Martin Millar - The Good Fairies of New York.html Read Online Free PDF Page B

them.
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    Martin Millar - The Good Fairies of New York.html
    6/5/11 2:11 PM
    'Wow,' said Spiro when he learned of this. 'You're the King's children. Imagine! Royalty! Right here in Central Park!'
    But Maeve poured scorn on this because she detested English royalty. She dismissed Petal and Tulip's arguments with their father as standard English aristocratic stupidity.
    'Never did a day's work in their lives,' she muttered, and played a fierce jig on her pipes.
    Brannoc strummed his mandolin lightly. He was teaching Petal and her brother mandolin and flute. When they
    were not dreaming, they were quick to learn.
    Dinnie was not quick to learn.
    'Use the bow delicately. You are not trying to saw the fiddle in half.'
    Heather, five minutes into her first lesson, was beginning to regret it. So was Dinnie. He stood up, tall, fat and awkward.
    'I've changed my mind,' he said. 'I'll learn some other time.'
    Heather clenched her teeth.
    'Dinnie, you are trying my patience. A fairy teaching you music is a big honour. Enjoy it.'
    'Big fucking honour, you dumb elf,' rasped Dinnie.
    'Eat shit, you fat sonofabitch,' rasped Heather. She had already picked up a few useful expressions in the bar on the corner.
    They glared at each other.
    'Pick up the fiddle.'
    'I've got other things to do.'
    'Like what? What do you have planned for this evening? Visiting a few friends perhaps?'
    Dinnie narrowed his pudgy eyes uncomfortably.
    'You don't have any friends, do you?'
    'So what?'
    'So this: despite your incredible rudeness to me, really you are pleased to have me around because otherwise you would have no one at all to talk to. In this enormous city you do not have so much as one friend. Is this not true?'
    Dinnie picked up the remote control and switched on the TV. Heather nimbly leapt on to the control and switched it off.
    'Do not feel bad about it, Dinnie. I have been busy learning about this place. Apparently loneliness is not
    uncommon. I know this because I read an article about it in a young women's magazine that an old man was
    reading in the bar. In Cruick-shank, everyone is friendly with everyone else. How it is that with so many people here some people aren't friendly with anyone at all is beyond me, but I can fix it for you.'
    'Don't bother,' grunted Dinnie.
    'It is no bother. Among Scottish fairies I am famous for my ability to win friends. Of course, with my golden hair and other-worldly beauty, everyone generally wanted to make friends with me anyway — something, incidentally, that used to drive Morag crazy — but even so, I could always win over the unfriendliest troll or Red Cap.'
    'Fine. If you meet any trolls down 4th Street, you won't have any problems.'
    'I am the best fiddle player in the world. And you will soon be good as well, with a MacKintosh fairy helping you.
    You should have heard Neil Gow before my mother showed him a few tricks.'
    'Who's Neil Gow?'
    'Who's Neil Gow? He was the most famous Scottish fiddler ever. He was born in Inver, which is close to where I come from. He is buried in the churchyard of Little Dunkeld, a very pretty place, although we fairies are not too keen on churchyards as a rule. I could tell you many interesting stories about Neil Gow.'
    'And no doubt you will.'
    'Later. Anyway, his technique was appalling till my mother took him in hand. My family taught all the best
    Scottish violinists, and I'm sure I can teach you. So stop eyeing up the TV control and let's go.
    'Lesson one. "The Bridge of Balater", a slow strathspey, but stirring in the hands of a master.'
    Heather played 'The Bridge of Balater'. It was a slow strathspey, but stirring in her hands. Each Scottish Snap snapped in a way rarely heard since the time of Neil Gow. On the window-sill, birds settled down to listen.
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