The Crooked Road to Heaven

By Robert Connolly

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.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A H Stockwell
• Release date: Aug 30, 2017
• ISBN: 9780722347652

Robert Connolly

I am an artist by training and a graduate of the Royal College of Art, and I have worked in the art world as a curator and organiser of exhibitions for the past 30 years; excepting brief episodes as a civil servant (eating lunch at the same table as serial murderer Dennis Nilsen), working for an American construction company building Canary Wharf in London, and of course, in the funeral industry. As a performance artist (think Marina Abramovic, Gilbert & George) I beat Lady Gaga to it by 31 years by wearing a suit made of meat at the Slade School of Art postgraduate private view in 1979: http://edibleguest.blogspot.co.uk I currently run an arts charity that provides studio space for artists in London, and divide my time between there and Oslo.

Book preview

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