HALLOWEEN EXTRACT FROM ACCLAIMED NOVEL THE AVENUE

Freddy is playing with his own ball again. He is playing football with a group of boys on the green near the pylon. Freddy is quite skilful with a ball; he tackles well, he has fast feet despite the flapping boot; the other boys find it difficult to win the ball from him. ‘Pass it, pass it,’ and ‘over here,’ some of them shout through the dusk, but Freddy is singleminded, determined as he progresses up the green on a solo run, outfoxes the defence and scores a goal. A cry goes up from his team, and John Paul shouts, ‘A fuckin’ massive kick.’
Hard to see now as darkness falls, but the kids, with eyes like cats, play on undeterred by the world’s transformations.
I sit on the garden wall under the light of a street lamp as the game fizzles out, darkness the ultimate victor.
‘Hiya, Franky,’ says Freddy, coming to sit on the wall beside me. His voice is subdued, lacking its usual chirpiness. John Paul and Tomo join us. A gust blows up.
‘It’s raining leaves, Franky,’ says John Paul.
Freddy has a big bruise over his left eye.
‘Where did you get the shiner?’ I say.
‘Ah, it’s nothin’.’
Freddy says no more, making it clear that he doesn’t want to explain anything.
‘Fancy a mint?’ I say. I’ve been devouring mints ever since I gave up smoking a few years ago.
‘Are they the ones with the hole?’
‘No,’ I say, ‘they’re bad value.’
‘Thanks, Franky.’
‘Thanks, Franky.’
More kids approach and I’m soon cleaned out of sweets.
‘It’s a nice evenin’, Franky.’
I’m getting used to adult-speak, with kids that is. John Paul is right. The evening is nice, nice and dry, no wind (except for that odd gust), no frost, mild enough to sit outside on a garden wall.
‘Your dog,’ I say, ‘I don’t hear him bark anymore.’
There is an immediate lull. The kids look at Freddy. Freddy lowers his head.
‘You don’t know the story?’
‘No.’
‘Tell him, Freddy.’
‘Yeah,’ shouts a chorus.
Freddy takes a butt of a cigarette and a match out of his trouser pocket He checks behind that no one is at his window, then strikes the match off the wall and, like an experienced smoker, cups his hand around the flame until he is puffing smoke.
‘Do you not think you’re a bit…?’
‘It calms me down.’
Calms him down. Sounds like a grown-up neurotic.
Freddy wets the tip of his finger and applies it to the side of the butt which is not burning evenly.
I suck on my mint.
‘Why are you always eating mints, Franky?’ asks John Paul.
‘It keeps me off those things,’ I say, pointing to Freddy’s stabber.
‘I feck them from me oul fella, from his breast pocket,’ Freddy says. ‘He never misses them. He comes in so pissed he doesn’t notice anythin’.’
‘Tell him what else you found,’ says John Paul.
Freddy hesitates.
‘Go on.’
‘You won’t squeal?’
‘No,’ I say.
I don’t know why they’re taking me into their confidence. Maybe they don’t see me in the typical authoritarian light of an adult world. Maybe they can trace a lost childhood somewhere in my face.
‘He found a used johnny with the stabbers. Didn’t you, Freddy?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Where is your da now?’ I say.
‘He’s fucked off on us.’
‘Will he be back?’
‘Who knows? Who cares?’
‘You were going to tell me about your dog.’
‘Maybe another time.’
‘Tell him,’says John Paul.
‘Go on,’ says Tomo.
‘That dog was almost a purebred, what do they call it?’
‘He had pedigree,’ I say.
‘Yeah,’ says Freddy, ‘a cocker spaniel, but when I said that me oul fella said, “Cocker spaniel me arse; he’s half a cocker and half a conger eel”. He was a bit lame but he could still play with me.’
‘And me too,’ says John Paul
‘He played with all of us,’ says Tomo.
‘Me ma says he was lame because he was probably thrun out of a car after Christmas.’
He looks around, inhales deeply. ‘Anyways we’re goin’ down to the field by the canal. Melancholy’s sniffin’ about.’
