01.07.2002
EDITOR'S NOTE: Now you no longer have to read this story. You can listen to it in mp3 form.
I decided that I'd been spending too much time holed up in my apartment listening to jazz records and reading old books and figured that, though none of my friends seemed up for going out that night, I could do it on my own. I packed the novel that I was in the midst of reading into my bag, pulled on my winter coat, grabbed my Chesterfields and headed around the corner to the neighborhood bar.
The place was nearly empty except for a black man at the end who was clearly annoyed by a singing Irishman next to him. I picked a spot at the other end of the counter and watched as the black guy nodded and forced a smile that was slowly slipping. The Irishman seemed to just grow in volume. I laughed to myself, ordered my drink, produced my book, and began to read. It took him five minutes, his senses no doubt slowed by what must have been a drinking binge started around noon, but the Irishman took note that I was reading and staggered over for a conversation.
"What kind of man reads in a bar," he mumbled, the words pouring from his mouth faster than his tongue could form them.
"An educated one," was my shot in the dark of an answer.
"So you're educated," he screamed and this time the black guy laughed knowing that he was off the hook. "Did you hear what one professor said to another," he asked, clearly setting up a joke.
I spun the little red stick, mixing the scotch & soda, and looked up at him carefully. If it's possible to look Irish, he was. On top of his thick neck sat a small head with a rounded chin and red nose that gave him an almost elf-like quality. His gray eyes were glazed over from too much drink and his hair was gray. He wore a green newsies cap and held my shoulder for support. I looked into his eyes.
"No," I said. "What did they say?"
"They said...," he paused, though not for effect, as the hand that wasn't on me began to scratch his belly. "They said… Damn. I think I forgot the joke."
I eyed my book and realized that I'd been turning pages that weren't read and backed them up to their previous position. "I've got one for you," I said.
His eyes lit up briefly and I could tell that they used to be blue but that somewhere along the line they decided that it denoted too much character. "Yes, my educated friend," he jumbled. "I sure would."
"Why are there so many alcoholics in Ireland," I asked. I watched him carefully for any moves that might belie his intention to fight but he simply stood there thinking about the answer as if there actually was one. Again, his hand rubbed his belly and I checked the page number on my book.
"I don't know," he said after a moment. "Why?"
"Because," I said. "That's where the Irish are."
The black guy at the end of the bar started to chuckle, holding his fist to his mouth to prevent his drink from spraying out but the Irishman looked into the distance as if adding up a complex math equation. Finally he looked down at me and repeated, "That's where the Irish are?"
I nodded in response and as he waddled away to the bathroom, I lit a cigarette to let him think about it. While he was in there, but before I could start reading again, an attractive girl saddled up to the stool next to mine and ordered a beer. I watched her for a moment and realized that without her jacket, the girl next to me had to have been tiny. If she was five feet tall, it was because her shoes granted her an extra inch and was thin enough to be carried under one arm. She looked up and smiled at me and I smiled back because she looked like a girl I'd been with once.
"Tell her your Irish joke," the black guy said.
"What Irish joke," she asked.
"Are you Irish," I asked, fairly certain that her features were too sharp to be from the Isle, but never certain given the way American worked.
"My dad's Irish," she said. "So that makes me half."
"Well, then never mind," and I waved at the bartender to put her drink on my tab.