'Ladies and gentleman!' he boomed, the old pig-and-mealy-faced man, 'IN THE RED CORNER, TED CARSON!' He then dropped his shoulders slightly and bobbed unsteadily, like a boxer on a crutch, before reaching forward across the bar to shake Ted's hand, with his thick, beringed and trottery fingers.
'Michael?' said Ted. 'It's yerself?'
'I fecking hope so!' said Michael, patting his chest. 'Certainly the last time I checked it was! But for feck's sake! Ted Carson! Jesus!'
'Michael!' said Ted, shaking his head in wonderment. 'Ach, Michael! What about yerself?'
'Doin' bravely, Ted. Doin' bravely. Can't complain.'
'Good,' said Ted. 'That's good.'
'Because you know if ye did-' began Michael.
'No one would listen to ye anyway!' said Ted.
They thought this was hilarious, Ted and Michael. They both creased up at this, laughing like they were boys who'd let off a stink bomb, or slipped a whoopee cushion onto the headmaster's seat. Israel had never seen Ted laugh like that before; it was uninhibited laughter. Israel hadn't laughed like that in a long time.
'Boys-a-boys,' said Michael, coming out from round behind the bar on his crutch. 'Look at ye now. I haven't seen ye in, what, ten? Twenty?'
'Forty,' said Ted.
'Forty years?'
'Forty years,' agreed Ted.
'Forty years,' said Israel, joining in.
'Ach, Israel, quiet,' said Ted.
'Seems like yesterday we were wee lads,' said Michael. 'Out in the fields.'
'Aye,' agreed Ted.
'Y'member yer mother'd have the sandwiches set out ready for us when were in?'
'Aye. Thick as the duck-house door.'
'Happy days,' said Michael. 'Wonderful woman, yer mother, Ted.'
'Aye,' said Ted quietly.
'But now, come on, Ted, we're being awful rude here. Introduce me. Who's yer young friend then?'
'Who?'
'The wee pup here.' Michael gestured at Israel with his crutch.
'Him? He's Israel.'
'How ye doin', sir?' said Michael, bracelets jangling, shaking Israel's hand. 'Pleased to meet you.'
'Nice to meet you too,' said Israel.
'Israel?' said Michael, rubbing his wide, white-stubbled chin. 'Israel. Now, tell me the truth, young man, and I'll tell you no lie, would you be of the Hebrew persuasion?'
'Erm. Yes, I suppose, I-'
'Well, well,' said Michael. 'Isn't that a coincidence. Some of my best friends are Jewish.'
'Right,' said Israel.
'Did I ever tell you the story of the rabbi and the priest?'
'No,' said Israel hesitantly. He'd never met Michael before, so exactly how he might have told him the story before…
'All right,' said Michael, leaning across towards Israel. 'Come here.' Israel stepped reluctantly a little closer. He'd never really warmed to men who wore chunky gold jewellery. Michael grabbed hold of his elbow. 'So,' he said, breathing cigarette fumes over Israel. 'There's a rabbi and a priest, and the priest says to the rabbi, "Tell me, you're not allowed to eat bacon. Is that right?" And the rabbi says, "Yes, that's right."' Michael looked at Israel for confirmation of this fact of Jewish dietary law; Israel smiled weakly.
'Anyway, "Just between ourselves," says the priest, "just out of interest, have you ever tried it?" Well, "I must admit," says the rabbi, "many years ago, I did taste bacon." "It's pretty good, isn't it?" says the priest. And, "Yes," says the rabbi, "I have to agree, it's pretty good."'
Israel continued to smile uncertainly.
'"But tell me," says the rabbi-now listen,' said Michael to Israel, '"priests are not allowed to have sex, is that right?"'
Israel grimaced slightly.
'"Yes, that's right," agrees the priest. "We're not allowed to have sex." They're celibate, right, Catholic priests?' said Michael.
'Yes,' said Israel.
'So, "Between ourselves," says the rabbi, "have you ever tried it?" Sex? Right? "No," says the priest, "I must admit, I have never tried it." Never had sex. "Not even once?" asks the rabbi. "No," says the priest, "I've not had sex even once." Now listen,' said Michael, drawing Israel closer, 'this is the punch line. "That's a shame," says the rabbi, "because it's a hell of a lot better than bacon!"'
