‘But it’s because they did all that that you got a republic at all.’
‘I suppose I’m ungrateful.’
James picked up her hand and held it.
‘That’s dangerous.’
‘I know.’ He put it down. ‘Shall I grit my teeth and offer up the impulse?’
They laughed. Grainne, however, was dissatisfied. He kept making inconclusive moves more in keeping with a worshipful schoolboy than the satyr for which she had cast him. She wanted a wanton love affair and if he didn’t get a move on the moment for wantonness would have passed. They’d be friends and friendship was fatal to lechery. Surely she had indicated her availability clearly enough? For a moment she thought he was about to kiss her, but instead he turned on the tape-recorder and Sister Judith’s voice came on.
‘“Out of failure comes success,”’ said her aunt’s voice. ‘That’s from Pearse’s writings. “And from the deaths of patriot men and women come living nations.” Owen twisted that. Pearse meant deaths freely risked but Owen meant murder. “Execution”, he called it. There was a lot of that sort of talk. It wasn’t so bad when it was ourselves against the English but things got bitter later when factions began to form in our own ranks. It was a muddled time. 1921 that was. Secretive. You couldn’t trust your closest relative. Owen was windy. The split didn’t come until the next year but he foresaw it and he foresaw that the money the Americans were holding for the IRA might go to the other side. “We have to take precautions,” he used to say, “and keep on the good side of the Yanks.” He didn’t want any rumours getting back that might turn them against his side. There were stories of all sorts flying. Talk of betrayals. Gossip. Silly chatter. And the Yank, Spartacus, you know, Sparky, could have picked up too much. Owen was afraid of loose talk. “Keep your lip buttoned,” he’d say. He had Kathleen under his thumb, as they were shortly to get married, but I was a worry to him.’
There was a pause on the tape, then James’s voice asked: ‘Did he persuade you to go into the convent?’
‘I didn’t take much persuasion,’ said Judith’s voice. ‘I was sick of them all. Sick. A lot of us were. A pox on both their houses, we felt. Civil war is bitter. Divides families. Seamus was engaged to a girl whose family took the other side. Staters. There were fights at every meal. Tears. Abuse. I couldn’t wait to get out of the place. There was the danger too. More than in the war with the English. Your own knew too much about you and feeling was savage. My father was half mad with the worry. He never slept a wink for months. Chronic insomnia he had and he didn’t understand what the split was all about. It was beyond him. He’d never understood Republican politics, so when they split he thought they were hopeless altogether. Kathleen, of course, was all on Owen’s side. I couldn’t wait to get out.’
‘Of the family?’
‘Yes.’
‘Later you wanted to get out of the convent?’
‘Did I? I suppose I did. Later. That was years later. But, sure, I couldn’t.’
‘Why?’
‘Owen threatened me.’
‘And now?’
‘Now I want to stay in.’ The old woman’s laugh skirled. ‘I’m like a cantankerous cat,’ she said, ‘always asking to get to the other side of the door.’
The tape stopped.
‘You see,’ he said, ‘it’s full of contradictions.’
‘Listen,’ she said precipitously. ‘There’s a cottage up in the mountains which used to belong to Michael’s grandfather. I have to go out there for some things I left there last spring. Would you like to come and see the place? I have a plan, besides, for stirring Aunt Judith’s memories.’
‘Great!’ said he ‘when?’
‘The day after tomorrow?’
‘Fine. Do you want to hear the rest? Before they come back?’
She nodded and he pressed the ‘on’ button.
‘I was odd, you know,’ said the voice. ‘I could have been put away. I got some sort of a shock. Well, there were shocks every day of the week but one must have affected me. I was terrified of the asylum. I’d been there on a visit. Owen had a friend worked there and later, when he was on the run, he dressed up as an inmate. A lot of them did. It was a perfect disguise. There were jokes about that, about how it was no disguise at all. But with his connections, he could have had me put away. No question.’
‘Why?’
‘Security.’
‘What was the secret, Sister Judith? What were they afraid you’d tell?’
