Sudden Times

by Dermot Healy

  So I turned away and started back down the corridor. Every time I turned back there was Bob looking after me. He’s looking at me still.

  the empty bed

  We sat in that canteen most days while they changed Redmond’s bandages, that were not bandages at all. One day I came up and there was a cop standing at the door, so I said to myself I’ve done it again, I’ve gone to the wrong floor, and I was about take off when the policeman called after me.

  Oi you!

  Yes?

  You a relative?

  Yes, I said.

  He held the door open. I walked in. The bed was empty.

  I’m sorry, he said.

  27

  the trial

  Scots Bob was charged with manslaughter. He claimed in court that we were all drugged out of our minds. That I had put drugs into the food. That he had been provoked and beaten.

  That he had only meant to frighten us. It was a joke that got out of hand.

  He just meant to frighten Redmond, not kill him. If Redmond had not fought with him, neither of them would have got burnt.

  His woman was in that flat and he wanted her back.

  He said that I had claimed he was a murderer. That I had tried to involve him in another killing. A lad that had been burnt in the back of the lorry. Everyone knew that I was insane. That they had tried to be nice to me. Given me a job though I was useless. Every man in the gang could prove that. That I had provoked him by spreading rumours. That I was under the illusion that I was a carpenter. Everyone knew that I had been locked up before.

  He is not right in the head, he said, pointing at me.

  Even on the night of the party I had dived on a woman and tried to rape her.

  something to do with an accusation

  Silver John sat very correct in the chair and faced the judge, without once turning back to the barrister.

  The deceased worked for you?

  For a number of weeks.

  And his brother?

  I think for a period of two months.

  Was Oliver Ewing a capable worker?

  No.

  Then why did you continue to employ him?

  I was sorry for him.

  The deceased’s brother – Oliver Ewing – assaulted you, I believe, in Wood Green.

  He did.

  Why did he assault you?

  It was something to do with an accusation he was making, that somehow I was involved in the death of a friend of his.

  A Mr Martin Kilgallon?

  That might be. I never heard his name, your lordship, he said, addressing the judge. I never met the bloke. The first I heard of him was when this fellow Ollie Ewing starts hurling abuse at me.

  Did you know how he died?

  No. Not then.

  Did you have any association with Mr Kilgallon?

  Never.

  And out of the blue, the deceased’s brother assaults you?

  That is correct.

  And yet you employed him.

  Because I had not the heart, your lordship, to see him standing there in the yard looking for work each morning.

  You felt obliged to help him?

  Yes.

  Because he was helpless?

  Because he begged me for a job. He was there every morning. He was a miserable, hopeless wretch.

  I see. And I suppose it was for the same reason that you employed his brother?

  Correct.

  They were down-and-outs?

  They were.

  And you felt you must help them?

  To my shame, said Silver John, and my loss.

  Quite. The barrister looked back towards the door where someone had entered the courtroom. The deceased’s brother asked you to this party?

  He did.

  Why did you go?

  I suppose to show him that I bore no grudges over the assault.

  Surely you had demonstrated this, Mr Reynolds, the judge interrupted, by employing both brothers?

  I felt he was still suspicious of me.

  He still made accusations?

  Not verbally. It was in his eyes. The way he looked at me.

  Carry on, the judge said to the barrister.

  Thank you, your honour. Again the barrister looked towards the door. So you decided to go to this party?

  I did.

  And you brought Robert MacVeigh and his companion, Miss Farrell?

  They were happy to go.

  So what did you find when you arrived?

  There were a lot of Irish there, mostly men. The minute I entered the joint I could feel the hostility.

  What do you mean, exactly?

  I felt we’d been set up. That once they had us inside anything might happen. They were talking politics, your honour.

  Irish politics?

  Yes.

  About Northern Ireland?

  Things like that. They started speaking in Irish. But I could make out some of it.

  I see.

  They were stoned, said Silver John, and for the first time he turned towards the barrister. They were trying to terrify us. Then Ewing –

  Oliver Ewing?

  – Oliver Ewing started on about his friend that had died. How he had been burnt. They started ganging up on us. I said we would go, but before we could leave they set upon us. They called us English bastards and three or four of them starting booting Bob. I asked them to stop, but they wouldn’t. I was flung out the door, then Bob was thrown out. He was badly wounded. He began screaming for Meg, but they wouldn’t let her go.

  Your witness.

  the bad things

  And so my man stood and began to interrogate Silver John but it was like I never heard him.

  All I could hear were the bad things.

  Meg

  Meg took the stand.

  You are Margaret Farrell?

  Yes.

  The accused – Robert MacVeigh – is your companion?

  Yes, said Meg.

  And you accompanied him to this party?

  Yes, she said, with Silver John.

  John Reynolds?

  Yes.

  Now there was some disagreement, a falling out of sorts with the accused and the deceased?

