The wipers of the bus screeched to a hypnotic sound. The light rain breaks on the large windshield, while the bus climbed the asphalt discontinued. Viewed from behind the driver looked like a mannequin with a hat of service.
Jonah was sitting on the seat in the back row. He had his head resting on the back and felt my teeth vibrate. With him on the bus there was only an old woman. She wore a kerchief on her head, tied under the chin. At the foot had a shopping bag and a dripping umbrella. She was sitting on a side seat and looked out the window, motionless or sleeping.
The bus passed a nasty curve and shift in a scraping was heard, so sharp that Jonah winced. He learned something there that was in Ireland and the Irish were basically good people, but they could not drive. It was initially said it was only an impression suggested by the opposite direction. Now that I had got used to it - and now he could cross the street without running the risk of losing his neck - he had concluded that no, the Irish stood out for driving. After two weeks of hitchhiking, I had enough experience.
looked at the sky. Through the network of rivulets on the glass, he saw a flat plate and gray. A sky that was sweating like a mozzarella, which bored yawn, contagious yawning also Jonah.
The bus was stopped with screeching brakes. The doors opened and the lady got out, turning a nod to the driver. The doors closed again and the vehicle drove off. Jonah looked back and saw the lady slowly disappear in the profile of the road.
is wrapped in a sweater, hung his head and closed his eyes.
After a while, 'he opened them. He had not realized that the bus had stopped. The driver's was screaming something.
"As it says, please?"
"We're at the end of the race," said the driver.
"At the Hill of Tara?"
"Yes, friend,"
Jonah took the backpack and hurried down. The driver looked at him in the rearview mirror. The boy had no umbrella, so he just cover up hooded sweater.
"Thanks," said the driver. They raised a hand, then closed the doors and into gear. He walked away with him and the roar that followed him.
Jonah was just on the roadside. The rain continued to fall in small drops and biting. Somewhere in the silence of a sheep bleated. There was a smell of something that had to milk.
He looked around. He was in a parking lot. There was one parked car, an old ford with a red side of the bumper off. He settled his knapsack on his back, then walked toward the only building he saw a white, rectangular building.
If someone had asked to indicate on a map where he was, he pointed the finger at a point just north of Dublin. A rural area, with large green fields and a few isolated house. The only compelling reason to move from the countryside was the Hill of Tara. But it was the last of September and there were no tourists. It seemed that the Irish were gone. Perhaps they, too, in the cold.
few meters later, the patch of trees on the right opened, revealing a narrow road that led straight to a gate. A sign indicating the path to be followed to the hill. The writing was half cleared, but you could still read.
He stopped. He weighed the idea of \u200b\u200bgoing to see what was the first white building after the parking lot. It will only be a gift shop, he said. He looked again the road beyond the gate open. A trickle of water was pouring into a hole, creating a small pool of water bubbling.
sighed.
The gift shop would have been expected.
Through the gate and walked along the path, which wound in a small woods and ended slightly higher, in a meadow. The stones that pave the path was slippery and Jonah had to be careful. His balance was already compromised by the weight of the backpack, but somehow managed to remain standing. Continued until the road leaves the place of the mud and grass. A statue stood ten feet high. It was St. Patrick's, watching a human with a look that seemed to reproach him with something, and Jonah felt guilty, even he knew why. After the granite brother, came to the valley.
He remembered a green ocean waves that were blocked at a time storm. The silent hills were shrouded in a light mist and restless as if this place was really full of holiness. As if it really, a few feet below, dwell the gods. The thuata something. Jonah tried to remember, but he remembered the name. Leaving the guide into the car of the guy who gave him a ride, was not a great move. The hills of Tara remembered only this were a focal point of indigenous spirituality. The problem was that Ireland was considered all spiritual .
went down the hill, being careful. The schools of the shoes were sufficiently smooth so that he could surf on the gentle slopes of wet grass. Scattered here and there were a few sheep that graze freely and watched him with an expression of stupid sheep.
came on the highest hill .. At the heart of it was stacked by a white stone oblong, vaguely phallic, about three feet high, perpendicular to the ground. A signboard informed that this was
the Sacred Stone. But because it was sacred, did not say.
looked at the landscape that you could see faded from the heights above. A campaign semiavvolta gray rain. A picture of gloom as he could paint Byron. Tara looked at the stone, chipped at some point.