‘How did he get the name?’ I say.
‘Me oul fella christened him. “Fuckin’ melancholy,” that’s what he said when he saw him. You know the way their eyes are, on cocker spaniels I mean, like they’re always cryin’?’ Anyways,’ he continues, ‘we’re down by the canal, Melancholy and me hidin’ behind a bush lookin’ at the ciderdrinkers standin’ around a fire when it happens.’
‘What happens?’ I say
‘Wait for it,’ says John Paul.
‘Give us another mint, Franky.’
‘He’s none left.’
‘A hand,’ says Tomo.
‘Let Freddy tell it,’ says John Paul.
‘I feel this hand tight on me mouth and I’m wheeled around to face a punk with purple hair. The punk blows smoke into me face. And he lifts up me hand.’
‘His left hand,’ says John Paul
‘He lifts up me left hand and presses his cigarette into it.’
‘The lit cigarette.’
‘Like it was an ashtray,’ says Tomo.
“‘Squeal scumbag,” he says, ‘but I don’t make a sound.’
‘Show him,’ says John Paul. ‘Show him the mark on your hand.’
Freddy shows me the burn in the centre of his left palm.
‘“Somethin’ stronger,” says the punk when I make no sound, and he takes out a blade real shiny.’
‘Ooooh,’ say the audience.
‘Melancholy jumps up on him and tears a piece out of his hand. The punk runs off down to the canal, cursin’ and screamin’. “ I’ll get you, Freddy Browne,” he shouts. “I’ll get you and your fuckin’ dog. Wait and see.’”
‘That was Spikey,’ says Tomo. ‘Spikey always produces the blade.’
‘Tomo knows about the ciderdrinkers,’ says Freddy. ‘His brother’s one of them.’
‘Not any more,’ says Tomo.
‘No, not anymore,’ says Freddy
‘No fuckin’ way.’
‘They’re going to get him,’ says John Paul.
‘No, they’re not,’ says Tomo.
‘Yes, they are. They’re goin’ to get him for rattin’.’
Freddy glances behind him.
‘You’re ma’s not lookin’.’
‘His ma thinks he’s a delinquent.’
‘Why does she think that?’
‘Because he goes off sometimes,’ says Tomo.
‘Is that true?’ I say.
‘He sells things as well.’
‘Sell things?’
‘Yeah, from shops.’
‘He sells batteries at half price if you ever want them,’ says John Paul.
‘For Walkmans,’ says Tomo.
‘Not just them. Other stuff as well,’ says Freddy.
‘Get on with the story,’ says Tomo. ‘I’ll be called in soon.’
‘We hear bangers explodin’. Melancholy doesn’t like the bangers; they frighten him, see, and he sort of makes a little cry every time one explodes. So I takes him home.’
‘Your ma gave us some stuff, ‘says John Paul.
‘Yeah, and then we all scarper down to the canal to watch the bonfires. We’re lookin’ at these for a while when Melancholy sidles up to me out of the blue. I point towards the house. I’m cross with him for getting out and he knows it; he puts his head down, whines a bit and limps away.’
‘They were gettin’ high on jungle juice,’ says John Paul.
‘They’re bleedin’ fireworks were rapeh,’ says Tomo, ‘so we leg it down to get a better look.’
‘We smell the rubber of the car tyres burnin’.’
‘Then we notice it.’
‘Notice what?’ I say.
‘They take a dog out of a sack,’ says Tomo. ‘His mouth all taped up.’
I look at Freddy. He has gone silent. He is breathing heavily. Tears are welling.
‘Flames are jumpin’, hands are wavin’ like in a dance.’
‘Tell him what you feel, Freddy.’
‘I feel the heat of the fire burnin’ into me and I can taste the vomit risin’.’
‘The dog’s legs are tied,’ says John Paul.
Freddy takes an inhaler out of his pocket. Sucks frantically. ‘Kick out, Melancholy,’ he cries. ‘Kick out. Jesus will come.’

from The Avenue ‘a work of passion and truth’ Declan Kiberd.
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