'Right,' said Israel.
'Sex, you see!' said Michael, 'better than bacon!'
Ted was roaring with laughter.
'Ah, that's a good one,' he said, wiping his eyes.
'It's the way I tell 'em!' said Michael, which sent Ted into further paroxysms of laughter.
'That's it?' said Israel. 'That's the end of the joke?'
'It's the way he tells them!' said Ted.
'Clearly,' said Israel.
'Come on, fellas,' said Michael, 'enough joking around. Come and have a seat here. Come on, come on. Look. I've reserved the best table in the house.'
Michael ushered them over to a table, a table that hadn't had a wipe in some time-years, possibly. The surface was tacky and crusty, as though covered in a thick film of mucus. Israel thought about putting his mobile down on the table, and then thought better of it. He checked again to see if he'd missed any messages. Nothing.
'You're getting drinks now, are ye?' said Michael.
'Aye,' said Ted. 'Guinness.'
The barman looked up and across at the word 'Guinness' and nodded.
'So, you all right?' said Ted.
'Not so bad,' said Michael. 'Few troubles with the old leg, but.' And he slapped his leg.
'Aye,' said Ted. 'What's that all about then?'
'Bone cancer,' said Michael. 'It was me or the leg, they said, so that was it, away.'
'What!' said Ted.
'The leg,' repeated Michael. 'Got the chop.'
'Almighty God!' said Ted. 'That's awful, sure. You mean you've only got the one…'
'Aye,' said Michael.
'Well. I'm…sorry for your loss,' said Ted.
'Ah!' said Michael. 'That's very good. "Sorry for your loss!" I like that. God, it's good to speak to someone from back home. The English, ye know…' He smiled a dirty-toothed smile at Israel. 'No sense of fucking humour. Present company excepted.'
'When did ye? Ye know? Lose the…' said Ted.
'That'd be, what? A year ago?' said Michael.
'And ye've the all-clear now, like, from the cancer?'
'Touch wood,' said Michael. 'Touch wood.' He slapped his leg. It gave a dull thud.
'It's a wooden leg?' said Ted.
'Ach, no!' said Michael. 'Wooden leg, Ted! Ye've got to get with it. This is the twenty-first century. I'm not a feckin' pirate, am I? Eh?'
'Ooh-aar, shipmates,' said Israel.
'Shut up, Israel,' said Ted.
'It's plastic,' said Michael. 'Ye can feel it if you want.'
'I'll not, thanks, Michael, no,' said Ted.
'Ye want to feel it?' said Michael, laughing, addressing Israel.
'No, thanks…'
'Me leg, I mean. She'll not bite,' said Michael.
'No, I'll skip on the…Thanks, anyway.'
At which point, thankfully, the barman came and set drinks down before them, three pints.
'Now that's a pint of Guinness,' said Ted, admiring the pint, as though it were Athena in the Parthenon.
'Aye,' said Michael. 'Ye could trot a mouse across her.' Michael demonstrated this possibility, by walking his fingers daintily across the top of his pint. 'It's the training. See yer man there now?' He gestured towards the barman while he licked the froth from his fingers. 'Months, it took me to get him to do what I wanted. Honest to God, Ted. Months.'
'Where's he from?' said Israel.
'Poland,' said Michael. 'Boleslaw.'
'Whatterslaw?'
'Like coleslaw,' said Michael.
'That his name, or where he's from?' said Ted.
'That's his name,' said Michael. 'Studying for a…what do you call it?'
'Don't know,' said Ted.
'One of those…'
'An exam?' said Israel. 'English as a foreign language? TEFL?'
'PhD,' said Michael. He shouted across to Boleslaw. 'Boles? Hey! What is it you're studying at?'
'Sublinear algorithms?' said Boleslaw, grinning behind the bar. 'King's College.'
'Right,' said Israel.
'Immigrants,' said Ted, stroking his pint glass as though it were a Jack Russell terrier. 'Pulls a good pint, mind. What, ye share the shifts, do ye?'