Pool_2

>> Hound <<

Beasts. Dear God. Talk about one hell of an atavism, it was living in the MacCullah household. He was - well - not like other boys - not even remotely. If you didn't know him, or better, he you, you didn't want to get his attention, maybe even toss a slab of meat to distract him. Katharine's twin brother, Ian, was a colossus, frightening. He could scare steel off a tank. Strong? Strength is a thin word, pulled of too many lessers, strength of character, of conviction, inner strength. Nah. Strength doesn't cut it. Ian had annihilation. He was cosmic force and embodied cataclysm and yet, somehow, within his soul, there lived unhatched innocence. He was another toss of grinning chaos but this time as metempsychosis, reanimation, incarnation. He oozed menace, detached, unchallenged. He also labored under obedience to Da who channeled the youth's fork lift capacity into the carpenter trade, as an apprentice. Work bound was a street under longstanding siege. "Hello Ian," both sides would call out, "How ya doin?" Not losing his stride, he heaved away overturned cars that blocked his way. They learned to just leave his path. Who would dare tell him to go around looking like something that bullets would annoy? You don't want to annoy an Ian. "Bracing day for working outside, huh?" Hostilities didn't resume until he was out of sight. The barricade boys were assured two breaks a day. Ian going, Ian coming, when young ladies in his wake could run in food and cigarettes. Some siege. Each side required he other side's rocks to hurl back. Somehow, this makes sense in Ulster. Ian didn't say much, especially to the intolerant contentions of the bonded tradesmen, all majority men. How unlike everything Da taught. So, who do you believe?