Crooked Road to Heaven

Robert Connolly

Description

It was the fox's fault. If it hadn't darted out from the verge into the path of the van, Sean wouldn't have swerved into the ditch and no one would have died. As it was, Sean and Nole find themselves on the side of the lane chatting with Azrael, the Angel of Death, and setting off along the crooked road to heaven. There, in the Serene Palace of Heavenly Justice, St Peter is waiting to tell them their fate, but in the meantime there is much to learn about the nature of death and a good deal of repenting to be done.

Sujets

• Mind

Informations

• Publié par: Andrews UK
• Date de parution: 30 août 2017
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9780722347652
• Langue: English

Extrait

The Crooked Road to Heaven
Robert Connolly
ARTHUR H. STOCKWELL LTD
Torrs Park, Ilfracombe, Devon, EX34 8BA
Established 1898
www.ahstockwell.co.uk




2017 digital version converted and published by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
© Robert Connolly, 2017
First published in Great Britain, 2017
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright holder.
A story inspired by a wide awake, daylight, out-of-body experience.



Chapter One
In the small town of Graig-óg, that straddles the gently meandering Barrow river as it wanders across the plains of Laois in central, rural Ireland stands a large, attractive building that serves as a pub, a grocery store and a community centre. It is named The Rooters’ Rest. It is an imposing presence overlooking the town square and has long endeared itself to the inhabitants. It is a venue for parties and celebrations as well as being an iconic meeting place for friends and acquaintances.
It was there one early evening in mid-March in the spacious lounge of the pub that two young men in their twenties, namely Seán Coyle and Nole Deegan, close friends, sat and engaged in conversation over a drink whilst awaiting the arrival of another mutual associate, Tom Doyle, who had previously arranged to meet them there.
“Do you think Tom will turn up, Seán?” Nole asked, seemingly uncertain about Tom’s commitment to the agreement.
“I’ve never known him not to keep his word and if he should fail on this occasion I’m sure he will have a legitimate excuse,” Seán replied, and added out of curiosity, “Why do you ask?”
“Well, I was just thinkin’ as it’s Friday today, there’s usually a Western film on television after the evenin’ news at nine o’clock. So I was hoping to be home for nine thirty to catch it, that’s all.”
“Well, Nole, you can dismiss that little worry because I have promised my true love, Maura, soon to be my wife, that I would be at her parents’ home by nine o’clock and I’ll be dropping you off just before that, so-”
“Yeah, yeah, I see. That’s fine, then,” Nole agreed. After a brief pause he asked, “Will you be offerin’ to drop Tom off at his house too on the way, as you usually do, if he turns up?”
“Of course, how could I refuse? It’s only a five-minute detour criss-crossing the Barrow river en route and that will save him from having to cycle the two miles home. He isn’t too stable on his bike after a few pints of Guinness. I’ve encountered him on a number of occasions wobbling along and stopped to pick him up and slide his bike into the van through the side door. He was always grateful for my generosity.”
“Yeah, I know. He always showers you with praise when we meet. I watched him set off for home on his bike from here, wobblin’ like a drunken duck, and I used to wonder, and still do, how he manages to make it home safely. He has ended up in a cluster of brambles on the verge of the lane that leads from the main road to his house several times and even ended up in the ditch more than once.”
“I can believe that,” Seán agreed, and continued, “that would account for the bruises and scratches I’ve noticed on his face occasionally.”
“It would indeed and don’t waste your breath reminding him that he shouldn’t drink and ride a bike afterwards because he will answer without hesitation that the drink doesn’t affect his cyclin’ skill. He told me that now and then he was forced to make a sudden swerve along the lane to home to avoid running over a fox that darted out across his path unexpectedly from an open gateway, causing him to lose control of his bike and finishing up prostrate in a pile of brambles, nettles and sometimes, as I’ve already said, in a ditch. According to him that’s the reason for the bruises and scratches on his face and neck. He also said it was a price worth payin’ for havin’ saved the fox’s life,” Nole concluded.
Seán laughed and remarked, “Well, he does have a humanitarian nature, and that aside you’ve got to give him credit for his ingenuity if he does invent seemingly heroic reasons for his lack of balance under the influence of alcohol.”
“Oh, I do indeed, Seán. He’s a lovable character and I enjoy listening to his lengthy explanations, but if I try to question him during one of his charming accounts he simply dismisses it with another unexpected yet believable excuse.”
