Mannequin Monday – It’s Best Not to Talk
“So why then does he feel he is on his way to perdition and not paradise?” We’re dressing our mannequin, our story framework, with words from an emerging Irish writer. The Irish Independent celebrates David Ralph’s “Taghazout” this week.
And I offer my own short story “It’s Best Not to Talk,” about a rookie cop finding out when to speak, when to shut up, on her night shift.
This Week’s Story
Ireland’s national newspaper The Irish Independent offers New Irish Writing, edited by Ciaran Carty and appearing on the last Saturday of each month. Currently featured is “Taghazout,” by David Ralph. Ralph hails from Tipperary and lives in Dublin. He is working on a collection of short stories.
The story opens, “He wakes like a swimmer emerging from water, his head rearing up off the pillow, his mouth sucking hard at the air.” Coming up from the deep. “He is hungover, his head hammering.”
He is hungover, his head hammering.
The man wakens to a huge hangover, remembers he is scheduled to go on holidays, hurriedly gathers his gear and dashes off to the airport. He will meet his friend in Morocco to surf and party. As he rushes to the airport, prepares to board his flight, he is riddled with anxiety. It’s a black cat kind of day. He can’t shake the feeling death awaits him somewhere before the day is over.
“His bag is packed in no time. His friend Francois is already there, waiting for him in Taghazout, a village along the coast past Agadir. A midwinter break to the gloom. Francois says it’s a paradise for surfers, yoga enthusiasts, sybaritic partygoers. So why then does he feel he is on his way to perdition and not paradise?”
The author immerses readers in the chaos swirling in the character’s head. “He passes gate after gate after gate. When he approaches Gate 111, he sees that people are already queuing to board. Already they’re snaking round a corner, tripping over each other to get inside an iron canister that will javelin them in a miraculous arc up over France, on through Spain, and finally set them down on the edge of the Sahara.”
As fellow passengers are boarding, the man’s mind is spinning: “And then the thought comes to him as he considers the blue liveried hostess with her hair pulled tightly back in a bun. He could just stand up and walk off. There is nothing and no one stopping him. He doesn’t have to get on that plane.”
Read on to see what the man decides to do. The author has captured one long foreboding moment in a man’s life. A singular moment? Or one of a string of such moments?
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