Minogue sat back and folded his arms.
“You know, Da,” she said. “I have that thing too. The difference is, I’m still not used to it.”
She ran her fingers through her hair.
“What are you talking about?”
“Oh, Da,” she said. “You pretend you don’t understand because you’re afraid I can’t handle it or something.”
“Did I fall asleep and miss-”
“You know what I’m talking about,” she broke in. “Don’t treat me like a kid. Don’t protect me, I don’t need that. Teach me. Teach me about being alone.”
Every part of Ryan’s Pub seemed to be oozing out smells. Minogue tried to take stock of them while he waited for the barman: varnish from the stools and counters, the hop tang of beer and stout from the taps, the ashtrays, hot dishes and glasses from the dishwasher, even diesel fumes? The doors had been jammed open. The sky to the west was orange on the dusty windows. He looked back to where Iseult had commandeered two stools. Modern primitive, he thought. Drinking orange juice in a pub must be the latest outrage. He carried the drinks over.
“Well, how bad can it be,” he said after his first swallow. “Trying to please people is not the most ignoble of things. Pat has parents, doesn’t he?”
“What do you think? The Immaculate Conception or something?”
He bit back a comment about Our Lady of Perpetual Succour.
“Try that one on your mother, why don’t you,” he said instead.
“What I mean is that Pat doesn’t believe in this crap any more than I do. And you’re only making excuses for him. You like Pat, that’s the problem.”
“Problem, is it. Fight your own fights, love. I’ve had to recover from too much friendly fire over the years.”
“Big help you are. Maybe Daithi was right.” He looked up from his glass.
“Now what does that mean?”
“You know. You were allergic to telling him what to do.”
He took a gulp of his drink and glared at her.
“See?” she said.
He tried to steer the conversation away. She shrugged off questions about jobs. The talk drifted to his holiday in Greece, the fact that traffic in Dublin was out of control. Iseult’s best friend from primary school had just gotten married. Minogue was dopey from the beer. Would she have another orange juice? No. Thanks. She had detected no sarcasm in her father’s offer.
She slipped off the stool. He followed her outside and took his bearings. The new car smell in his Citroen still held its own. Iseult began fiddling with the electric sunroof and then the windows.
“God, the laziness,” she said. He thought about phoning the squad-room.
“What do you want to do? Will you come home with me?”
“Remember the Sundays we used to go to the zoo,” she said.
“The zoo.”
“We had lemonade and crisps and chocolate and ice cream. I remember all of it.”
Minogue looked over at her. Hormones, he thought. She hadn’t brushed away the strands of hair which had drooped as she had fiddled with the dashboard.
“The installation I’m doing. It has the zoo in it. The animals looking in at the people and the mess they’re making of things. How we ruin everything.”
“That’s clever,” he said without thinking.
“Clever?” she cried. “I don’t want clever, Da! I want fucking real!”
He turned the car without a word and drove through the lights onto the Main Road which ran the two and a half miles through Phoenix Park. He knew that she knew the zoo was closed. True, he thought with a tight ache around his heart: I think I have that thing too, Da. All the while preparing to forge her own bonds-and Minogue believed that she loved Pat and wanted him to win her in this trial-his daughter was still driven to untie them in advance. Contrariness, the family heirloom. She was laughing now.
“Remember the ice pops and the salt and vinegar crisps?”
“How could I forget.”
“Gallons of lemonade and everything? Chocolate? God, we were spoiled! How did we ever keep it down!”
“Ye didn’t always. I well remember carrying Daithi one warm day in the Botanical Gardens…”
She guffawed. His sadness moved off. He kept the Citroen cruising along in second gear. Shrubs and trees had thickened in the dusk. An oncoming car flashed headlights at him. He had forgotten.
“I can smell the elephants,” she said. “Or something. Dung.”
He coasted by the railings set into the hedges which marked the boundaries of the Dublin Zoo. The car seemed to be gliding now. He glanced over at Iseult’s arm draped out the window. Over the lisp of tires he heard a screech alien to Irish birds.
“Hear that?” she whispered. “Macaws, I’ll bet you.”
She fell to staring at the passing trees. The Citroen seemed to have found its own speed, and its own route. They heard the birds’ screeches again. Minogue looked across the grass toward the coppices and groves where deer occasionally sheltered. Her hair hid her face from him. She drew in her hand from the window and held it folded over the other. The bob of her head alerted him. He heard the first sob.
“Will I stop, love?”
She shook her head but didn’t look up. He headed back to the Main Road. She sniffed, blew her nose and pushed her hair back. He wondered if she wanted him to say something. Plenty more fish in the sea, love? Pat means well? As well you found out now and not later?
“I always wanted to set them free,” she sniffed. “Find the keys and open all the padlocks. Let them run somewhere they wouldn’t be gawked at any more. Where they could be themselves.”
She turned her head and gave a wan smile.
“Can you imagine elephants trying to hide and live normal lives in Ballyfermot?”
“Nothing to that, love. I work with a buffalo inside. Jimmy. Speaking of which, I must head back there now. Come in with me, why don’t you? Phone Mammy from there.”
“How late are you staying?”
“I wish I knew. We’re waiting for information. People to show up, witnesses, call-ins. New yield from forensic tests, breaks from door-to-door work. It’s our second night at it.”
“Not going so well, is it?”
He shook his head.
“I’ll just go in and see if there’s any new information that can’t wait until the morning. I’ll let John Murtagh and the new lad show their mettle tonight. Okay?”
“I’ll wait in the car.”
He hadn’t the heart to ask her who’d phone Kathleen to tell her that her daughter was coming home. She brushed her hair back from her face again.
“You know,” she said, “I meant that about the alone bit. How you turn in sometimes. You think I’m not old enough to figure it out. But I am.”
He struggled once more to avoid saying something stupid. He mustered a smile.
“I don’t know,” he said. “And I know even less about you artist types. Just take damn good care that your stronghold doesn’t turn into a prison when you’re not watching.”
A tremor jolted him against the tree. He’d dozed off. He rubbed at his burning eyes. The crappy yellow light above the trees made the city look like it was on fire. He could see a few stars. He shifted his back against the trunk. He could smell his breath. He returned to rubbing his stomach. Great. All he needed was the runs now on top of the itchies and the sweats and the… Birds squabbled overhead. Oh, Christ, something had to give.
He got up slowly. There was that weird groaning and grunting again. Elephants, he thought, big, smelly
