Read Online The Law of Dreams by Peter Behrens - Free Book Online Page B

Ohio, the mountain, a place to dream.
    Stepping over the iron grillwork, he started away.

Lost
    SNOW SCALPED THE HILLS surrounding the town. Murty Larry
     tried begging from a gentleman in a cloak, who ignored him, then from a couple of
     drunken soldiers who laughed and threw him a button.
    Fergus was stiff, shy, no good at begging — he couldn’t speak
     to strangers. One lady wearing spectacles shoved a tract in his hand then hurried on
     while Murty Larry shouted, “Give me something I can eat, you old whore!”
    Grabbing the tract from Fergus, Murty pitched it in the gutter.
    â€œNever mind, Fergus, never mind — pleading is not the game,
     not for us, it won’t serve. People are too wicked here.”
    â€œWe ought to get out of this town.”
    â€œGoing where?”
    He shrugged. “Back to the mountain.”
    â€œMountain? I ain’t going for no fucking mountain, captain. No,
     I am not. Starve like a crow on your old bonny mountain. Limerick, that’s the
     place — look here, look at this old creature.”
    Peering through the gray curtain of snow falling, Fergus saw a beggar
     woman sitting up ahead in the road.
    â€œWe’ll get that shawl off her,” Murty Larry said.
    â€œHer shawl?”
    â€œJust watch me now.”
    As they were walking by the old woman Murty Larry reached down, grabbed a
     corner of the shawl, and tried pulling it off her.
    â€œThief ! Thief !” Screeching, the woman hung on.
    â€œLet go, you old wretch, let me have it!” When Murty kicked
     her in the side she let go of the shawl and Murty raced down the street, slipping and
     sliding on the snow, waving it like a banner.
    Fergus stared at the old woman on her hands and knees, muttering and
     spitting, unable to stand up.
    Feeling pity and not pity. A gauze-over-all feeling.
    â€œCome on, come on!” Murty Larry screamed.
    IN A livery stable behind a beer shop, they warmed
     themselves lying on horses’ backs. “We shall go for Limerick. Find a wagon
     man in Limerick. You’ll learn the wheel trade, Fergus. Only we must have shoes for
     the road.”
    They swallowed handfuls of oats soaked in water, then Murty Larry slid off
     his horse and started making slippers, tearing up the old woman’s shawl, wrapping
     the cloth around their feet.
    Wearing the wrappings they quit the stable, Murty Larry insisting he knew
     the way for Limerick. But after they had passed the beer shop twice, Fergus realized
     Murty could not even lead the way out of Scariff. The cloth binding their feet was
     already shredding and dissolving.
    â€œThis isn’t going to work, man.”
    â€œLimerick’s the mighty town,” Murty insisted.
     “Lots of roads going there.”
    â€œI don’t know why I’m following you — you
     don’t know the way.”
    â€œDon’t lose me, Fergus.” Murty Larry began to weep.
     “I am getting awful fights in my head. Hurts so it’s killing. My stomach
     hurts too.”
    Fever.
    Start in one direction, keep going.
    He started down a long street of wrecked cabins, resolved to follow it
     wherever it went.
    â€œThis ain’t the way for Limerick!” Murty Larry
     protested. “This is the road for Hell.” He kept falling behind but Fergus
     refused to slow down or turn around. In ten minutes they had reached the end of the
     town. For as far as hecould see ahead the hedges along the road
     were lined with men, women, and children sitting under the branches or lying in holes
     and scrapes dug into the ground and covered with sticks and rags.
    â€œDon’t leave me, captain!” Murty Larry had stopped in
     the road. He was swaying, clutching his belly. “This isn’t the way out of
     the world. I can’t walk so hard, Fergus.”
    A heavy dray, the type called a
land carriage
, was coming up
     behind them, loaded with freight.
    â€œIt’s a road,”