Page 34 of Long Live the King

“Who are you?” Buck was growling, spittle flingin’ from his lips — I wanted tae kick his arse so badly, but he was just a bully and a weak man. From Ash’s face I could see he frightened her and I dinna want tae cause her anymore alarm.

I said, “I am Lochinvar, and where I come from we fightandwe recite poetry, sometimes at the same moment. Dost ye like an epic poem, Buck?”

He said, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Ash said, “Lochie, maybe you can wait outside?”

I shook my head. “Nae, this is a public bar, I am nae goin’ out, I am not causin’ trouble. I hae never met this man in m’life, and I hae never heard of him — what is yer surname, Buck?”

“Buck Foster, what are?—”

“Ye ken Ian Foster? I ran across him in Ord, back in ’88?”

“No,” he shook his head.

“How would I hae heard of ye? I am fairly new around here. I haena met many people, but ye hae barely introduced yerself and yet ye are botherin’ me. Ye put yer hands on me…” I looked around, “Ye all saw it, dinna ye?”

People nodded in agreement.

I continued, “I am wonderin’ by what rights ye started a fight? Ye hae nae claim tae the room, tae the people inside, these are yer lands?”

“What the?—?“

“How would I ken ye?”

“I was um… Ash is my girl?—”

Ash said, “Was, Buck, we broke up months ago. You were sleeping around. Come on, stop causing trouble.”

I smiled. “That is it, tis all of yer reputation?”

“I played football in school.”

I raised my ale. “Och aye, good on ye! That is wonderful! I am new tae the game but I do like tae watch with m’brothers and we play a bit on the beach. Tis a fine game, ye were good at it?”

“Yeah, I was good.”

“Has a poem been written about ye?”

Buck shook his head, “No, of course not, that’s?—”

I said, “I hae had a poem written about m’own exploits, tis by Sir Walter Scott. Ye heard of him?”

Buck said, “Yeah, but... what?”

I looked around at the room and boomed over the music, though I dinna need tae get their attention, many of the patrons were watchin’ us already. “Hae ye heard of Sir Walter Scott?”

A lot of people nodded and said, yes.

I raised m’glass, “The poem is called, ‘Lochinvar,’ see, tis about m’self — dost ye want tae hear it?”

Everyone nodded, a few people cheered. I stood on the rungs of the stool tae raise m’self, because by this time most everyone was watchin’ my performance. “It goes like this, ‘O young Lochinvar is come out of the west,’ this part means the Isle of Skye in Scotland, but Sir Walter Scott used the direction of west tae hae a better word tae rhyme.” I continued, “‘Through all the wide border his steed was the best; And save his good broadsword he weapons had none, he rode all unarm’d, and herode all alone. So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar!’”

My phone rang, vibratin’ m’pocket. “Och nae, the poem is interrupted, I must answer m’phone!”

A man said, “Don’t answer a phone in the middle of a poem!”

“I hae tae, it might be good news!” I put down my beer and fished the phone out. Twas a call from Magnus. I held up a hand, and pulled the phone tae my ear, “Aye?”

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