17.5.2010
Whisky Before Noon by Stennie O?Bryan
a short story by Stennie O’Bryan
(Thorsteinn Eggertsson)
“Hey,” I said, looking at my watch, yawning. “It’s not even eight o’clock in the morning. What’s the rush?”
“Ah, no rush, man,” Alex said. “Just shouldn’t stay in bed ‘till noon every day, that’s all. Makes people talk, you know.”
“So? Let ‘em talk.”
“As you wish, man. Want me to put you back to sleep again?”
“No. No, I’m sorry,” I said getting up. “Thanks.”
“Well, I’m off to me garage then,” Alex said. “Nice day to ya.”
“Yeah. Same to you.”
I had black coffee and a cigarette for breakfast. Looking out of the kitchen window, I saw a few seagulls flying lazily in the morning air down by the sea but no human beings, wherever I looked. And as I walked out of the house, towards the small harbour, I noticed that the door to the local pub was open, so I peaked in. An elderly lady, looking like Elvis in his last days, was washing glasses from the night before behind the counter.
“Are you open for business?” I asked her as I walked in.
She gave me a tired look, shrugged her shoulders and nodded.
“Could I have a small lager then?”
She poured me a small lager and kept minding her business. I drank the beer, looking around the premises. It was a good beer and I must have been thirsty as my glass was empty about five minutes later.
“So, how come you’re open so early?” I asked. “There’s no one about in the village.”
“I’m livin’ upstairs and this ‘ere’s me job, ain’it?” she said. “Besides, I just killed me ‘usband.”
“You what?”
“Stabbed ‘im in the back with me pantry knife,” she said, drying her hands on a table cloth. “‘e’s been keeping me awake with all ‘is snoring and that.”
“Yes but...”
“Fourteen years I’ve ‘ad to share ‘is bed and put up with ‘im, ain’ I? So there you are. Another beer?”
“Are you saying you murdered your husband just because he snored?”
“Call it morder if ye like. ‘e’s up there in ‘is bed, quiet as a pebble. You go see for yerself if ye like.”
“No thanks. I think I’ll have a large whisky. Straight.”
“Whisky, is it? This time o’ day?”
“Do you mind?”
“Not at all. Not me.”
She gave me the whisky and I sat down in one corner, looking cautiously at her when she wasn’t noticing. There she had practically tricked me into buying hard liquor before noon by telling me a tall tale like that. Or maybe I was just turning into an alcoholic without knowing it. Anyway, I took another sip.
“So how did you do it then?”
“Do what, duckey?”
“Kill your husband?”
“I told ye. I stabbed ‘im in the back, didn’ I? Through the blanket, between the ribs and through ‘is ‘eart. Simple as that.”
“Aw, come on,” I said but she didn’t pay me any mind and went into her kitchen. I had almost finished my drink, a while later, when an elderly, kind looking police officer walked in. He went to the counter and tapped on it a few times.
“I ah... think the lady had to go somewhere,” I sad to the constable. “To get rid of some evidence. She just killed her husband.”
“Oh, hello there,” he said as he turned around and saw me. “You must be Alex’s friend. Nice to make your acquaintances.”
“Likewise, I’m sure. But as I was saying...”
“Yeah, I heard you. Poor Henry. Well, I’ll have to find myself a new golf partner then, won’t I?”
He smiled to me, apologising, turned back to the counter and yelled:
“Sheila! Are you in there?”
The fat woman came in from her kitchen, smiling as soon as she saw the policeman.
“Hi Charlie,” she said. “The usual?”
He nodded and she gave him a cup of tea. He drank it in a few sips and put a coin on the counter.
“I hear you killed Henry,” he then went on casually. “And I thought we were going to play golf next Saturday.”
“Oh, I’m sorry about that, Charlie. But I just couldn’t stand ‘is snoring every single night. Ye know ‘ow it is.”
“Oh, never mind. I’ll find someone else. Could I have another cup then?”
She poured him another cup. I had finished my drink and was feeling a bit mellow, so I stood up to buy another one. Maybe I was turning into an alcoholic after all.
