A Mornelly Thanksgiving: Part Three
To read part one and two, click these links:
Damhán sighed, pulled out ten bucks, and set it on top of the turkey he’d put in the man’s cart. “There, I’m paying him to take that turkey. You happy now?”
The little boy nodded, satisfied at last. He looked up at the turkey-thief. “You shouldn’t take things from people, it isn’t nice. At least he’s giving you money to pay for your turkey.”
Turkey-thief looked like he was considering calling a mental ward for the child. At last he put on a strained smile, stepped forward, patted the boy on the head and said, “Go and play imaginary friends with your mother, kid. I’m sure she’s looking for you.”
With that, the little boy trotted off to go and find his mother, glancing back once to call out, “I’m glad you paid for your turkey!”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Damhán replied. He looked over at the turkey-thief man, then glanced down at the small turkey he’d put in the guy’s cart. “Enjoy your turkey, dude. Your welcome for giving you some money for it.”
He stalked off, somewhat annoyed that a kid had made him do the right thing but at the same time, glad. He looked down at his turkey and let the irritated feelings melt away. “This turkey is a beauty. Aileen is going to be so excited about this.”
Behind him, he heard a man yell out, “Who stole my turkey!”
“Paid, not stole!” Damhán yelled back. “Don’t be so selfish!”
Ciarán looked at his map and frowned. He sighed and let his shoulders droop. This is not my thing.
Because he’d agreed they should invite Gerhard over for Thanksgiving, his brothers had tasked him in finding the German nutcase and give him an invitation. That hadn’t been on his mind when he’d voiced they should at least let him know he was invited. I hate myself.
More like he hated being outside. In the sun. Where there were things you had to talk to, like people. Augh. He didn’t like to talk to people very much, even his family. He preferred to watch what everyone else did and make depressing comments to annoy everyone.
Now he had to do something nice and invite Gerhard to a Thanksgiving meal. That was, if he could find him.
He studied the map again and scratched his chin. Aileen, Damhán and Breandan had marked all the possible places he could be, going by the places they met up with him. Despite Bran and Aichear’s obvious irritation with Gerhard, the rest of the Mornellys often met up and spent time with him. Ciarán came along too, occasionally, but mostly waited for people to come to him. It was too much work to go and find people.
Which is why this is such a waste of time.
He looked over the map once more. Poland, Romania, Russia, Estonia. He hadn’t been to those places yet. He’d checked over a couple different time periods in America, Canada, Slovakia, Turkey, and Germany. He even asked Gerhard’s adopted brother, Sigmund, if he’d seen him.
Sigmund, who at the time was in the middle of a battle, had yelled, “I haven’t seen him! Now stop distracting me before I get shot!”
He'd then proceeded to continue firing at the enemy in rapid succession, hunkering down in his foxhole to avoid getting shot. Such was the way of WWI soldiers. Ciarán left him behind and continued his search.
Now he was no closer to finding Gerhard and had half of his time periods and countries marked off. Why does Gerhard have to be so energetic?
This was taking forever. He could kick Bran for making him do this. Someone is going to get a container of ice cubes dumped down their back.
He looked at the map once more and decided he’d try Romania, era 1963. That would be where Gerhard hung out with Olga. Better try there.
Ciarán passed through a couple of time periods and found himself in Romania. Some Soviet rally was going on and soldiers were marching in the street, celebrating whatever Communist holiday was in October. Oh, duh. 1917 Revolution.
That was somewhat of a big deal to the Soviet Union and Eastern Bloc countries.
Checking his map, Ciarán made his way to the run-down street in Bucharest that Olga called home. Even before he rounded the corner of Kiseleff he could hear the yelling that confirmed The Most Excellent Gerhard was here.
And he and Olga were no doubt about ready to kill each other over something or another. That happened a lot.
Ciarán pushed open the door to the old warehouse, ducking his head under the caved in part of the roof. He weaved through the trash and junk people had thrown in there and stepped over what appeared to be a pile of dead rats. The voices grew louder and more heated. Ciarán came around the corner and found himself face to face with an AK-47.
“Oh, Ciarán!” Olga set down the gun. “I heard something and thought you were an intruder.”
“Hi Olga,” Ciarán mumbled.
The seventeen-year-old flaxen blond looked away, a guilty smile on her face. “Did you need something?”
Ciarán raised an eyebrow and studied the figure of Gerhard behind her.
“Hey, Ciarán!” Gerhard shouted. “How are ya? Good, of course. I’m sure of it. Vould you pleaze kindly help me untie these ropes so I can kill this good for nothzing Slavic!”
Ciarán looked from Olga to Gerhard. Gerhard was tied to a cement support beam, his face red and his teeth gritted. He looked about ready to strangle Olga. Ciarán wondered what Olga had been planning on doing with the AK-47 she held in her hands, but decided not to ask. With these two it was best not to know what the argument was about. Besides, the next day they were always over it anyways and off doing stupid things like collecting flowers or blowing up bridges for no reason.
“I came to give you this.” Ciarán walked forward and stuck it in Gerhard’s shirt pocket. “It’s for this next Thursday. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”
Gerhard stared at him. “Vhat?”
“You heard me.” He turned around and walked past Olga, nodding. “See you later, Olga.”
“Bye Ciarán!” Olga waved. Her freckled face broke out into a smile. “Come by soon. I will make you some blueberry cheesecake, da?”
“Sure. Whatever. Thanks.”
“Hey, hey, hey! You can’t leave the Most Excellent Gerhard here! Untie me! I am going to pulverize you, Olga!”
“Bye, you two. See you later.” Ciarán nodded to the German and the Romanian. His mission finished, he passed through their time period and back to theirs, job done and invitation given.
He barely heard the conversation between the Slav and Germanic continue as he left, but it had something to do with a Russian teacake and a box of matches. Only those two.
Someday they’d wake up and realize they were in love with each other and all this drama would be over. Today, obviously, was not that day. He wondered how many times Olga would attempt to shoot him before she realized once more that Gerhard was an immortal.
To read more click here>>> PART FOUR
To read more click here>>> PART FOUR