‘I never knew. No, really. I came over odd from some shock and the next thing was that Owen said I should try the convent. Later I was given electroshock. I was confused. I never knew which particular thing they were worried about and, of course, they wouldn’t tell me. Let sleeping dogs lie, they must have thought.’
‘Did your relatives come and see you in the convent?’
‘Kathleen came once early on. Well, they told me she came twice but I remember the one time only. The second time they gave me drugs and I didn’t know her. Looked at her like a zombie and she broke down crying and begging me to call her by her name. That’s what they told me and after that she stayed away for years. They’d given me the treatment because of what I’d done the time before. I attacked her, they said. I don’t remember. She was pregnant and she had a miscarriage after. Owen blamed me and wouldn’t let her come again unless I had the treatment.’
‘What do you remember about the first visit?’
‘She told me all about the Civil War. I’d missed it, you see. I only remembered the start. And about her honeymoon and wedding. I’d missed those. And how Owen was out in the wilderness but Seamus’s party was in power. They never met. Fraternization was forbidden. That went on for years. She had on a purple hat and a big tenty coat. Yes, she was pregnant all right. I remember. Of course she did start visiting again years later, but then we never discussed the past. I think Owen told her not to.’
‘What else do you remember about the first visit?’
‘I asked her about Sparky Driscoll or his name came up. I forget. Anyway, she told me about his being killed in an ambush. Hacked to pieces. By Orangemen up North. He must have gone up to see the fighting. He’d want to report back to the Clan na Gael in America. He was their observer over here, you see. She said the remains had to be shovelled into a coffin.’
‘Who else visited you?’
‘Oh, I forget. Owen once or twice. But there was a period when I couldn’t talk to anyone. I was odd. Later I recovered but they’d lost touch with me. Maybe the doctors were against it. I never knew.’
‘And you even started teaching?’
‘Yes. The kindergarten. Oh, I was quite myself again. I’m all right now, you know,’ said the nun’s voice, sharpening aggressively. ‘Who are you?’ she asked. ‘What’s that machine for?’
‘I’m a journalist. I’m interested in…’
‘Turn it off. Turn it off.’
*
Black-plumed horses passed the pub regularly for it was, ran the local joke, on the way to the graveyard in more ways than one. Hats came off and shutters closed to show respect. Coming back, the mourners would be in for drinks. A good funeral had several horses pulling the hearse and two to each carriage behind it. The harness was black and silver and the plumes nodding above the furry foreheads were as big as busbies on the King’s hussars. Black tails matched the plumed crests and when the funeral was political it was followed by contingents of slow-stepping Cumann na mBan in their green uniform skirts.
Judith dreamed of death with which all passion seemed connected and slept in the death position recommended by the nuns. There was pleasure in imagining the dark tide engulfing you, though the reality would of course be different. Almost everything thrilled her, from running a grass blade along the nape of her neck to walking down the village street where old men played pitch and toss or pulled chairs into doorways to sit squinting and spitting in the sunlight.
‘A fine day, thanks be.’
&n
bsp; ‘It is that.’
‘Any news of Owen?’ they asked. ‘There’s talk that the prisoners will be home by Christmas.’
‘I heard that.’
‘’Twill please your sister.’
‘Tell her we’re praying for her intention.’
‘I will.’
More spitting sealed the promise. Wary of consumption, she kept her distance. Further on, a crowd of corner boys leaned against a wall as if holding it up. Beyond in the hills drilling continued. The truce was on but who knew for how long? Rumours were rife.
In the shop which sold everything from nails to potatoes a number of women were waiting. Some already had filled their baskets but stood around exchanging views on the price of paraffin and the dance to be held that Saturday in the parish hall. The priest had been giving out the pay about young girls who wore the V-neck. Wouldn’t anyone think they’d have something better on their minds? At a time like this?
‘Ah, I dunno now, Missis. Loose morals is the cause of a lot of trouble.’
‘Well they’re not the cause of mine. If my Jimmy had spent more time running after girls he might be here now. Guns is worse than girls.’