“Another large whisky please,” I said, sitting down on a bar stool. She poured me the drink and I drank it in one go.
“Hey, what is this?” I asked the policeman. “She just killed her husband and you act as if nothing happened.”
“Do I?” the man asked back, a little puzzled. “So, what do you want me to do? Bring him back to life, you think? I can’t do that, you know. I’m not a doctor. I’m just a police officer.”
“But - shouldn’t you be looking into it or something?”
“Mm? Oh, look at the corpse, you mean? Well, I suppose there’s no harm in that if Sheila won’t mind.”
Sheila shrugged her shoulders.
“So, would you care to come along then?” he asked me. I nodded and we went upstairs into the bedroom. A plump man was lying on his stomach in bed, under a thin blanked all covered in blood. A large knife with a black handle was standing out from his back. He was obviously dead and I felt sick at the sight.
”Yeah, that’s Henry all right,” the constable said. “Oops! I’m afraid my tea break is over, so I’d better be going. Nice meeting you.”
He rushed downstairs and I walked after him in heavy strides. The woman was reading a magazine behind the counter as I came down.
“Do you realise what you’ve done?” I asked, staring at her.
“Killing me ‘usband, you mean?”
“Yes. That’s precisely what I mean. It is a major crime, or didn’t you know? It’s a capital offence?”
“Oh, come on,” she said and it was the first time I saw her smiling that day. “A capital offence? Killing ‘enry? Ye’re a funny man. This ‘appens all the time. Or don’t ye ever read the news?”
“Yes. I read the news. And I see it every night on television. People are being killed practically every day.”
“Exactly!” she said, turning a page in the magazine. “So, what’s another pub owner in a small, unknown place like this? Just another coffin in the graveyard, that’s all.”
“No! That’s not all. This calls for an investigation, a trial, a jail sentence, for crying out loud.”
“Aw, knock it off,” she said, smiling again like a shy girl. “None of that fancy stuff for us poor village people. A man is knocked off, there’s a funeral and people come together to ‘ave a few pints and say nice things about ‘im. ‘appens all the time.”
“Happens all the time?” I shouted and I must have sounded a bit shocked. “What do you mean it happens all the time?”
“Well, take Sally O’Neill for one. Shot in the ‘ead a couple of weeks back, she was. Zak Wilder a month before that. And lots of other people these last few years. It’s no big deal.”
“No big deal? Oh, my God. Give me another large whisky.”
“Think you can ‘andle it.”
“Of course I can handle it.”
She gave me another whisky and I drank it down slowly, not finding anything else to say to her. She didn’t utter another word either and proceeded putting bottles on the shelf behind the counter. I was feeling a bit lousy when I walked into the sunshine about half an hour later. I bumped into the police officer, Charlie, as I was out in the street.
“Oh, hello again,” he said grinning as he saw me. “Nice day we’re going to have today, don’t you think?”
“Yeah,” I said sulkily, walking on.
“Hey, I think you should go easy on that strong stuff,” he called after me good natured. “We mustn’t bee seen drunk in the street you know.”
“Yeah, I’ll try to remember that,” I said absent minded, looking for cigarettes and a lighter in my pockets.
Stennie O’Bryan is the pseudonym of Thorsteinn Eggertsson, an Icelandic author and songwriter, born in Keflavik, 1942. He has worked as an entertainer, art teacher and journalist, and more than 700 of his lyrics have been recorded, mostly in Iceland. His first novel, The Paper King’s Subjects, was written in English and published in London in 1991. He has also written and illustrated several other books. He is living with his wife, Jóhanna Fjóla Ólafsdóttir. He is the father of two daughters and has three stepchildren.
Whisky Before Noon
http://netsaga.is/media/files/S-Slowly%20burning.mp3
Alex woke me up early. He was the only man I knew in this English village by the sea, somewhere south-west of London. His brother Gus, whom I worked with in Reykjavik, had lent me his cottage for a couple of weeks. I took it as I needed the vacation. I had never been to England before.
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