“Yes, that’s a fitting description of Tom and he - would you believe it, the man himself has arrived!” Seán exclaimed and raised a hand to attract Tom’s attention.
The latter noticed Seán’s gesture and he went directly to greet his two friends.
“Well, hello, Seán and Nole. I’m glad to see you both looking fit and healthy, and I must add neither of you look a day older than you were last week,” and he laughed before continuing, “all’s well with your family members too, I hope?”
Seán and Nole assured him that where their family members were concerned all was ticking over nicely.
“And your wife Nora and the children, Tom - how are they faring?” Seán enquired.
“Well now, Seán, they’re fine, and as long as they are fine then so am I and there you have it.”
“Will you be having a pint of Guinness as usual, Tom?” Seán suggested invitingly.
“Well, Seán, unless they’ve changed the name that’s exactly what I’ll be having,” he answered with a witty laugh.
“Are you having the same again, Nole?” Seán asked out of force of habit.
“I am indeed and I have two suggestions to make. The first is that I pay for this round and-”
“Oh no, Nole!” Seán interrupted. “You paid for the last round.”
“I know, but you’re only drinking lemonade and I don’t think it’s fair on you,” Nole voiced his opinion.
“Well, that’s thoughtful of you, Nole, but I must insist regardless of what I’m drinking. I’ll be driving the van home later with you and Tom for company and I have a rule I never break - namely, I never drink alcohol and drive under its influence. I also pay for my round in company regardless of drink prices. After all, the conversation can be more nourishing than the drink. And now, Nole, what’s the second suggestion?”
“Well, that relates to what Tom answered when you asked him if his drink was Guinness and his answer was yes unless the name had been changed. So, I’m suggesting changing the name to a pet form - namely, bainne dubh . How does that sound to you two?” Nole posed the question.
“ Bainne dubh , that’s Gaelic for black milk!” Seán mused and agreed. “Yes, I like it. What do you think, Tom?”
“Well, as long as it doesn’t change the taste I’d say it’s a spark of inspiration, and I’m glad my remark was its instigation,” Tom enthused.
“Right, Nole, I’ll put your proposition to Ben Murphy, the barman, and see what he makes of it,” Seán remarked as he departed to get a round of drinks. When he returned with the drinks on a tray he smiled and said to Nole, “I asked Ben for two pints of bainne dubh and he hesitated a moment before answering, ‘That’s Gaelic for black milk and that must refer to Guinness.’ So, I said ‘correct’ and informed him of your suggestion to baptise Guinness with the endearing pet name bainne dubh , at least here in The Roosters’ Rest, and he agreed that it was an appropriate pet name for the world-famous drink. So, he’s going to put your request to the clientele as soon as he gets a quiet moment.”
“You will be famous round here if that name catches on, Nole.” Tom stoked the embers of excitement and joked, “You’ll still talk to us if you become famous, won’t you?”
“Well now, Tom, I could hardly ignore you since you’re a walking advertisement for the drink.” And he laughed aloud and Tom and Seán joined in the laughter.
A little later Ben Murphy’s voice echoed round the spacious lounge as Nole’s suggestion was put to the few dozen customers scattered about the area. “And just in case any of you have forgotten your Gaelic, bainne dubh means black milk. So what do you think?”
A brief silence followed, broken by a long-time regular drinker of Guinness in the pub who exclaimed loudly, “Hooray for the bainne dubh !” And his outburst was quickly followed by a cascading echo of approval from all present and Nole was showered with compliments as well, much to his embarrassment.
“Congratulations, Nole!” Tom praised, adding, “And I’m glad I played a little part in your success.”
“I’m glad too, Tom, and thanks for being the source of my inspirin’ thought.” Nole thoughtfully shared the credit.
“The thought has just struck me, Tom. You look a bit older than you did last week,” Seán remarked, and Tom was taken by surprise.
“Do you really think so, Seán?” he nervously asked, concerned by the latter’s observation.
“Yes, but it’s merely the visible effect of the bruising on your cheekbone and the side of your forehead. You haven’t been hit by a bucket or walked into a telegraph post by accident, have you?”
“No, no,” he answered, smiling, and continued, “it was an encounter with a fox along the lane leading to my house. I told you about it before, Nole, remember?”
“Yeah, I do. The one that caused you to crash your bike into a hawthorn hedge ditch?” Nole confirmed.
“That’s right! It happened more than once and I’m beginnin’ to think the fox targets me deliberately and always unexpectedly, darting out in front of me and causing me to swerve suddenly, losing my balance in the process and crashing into thorny brambles or nettles. The result of that is the visible bruising and scratches on my head and neck as well as the aches and pains that accompany them,” Tom explained.
“When did the latest incident oc