Hymn From A Village by Nigel Bird Read Free Book Online Page B

straw and spit them right back in his face.
    “Sorry,” I tell them. McKendrick’s kids. Hang round on Lex. Seen the big one by the garage. He’s OK. Shame they still got a father. Poor sods.
    “Sorry kid.” I really am.
    Christ, he’s got the giraffe. Always my favourite.
    Wonder if Stevie’s still telling the way it used to be. Wouldn’t mind seeing him pop his eye.
    “How you doin’, Stevie?” He’s looking good. Hair’s a bit longer. Maybe not so orange. Teeth busted up. But good. Maybe I should ask him to see his eye.
    “Same old things, Little Man. Same old things.”
    Little Man. Fucker’s going make me cry. I’d better move. Always used to call me Little Man. Made me feel special. Like I had a friend, you know?
    Hope the guys are ready. I need to blow off some shit. Rip into the bag and get me singing.
    My turn to get pizza. Two extra large.
    Christ. McKendrick’s steaming again. Slumped in the street with his bottle in a bag.
    Wouldn’t swap places with those kids. Better not to have a dad than to get stuck with one like that.
    “Asshole,” he shouts. “Come here asshole.”
    Don’t look like he can walk. Think I’m going over there to get myself a kicking? No way, man.
    “You chicken, boy?”
    Get called a lot worse than that. Chicken. I eat fucking chicken.
    “Come over you streak of piss. Come an’ I’ll shave your hair, you hippie freak.”
    “So long sir,” I tell him. “Have a nice day.” Then I whisper. “Prick.”
    You know, one day he’s gonna be asking for my fucking autograph. And you know what I’m gonna say when he does?
    Well nor do I, not yet. But it’s gonna be good, I tell ya. It’s gonna be a peach.
    Boys like that, Joey and Ray and Little Man, they’re the future. The way it’s going to be.
    I’m glad I know them. Means I’ll be around even when I’m gone, wrapped up in their heads like precious stones.
    That’s what I don’t tell them, see. That I’m happy doing what I do. Seems more important to them that I was a hotshot with a bat many moons ago.
    Their papa, now he remembers the way it was.
    Caught those pitches like they were sent down by first-graders. First-grade girls at that. I’ll never forget the balls, way they flew like they were going into orbit. That was some day.
    Nowadays I got me an art form to keep me occupied.
    Yankies still look after me, even now. Thirteen years on. Cheque’s in the post first of the month, regular as a vegetarian.
    This just gets me out. Meeting the future. Looking after it. Keeping it safe. Place like this, somebody has to. Somebody needs to be their catcher in the rye.
    “Dunno where he is,” I tell Joey. Down at the bar, I guess. Prick.
    Ain’t got no money left now we bought our balloons.
    Joey’s not feeling so good. Maybe it was the ice-creams that did it. “When can we go in, Ray?”
    Wish I knew. “In a few minutes. Mom’ll be back from work soon. Or Dad’ll come.”
    “I wanna go to Pop’s,” he says. It’s a good idea, only we haven’t got the fare.
    “What about your dog?” I ask. “What does he want to do?”
    “He wants to go to Pop’s, too.”
    Even the balloon dog knows where we should head.
    The geeks come out from their session. Sounded good, what I heard. Got a new song about Debbie. Something about love and planes.
    “Your old man’s down at Blake’s,” Little Man shouts over. Funny, he looks like he’s smiling. “Wanna hang out for a while? Get some pizza?”
    I look down at Joey. He nods and looks at the dog in the heart. The dog nods too.
    “If you like,” I tell him.
    “Don’t be doing me any favours, now,” he says.
    They walk along the street, heads down and nodding like their necks are busted.
    Joey puts his hat on and picks up his dog and his bat. Maybe he smells a game. I get the ball and the mitt to keep him happy. No point telling him these boys don’t play. Reckon the last time they got any exercise they were running from the cops.
    Little Man stops and