Benjamin looked up from his notecards, straight into the green eyes of the jolliest looking plastic leprechaun ever produced, lounging in a bright green suit in front of a pot of gold. He picked at the decal. It peeled off the icy bus window so that the eye, gray on the back of the decal, hung down over the leprechaun’s face, giving it an oddly mismatched look. It stubbornly refused to come off completely. The bus passed a green and gold sign, Lake Drive.
The masons built the mansions by Lake Michigan for those with plenty of gold. He closed his eyes and sniffed. A metal smell filled his nostrils. He savored it for a moment before opening his eyes to reality. The metal bus smelled not gold. He prayed that this great green bus with its plastic leprechaun transported him to his pot of gold.
A hand hit him in the face, and Benjamin dropped his notecards. He stood up. The bus stopped, and he fell. The door opened. A crowd of men dressed in green hopped on the bus. Holding back a swear for his mother’s sake, Benjamin lifted himself up and brushed his black dress pants. His hand stuck to a pant leg. He extracted a piece of gray gum from them. Jack, in a tattered bright green suit with a three-leaf clover pinned to his left breast, retched. Benjamin scooted away from him and scrambled to pick up the notecards.
“Hey! Don’t throw up on me!” Benjamin said. “We’re late. For a very important date.”
“Good. We’ll make a spectacular entrance,” Jack said.
“Don’t be smart with me brother mine.”
“Oh, come on. It’s the day for drinking, isn’t it?”
Benjamin, stuffing the notecards into the pocket of his black button up shirt, looked at the leprechaun decal then back at his brother then back again. He bore an uncanny resemblance to it.
“I told you to wear something respectable. Tobias is a stickler for smart dress. It looks like you picked up that suit at a thrift store.”
“I did. Specially for today and your little party. It’s the day for green things little Ben, green things and drinking. Lighten up. We’re going to a St. Patrick’s Day celebration after all.” Jack retched.
“Looks like you could do with a little less celebrating.”
“I could do with more alcohol.”
“It isn’t a celebration. It’s an Anti-St. Patrick’s Day celebration. We’re going to discuss real Irish history and celebrate actual Irish voices. I met Tobias in an Irish English class for God’s sake!”
Benjamin imagined a large living room done up in red with a roaring fireplace at its center. Students, of all colors and creeds, gathered around with books open, each waiting quietly for their turn to speak, all smiles. Tobias in a crisp white suit at the head, instructing. Of course, everyone got a turn to speak. Every voice heard.
“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain as Mom would say. What’s Irish English? And I can still do that in a green suit.” Jack crossed his arms.
Benjamin rubbed his face with a hand. Jack took the Lord’s name in vain all the time. He, the staunch atheist, expected Benjamin to be like their mother, married to the church. Benjamin went to church with his mother every Sunday. Jack never went.
“There won’t be any alcohol.”
“Nope. Let me off the bus. Bar is still open.” Jack got up.
“No.”
Benjamin grabbed Jack’s sleeve. The door closed. The bus moved.
“Does Irish voices include us?” Jack asked. He sat down and grabbed his head with both hands.
“No!”
“Why not? We’re like a third Irish.”
“No!”
“Right… we are never included. All we get to do is watch.”
Jack straightened, looking at Benjamin. He cocked his head playfully. Sometimes he acted just like a little child. He claimed self-education was the superior choice, yet Benjamin disagreed. He could be gold. Benjamin guessed that was what a lack of a proper education, a lack of a proper teacher at an institution of higher education, did to people. It made them fools. Fool’s gold.
“Do you have to embarrass me? Why do you drink until you’re sick?” Benjamin asked.
“I only drink on certain days. Days like today. Silly days.”
“Silly days… it’s only silly to you. Everything is silly to you.”
The electronic banner, dancing leprechaun tossing out gold coins, on the bus above Benjamin’s head proclaimed the final stop of the day.
“Look.” Benjamin pointed at the banner. Jack shook his head.
“I guess we aren’t going to your little anti-celebration.”
“No. Tobias will give us a ride home.”
“And if he doesn’t? Go alone. This Tobias didn’t invite me.”
