Читать книгу RENDANG - Will Harris - Страница 12

My Name Is Dai

I heard him say his name was die, and seconds later that it was short for

David, spelt D-A-I. We had just sat down when he walked up to me

and Susie. He said he recognized her from the National Portrait Gallery.

The one with the large forehead above the door. People miss it. The sad

smile. Beer sloshed against the edges of his glass like a fish trying to

escape its bowl, but in this case the fish was dead and only looked to be

alive because of Dai’s swaying. There are people who relieve themselves

of information like a dog pissing against a streetlamp to mark out

territory, urination no longer in the service of the body, providing no

relief. Likewise, conversation. Dai was a type of Ancient Mariner.

It was in his bones. He’d been working on a site with Polish builders

and it was one of their birthdays. He mimed plunking bottles on the table.

Vodka. Whole bottles? I’m Welsh, he said. I was born on a mountain.

Between two sheepdogs. He started talking about the village he grew up

in, how happy he was among the meadows and milking cows, how

unhappy he was at school. You might’ve heard of one boy from school.

A right goody. Spoke like Audrey Hepburn or Shakespeare. We all bullied

him, but my mam would say why don’t you be like Michael, why don’t you

be like Michael. Michael bloody Sheen. Michael’s shirts were always