"That's it?"
The application was lost in the boundless space, absorbed by the fog. A raven croaked somewhere in the valley.
sighed. He pulled down the hood, ruffled his hair and then put it back. The rain did not want to stop. A sheep continued to stare, chewing a blade of grass is clearly too fibrous.
better to leave, there was more to see. But before retrace his steps, Jonah reached out to the monument. If he had come this far, might as well touch it, even if he did not know what could serve. Certainly something. In Ireland - and this is the second thing he learned there - no matter what spiritual needed to be touched. Maybe this was for sex, he said. He put his fingertips on the stone.
"Here. Not to see me go blank tonight. "
The stone was cold and wet, the granite that was holding a nail together two pieces of the world.
"I commend thuata something. I prefer the blonde. "
There was a sound. Jonah listened. No, he was deceived, there was a howl and changes of direction. He stood to listen, rather puzzled. It was a long sound and soft, almost imperceptible, and it seemed to jump from one field to another. A crow a few feet away took flight, with a flutter of wings. Jonah ran look the countryside, sweeping across the landscape in search of something. He thought of a train, but considered that there were no railway lines around. It seemed that the sound had been approached.
Jonah stood. The sound grew more and more volume. As they grew in intensity could be heard the presence of something else behind the sound. Nell'ululato was recognized shortly after a cry of many voices, ever more clearly. Like a car fast approaching in with hundreds of women tortured.
There was a thud, Jonah turned. A sheep had fallen to the side. Behind this, another on its side with its legs stiff, without issue a sound.
"Sant'Iddio"
A third did the same. Jonah looked alarmed the sheep fall to the ground one after another. As if someone toppled. The cry was coming and he was always closest to the valley. A sheep fell on his back slid down the slope, stopping at the base of the hill below him. The came close enough so he could see his tongue. In the valley there was a sheep standing on their feet.
The cry rose to an unsustainable level. The ground began to vibrate, the air around thinned and every blade of grass was shaken under the waves. The fog thickened, blanketing the white bodies of animals. The hills of Tara were wincing. You could not go wrong, now the cries had come to the valley. If the first covered the entire surface without a definite direction, now came from a single point. Jonah knew that had gathered inside the dolmen. The Stone of Tara was screaming like a god whipped.
He tried to break away from the stone but could not. He felt his head sag. The screams were so loud ear-splitting. He was sure something was bleeding inside his skull. That had broken some channel or tube, and now his brain was dying to soak. The air pressure was increased and he felt the bones of the hands and forearms creak. He flung open the jaw and could not say if he was screaming, because the sound surmounted everything.
Until, suddenly, the screams ceased.
silence had returned. A piece of reality had been sucked into a moment, as there had never been. And his overbearing absence was disarming.
The wind blew slightly, waving grass.
Jonah had not dared move a muscle and when he noticed the tension released and turned away from the stone. He was panting a bit '. The ears could hear the whistle as long after a concert. He felt a hot drop rolling down her cheeks, wiped absently with his hand and saw that it was blood. Right ear was bleeding, Christ.
A sheep bleated. It was the closest. With a flash went back on their feet and jumped over the hill. The other sheep are resumed, kicking the air and finally getting off the ground. Some ran away. The others, after a moment of confusion, resumed chewing the grass.
When he arrived in the parking lot, saw the red Ford was gone. The gift shop - it was just that - it was closed. Jonah went to the bus stop, to control the timetable. The final should have been lowered to eighteen. He looked at his watch. Hung at five-thirty-seven.
