Page 57 of Chaos Theory
With some effort, I help him lower Kobi into the chair.
‘Hang on,’ says Shane.
‘Oh, what now?’ I say.
‘Just two seconds – I need to get something from the car.’
He runs the few yards back across the car park.
‘I wonder if he’s coming back,’ I say to Kobi.
‘He always comes back,’ says Kobi.
I turn away and push the chair – and Kobi – onto the bumpy Burren surface. It’s slow, but it works.
‘Well, what do you think?’ I ask him. ‘It’s a fairly basic chair. No bells or whistles. No electronics. One of us can push you for now. You might even learn how to spin the wheels yourself, in time.’
‘Wait up!’ Shane runs up behind us. He places a colourful chequered blanket across Kobi’s lap. ‘Just, you know, to keep the wind off you.’
‘Thank you,’ Kobi says, and we begin to make our way with dignity across the strange and beautiful terrain.
11:30am
I’m grateful for the robustness of the wheelchair as I wobble it, and Kobi, over rough earth and uphill towards the entrance to the Burren Open Farm.
I have to hand it to Shane – he’s good in a crisis. True, he’s also good atcausinga crisis. But he did come up with an immediate – if unconventional – solution to the problem at hand. In fairness, he does seem to be trying his best to take care of Kobi.
I pause to nudge Shane and point to a small wooden structure with faded blue paint on top of the hill. Shane silently takes over the steering of the wheelchair and I don’t protest. I’m sweating from the effort of getting Kobi this far. It’s one of those unpredictable days, typical of an Irish autumn, when you wear a raincoat but end up roasting in breezy sunshine.
We bump our way up the hill. A few people gawp at us. Tourists who’ve probably come to the farm to get closer to nature are confronted with the strange sight of generations of technology compounded into one figure: the wheel, the mechanical chair, the high-tech robot.
I smile at the tourists as I adjust Kobi’s woollen blanket, until one of them points a camera in our direction. ‘Let’s try to find our host quickly, shall we?’ I say to Shane, remembering Josh’s request to keep a low profile on this trip.
‘Sure. What’s his name?’
I sigh. ‘I was putting off telling you this, but his name is Matthew Farmer.’
‘Matthew…?’
‘Yes.’
‘Farmer?’
‘Yes.’
‘And he’s the farmer?’
‘I assume so. He’s the owner, anyway. I imagine he does other things besides farming but…okay, yes, he’s the farmer. Go ahead, get all the jokes out of your system now before we meet him.’
‘I’m not going to say anything,’ says Shane with a smile. Then in a lower voice, nodding towards Kobi: ‘It’s not me you should be warning, anyway.’
One benefit of Kobi being in the chair is that we can subtly talk about him behind his back. Or so we think.
‘May I offer two observations?’ Kobi turns his mechanical neck awkwardly.Damn his supersonic hearing. ‘There is a long tradition of surnames that have arisen from trades – Smith being the most well-known example. See also Carpenter, Potter and, indeed, Farmer. There is also the psychological hypothesis of nominative determinism – the belief that people are drawn to professions that fit their names.’
‘Well, that’s the small talk sorted,’ I say.
Shane is navigating loose stones on the path. ‘Is he expecting us? I mean, all of us?’ He nods towards Kobi again.
