TCD

- Fiction with facts and inspiration from a travel to Ireland. -

Well. If you really insists, I can tell you about one summer memory. It’s nice we’re sitting at the Dubliner’s! Because the story I’m gonna tell you is in fact from Dublin. So even if we’re in Stockholm many miles from the real Dublin, this place is a bit Irish. And later on we’ll listen to live Irish music. Before I start the story tp tell you, I must sorrowfuly say there is one big difference between an Irish pub in Ireland compared to one in Stockholm: the live music can be almost the same- but at a place like this, you have to pay entrance if they play live, in Dublin it’s of course free.

In the heart of Dublin is TCD, the old college. TCD stands for Trinity college Dublin. To the public is TCD maybe most famous for its library. Because it’s so old. The most famous book of all is Book of Kells. You have no idea at all what book that is??? Ehhh, I hadn’t an idea myself before I went to Ireland. The book of Kells was written more than thousand years ago, I don’t remember that well. It’s the Gospels of the New testament, and illustrated.

First, you pay a few pounds, then you can walk into the old library, don’t touch, after a while you go to where the long queue is... all tourists in town are standing in front of me!!! So what else to do besides chatting? Yes, you sing. I started to humming on "I still haven’t found what I’m looking for". We were moving in the speed of 1 yard per minute. After humming for 5 yards, to my joy, I could hear the tone from some more. And their bodies were moving, not much, but clearly visible. In this mood we were progressing further to the Book of Kells. I guess we had time for a few more U2-songs, but I only remember this one. Not all in the queue were foreigners. My eyes caught the loveliest eyes from a girl in mid-twenties with looong black hair and fair blue eyes. I bet, when I saw her singing, she must be Irish.

Finally, I had progessed very close to the Book. I had lost the sight of the black girl. And I had stopped humming to be concentrated on what I was going to see. The staff told not to stop, to continue to walk in a low speed "around" the Book, not stopping. Of course I had to stop shortly. The room where the book is stored is dark, and the light on the book is very faint. But isn’t it a lovely book to look at? Written thousand-twelve-hundred-years-something ago with so nice ornamental letters and pictures! Going back in time! Or rather into something beyond time, where time isn’t any more.

Hey. Listen! Do you hear what music they play here at the Dubliner’s!? Aha, it’s U2. Great. Grand. Outstanding. Irish music is really good.

The story is not finished! Not at all, it starts now... So, when I had rounded the Book of Kells and left the dark room, I was back in the world where time exist. But I was still turned to the inside of myself, not taking notice to the japs or americans around me. It was like electricity on my shoulder, I was not prepared at all. But then I understood, someone had only touched my shoulder and it wasn’t anything dangerous... that had scared the shit out of me. She, with the electricity, was still smiling from my jumping when I turned around and saw her. Then I jumped again. It was She!!! The girl in the queue. Still smiling. My mind was swirling around, I wonder what I looked like.

- Thank’s for the song, she said.

- I wasn’t singing. I was humming. I can’t sing, I said.

- Everyone can sing.

- I can only sing if no one listens to me.

- Bullshit, she said to me looking directly into my eyes.

- Not me. You can. I can’t.

Her eyes were really beautiful. How long time does it take to dry that hair? She must need a lot of schampoo. I wakened and heard somewhere distant.

- Are you here alone? Do you want to take a cup of coffee at Bewley’s?

After some seconds I reckon She was talking to me.

- Bajbkd (I was lost of words). Yes. Yes, I’m alone. Yes, I’ve no, plans, it’s vacation! Coffee would be perfect!

We walked to Bewley’s on Grafton street. No long walk, just a few minutes walking. Probably, you don’t know about Bewley’s oriental cafe!? Thought that. It’s a favourite place to me. The coffee isn’t good. I’m used to our strong swedish coffee. The bakery can be somewhat dry. But... the atmosphere! The furniture and everything is kept in the same style for hundred years or whenever it was opened. And it’s open long in the evenings, many are sitting for a long time, students come from TCD to study and so on.

This day, however, everything tasted excellent, dunno why. I was so much of a gentleman I paid for her, and she accepted.

- My name is Fiona, what’s yours?

So I told her my name, I told her the story of my life. She asked me a lot of questions. Long after the coffee and water, not to mention the cakes, were all finished, we were hungry again. Lucky Bewley’s also serves meals! More of her questions. But I did manage to ask her as well and listened to her story. I almost knew before she told me, she was from Connemara. I had been to Connemara, a region on the west coast, a few days earlier. It’s a mystical part of Ireland I like so much. And she moved to Dublin a few months ago for working. The hours went and she asked me:

- Hey, now let’s go to Temple bar!

Temple bar is an area in Dublin where many goes in the evenings. We went to a pub, a really crowded one, where a local band played Irish music. Sure, I liked it. Soon after I came back from the Gent’s room they started to play "I still haven’t found what I’m looking for". I, and Fiona hummed along with the band. Soon she was singing in stead of humming. I don’t know when it happened, but I realized I was singing. Loud. Not good, but okay. I sang! Fiona smiled at me, and I smiled back. We sang many more songs that evening.

It wasn’t until one of all e-mails many months later that she told me she had asked the band, while I was out to pee, to play the U2-music to make me singing.

(written 1999)

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Human beings are very much the same, all over the world. Individuals are different. Advocate of human rights and real democracy for everyone.

© Copyright Henrik Hemrin

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