‘True for you, Missis, but sure some girls is what gets the young fellas to take to the gun. Some young ones aren’t happy till they’ve sent out as many mothers’ sons to die as they can coax into a Volunteers’ uniform. Then the same ladies’ll be dancing as happy as crickets beyond in the hall of a Saturda. Throwing their comehither on more poor innocents. Vampires! You see them marching at every funeral with knives in their eyes. The Cumann na mBan. I’d keep them lassies out of the churches if I had my say. Sure even a young fella who’s going for the priesthood isn’t safe with some.’
‘Are you referring to my sister?’ Judith asked the woman.
‘Arrah, hullo Judith. I didn’t see you there at all, dear. Is it hiding you were?’
‘No. I wasn’t hiding. Were you talking about my sister, Kathleen, and Owen O’Malley?’
‘Och, we’re very touchy, I must say. I was talking in a general way, Judith, but of course if the shoe fits.’
‘My sister’s been engaged for years to a man she hardly sees. Do you think that’s fun for her?’ Judith had to speak fast before the rage choked her. She got into tremendous rages and very quickly began to shake. There wasn’t a thing she could do about it. She had to make her points fast, racing the access of trembling blushes which would overtake her in a moment. ‘She’s been in no position to put her comehither on anyone at all, so your nambypamby sons are safe from her, Mrs Kennedy.’
The woman, a great fat creature wearing a shawl which bound her bottom, bosom and basket into a bundle as comfortable and curved as a snowman or a bag of loaves, laughed with an air of surprised indifference. ‘I don’t know what’s eating the girl,’ said she with great innocence.
‘They can sit tight and benefit later from what others did,’ said Judith.
‘Oh law, I see we have another recruiting officer in yourself! The Countess Markiewicz isn’t in it with you! Maybe you should take to the gun yourself, if you’re so free with your opinions? It’s too easy altogether to sit snug at home after sending out the men. Sure it’s great excitement to yez! War is the breath of life to girls like you! Americans and all sorts coming to the house while yeer men are away. Yes.’
‘You’d rather British soldiers, I suppose? Peace at any price means going back to where we were before all the Troubles began and then people like Mrs Foly’s Jimmy will have died for nothing.’
‘You’d rather send more after him!’
‘Did you ever hear of a war without fighting, Mrs Kennedy? Or of the British giving away anything unless they had to? We’ve got something now …’
‘What have we got? What? Tell me? Houses wrecked, families destroyed, young fellows mutilated and murdered and sent out of their minds raving – is that what you’re so pleased with, you blood-thirsty bitch?’
‘Ah now, Mrs Kennedy, sure the girl is only speaking her mind. Her own brother was killed. Eamonn. Remember that. And Seamus is a Volunteer. And Kathleen’s taken risks. There’s things you don’t know, Missis. Sure the people in this country are altogether too ready to criticize the ones who do anything at all. The bulk of the people is like trained mice, windy …’
‘That’s for me, is it? Well, there’s some would wreck Ireland for Ireland’s sake. Commend me to the diehards. Weren’t we offered Home Rule in 1914? What have we got now that we weren’t promised then, once the war was over, if we’d a sat quiet and played the game?’
‘Their game, is it? The English game? Aren’t we sick and tired of playing their game and being fooled up to the eyes? I’m sorry for anyone would rely on English promises. The crowd up North isn’t sitting quiet. They’re bringing pressure all right, screaming melia murther to stop the English keeping any promises they made to us. And they’ll be only too pleased to say they had to give in to Craig and his Orangemen if our lads don’t bring as good a pressure on our side.’
‘So, it’ll go on forever, is that it? Yous have me poor head addled and moidered with yer talk. I don’t believe yez want peace. I think there’s people in this country that’s got so they need war the way some need strong drink. Yez wouldn’t know what to do with yerselves if there was peace tomorrow. Look at this girl breathing fire like a salamander. My poor sons are working their fingers to the bone trying to keep a roof over our heads, but there’s some have made the gun a way of life. Looting and calling it – what’s that word they have now? Requisitioning, is it? Ah, that’s a lovely word entirely. You steal people blind and need never do a hand’s work because stealing’s called “requisitioning” now.’