"A full-blown horror film" he said. Thought about. "And now that I've done the situation will be worse than sarcasm."
sniffed. He looked first to the right, then left, then sat by the roadside, waiting for some was the idea. He stared at the asphalt, fully conscious of not thinking about anything star. He watched the sky, then his hands, then the top of a tree and finally the road. A sign that he had not noticed the first informed of a country just five miles away. He slipped off his knapsack and laid it between his legs. He opened it and poked it in, pulled out his cell phone, looked at him and shoved him inside. He got up and made two twisting your back. He put the backpack and they set forth in the direction of the country.
Throughout the trip it was not even a car. There were only fields, sheep, cattle. He also saw a hare and two crows. The rain had stopped, but was even worse. In return, his feet were wet and felt he had soaked his socks. After a relatively short time - his nose must have walked half an hour - a sign made him welcome in the country of Jordanstown, but he did not feel welcome at all. The houses had their shutters down and the shutters closed, and the street you could not see anyone. He passed a hardware store, this closed. He wondered if that day is not a few days of celebration for the merchants of that county. On the opposite side of the street saw the sign of Jonah is a pub and sliced \u200b\u200bacross. By the grace of God was opened.
The bartender handed him a pint on the counter. He thanked her with a smile, the bartender smiled back and returned to dry the glasses. There was a low in the local music, broadcast by a radio station that only brought Irish folk and old time rock songs. For the rest, he felt only the storm raging on the windows. Thankfully Jon was already inside the pub when he was broke. If it had happened before, Jonah would have definitely broken relationships
with the Church and all his saints, goodbye and fuck you, all right. The only thing missing was a shower while he was walking.
raised his pint and drank it.
The light was soft launched a few light bulbs. Beams of wood hung around. Postcards, hats, shirts, flags, a sweatshirt with the name of a university, drawings - mostly caricatures and satirical, coasters signed by someone, souvenir photos, old and new advertising. Even the head of a stuffed zebra. Jonah feared was true. Thought to ask the bartender, but decided it was a stupid question.
He turned on the stool and glanced discreet persons the bar. There were only men and old men. All were standing in silence, but two sitting at a table, but that they had much to say. He counted seven heads, and then turn back to the counter. In doing so, he noticed that the person sitting beside him was staring. Jonah ignorance and took another sip. Then pretended to look at something on a shelf to his left, to see if the man was still staring. It seemed to him that yes, I was doing. Camera to look ahead, then turned to look directly with the stool. The man, a guy in his forties with a rumpled baseball cap and reddish beard, then averted his eyes and drank by the pint, regardless. When Jonah turned around, he came to fix it.
"What the fuck" snapped quietly.
He scraped the edge of the coaster, the rippling wet cardboard, when he heard a call request.
"Are you not?" Asked the man.
For a moment he did not know what to answer. "I am who?"
The man was turned fully toward him and he was studying. With half-closed eyes, the lines had become more visible. Then he said:
"You're not my wife's brother, right?"
"No ..."
"John Winsley?
" No
"Sure?"
"Sure."
"I do not you count?"
"I have no sisters."
'Mh'
"I'm Italian." He added. "Tourists."
That said, the man thought it over. He touched the brim of the hat and repositioned on the head. Then he turned on the counter and took a sip from the glass. "No. My wife is not Italian. "He said.
Jonah looked at the bartender, but he gave them away and gave no air to be listening. Who knows how he felt, the bartender. The rain poured angry, as if it were to break down the quiet of a sunny land of sunshine did not see almost never.
"My brother is a hothead. A son of a bitch. And I'm not insulting the holy woman of my mother-in-law. John is a different mother, a whore. "
" Mh "said Jonah, nodding. Camera scratching the jagged edge of the coaster. He turned back, but the situation had not changed from earlier. The customers were always the same.
