windblows

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[ threetrees ] [ windblows ] [ THE TUNNEL ] [ Brother Barney ]

The Way the Wind Blows

The door of the small village shop was thrust urgently open, scraping over the stone floor and setting off the automatic shop buzzer. Behind the counter Willie Mulhall looked up and abandoned the meditative process of twisting his luxuriant beard into two fine points.
    A well dressed young man came in quickly, and as the door swung closed behind him, setting off the buzzer once more, Willie heard the sound of an idling car engine and glimpsed the sheen of red silicone paintwork where the flood of the shop lights cut into the late night darkness.
    "Hello Willie," said the young man, moving hurriedly forward to the counter, "Can I have a packet of Silk Cut — and a box of liquorice allsorts." He motioned abruptly to the pyramid of boxes below the shelves containing the more expensive chocolates.
    "You’re in a hell of a rush tonight!" said Willie, lifting the packets and placing them on the glass top covering the display of loose confectionery.
    I am," said the young man, grimacing as he pulled a note from his hip pocket.
    As he handed the money to Willie he looked carefully around the shop, and then behind him, before leaning over the glass counter and lowering his voice so that only Willie could possibly hear. "Willie! I’ve got an urgent problem!"
    Willie paused in the task of counting change from the old fashioned drawer till. A protective veil came over his eyes as he looked blankly at the young man. Obviously it wasn’t credit that he wanted.
    With a further glance over his shoulder the young man continued swiftly, his question coming out in a soft, embarrassed rush, "Willie, do you mind if I break wind in your shop?"
    For an astonished moment Willie stood motionless, his eyes hooded, face set impassive and expressionless, formidable in the framework of long black hair and flowing beard.
    In the silence his eyes traversed beyond the young man to the shelves of the video library, flickered to the rows of bottled sweets, ranged over open rows of liquorice, bubble-gum, gob-stoppers and dolly-mixtures, took in at a glance the candy-floss machine, the ice-cream maker, assorted fishing tackle, picture postcards, art curios and paintings, and finally came back to rest upon the strained face of the young man in front of him, now moving anxiously from one polished shoe to the other.
    "Come on Willie! Do you mind?" The young man moved his haunch restlessly. "
    Willie continued to gaze blankly, cold and silent. "Willie. I’m desperate! I’m afraid it might not be just wind!" The young man clutched his abdomen. "Come on! What do you say?" He groaned, his whole body under pressure.
    Willie relaxed and leaned both hands on the counter as he deliberated.
    "Well - look at it this way," he said, slowly and reasonably, brawny arms and black tee-shirt in contrast to the young man’s well pressed suit and slight frame. "If you had come into my shop and farted involuntarily -under uncontrollable pressure. If it had taken you by surprise - I wouldn’t have minded. I wouldn’t have liked it, but I wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it. I would have had to absorb it." Willie’s eyes flickered at the phrase, and then he continued. "But a premeditated fart, a planned fart - that’s different. It would amount to quite deliberately contaminating those sweets and chocolates, those bubble gums and dolly-mixtures. They’re for the children you know!"
    The young man, slightly bent over at the middle, and now with one knee hugging the other, looked pleadingly at Willie.
    "No," said Willie, shaking his head and fingering his beard judiciously. "The answer must be ‘No’."
    "Aw Willie!" the young man burst out. "I’m desperate!"
    "Why not do it outside - where the wind will get at it?’ Willie’s voice was incredulous.
    "I can’t. I can’t," cried the young man in despair.
    "Why not? Why not?" Willie had become caught up in the drama of the situation. He was exasperated and puzzled — and then a gleam of comprehension came into his dark eyes. "You’ve got somebody outside waiting for you! That’s it! Isn’t it?"
    "Yes, yes!" The young man’s voice was painfully constricted.
    "And it’s a girl you’re getting to know! — You’ve been taking her out on the town!" Willie was like a hound dog pointing at a fox gone to earth.
    "Yes - yes, to Belfast, for a meal and a show!"
    "And you’ve driven all the way back here, for the past hour, dying to break wind, and you haven’t dared!"
