Читать книгу I Am the Border, So I Am - @BorderIrish - Страница 15

Still Here, Jim?

Jim was still here. Where else would he be, I suppose? He had nowhere to Leave to, no hidden Leaving skills that he had suddenly unleashed, no map which would take him on the path to Leaving. No, Jim’s Leaving now involved being very unLeft.

‘Border.’

‘Jim.’

‘This is quite boring, isn’t it?’

‘…’

‘Did you ever hear tell of a lad called Samuel Beckett, Border?’

‘Oh aye. Went to school round here. Quiet lad. Why do you ask?’

‘It passes the time, Border.’

‘It would have passed anyway, Jim.’

‘…’

‘Still Leaving, Jim?’

‘Still Leaving, Border.’

‘Ok, Jim.’

Jim can stand there for hours, days, weeks on end, in the process of Leaving. I admire his persistence.

‘Are you looking forward to Leaving, Jim?’

‘Oh yes.’

‘Why’s that, Jim? Is it the prospect of freedom? The journey into the unknown? The horizons of expectation which you can push back, finding endless potentiality within yourself and your fellow Leavers?’

‘No, it’s the weather, Border.’

‘The weather?’

‘It’s going to be sunny when I’ve Left, Border.’

‘Sunny uplands?’

‘Yes, Border, that’s it, I think. Sundry uphills.’

‘Sunny uplands, Jim. When you Leave there will be sunny uplands.’

‘That’s it. I’m Leaving for sunken funlands.’

‘Ok, Jim.’

Time for Jim to get into a telephone box and put on the Brexitman suit that Jean knitted for him.