and smoked.
And me, well I just wept. I wept for my son, Robbie, and for hope and for dreams. I wept for John Lennon and for Joe Strummer. I wept for Rick Danko and for the boy I once was. But most of all I wept for Robbie.
Yes, I don’t mind telling you, I cried until I could cry no more. And then, do you know what I did? I smiled, grinned almost. I stood up, walked over to where Zachariah sat in some sort of maudlin reverie and I deftly snatched the pipe from out of his hand. Just like that.
He did not move other than to raise his eyes to me, eyes that were so red with his own tears they could have been bleeding. The tears seemed to have washed some of the grime from his face. There was a difference in the way he held himself, a complete change in his countenance. But his stench was worse than ever. It was then that I realised why that sickening smell seemed so intense. For it rose from my own body, not Zachariah’s. Interesting, I thought.
I swept a hand through my lank hair and took a puff on the pipe.
“You don’t scare me,” I said, slowly, choosing my words with reverence.
He continued to gaze at me with those bloodshot eyes of his.
“I should hope not,” he said, eventually. “For you and I are more alike than you know.”
The thought appalled me but I knew he spoke the truth. I sat down beside him and drew him to me, holding him whilst he shook. I brushed the hair from his ragged face and rocked him to sleep. I did not know whether it was day or night and, to be honest, I didn’t care.
Zachariah Leonard was in my arms.
Robbie was in my burgeoning heart.
And I was about to be reborn from the deathly womb of this fetid land.
8. It Has Begun
Time passed.
Blood flowed through my veins and my mind throbbed as if it had taken the place of my heart. Blackness was all about me and the shallow breathing of the fading Zachariah Leonard was the only indication that he was there at all. Though I could barely see him through the density of the gloom, I had a sense that something about him was diminishing - be it his overpowering presence or that indefinable potential for hostility that ever held me at bay.
Well, I’m not a fan of the dark so you can imagine how I felt stuck in that small cavern cold drops of water spattering around me. The only other discernible sounds were the exhalations of two weary men lost in life. Oh to be so adrift, so far from the shores of normality, so alien a creature in so persecutory a world; well such was my fate.
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