    "Yes. Yes — dammit. Now, can I fart?" The young man was holding his stomach again.
    "No," said Willie abruptly, coming upright, his manner and height quelling the young man in his dire need. "No!" He held out a hand, imposing as Moses at the edge of the Red Sea. "Here! Take your change and go outside and fart like a man!" Willie’s voice boomed out, hard and unyielding.
    "I can’t! I daren’t!" The young man was almost whimpering.
    "You can and you will," proclaimed Willie, the whites of his eyes flaring at either side of the strong nose, piercing against the magnificent aureole of black hair and beard, flecked here and there with grey, like an emerging biblical prophet.
    "Out! Out!" he roared. "Out and contaminate the world outside - not our little confectionery shop. People like you are a menace: destroying the rain forests, contaminating the ozone layer. Now you want to pollute our sweetie shop, defile our bubble-gum and dolly-mixtures! Out! Out now like a man." Willie’s eyes blazed with zealous righteousness.
    "Jesus, I dare not!" said the young man.
    Willie looked at him and compassion dawned. The fierceness of his eyes softened, with a degree of rapidity unusual in one so cruelly fanatical.
    "Alright," he said, shaking his head with pity and regret. "I must help you then." And before the young man could say aye or nay he was round the counter and at the door
    "What are you going to do?" gasped the young man, fear in his voice.
    "Distract her - while you ... do what you have to do outside."
    "Willie," whispered the young man, "You won’t say anything! Will you?" It was hard now to say where the anguish came from.
    His voice died at the contemptuous flare of Willie’s eyes. A look of despair passed over his pale face as Willie wrenched open the door and set the shop buzzer howling.
    "My God! My God!" breathed the poor wretch, "Please don’t let him say anything!"
    The light from the open door caught the profile of a pretty girl, dark hair tumbling in rich waves round her shoulders as she curled up sideways in the luxurious passenger seat of the red automobile, comfortably protected from elements beyond shiny painted metal and glistening glass, the engine purring gently and the girl’s hand, stretched along the back of the seat, tapping in rhythm to music from car radio or stereo.
    "Hello," said Willie, bending down and knocking on the window, teeth exposed in a large, friendly smile.
    "Hello," he repeated as the girl turned and caught sight of him. He waved and smiled and the girl started to roll down the window, at the same time leaning forward to lower the volume of the music.
"Hello,’ she repeated uncertainly, breathing in the fresh night air.
    "Nice to see you again," said Willie, smiling warmly. He had never seen the girl before.
    "It’s been a long time!"
    "Have we met?" The girl was puzzled.
    "Of course. Don’t you remember?"
    "Perhaps.... you are … "
    "Willie. Willie Mulhall," boomed out Willie, extending his hand
    "Oh... Willie! — Willie..?" murmured the girl. Willie could smell the perfume and admire the carefully tumbled hair, the quality clothes and delicately applied make-up. She was beautiful and pampered.
    "You know James?"
    "Oh yes. James and I are oul’ mates. We just had a talk, him and I, and he was telling me that you were outside - that you had just been for a nice meal and a show."
    "Yes," said the girl, her eyes lighting up, "It was lovely."
    "Lovely!" exclaimed Willie, "Lovely, yes, but," shaking his head and looking grave, "look what it has done to poor James."
    "James! What has it done to him?" The girl’s eyes widened. "What has it done to him?" She sat straight up in her seat.
    "Nothing to be alarmed about, nothing fearful. He’s just in a bit of discomfort — has been for the past hour or so, and has been making a strange request, asking a very awkward question."
    "What’s wrong?" The girl was perturbed.
    "Nothing serious," said Willie, "Just a question of communication. He seems to trust me, and feel more at home with me, than with you. That’s disturbing."
    "Trust you! More at home . . . communication! What do you mean?" The girl’s dreamy contentment had vanished.
    At that moment the driver’s door opened and James slid in behind the wheel.
    "What has he been saying? Has he been saying anything to you?"
    The girl turned to him.
    "No, no," said Willie. "I was only mentioning that you had trusted me with an important question."
    "An important question! What is it?" The girl was bolt upright and bursting with interest. "What was it James?"