'It escaped after combining a casino to the family. I know my in-laws have a carpet factory. They weave Persian carpets and I swear to God that are better than real ones. Anyway I swore that if I ever reviewed that son of a bitch, I would have inflated the barrel. "He nodded, his lips toward the center. "Jesus! Deserves to be inflated from the barrel. "
Jonah did not know what to say, so he remained silent. The bartender disappeared behind the door of the store and returned after a few minutes. Jonah found that the whistle had already gone to the ears, that she had not noticed. He wondered if it does not go to the hospital to do some checking.
'Look, you've heard something by accident a few hours ago? Asked.
The man with the red beard said nothing and the bartender continued to count the money to the cashier, as if nobody had spoken.
"Have you not heard a huge scream?" The bartender stopped
to count the notes and stared at him.
"So Freddy has not said shit." Said the man who would swell and beat his brother in law.
"Freddy?"
"What kind of scream," asked the bartender. He closed the cash drawer.
"A scream as if they were slaughtering an entire country." He explained.
'Holy Christ, then it was true. "Said the man with the beard.
The bartender approached them. "A little while ago someone said the same thing. He was quite shaken. "
" I can imagine that it was, all right "said Jonah, finishing the beer in pint. In Ireland you can drink liters of beer, almost without realizing it. There maybe the beer is different.
"Freddy has a ball." Said the man, who was now taken off his hat, revealing a principle of baldness. The short hair was lighter than the beard.
"And how if it is" the bartender agreed. "He once told of being able to capture a deer by the horns and rode it like a whore. He said just like that, like a whore. Do not believe it. "
" Yeah
"But Freddy seemed really scared."
"Yeah. It seemed he had seen a ghost. "
"A ghost ass pound a sheep from the face he had."
"What's your name?"
"Jonah."
"What name?"
'E' Italian '.
' Mh "
" I'm Italian "redeployment.
"Oh yeah,"
"Tell us where you were when you heard he asked the bartender.
"the hill of Tara. Can I have more beer? "
" Hear me, you want a whiskey on the house. "
excerpts from the guide" In around Ireland, "GiroDelMondo Edizioni, Bergamo, March 2002.
(currently located under the front seat of a Volkswagen, Plate 07-D-78 154 - IRL)
The Hill of Tara, County Meath, known as Gaelic Temair was once the seat of power in Ireland. It seems to govern from there were 142 King, from the days when history was still prehistory. In ancient mythology, Temair was the sacred abode of the Gods, an entrance to the Otherworld, so the area is frequented by the Little People. The trees that are in the area are said to be regularly visited by Fate, which takes its name Fairies Trees.
It is said that St. Patrick had gone to Tara to confront the ancient religion just one of its holiest sites. In 1842 a statue was erected at the foot of the foothills.
the early twentieth century, a group of Israelites came to Tara with the conviction that the mythical Ark of the Covenant was buried under the hill. They carry out some excavations in the "Mound of the Synod " in search of the Ark, but only a few coins were found in Roman times.
A new theory is Tara as the ancient capital of the lost kingdom of Atlantis. The thesis proposal suggests an identity between Ireland and mythical Atlantis.
There are a large number of monuments and earthen structures on the hill of Tara, the first settlement site in the Neolithic age, and the "Mound of Hostages " was built around 2500 BC about.
On top of the "King Seat
(Forradh) Temair to find the most famous monuments of Tara, the Lia Fail
, or"
Stone of Destiny ", the ancient stone used to crown the King of 'Ireland, according to mythology brought by the divine Tuatha De Danann, along with 3 other magical items:
The Spear of Lugh,
the Sword of Nuada and the Cauldron of Dagda.
It is said that the Stone
scream when he was touched by the rightful King of Ireland.
Some say
the Stone of Destiny was in the past, the cushion of the Old Testament Jacob (A wonderful example of religious syncretism between Christianity and Irish Old Religion).
A legend says that it is only one of four stones placed source in the direction of the cardinal points of Tara, and it is interesting to note that the "Hall of Tara, the ancient political center of Ireland, is in North-South line with the monolith.
