Cuchulainn looked into the fire.
“Bogus!” he cried. “I was an imbecile to believe!”
The uncle turned in his tent. “Will you just go to sleep? What time is it?”
“Hokum! Lies! Cock!” Cuchulainn poked violently at the flames with a stick.
“What are you on about?”
“I must contact the astral planes,” said Cuchulainn. “I seek counsel with my father.”
The uncle crawled out of the tent. “Why don’t we just write him a letter?”
“Those never reach him.” Cuchulainn stared closer into the fire. “I need him to answer!”
“Well, I’m here if you need someone to talk to,” said the uncle. “Is it about a girl?”
“If it were a woman, I would talk to her, not you!”
“Right.”
“You are a damn fool!”
“Ok, keep shouting at the fire, then.”
“I wish he would speak to me, uncle.” Cuchulainn stood up and kicked the dirt. “Why must it be this way?”
“Listen, we all have our passions, right?” said the uncle. “Your dad’s just happens to be robbing banks.”
”Mayhaps this requires our combined strengths,” said Cuchulainn. “Come sit by me and concentrate.”
“Cuchulainn. I really don’t think -”
“Join me or I burn the rations!”
“Oh, for god’s sake.” The uncle sat beside him. “And just how does one communicate with the astral plane?”
“Envision my father in the fire,” said Cuchulainn.
“That ought to come easy.”
Cuchulainn breathed deeply and watched for his father’s projection.
“Father!” He closed his eyes. “Hear me!”
Nothing happened, of course.
“Please,” Cuchulainn sobbed. “I need you.”
The uncle held his hand. He had never seen his nephew like this.
“Wait!” he said. “I see him, Cuchulainn! Keep your eyes shut, we need your mind’s eye in focus!”
“Yes!” cried Cuchulainn. “We have harnessed our love! Father and son!”
“You’re right,” said the uncle. “He says he loves you.”
“I need his guidance,” Cuchulainn wiped his tears off.
“He says everything will be ok. You’ll be ok.”
“Why does he not answer our letters?”
The uncle paused. “He says it’s too hard, sometimes, to face the reality that he can’t see you.”
“I miss you, father,” said Cuchulainn.
“He’s proud of you, Cuchulainn.” The uncle felt him grip his hand tighter.
Cuchulainn sniffled. “And the monies?”
“What?”
“The loot, father!”
“What loot?” said the uncle.
“Tell him not to play dumb!” Cuchulainn spat into the fire. “I know there is more monies somewhere!”
“Cuchulainn, you -”
“I demand a cut!”
“Oh my god.” The uncle let his hand go.
“I will come to that prison and ring his neck. You tell him, uncle!” Cuchulainn began to punch the fire. “Tell him he is as cheap as he is ugly!”
“I think he hears you, Cuchulainn,” the uncle sighed.
“Die!”
“I’m going to bed.”