  They had words.

  And Mr Reynolds left and Mr MacVeigh left?

  Bob and John decided to go.

  In fact they were thrown out.

  That’s right.

  They were physically hurled out of the flat isn’t that right?

  That’s true.

  Now could you explain since you came with them – with Mr MacVeigh and Mr Reynolds – could you explain to the court why you did not accompany them?

  I couldn’t.

  Speak up, said the judge.

  Please, Miss Farrell, said the barrister, will you please address his lordship. Why did you not accompany your friends when they left?

  I just couldn’t.

  Miss Farrell, I put it to you again: why did you not just leave? Your friends were going. You were among strangers. You did not know anyone there.

  I knew Ollie, she said.

  Mr Ewing, the brother of the deceased?

  Yes. I knew him. He worked with Bob.

  But did you know anyone else?

  No. Not till that night.

  So why did you not go.

  I –

  Yes?

  I – she said softly.

  Miss Farrell, will you please address his lordship. Let’s put it this way – did you want to leave?

  I did, but that was after I …

  Please answer the question. Did you want to leave?

  Yes.

  And why did you not leave?

  I was told not to go.

  By whom?

  By Redmond.

  Redmond Ewing – the deceased – threatened you?

  Not in so many words.

  Miss Farrell – either the deceased threatened you or didn’t threaten you. Well?

  He said things to me.

 
Could you please explain what things?

  He said I should not go.

  And –

  That I would be in trouble if I left.

  So, in fact what happened was, your friends were ejected from the apartment – with great violence – and you were held there against your will. Is that not so? Come, Miss Farrell, is that not so?

  Yes, she said sadly.

  And so it would be understandable if your companion – Mr MacVeigh – Robert – should wish to rescue you, isn’t that right?

  Yes.

  In fact you wanted him to. You begged him to save you. Is that correct?

  Yes.

  He would have been terrified of what might happen to you. Isn’t that right, Miss Farrell? Miss Farrell?

  Yes.

  I walked back towards the flat

  Scots Bob looked at the floor.

  When you were ejected from the apartment what did you do?

  I drove away with Silver John, then asked him to stop the car.

  And he stopped the car where?

  On some street, I couldn’t tell you where.

  Some distance away from the apartment, I take it?

  Quite a distance.

  You were not near a petrol station?

  No.

  Nowhere near?

  No.

  And then what happened?

  I asked Silver John to go on. I told him that I needed some fresh air.

  You were upset.

  Yes.

  Understandably, in the circumstances.

  Yes.

  And what did – ah, ah – Mr Reynolds – say?

  He told me to get back in the car.

  But you didn’t.

  No. I was upset. I told him I would get a taxi later on and eventually he left.

  But he did so reluctantly?

  Yes.

  And then?

  I walked back towards the flat.

  Alone?

  Yes.

  You walked back to the flat. Why?

  I was worried about Meg.

  Miss Farrell. I see. And what did you intend to do?

  Nothing. I don’t know. I just thought I should go back.

  You imagined all kind of things.

  I did.

  So why, said the judge, did you not phone the police?

  I couldn’t think straight. My head was going round. I had received a few blows to the head. I’d been kicked, I was sore, I didn’t think of the police.

  Go on.

  Then I saw this all-night garage.

  You just happened upon it?

  Yes.

  I want to be clear about this. Not until you saw the filling station did you ever consider retaliation of any kind?

  That’s right.

  Thank you. Please continue.

  I bought a container and got a fill of petrol.

  Why did you do that, Mr MacVeigh?

  He – and he pointed at me – had put it in my head. With all that talk of burning. If he had never accused me of that killing, nothing would have happened. It was like he had got inside my brain. I didn’t know what I was doing. It was like I was being ordered to do what I did.

  So you bought the petrol, Mr MacVeigh?

  I did.

  And you walked back to the flat?

  Yes.

  And how did you get in?

  The front door was open. I went up the stairs.

  And what did you intend to do with the petrol?

  To burn down the door.

  You had no intention of harming anyone?

  No.

  Your chief concern was to get Miss Farrell safely from the apartment?

  Yes.

  And then what happened?

  As I was lighting a rag soaked in petrol, the door opened and there was Redmond Ewing. We started to struggle and the can caught fire.

  Did you throw petrol on him?

  No.

  My friend, here, will say you did.

  I did not. It was an accident. If he hadn’t struggled with me it wouldn’t have happened.

  You are quite sure, Mr MacVeigh?

  I am.

  And what happened?

  The can went up. We both got burned.

  You, in fact, got badly burned.

  Yes.

  So, in fact, what you are saying is that if you had intended to throw petrol on the deceased – Mr Redmond Ewing – you yourself would not have suffered?

  That’s right.

  Thank you, Mr MacVeigh. That will be all for now.

