Jerry concentrated on his arm and it slowly vanished, leaving a pint mug floating in midair. "They'll be buying me drinks all night, just to watch. " "And none of this seems strange to you?" Pat asked, gesturing at the happy commotion around them. Jerry scratched his nose with his perceptible hand. "Not really, " he decided. "It feels like family, only with a few twists. I mean, when you think about it, this answers a lot of questions about us. Like why we're so short and can still drink everyone else flat. And why my dad won't even polish his own shoes. If that was your slave job, you wouldn't want to be reminded of it. Although, " he added in a conspiratorial whisper, "Sheila told me that Ferragamo's real name is Fergus. What do you think? " "I think you're all barking mad, " Pat thumped his glass down. "Or I am. Either way, I've had enough. " "Pat, what's wrong with you?" Jerry asked. "This is what you've always wanted, isn't it? We're back in our homeland, among our people, and learning really cool tricks. Not to mention really hot cousins distant enough to date. Loosen up!" "This isn't what I dreamed of. " Pat was nearly in tears. "I'm trapped inside a double circle in the middle of nowhere. I've seen nothing of the country. Some old fart tells me my ancestors were shoemaking slaves instead of heroes. I don't know how you do that disappearing thing, and I don't care. I came here to soak up the real Ireland, to come home at last. And you all seem happy to camp out for a while, learn some parlor tricks, and go back home. " "Well, yes, that sums it up, " Jerry grinned. "Haven't you been listening? We're proud of what we came from. Real leprechauns,who'd have thought it? But our family had the gumption to get on the boats and get out. We all went places where we could be free, even marry out, like Kate and the milkman. I want to be back in Cleveland in time for baseball season. I love it here, but it's not my home. " Disheartened, Pat went back to the trailer. In the distance he could make out fiddle music that indicated that some people were sticking to the stereotype and dancing a jig. He had another week before the flight back. If he left the group now, there was still time for him to do all the proper things that returning Irish did. He wanted to kiss the Blarney Stone and try the holy water at Knock and stop at every pub between Dublin and Galway. There was no reason why he shouldn't.
He still had a stack of euros in his wallet. Plenty to have fun on. He scribbled a note to his parents, telling them he'd meet them at Shannon to catch the plane. Then he tossed some clothes into his backpack along with a toothbrush and razor. He'd hitch a ride to the nearest town and take a bus from there. Maybe he'd even find some real O'Reillys who'd take him in. There were still a few hours of daylight left. Pat followed the dirt road the bus had taken. As he left the encampment, the fiddle music stopped as if cut off with a knife. Probably taking a whisky break, he thought. If he had turned to look, Pat would have seen the circles of trailers shimmer and slowly vanish in the slanted sunlight. He hiked about a mile to a paved road. It wasn't long before a car came along, with a middle-aged couple in it. The driver slowed and then stopped. The woman gave him an appraising look. "You're young to be out on your own, " she decided. "I'm older than I look, " Pat smiled. The woman's eyes lit up. "Oh, an American!" She nudged her husband. "Roddy, the lad's come from America. Are you home to see the family?" "That I am. " Pat climbed into the backseat. He felt oddly crowded, as if there were someone beside him. He must still be affected by invisibility classes and peat fumes. Deliberately, he spread out his arms and announced to the world at large, "I've been waiting for this all my life. " IN the camp, Eileen and Michael had just found their son's note. "Heaven preserve him!" Eileen exclaimed. "Whatever made him do a crazy thing like that? Doesn't he know how dangerous it is?" "The poor boy. " Michael shook his head. "His head's been so stuffed with fairy tales that he couldn't cope with real fairies. I have to go after him. " "You'll never find him in the dark, " Eileen clutched her husband's arm. "Especially since he doesn't want to be found. He'll be heading for civilization, anyway. In the city he'll only run into muggers and wanton women. If he can get there, he should be all right until morning. " Her words sounded hollow to Michael, but he saw the sense in them. "We should talk to the organizers, " he said. "This must have happened before.
They'll have a plan. "
"Yes, of course, helicopters or BOLOs or something, " Eileen agreed, wringing her hands. "My poor, foolish boy!"
PAT was having the time of his life. The couple, Roddy and Mary O'Connor, had taken him to a pub in Ballyveane for dinner and had invited him to stay the night on their farm. They were full of ideas for places he should visit. "You should climb the Rock of Cashel and see the Ring of Kerry and of course, Newgrange, where your people buried their dead, " Roddy told him. "Don't you mean our people?" Pat asked, as the car turned onto a dark country lane. "Oh, that was long before our time, " Mary laughed as she put on the brake. "Grab him, Roddy, and don't take your eyes off him!" Before Pat knew what was happening, Roddy had twisted around in the front seat and taken hold of his leg. "Did you think you'd fool us with that cinema accent?" he crowed. "We knew what you were the minute we laid eyes on you. Now, take us to your pot of gold, or we'll tip you headfirst off the cliffs and into the sea. " "I can't believe this. " Pat was more angry than concerned. "Did my cousin Jerry put you up to this? Or those fruitcakes at the fairy ring? You can't believe I'm a leprechaun. " "You won't get us that way, either. " Mary said. "You're one of the Little People all right. Who else would wear fine leather shoes to thumb a ride?" Pat's hand went to the door handle. Mary had started driving again, but they were going slowly enough for him to leap out and not be much hurt. Roddy didn't seem to have a good grip on him, but Pat found it hard to move his legs to break free. It was as if someone else were holding him. Suddenly, he was overcome by a primal panic. "Look out!" he screamed. "You'll hit that sheep. " For a split second, Roddy let go. Pat took a deep breath, scrunched his eyes shut, and, without even trying, vanished. He pushed the car door open and rolled out, crawling and then running to get away. Roddy and Mary shouted and stomped after him a few feet before giving up. They were still blaming each other at the top of their lungs when Pat reached a grove of trees and relaxed enough that his body reappeared. "Damn. " He realized. "I left my backpack in the car. " He still had his wallet and passport, though, and the town couldn't be that far away. If he could get his bearings, he should have only a mile or two to walk.