Benjamin looked at Jack’s tattered leprechaun suit. He looked at the mansions surrounding them. He shuddered. He grabbed Jacks arm and dragged him to the door.
Benjamin shoved Jack. Jack landed on the ground. He jumped out of the bus. The bus door shut behind them. The mass of hooting men in green drifted off into silence as the bus lumbered farther away.
“Come on. We simply must hurry. He is waiting for me,” Benjamin said, straightening his tie. He picked up his pace into a jog, leaving Jack to follow, stumbling, behind.
The sky took on a red hue as Benjamin jogged down Lake Drive. Bits of green grass tried in vain to poke up amongst mounds of weeks old gray snow. The thin blue line of Lake Michigan came into view right behind a large white house. A white house that looked like the White House, just slightly smaller. Expensive looking cars Benjamin couldn’t name sat out front, silver and gold. For a moment, he regretted not bringing the truck. No, Jack’s old, rusted truck would have been worse than walking, but taking the bus looked bad.
Benjamin sprinted up to the door. A gold sign hung in front. It proclaimed the Anti-St. Patrick’s Day celebration. He knocked. Nothing. He waited. Nothing. Jack walked up and raised an eyebrow.
“Did we miss the anti-celebration?” Jack asked.
He knocked again, putting his full weight into every blow on the door. Desperation rattled him. The door swung open with a crack. Not locked. No need to lock doors in this neighborhood.
The front hall led to a massive white and gold staircase, snaking up either side of a large arch window looking out at Lake Michigan. Benjamin opened a set of white doors that led into a large living room decorated in navy blue, brick fireplace in disuse. The owner’s travels around the globe lined the room with shelves of books and various bric-a-brac. These included tribal African masks, a star of David, various porcelain unicorns, and a statue of what appeared to be the Buddha. The trinkets celebrated every culture of the world. It stood in stark contrast to the simple crosses that hung on Benjamin’s family home walls.
“He has traveled all over the world. He is so cultured,” Benjamin said.
“Nothing you can’t get from a good book.”
The books looked untouched. Devoid of underlining, dog-eared pages, not even a bookmark to be seen.
Jack picked up a small white unicorn. Benjamin glared at him. Jack sat down on a navy sofa and turned the unicorn around and around in his hands. Benjamin paced. Jack got up and held the unicorn behind his back.
Benjamin heard a voice. He walked back to the staircase. A chorus of moans emanated from another set of white doors. He opened the door a crack.
A long white table took up much of the space. Bodies, of every color between peach and brown, took up only half of the table, each spaced a seat apart. They were turned in rapt attention at a figure in white standing at the head of the table. A cold blue light lit up the room from several sconces. Another gold Anti-St. Patrick’s Day banner hung on the wall.
“Due to the famine, nearly a quarter of a million people emigrated here to the United States. The Irish state could not provide its young people with an ample path to the future in their own country which is something that continued until very recently due to a largely unchanged conservative capitalist system, as such—” Tobias said, his white suit gleaming in the blue light.
Benjamin shuddered. He wanted to run. His feet felt like anchors. A cold washed over him. The ocean consumed him. Jack pushed him inside the room. The door slammed open with a crack. Tobias looked up at the noise, a scowl contorting his face. Benjamin recoiled. Jack held his sleeve.
“Who let you in?” Tobias coughed. His scowl transformed into a look of curiosity, one eyebrow raised. “Ben, was it? We skipped your part, I suppose. You were the one who was supposed to do the introduction to the Celtic Revival correct?”
“It’s Benjamin.” Benjamin nodded and reached for the notecards in his pocket. Timid yet eager. Fear forgotten. The bodies remained locked in rapt attention at Tobias alone.
“Hello. The infamous Tobias.” Jack extended his free hand to grasp his. Eying his moth-eaten suit, Tobias quickly clasped both hands behind his back. “Is this your house? It’s big. How many rooms are there?”
“No, it belongs to my parents. Only nine bedrooms, two living rooms, a dining hall, a smaller dining room, the kitchen, four bathrooms, the parlor—” Tobias said.
“Okay, I get the idea,” Jack said, waving his hand. “The only room you really need in a house is the bathroom.”
