Read Online A Horse Called El Dorado by Kevin Kiely - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kevin Kiely
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‘I have a bit of a hat myself in the jeep. You’ll need it here in Ireland.’ He grinned broadly. ‘I bet your belly is hanging down? I mean, are you hungry? We could eat here at the airport. I do not like the fast food at all, but you might?’
‘I’m not hungry,’ I yawned. ‘Just sleepy.’
‘Right so, let’s get you to the farm, and away from this mob. It’s a lot quieter down in the county Meath. Pepe, I’m delighted to meet you and that you’ll be spending some time with us. Your dad should be home from Canada at some stage.’
I took to Grandad immediately, and thought he would have fitted in well at the commune. His messy jeep – ‘the crock’ as he called it – must have been very old. A pane of glass on one side was missing and had been replaced with a sheet of polythene that flapped as we drove along. There were boxes, crates, rolls of plastic, egg trays, bamboo canes, two big balls of rope, tools and a brush handle in the back, and a deep, rich smell of vegetables.
We drove slowly for a while along lanes of traffic and I stared out of the window at aeroplanes landing and taking off against the night sky. The roaring of their engines made them seem like monsters waiting to swoop down on us. The city lights thinned gradually as we chugged along, with Grandad telling me about their small farm, and aboutthe kinds of crops that grow well in the Irish climate. He showed me his hat too, a battered-looking fisherman’s hat which looked a hundred years old.
We got to a place called Kells, and Grandad stopped the jeep with a big screeching of brakes and lumbered out. He returned with a comic for me, the Dandy .
‘We can get you something better when you get settled ,’ he said kindly. ‘Don’t be surprised if you see me reading the Dandy myself.’ I explained to Grandad that I could not read in English, only in Spanish. ‘Ah well, you can look at the pictures anyway,’ he said, ‘and I’ll ask your grandmother about teaching you a bit of English. Anyway, you can make sense to me, and isn’t that enough to be getting on with?’
A short while later we turned off the road, up a bumpy laneway. We stopped in front of a little house, and my grandmother came out. She was a warm, plump woman with short hair, and she smelled of the countryside as she wrapped her arms around me. Her hands, like Grandad’s, were coarse, with the shadows of earth in the fingernails. I looked from one to the other, at their bright, ruddy faces. I would grow to love these people. They worked on the land as I had, and it immediately united us.
‘What is this?’ Grandma asked. ‘A towel, and it’s damp? Give me that till I wash it and dry it for you.’
‘Look, he has a better hat than mine,’ said Grandad, pointing it out to Grandma.
They showed me my room upstairs. It used to be mypapa’s, and still had some of his childhood toys in the wardrobe – a train set with lots of bits missing from the box; a spud-gun and a water pistol; books; a stamp album with three Colombian stamps – I was delighted. His camera had a crack in the casing. There was a radio without batteries, and a hurley stick that I thought was a boomerang at first. Best of all were the Airfix model aeroplanes and boats, most of them broken but still wonderful since they were my papa’s. Three big jars contained seashells, marbles and old coins. On the walls were posters of pop groups and solo guitarists. No wonder Papa had gone out in the world playing music.
I heard Grandma calling me for a bath and she brought a towelled robe that had belonged to my papa. ‘Give yourself a good scrub, Pepe,’ she said. ‘I hope you will be happy here with us. We are old fogies but we try not to be grumpy. You can tell me if you want anything special?’ I wondered what she meant by ‘old fogies’. She showed me the hot and cold taps, one with a red spot, the other blue.
‘Grandma, I was born in the jungle but I’m not a monkey,’ I said.
‘Oh,
‘I’m not hungry,’ I yawned. ‘Just sleepy.’
‘Right so, let’s get you to the farm, and away from this mob. It’s a lot quieter down in the county Meath. Pepe, I’m delighted to meet you and that you’ll be spending some time with us. Your dad should be home from Canada at some stage.’
I took to Grandad immediately, and thought he would have fitted in well at the commune. His messy jeep – ‘the crock’ as he called it – must have been very old. A pane of glass on one side was missing and had been replaced with a sheet of polythene that flapped as we drove along. There were boxes, crates, rolls of plastic, egg trays, bamboo canes, two big balls of rope, tools and a brush handle in the back, and a deep, rich smell of vegetables.
We drove slowly for a while along lanes of traffic and I stared out of the window at aeroplanes landing and taking off against the night sky. The roaring of their engines made them seem like monsters waiting to swoop down on us. The city lights thinned gradually as we chugged along, with Grandad telling me about their small farm, and aboutthe kinds of crops that grow well in the Irish climate. He showed me his hat too, a battered-looking fisherman’s hat which looked a hundred years old.
We got to a place called Kells, and Grandad stopped the jeep with a big screeching of brakes and lumbered out. He returned with a comic for me, the Dandy .
‘We can get you something better when you get settled ,’ he said kindly. ‘Don’t be surprised if you see me reading the Dandy myself.’ I explained to Grandad that I could not read in English, only in Spanish. ‘Ah well, you can look at the pictures anyway,’ he said, ‘and I’ll ask your grandmother about teaching you a bit of English. Anyway, you can make sense to me, and isn’t that enough to be getting on with?’
A short while later we turned off the road, up a bumpy laneway. We stopped in front of a little house, and my grandmother came out. She was a warm, plump woman with short hair, and she smelled of the countryside as she wrapped her arms around me. Her hands, like Grandad’s, were coarse, with the shadows of earth in the fingernails. I looked from one to the other, at their bright, ruddy faces. I would grow to love these people. They worked on the land as I had, and it immediately united us.
‘What is this?’ Grandma asked. ‘A towel, and it’s damp? Give me that till I wash it and dry it for you.’
‘Look, he has a better hat than mine,’ said Grandad, pointing it out to Grandma.
They showed me my room upstairs. It used to be mypapa’s, and still had some of his childhood toys in the wardrobe – a train set with lots of bits missing from the box; a spud-gun and a water pistol; books; a stamp album with three Colombian stamps – I was delighted. His camera had a crack in the casing. There was a radio without batteries, and a hurley stick that I thought was a boomerang at first. Best of all were the Airfix model aeroplanes and boats, most of them broken but still wonderful since they were my papa’s. Three big jars contained seashells, marbles and old coins. On the walls were posters of pop groups and solo guitarists. No wonder Papa had gone out in the world playing music.
I heard Grandma calling me for a bath and she brought a towelled robe that had belonged to my papa. ‘Give yourself a good scrub, Pepe,’ she said. ‘I hope you will be happy here with us. We are old fogies but we try not to be grumpy. You can tell me if you want anything special?’ I wondered what she meant by ‘old fogies’. She showed me the hot and cold taps, one with a red spot, the other blue.
‘Grandma, I was born in the jungle but I’m not a monkey,’ I said.
‘Oh,
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