Thus far in our journeys amongst the natives of that great Emerald Isle, colloquially referred to as Ireland, we had undergone great lengths to document photographically all that we encountered of importance for the records of those under whom we are currently obliged. Quite naturally, circumstances arose which prevented us from acquiring proper pictorial documentation in every situation, and so, it was with this at the forefront of our minds that we had planned to spend the day retracing our steps through Belfast, that capitol of the North, revisiting previous locales for the purpose of acquiring their image for our records.
It came about one lazy Sunday, the account of which you may have already read by the hand of Ethan Bossier, that, try as we might, we were unable to successfully circumnavigate the massive amount of typographical work we had allotted ourselves to its completion. This all but confounded our intentions to reexamine areas previously visited, as there quite honestly are not enough hours in the day. Indeed if it had not been for the ingeniousness exhibited by someone very close to myself, all hope of successfully accomplishing both tasks would have proven nearly insurmountable. Upon the proposition brought forth from my lips, that, indeed, the pair of jobs could be gotten done in a singular day, my good friend Ethan Bossier readily and bravely volunteered for the more dangerous of the two responsibilities.
It was unanimously decided that I would remain at our lodgings in 217 Farset, Springfield Road to bring about the end of our computational endeavors whilst Ethan Bossier would venture forth, quite solo, into the city to acquire the pictorial accompaniment we so sorely lacked. We first sat down to a luncheon accessible by way of the kindly staff found within our current residence and consisting of what was called steak-burgers complimented by a hearty serving of largish chips. It was after this that Ethan Bossier sat down to compose the account previously mentioned and display it for interested parties to peruse at their discretion. The time was nearing ten after two, in the local custom this would have been fourteen-ten.
On abouts fourteen-fourteen, Ethan Bossier stood, announced the deed had been done, and proceeded promptly to the lavatory. Upon his emergence from therein, he made his departure for the city at fourteen-twenty-one. At fourteen-twenty-two he returned to ensure that I was in a ready position to take visual note of this momentous occasion. I was, and so, at fourteen-twenty-three, with great solemnity, Ethan Bossier made his final departure from 217 Farset, Springfield Road and advanced up the cold stone path to the city beyond. My documentation of the moment lies herein:
I was not to hear of my friend again until sixteen-forty-nine. It was during this time that the bulk of my work was done. I retired to the lobby, my computational equipment upon my lap and the lavish music traditional to the region in my ears, to transpose data collected from a number of our adventures into easily accessed documents, always with the expectation that Ethan Bossier could attempt contact at any moment.
I received a message from the very man, cryptic in its formation, upon the minute of sixteen-forty-nine to the effect that he had successfully acquired the first two of his objectives and was proceeding rapidly to the acquisition of the third. I composed a response post-haste affirming my reception of the news, and awaited a reply. It was during this time that I made a discovery via map resources at hand that the fourth area to which Bossier had tentatively set his sights, the Shaw’s Road, while perfectly befitting the descriptor of our interests, had no locations of a photographically noteworthy nature. Hastily, I sent word of my discovery back to my colleague. He had not yet ventured far from his point of connection, and so, receiving my message, he inquired as to ascertain my intentions concerning his assignment. I confirmed my source, and he readily agreed to leave off that particular leg of his journey. His final message to me at that time, expressing his intention to acquire the third objective before once again establishing contact, was received at seventeen-o-four.
It was later revealed to me that prior to his first contact, Ethan Bossier had suffered an uneventful visit to the Cluain Ard bar, his first objective, and then proceeded to the densely populated Cathedral District of West Belfast. He there took documentation of St. Mary’s Chapel, that unique Catholic structure housing weekly services in the language of Irish. Having never so much as darkened the door of an institution of the Vatican, and with a mind as curious as Ethan Bossier’s, it is no small wonder that he took the opportunity to endeavor to enter. What followed next has only recently come to my knowledge. Aware of his lack of insight into Catholic custom, Ethan Bossier stood in the back and deduced from a distance, removing that signature hat of his out of respect. He would later assure me that his presence had made little to no impact on the praying populace therein, with the exception of a singular “old lady to the left,” who had gazed upon him in such a way as to make him question his own reasons for being. Ever observant, Bossier had carefully scrutinized the behavior of one younger woman who had entered after him as she dipped her fingers, just so, in holy water, as is befitting the Catholic tradition, and made a sign before kneeling to pray. Quickly adopting the skill of disguise he has become renowned for, Mr. Bossier likewise dipped his fingers, crossed himself, and, having failed to observe what properly followed, made his leave of St. Mary’s.
What happened between the time of his first contact and his next, I have no knowledge, and will make no attempt at conjecture.
It was at seventeen-sixteen, some mere twelve minutes following his last message, that I next heard from Ethan Bossier. His message, again cryptic, stated that he had successfully acquired pictorial documentation of all three locales and sought to send them to me for confirmation. I remarked my assent to the transfer, but hastily revoked my acquiescence upon his avowal that he had procured some thirty-one images in his travels. I suggested that he return to the comforts of 217 Farset, Springfield Road so that I could assist in the processing of his achievements. He asserted that he wished to ensure that he had indeed acquired all that was required of him before retiring, but I was compelled to insist that if, in thirty-one attempts, he had failed to accomplish the task at hand, I feared he never would. Seeing the logic in this, he consented and penned one final message at seventeen-twenty affirming the beginning of his return journey.
During the time that elapsed therein I was pleased to bring an end to my computational undertaking.
Finally, at eighteen-eighteen on the dot, four hours and eight minutes after departing, I witnessed the reappearance of my friend, Ethan Bossier. Likely still recovering from the remnants of some needed disguise, his returning words were uttered in the foreign enunciation native to the Arabian regions, “I have returned from my adventure.”
In celebration of two jobs well completed in the service of our Lord and King, Christ Jesus, I supped upon Chinese delicacies that evening in the familiar accommodations of 217 Farset, Springfield Road with my friend and colleague, Ethan Bossier.
-Dr. Sam R. Franklin3 Days Left in Ireland
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