Tobias pursed his lips.
“Ah well, Ben. We are well into the Irish famine and moving onto the Irish Free State. We can go back to it later… if we have time. Take a seat.”
“I… yes.” Benjamin’s hand fell, his face red. He sat down at the far end of the table, opposite Tobias. Jack sat next to him.
“The Irish Free State was a compromise that many did not agree with due to Ireland’s constitutional status. The IRA and Sinn Fein sought a republic; however, the Irish Free State would still bow its head to the British monarch as the head of state. This led to the Irish Civil War. The Irish Free State army won the war, leaving the republicans with their ideals of social change in the dust.”
The bodies in the room shifted, writhing. Silence broken by a moaning “boo” that echoed in the long hall.
“Now, now what writer valiantly seized the Rotunda Concert Hall in protest, holding it for four days in Dublin while flying a red flag?” Tobias asked.
“Liam O’Flaherty,” Benjamin said. Prove his worth. His only thought. Entranced, he prayed to Tobias to give him another chance.
“Good. On behalf of workers in Ireland, he opposed the conservative capitalist Irish Free State in favor of a socialist state that would give rights to its workers. The government was backward, but the writers of Ireland still looked forward toward a utopia they could only envision in dreams.”
“Why don’t you start with yourselves before forcing your vision of the future, utopia, onto others?” Jack asked.
Benjamin kicked him in the leg. Jack didn’t react.
“What about myself is unsatisfactory?” Tobias asked.
Benjamin kicked Jack again. Jack got up.
“I’m sorry. He’s not usually like this.” Benjamin choked on the lie.
“I don’t recall inviting anyone outside the class. Those who can’t comprehend the context to our discussion.”
“I thought all would be welcome.”
“No.”
“What would you do with those who didn’t comply? Those without context.”
“With the proper education all will comply.”
“What do you consider a proper education?” Jack unpinned the three-leaf clover from his left breast and offered it to Tobias. Tobias slapped his hand aside clover like the wings of Icarus it flew but a moment before a mighty fall and with crack that should have shook the room it broke in two leaving two heads of the clover the third disintegrating to dust.
“Enough. No need to revisit the Celtic Revival. Listen and learn.”
Jack smirked and walked out. Every voice heard. But Benjamin took one look at the white table, reflecting a harsh blue light, and followed Jack out into the night.
“Done already? Where’s our ride?” Jack asked.
“I wanted to escape. To become gold. Tobias planned—”
“Plans. They talk about their plans for others as if those others couldn’t hear and didn’t have their own plans! They don’t know anything about suffering.”
“Someone doesn’t have to personally suffer to understand the suffering of others. You ruin everything.”
“Maybe they do have to suffer!”
“Says the person who thinks books are a good replacement for real experience in other countries.”
“Gold? Ha! Ben, but you… you’ll always be dirt.”
“No.”
Tobias was his friend. Jack always embarrassed him. He knew Jack would embarrass him. Why did he bring him to this place? A pauper like him to a prince’s palace.
“Because I know you’ll tell me the truth,” Benjamin said.
“Here.” Jack took a small white unicorn out of his jacket pocket and threw it at Benjamin who caught it.
“Stealing now?”
“I just forgot to put it back. Go give it back.”
“Give it back? How? I cannot escape…”
Jack always said what Benjamin was too afraid to say. Thought what he was too afraid to think. He always told him the truth or at least his truth. That pot of gold called him. He didn’t care if someone led him to it. He repeated that mantra. It was a siren’s song. He knew. He thought of the cold blue light in the white house. Snow fell. The blue light blinded him.
Jack, straightening his green suit coat, walked off into the falling snow. Benjamin stood still. The snow covered up his tracks. Everything from the gold sign to the green grass rotted under snow. Only Benjamin’s black pants showed stark against the white. He grasped the unicorn, the horn pressing into his palm until a trickle of blood ran down onto the snow. Dirt not gold. Not even fool’s gold. Dirty little Ben. Not meant for a place white as snow. Even the snow couldn’t wash him clean. Blue light faded. He navigated by the stars. He looked up at a black sky.
Leave a Reply