  I can’t hear you

  Mr Ewing, you have been resident in London for – how long?

  A year.

  Speak louder, please.

  A year.

  And when you arrived you were resident – where?

  On a site in Hammersmith.

  With Mr Martin Kilgallon?

  That’s right.

  You were living there illegally.

  I was not.

  Mr Ewing, I have papers here to the effect that you were living illegally on the site, without the knowledge of the contractor Mr McKenna.

  That’s not true.

  I’m afraid it is.

  No, it’s not. I was acting as security while Marty was away.

  Indeed. How are we to know that is true?

  That’s what I was.

  I have a sworn statement here from Mr McKenna that to the best of his recollection he had no knowledge nor written permission that you were resident on the site.

  He’s lying.

  Is that so? Had you not to be ejected from that site?

  That was after Marty died. McKenna said building work was about to begin. He had no more need of me.

  I put it to you, Mr Ewing, that you were not only living illegally on the site but that you in fact refused entry on to the site to a foreman employed by Mr McKenna.

  What?

  I said you refused entry to a foreman on the site.

  I didn’t know who he was.

  So much for security. You in fact threatened him.

  I did not.

  He will swear you did.

  It was him threatened me.

  It seems you labour under an illusion, Mr Ewing, that the world is against you. He paused. Mr Ewing, it appears to me that you are the one who has threatened not only the foreman, but Mr McKenna, you threatened Mr Reynolds, you threatened Margaret Farrell and you threatened the accused, Mr MacVeigh. Is that not so? Speak up, Mr Ewing, I can’t hear you.

  I didn’t threaten anyone.

  I put it to you, Mr Ewing, that this whole tragic affair arose because of you. Is that not so?

  No.

  rifles from high buildings

  He lifted a sheet of paper. Do you know what this is?

  No.

  This is a statement you made to the police. June 18th. He handed it to me. Does it look familiar?

  Yes.

  Could you, please, read paragraph 10, … I said could you read paragraph 10?

  When I got –

  Speak up, please, Mr Ewing!

  When I got the bucket of water on my head, they were working next door. Two guys with blue jumpers. They were sent from next door to do the job on me. I don’t know what was the reason for throwing water on a man who was trying to do a bit of work.

  So even at work you were threatened?

  That’s right.

  Because you were Irish?

  Maybe.

  I see. Now could you please read paragraph 15?

  The day the laundry windows steamed up, speed was put into my sandwiches in this fancy restaurant that I went to. A real posh place. I went in for a toasted cheese and lost the run of things. I was brought into hospital and that was what was found in my urine.

  And that was what was found in your urine – speed?

  That’s right.

  Someone put amphetamines into your sandwich?

  I don’t know.

  Why would someone – a complete stranger to you – do th
at?

  I don’t know.

  You don’t know, indeed. Life has been very unkind to you, Mr Ewing, don’t you think?

  I’m not the defendant here.

  You were arrested some time back, were you not? June 5th, to be precise.

  What?

  Are you saying you were never arrested by the police? Mr Ewing, I am asking you a question.

  That was different.

  I see. Please turn to page 3. Paragraph 6. You have it?

  Yes.

  Good. I believe you were walking near Clapham at the time. Is that so?

  That’s right.

  Please read it for his Lordship.

  I just strolled along, and stopped every so often to see would a night bus come. I wasn’t bothered, till I spotted this buck on the top of a high building with a gun. So I sprinted across the road, shouting, and shouting.

  I wasn’t bothered till I spotted this buck on the top of a high building with a gun, he repeated. Indeed, Mr Ewing. These are your words?

  Yes.

  Extraordinary. And after your encounter with this – er – assassin what did you do?

  I broke into a house to take shelter.

  How convenient. You broke into a house to take shelter.

  That’s right.

  As you had formerly broken into the site in Hammersmith. Is that not so?

  No.

  Speak up, Mr Ewing.

  I broke in no place.

  In your own words you broke into a house.

  That was different. I knocked first.

  How gracious of you.

  I was trying to hide.

  And you were arrested.

  I was. But then I was released. There were no charges.

  Do you really expect the court to believe that you saw an assassin with a rifle?

  I saw him.

  In their report of the affair the police were inclined to wonder.

  I saw no report.

  And one wonders did you see any assassin.

  I did.

  But no one else did. Would you agree that you fabricated this whole encounter with a would-be assassin in your imagination in order to justify breaking and entering?

  I saw him, I swear!

  Did the police find any evidence of a gunman?

  Not that I know of.

  So?

  They might not have, but then they didn’t find my friend Marty when he went missing, did they? And then they found him dead, didn’t they?

  I’m coming to that, Mr Ewing, I’m coming to that. But first I think – and he shuffled the papers in front of him – I think we should discuss, let me see – and he chuckled – glass-sprinklers.