Martin Millar - The Good Fairies of New York.html (7 page)

'In addition to this, the MacPhersons were descended from Muireach, the Parson of Kingussie in 1173, and he was the father of Gillechattan Mor, who was the undisputed leader of the Chattans, and of Ewan Mor, who started the MacPherson line. So the MacPhersons were descended from the man who started the Chattan line, and were their

natural leaders. But when leadership of the Chattans passed to Eva, daughter of Dougall Dall, in 1291, Angus, Sixth Laird of the accursed MacKintoshes, kidnapped her, forced her to marry him and stole the leadership.'

Kerry was meanwhile taping on a clean plastic bag to collect the excreta which would today ooze out of her side.

'Of course, the MacPhersons never accepted this but down through the centuries the MacKintoshes used every

dirty trick and subterfuge imaginable to hang on to their ill-gotten position. Nothing was too base for them. They cheated, connived, sold out to the French, English or anyone else who would pay them, and generally disgraced the good name of the clans by their shocking behaviour. I believe they are still doing it.

'So you see,' concluded Morag, now flushed with emotion, 'with a background like that it was inevitable that

Heather would turn out bad. Thieving, cheating and ratting on her former lover comes naturally to her. It's in her blood.'

'Oh, come on,' protested Kerry. 'Surely she can't be that bad?'

The small fairy snorted derisively.

'Ha! Never a day went past in Cruickshank without Heather committing some disgraceful act. If the farmer's milk went missing, they sent out search parties for Heather. If a villager's cottage burned down, "Where's Heather?"

was the cry. Honestly, it's a wonder she wasn't lynched from a hawthorn bush long before she was drummed out of the country. I tell you, she may be a thistle fairy but she is the most miserable, cheating, unscrupulous scunner— '

'Oh dear,' said Kerry kindly. 'You are desperately in love with her, aren't you?'

'Certainly not. All she ever did was brag that she could dye her hair brighter than mine. That was before you introduced me to the art of pre-colour bleaching of course. If I never see her again, it will be fine with me. She has ruined my life. It was her stupid idea to cut up the MacLeod Fairy Banner for blankets. I was perfectly

comfortable without a blanket. Now I'm exiled from Scotland all because of her. And even before that she had her file:///Users/lisa/Downloads/Martin%20Millar%20-%20The%20Good%20Fairies%20of%20New%20York.html

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mother on to me, accusing me of being a bad influence because she learned to play the whole of the first Anthrax album on her fiddle. The suffering she has caused me is appalling.'

Kerry, having completed the process of changing the colos-tomy bag, was now dressing. Because of the bag's

location on her body, she could not wear anything which was tight round the waist, and the colourful leggings which she tried to put on proved to be too constricting. She gave a deep sigh and hunted for something looser.

Morag studied her while she dressed.

'On the other hand,' said the fairy, 'compared to some things, I have not really had a lot of suffering.'

Kerry took a small bottle from the shelf for the dose of steroids that would prevent the disease from flaring up.

'Maybe not,' she said. 'But your story is sad. Let's go and buy an enormous pizza and wallow in it. Then we will try and think of a way to replace the poppy. I will win the East 4th Street Community Arts Prize or die in the attempt.'

Dinnie tried to persuade the caretaker not to evict him but the caretaker was adamant. He was risking his job by letting anyone rent the top-floor rooms as it was illegal, and if Dinnie could not pay, he had to go.

'But I am the only respectable presence here. Without me the entire building will be taken over by faggots. I am a good tenant, quiet, no trouble to anyone. I'll have the money tomorrow.'

The caretaker wavered. Unfortunately Heather at that moment succumbed to an irresistible urge to perch invisibly on his shoulder and play a series of fast jigs.

'Leave tomorrow,' said the caretaker, and departed.

'What the hell did you do that for?' screamed Dinnie. The fairy could offer no reasonable explanation. The

outraged Dinnie threw both of his sandals at her and she departed in a huff.

Dinnie slumped in front of his TV.

'I should have swatted her with the fiddle,' he muttered.

Under Heather's tuition, Dinnie had learned to play 'The Bridge of Alar' and 'The Miller o' Drone', another well-known Scottish strathspey. His practising had become more enthusiastic. He could still not play well, by human standards, and by fairy standards he was quite abominable, but it was definite progress. Dinnie had almost been moved to show some gratitude to Heather, but had restrained himself.

'Make a thousand-dollar pledge to God now,' said a handsome TV evangelist. 'Break your cycle of poverty and

misfortune. Pledge me a thousand dollars now and your troubles will melt away with the help of the Lord.'

Dinnie swore out loud at the evangelist and switched over.

'We're here waiting for your call,' said a naked woman soothingly, rubbing her body with a red telephone. 'Nice, pink, warm, young, juicy pussy, on 970 C—U—N—T.'

'What are you watching?' said Heather, hopping in the window with a satisfied whisky grin on her face.

'None of your damn business.'

'What does nice, pink, warm, young, juicy pussy mean?'

'How dare you show your face back here.'

'Do not worry,' said Heather. 'I have forgiven you for throwing your sandals at me.'

On the outskirts of Heaven there was great activity. Bodies went to and fro, talking excitedly to one another and looking earthwards.

'What's happening?' said Johnny to his friend Billy.

'Coming up to the Festival of Hungry Ghosts,' Billy told him. Billy had died some years before Johnny and knew more of what went on here. 'All the Chinese spirits with things on their minds, maybe some affair that didn't go too well or some other unfinished business, get the chance to go down and look around, maybe finish a few things off.'

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'Well, that is interesting,' murmured Johnny. 'And I would sure like to know what happened to my guitar.'

Aelric left his followers to fly into town. Once there he headed straight for the reference section of the public library. It was a struggle for a small fairy to take a book from the shelves and read it, and liable to cause panic among the customers, but Aelric was badly in need of information.

He was stuck for inspiration as to what to do next in his guerrilla war against King Tala. Guerrilla warfare did not come naturally to peaceful Cornish fairies, and he and his small band of followers had to fight continually against the urge to walk up to Tala and say something like, 'Look, we're all fairies here. Let's be reasonable about this.'

Tala was a new type of oppressive fairy, and not to be reasoned with.

Aelric hunted out the political philosophy section and dragged out a summary of the works of Chairman Mao.

'Hi, I'm Linda, and me and my friend do the hottest two-girl phone sex in town— '

'Why do you spend your time watching this ridiculous sex channel?'

'I do not spend time watching it. I was just flicking through the channels and it came on.'

Heather laughed.

'I have an urge to hear some Scottish music. Let us go and find some musicians.'

'No one plays Scottish music in New York. Only Irish.'

'Really? I am surprised. But never mind, it's much the same. We taught them everything they know. Where can we hear some?'

Dinnie knew of a bar on 14th and Ninth where there were regular sessions, but he had no enthusiasm for the

journey. Heather nagged him.

'It's all very well you burbling on about jigs and reels,' said Dinnie crossly. 'But how am I to enjoy listening to music when I am going to be evicted tomorrow? No thanks to you.'

Heather frowned.

'Let me get this straight, Dinnie, because I am not sure that I quite understand it. You have to give that man money every week to live here. You have failed to do this for five weeks. Consequently he has told you to leave. Am I right so far?'

'Dead on.'

'So,' continued Heather, 'all that is required is for you to get a bundle of these dollar things and give it to the man.

Then everything will be all right.'

'Yes, you dumb fairy, but I don't have any of these dollar things.'

'What about when you went to the cycle courier place? Didn't you earn enough to pay the rent?'

Dinnie snorted.

'I didn't earn enough to buy a pizza.'

'Would a pizza do instead of the rent?'

Dinnie clutched his brow.

'Please leave me alone. I can't stand any fairy stupidity right now.'

Heather took out her sword and posed briefly in front of the mirror. She made a minor adjustment to her kilt, and smiled.

'Well, as you will realise by now, there is no limit to the ingenuity and resourcefulness of a thistle fairy. Take me to hear the music and I will find money for the rent.'

Heather still did not fully understand why you had to pay dollars to live in a dirty room — a very strange business it seemed to her — but she was willing to help.

Heather enjoyed herself at the session. She sneered only occasionally at the human musicians, who were really very skilful, as they sat round a table at one end of the bar, wreathed in cigarette smoke. It was delightful to hear the pipes, whistles, violins, mandolins, banjos and bodrans, and she stamped her bare feet on the table in time to the jigs and reels. Though she and Morag were bent on radicalising Scottish fairy music, she was still fond of tradition.

When the musicians played some hornpipes, 'The Boys of Bluehiir and 'Harvest Home', young and old Irish

descendants and expatriates left their Guinness and Jamesons to get up and dance in formation.

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'I'm touched,' said Heather, watching them go round.

'Why?'

'Because they're thinking of home.'

Italian fairies are friends with the wind, and skilful at riding on its back.

Three of them rode now on the breeze over Houston Street, just north of their home in Little Italy. They studied the streets to the north, and waited.

'There,' said the youngest, and pointed. 'There she is. Sitting on the shoulder of that large round person.'

Dinnie was trudging down Broadway with his eyes fixed firmly on the ground. He was depressed, humiliated and

angry.

'I'm sorry,' said Heather, for the twentieth time. Dinnie ignored her. He also ignored the beggars, lovers and partygoers who walked beside them in the dark.

'It was a brave attempt,' continued the fairy. 'It was worth trying. Next time will be better.'

Dinnie said that there was not going to be a next time. There would not have been a first time if Heather had not blackmailed him into playing by threatening to make herself visible to the whole audience and create a scene.

After a few whiskies she had decided it would be a very good thing if Dinnie showed off his new skill at the

fiddle, but it had been a complete disaster. Fingers stiffened by nerves, he had scraped and scratched his way through two strathspeys in the most amateurish way imaginable, all the time surrounded by experienced musicians who did not know whether to grin or look away in embarrassment.

When his dreadful rendition of the tunes finished, there had been a deathly hush. Even the uncontrollable drunk at the next table was quietened. No one in the audience had ever heard such bad playing in public; the session had never seen anything like it. Generally thick-skinned, Dinnie had never before realised that such humiliation was possible.

Dinnie told Heather that there would not be a next time because he was never going to play the violin again, either in public or private. Furthermore, he would appreciate it if she would now find somewhere else to live and leave him alone. For the rest of his life.

When he tramped past a honey-roasted-peanut vendor's stall without even a hungry glance, Heather knew that

things were serious.

'Do not be so down-hearted,' she pleaded. 'Everyone has to start somewhere. I'm sorry I made you play before you were ready. I know it was a mistake. I understand that you are embarrassed. But all these good players were once beginners too. They know what it is like.'

'They didn't have a fairy blackmailing them into playing before they were ready and making a fool of themselves in public'

Heather had to admit that this was probably true.

'But I can make it up to you. I have the money for the rent.' She brought a bundle of tightly folded dollars out of her sporran and handed it to Dinnie.

He took it in silence. Even rescue from eviction could not cheer him up after his embarrassment.

'Where did you get this?' he asked, back in his room.

'Fairy magic,' lied Heather.

Dinnie switched on the TV.

'I'll lick your asshole and you can bang mine,' crooned a naked woman with long dark hair, kneeling over a couch.

'Only twelve dollars for three minutes.'

'I did not entirely understand that,' said Heather, trying to start a conversation. 'Is it connected with the nice, young, pink, warm, juicy pussies?'

Dinnie ignored her completely.

The Italian fairies made their way home.

'She handed him the stolen money.'

'What does it mean? Who is she?'

The Italian fairies did not know. They had heard rumours of some disturbance with the Chinese fairies who lived file:///Users/lisa/Downloads/Martin%20Millar%20-%20The%20Good%20Fairies%20of%20New%20York.html