‘That’s very unpatriotic talk! I’m surprised to hear an Irishwoman talking like that.’
‘I’m as good an Irishwoman as any here, but I don’t like hooligans.’
‘And the IRA are hooligans according to you?’
‘I didn’t say they were hooligans. I said there was a hooligan element …’
‘Element, is it? You say altogether too much, Missis.’
‘Do I now? Well maybe I’d better leave this patriotic company. The moral tone is puzzling me poor brain.’
She flounced out, her shawl held high over her jutting chest, the swish of its tail making the kind of fine rhetorical movement which a coat could never accommodate.
There was a moment given up to shrugs and sighs.
‘What’ll it be today?’ the shopkeeper asked Judith, who had trouble remembering her needs.
‘I’ll have three pounds of back rashers,’ she recalled, ‘cut as thin as you can, a pound of black pudding and half a pound of white, tea, sugar, candles, oatmeal, matches, paraffin …’
Behind her, someone sighed. ‘That poor woman, God help us, who’s just gone out …’
‘Mrs Kennedy?’
‘The same. She had a brother-in-law killed by the lads.’
‘Killed deliberate?’
‘As a spy. He was found in a ditch with the words “All Spies Beware” on a piece of cardboard pinned to his chest. No, but that’s not the whole of it. Wait till you hear. You see if he was a spy nobody could blame the lads for what they done.
‘And wasn’t he?’
‘He was not. He was a farmer living back in the hills and there was a house friendly to the Sinn Féiners nearby where they used to store their weapons and hide out when they were in that part of the country. The Flying Column. It was their headquarters and they had it fixed up with hollow walls and the guns hidden under the floorboards so that even if it was to be raided nothing could be found,’ the woman paused, ‘in the normal way.’
‘So?’
‘Well, one day didn’t a couple of tenders full of Auxiliaries drive up to it and it was as clear as day that they’d had a tip-off because the one IRA fellow who was there had a story ready, false papers and everything he needed to convince them that he was an honest farmer. He was as cool as you please and had been in a
nd out of as many tight corners as Mick Collins, so he didn’t turn a hair but had all his answers pat. Only this time the Auxie officer took no notice of his story. “Tear up them floorboards,” says he to his men. “Break down them walls.” Well, of course, once they done that the poor fellow’s goose was cooked. They whisked him off to gaol and from there he managed to get word out about how it had happened. Then the neighbouring farmer was blamed for the leak. But, don’t you see, there was no proof at all that it was him, only the word of some more neighbours who, as it came out later, had an old score to settle with him, a quarrel about a boundary. Farmers is very vindictive. Six months later the lads found who the real informer was but it was too late then to bring the innocent man back to life.’
‘Thin please,’ reminded Judith, whose rashers were being sliced.
Haunches of bacon had a human look with the pale hairy skin. She thought sometimes of becoming a vegetarian but decided that was soft. She’d seen pigs killed. A good butcher could find the heart in one blow. Were the IRA as quick with spies? Behind her the women capped stories of mistakes the lads made and the British made and about hosts of innocent poor goms who – if you could believe this gossip – had been killed for no reason at all.
‘Saving yer presence, Missis, the poor fella had to be supported between two spades the lads stuck into the ground and tied him to so he’d be upright while they were firing on him. And didn’t he soil his trousers from fright and the stuff running down his leg …’
These were women who in peace-time would be whispering under the edge of their shawls about monstrous births and miscarriages and labour pains. She’d been hearing scraps of bloody talk since she could talk herself, always interrupted to respect her innocence and all the more troubling for that.
‘God help us all.’
Judith paid for her groceries. ‘Will you send that round this morning then?’ she asked the shopkeeper. ‘Thank you very much.’
As you left the shop you felt the lull which wouldn’t be broken until you were out of earshot. Then your reputation would be sliced as neatly as the rashers.
No Country for Young Men Page 14
