Free Eureka Street: A Novel of Ireland Like No Other by Robert Mclaim Wilson

would insult this man so dreadfully they'd never have to talk again. But, for now, he merely turned on his heel and started retracing his steps towards his own street.
    Stoney followed, not unaware of the sudden impediment in their good fellowship.To mend it, he assumed a comic tone.'So why were you using the phone box, Chuckle?'
    Chuckie stopped dead and turned to face him full.
    `What's with the questions? While you're at it, why don't you ask me whether space is curved finitely or infinitely?' Stoney opened his mouth. `I'm fucked if I know whether it is or not,' Chuckie added quickly.
    Stoney was delighted with Chuckle's brusqueness.'Were you calling some girl?' His eyes glinted greedily.

    Chuckie walked on.With Stoney, it was impossible to be irritated for long. `Yes,' he said.
    `Where's she from?'
    `I don't know exactly.'
    `Is she a Taig?'
    `Fuck's sake, Stoney, she's American.'
    Stoney clapped his hands with delight. `American.Very good. I always wanted a Yank girl. They've got very clean teeth.!
    Chuckie laughed.
    'Have you shagged her yet?' asked Stoney.
    Chuckie paused to decide whether or not to be angry. He decided not to be angry. `Yes,' he lied.
    `How was it?'
    `Demonic.'
    `You're a lucky fucker, Lurgan.There's your cousin's got himself a wee honey too and you're both fat bastards:

    'Where's the light of your life tonight?' Chuckie asked him. It was a good subject change. In his experience, married guys always talked gleefully about everybody else's love life. Chuckie thought he'd depress him by asking him about his own. Stoney had a dreary wife and a dreary two-year-old kid who shared her mother's button nose and amazed expression.
    `She's round at her ma's. Didn't fancy the trip.'
    `Yeah, yeah, and you're left to wander Sandy Row on the pull. Hard times, Stoney, hard, hard times.'
    Chuckie gestured at the wet streets, empty of people other than themselves. He laughed harshly and walked on. Stoney's little legs had to skip to keep up. They passed the bookie's on the corner, the bookie's that swelled and burst every lunchtime and where Chuckie would see men like his father in a thousand different guises. The place was doing powerful trade because, nowadays, even Catholics were venturing within its doors. They were becoming too frightened to bet in their own betting shops. There'd been a couple of simple massacres in Catholic betting shops over the past couple of years. Chuckie was sure that these new customers comforted themselves with the thought that money was money and that no one cared whether it was Protestant or Catholic money. Chuckie was also sure they were fooling themselves.

    `What'd you say?' he asked Stoney, who'd been breathlessly mumbling something to him.
    Stoney swallowed and puffed. `I hear you're going into business.
    'Do you?'
    `Aye. What kind of business exactly?'
    Chuckie frowned. They were near Eureka Street now. Then he could be happily free of this fellow. `I'd rather keep the details to myself for now.'
    'Oh, until you hold your press conference, no doubt.' Stoney laughed carefully. He didn't like to overtease. He went on more gently, `Good business is getting paid a hundred grand a year for watching television all day. That's good business'
    They reached the corner of Eureka Street. Chuckie turned down towards his house. Stoney stopped and said goodbye to his back. Chuckie waved once without turning. Stoney shrugged and moved on. He didn't care. Chuckie was just a fat shite with no da.
    Chuckie walked blithely down Eureka Street. His mood was unaccountably tremendous; he was impervious to Stoney's mumblings about good business. No badinage would deflect him. He was going to be rich. If only he could find a way of getting some start-up capital. If only he could persuade somebody to give him something for nothing.
    Something for nothing. In a sense, Stoney Wilson had been right. Good business was getting paid as much as possible for as little as possible. That was capitalism in essence.