    "Jesus, Willie, you’re a bastard!" said James.
    "What was it James? What was it?"
    "It was a bit personal," said Willie. "He might not like to say!"
    "Ach Willie! Look what you’re doin’!" exclaimed the young man.
    "It wasn’t all that important," said Willie, suddenly remote and disinterested.
    "What was it? exclaimed the young girl.
    "It was just that he wanted to know . . ." said Willie, looking at James.
    "Nothing important!" said James.
    "He wanted to know. . .," repeated Willie, still looking at James.
    " .. If I could fart in his shop!" blurted out the young man despairingly. "Now you know! I’ll get you for this Willie!"
    "If you could fart in his shop!" repeated the young woman in amazement. "If you could fart in his shop!" And suddenly she started to laugh.
    "Yes - and that bugger let it out," said the young man, motioning to Willie.
    "No. No," said Willie triumphantly, "You let it out, but not in my shop!"
    "You’re a bugger," said the young man.
    "And you’ve been wanting to do that ever since we left town?" asked the young girl.
    "Aye," said James sheepishly.
    "And you held it in on account of me?" asked the girl.
    "Aye," said James, and then truthfully, "and because I was embarrassed.
    "You’re a darlin’," said the girl, and she ran the knuckles of her hand fondly over his cheek. She was half-laughing again.
    "It was a beautiful meal," she said, "but perhaps a bit too much of it."
    "What was it?" asked Willie, smiling from the pavement, "Duck?"
    "No," said the girl, "peppered steak for both of us, with all the trimmings, and a bottle of Nuit St George."
    "Sounds good," said Willie, "I’m glad it wasn’t duck. It makes carpet slipper jobs."
    "Carpet slipper jobs?" asked the girl.
    "Aye — heavy silent ones that sneak across the floor and grab at your lungs without warning."
    The girl laughed, and just at that James must have decided that he had to regain the initiative, for there came a loud report of anally escaping gas from the offside of the car.
    "A-a--ugh.... James!" The girl laughed with hearty disgust and wafted the air in front of her nose. Willie looked on approvingly.
    "Now you’re talkin’," he said. "Do you know that there was a Frenchman who used to earn a living that way? It was about the beginning of the 1900s I think. He had a music hall act in Paris and the crowds used to flock to hear him make music."
    "Really!" said Willie, at the girl’s unbelieving look, "he had perfect pitch and control."
    "Unlike James," said the girl, laughing again.
    Just at that a further massive, convoluted v-roo-ooo-p of escaping wind echoed throughout the car.
    The girl turned to look at James again, and Willie bent down to catch a better view, a look of delighted approval in his eyes. -
    "That’s what I call intimacy — and communication," said Willie. "I’m proud of you son!"
    James’ eyes were open wide.
    "That wasn’t . . . " he started to say, but his words were drowned in a high-pitched howl of laughter, the girl whooping with delight, bending double and hugging her knees, lost in an apocalyptic contortion of mirth.
    "You mean . . . !" exclaimed Willie, a note of admiration in his voice.
    "Yeeess..!" squealed the girl, coming up for air, tears streaming down her cheeks, "It was meeeeee....!" And she went off into another howl of laughter, gales of weeping mirth bubbling up from the recesses of her soul, gripping her in uncontrollable spasms, shaking her body and causing the car to vibrate under Willie’s hand.
    "Great!" exclaimed Willie, beaming benevolently. "Now you’re really communicating with each other — talking to one another! That’s what I call true intimacy!"
    And for the first time since the young man had leaned over the glass counter Willie allowed himself to laugh - James himself beginning to bray in heartfelt, hysterical relief: and the sound of their mirth echoed throughout the deserted street, drifted beyond the pool of light splaying from the little shop, fused with the gentle stream of exhaust gasses that escaped from the rear of the purring car and floated wraithlike into the midnight sky.

At that moment in the People's Republic of China Madame Ching-Chu Loo and an estimated 18% of her 600 million fellow citizens also broke wind, as did 28% of New Zealand’s 45 million methane producing sheep.
In Nairobi the Executive Director of the UN Environment Programme stirred uneasily in his bed.

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Approx. 2,200 words: