(Page 1 of 2) Man ... Certain Celtic Women by Dan BiegerSUMMARY: An entry in the October flash fiction contestThe couple sat at a table away from the bar, ostensibly to keep their conversation confidential though the only other patrons in The Chapel this night were the two old guys sitting at the far end of the bar. He was heavy set, receding hairline, features somewhat Mediterranean though his eyes sparkled blue. She was not as thick as he and her red hair reminded one of old movies where the heroine buckled swash or provided hearth and home. If you got close enough, her voice crinkled while his just lumbered on.
Senor Viejo, the ancient marinator, had delivered his scotch and her white wine so further interruption on his part awaited their further summons.
"So, here we are, as requested," she said, "and what is it ye wanted to discuss?" There was no accusation in the question, no irritation nor frustration nor impatience , just a basic inquisitiveness. The interrogation expressed a comfort in their relationship, an expectation of congenial conversation. His response carried the same emotional buoyancy: "Been thinking about the future. Seen some things lurking up ahead we haven't talked about and just thought it might be time to take a look there."
She accepted the answer with apparent good grace. "Sean, me boyo, ye'r after doing it again, are ye not? Springing yer delights one at a time so as to keep me off balance but I know you, Sean, and we've danced this dance before."
Sean's smile matched hers. "No, no, Margaret, don't go jumping to your fey conclusions again. This time, I mean it. I'm getting no younger though you defy your age with astonishing success." He laughed at her eyebrows raising themselves with honest incredulity."It's true, my love. You look younger now than when I married you."
"And if I do, then sure it's some magic ye been working; is it not?"
"I'm not the magical partner in this relationship and well you know it, Maggie. So, let's move on to the question at hand. I'm no immortal and that's fact, plain and simple. The time must come when my body refuses to ply its trade. I know that; I accept that but I have this suspicion that you do not share my pragmatism."
"And what gives you such a notion, pray tell. Why would one such as yourself have such a low opinion o' this poor house frau?"
"House frau? You?" And that question produced such a belly laugh that both the old guys and Senor Viejo interrupted their private pursuits to look at the twosome in speculation of what was happening at the couple's table, speculations that cut themselves short without any words being voiced allowing the couple to return to their privacy.
Hurt crossed the woman's visage but was chased away by the humor the laugh demanded. "Well, were I Teutonic, I'd be frau, wouldn't I?" she demanded and he nodded affirmation while his grin prodded her onwards. "Sure, and I'm not Teutonic; there is that. But your Celtic woman sits on the continuum not all that distant from your Teutonic woman and that ‘s well known fact, you can be certain."
Sean refused to take the bait, invoking a patient expectation that she would continue her procrastination unless he remained quiet, an expectation she did not disappoint.
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