‘I don’t know…maybe I can win this one, it’s the only fight I know is worth it…I know there will be more but they’ll be the fights I choose…’
‘I hope life treats you fair O’Keegan’
‘First time for everything…’ He laughed then turned back, wanting his own space.
Shorty watched O’Keegan walk back, shaking his head to himself, not believing life would let him go that easily. Shorty wanted a new beginning too but he was what he was, just like O’Keegan. He just wanted more. But he might be wrong about O’Keegan, he hoped so.
Chapter 5
O’Keegan looked down at the shovel, the coal dust from finger tip to elbow. This was his passport to a better life but by god it was hard work, each shovelful more seconds dead, a few more hundred feet of the Ship’s voyage across the Atlantic.
He let his eyes pass around the boiler room, seeing the other poor souls who had spent eighteen hours a day bent like him, a seemingly infinite supply of coal to be thrown into the Ship’s burning stomach. He saw them all…just like him, worse off than missionaries, not good enough to be in the poor quarters above.
He looked up at the sheet of metal, knowing he and the rest were truly the lowest of the low, men that needed to break their backs to get where they needed to go, their own muscles fuelling the ship to its destination.
His eyes roved, watching each person crouching, listening to the coughs as lungs fought to surface above the cloud of dust and ash, each person in their own private hell, shovels digging deep.
O’Keegan felt the engine pumping, the vibrations shivering constantly up from his feet, through his thick boots, almost disregarded now unless the mind was allowed to wander.
He felt the engine’s power, could smell the closeness, the almost intolerable heat as they pushed the ship forward, the smell of smoke trying to smother everything as he and the men around him worked.
O’Keegan sighed, putting more speed and effort into his shovelling, taking out the anger he must have been born with on the coal as the time crawled forward, shovel after shovel, lifting and throwing before digging deep again.
A moment later O’Keegan was pulled from his thoughts as a hand grasped his arm, spinning him around,
‘O’Keegan, what the hell? You stupid potato eater, you nearly took my head off with that shovel.’
O’Keegan turned, Flannery, stood inches away, anger streaked across his face between the smears of filth. Looking him up and down, O’Keegan raised his hands in mock defence, knowing he had come nowhere near Flannery.
But O’Keegan knew his type, a bully of a man that would push around any that would let him, most too afraid not too. Flannery had been watching him since they had set off, another person like Shorty that had always had the look of recognition in his eyes whenever he had looked O’Keegan over..
O’Keegan had tried to keep himself apart, hoping Flannery would look elsewhere for his fun. Considering Flannery for a moment, he was the kind of man he would have knocked down just for the hell of it in his old life. Hard but not impossible, O’Keegan’s eyes automatically summed him up, almost unconscious of it, seeing his weaknesses, knowing just where to dissect. With a start O’Keegan realised what he was doing, resolving in an instant to do his best to ride this one out, his first test, not to win but to avoid, the prize – the life he ached for.
Giving Flannery another quick glance, O’Keegan turned back to his coal, he said more calmly than he felt his voice faced into the furnace. ‘I was nowhere near you, we both know it.’
Flannery’s large hand dug deep into O’Keegan’s shoulder forcing him back around. ‘Don’t turn you back on me you Son of a bitch.’
Their eyes met. Both men firm and just for a blink, Flannery saw something inside of O’Keegan hesitating for a second, wondering if he had made a mistake. O’Keegan’s tuned senses saw it, the flicker of fear, and without knowing it, allowed a small smile to flicker across his face, that was all it took for the door to close in Flannery’s mind.
‘Flannery, I’ve minded my own business since I got on this god forsaken boat…You and I both know what you’re doing, try it on with someone else, I don’t have the stomach for it.’
Flannery’s mind focused on the last few words, gaining back the confidence that had briefly slipped away.
‘Don’t have the stomach for it? What are you O’Keegan? Are you the man all these guys have been talking about or not son?’ Flannery’s eyes passed around each face looking up from their tasks interested in any diversion from the black coal on coal.
O’Keegan pulled himself out of Flannery’s grasp.
‘Fuck off Flannery, I’m not in the mood, and I ain’t your son. I got a Pa and you’re not half the man he is so do yourself a favour…don’t start something I’ll finish.’
Flannery guffawed, playing to his growing audience, ‘Well, look here boys, we’ve found ourselves a genuine hard man from the Old Country’. Drawling the last few words a thick Irish accent, all peat bogs and Guinness.
Flannery grinned at all the faces turned their way, inviting them with raised eyebrows to enjoy the show. No one joined in the smiles, all sure of what was coming, wanting to cut to it so they could see the fighting O’Keegan come up against Flannery. Flannery had tried it on with each of them, O’Keegan and Shorty the last. The choices had been to back down or take a beating.
No one stepped forward, no one willing to stand up, bent for too long under the oppressive metal ceiling, looking for someone else to take Flannery down to size - perhaps O’Keegan would be the first. A few coins began to pass from hand to hand with whispers of ‘Flannery’ or ‘O’Keegan’ as they staked their last on one man or the other.
Most had kept their distance from O’Keegan since England, seemingly wanting it, going out of his way to keep himself to himself. Shorty moved from person to person, encouraging bets before the main event continued.
Most coins backed Flannery, Shorty dug deep, making as many bets on O’Keegan as he could. Flannery waited for the exchanges to cease, wanting to have the money squared away before the real business began, expecting to see his cut when O’Keegan was stamped on. Shovels were forgotten as they got ready for the inevitable.
Sure he had pulled together his audience, all business squared away, Flannery focused again on O’Keegan, his grin switching off like a light switch.
‘Fuck off is it you bog stomping Mick? Who the fuck do you think you’re talking too?’ He shoved at O’Keegan, his palm pushing O’Keegan, watching with satisfaction as O’Keegan stepped back, no moves to counter, no punches thrown his way.
‘People say you’re our very own hard man, our own fighting O’Keegan they whisper when you’re snuggled up tight in your blanket at night, almost pissed myself when I heard it…that’s how funny it all is…well come on, fight…’ Flannery pushed at him again, urging him to do something, ready for it.
O’Keegan stepped back, his hands carefully at his side. Flannery tried again, prodding O’Keegan in the chest, trying to provoke a reaction. O’Keegan’s feet would let him move again, his chest resisting the prodding, standing locked to the spot.
‘Enough Flannery, enough, I told you…I’m not in the mood…’ Bending down, he placed his own shovel on the pile of coal, moving slowly so Flannery wouldn’t get the wrong idea.
‘I don’t want to fight Flannery, you’re the boss, that’s fine with me, I’m not interested.’
‘My God…the fighting O’Keegan’s is it? Perhaps that’s your Brothers, maybe your Mom, although I heard she never put up much of a fight. Maybe you even tried it? Did you O’Keegan?’ Flannery’s finger went back to prodding. ‘The fighting O’Keegan’s…’ Flannery sucked through his nose and spat to the ground, as it landed, he ground his boot to smear it away.
‘…even I heard of the O’Keegan’s, well that sure as shit ain’t you….boys, IF this one’s even called O’Keegan, we have the only one that can’t fight…just our luck. No fun today boys…No wonder he’s
running away…’
O’Keegan began to turn, his head low, wanting that to be the end of it, if he could just get back to work without reacting, but he knew as he twisted away that none of this had been enough, Flannery wouldn’t let it go, knowing he had failed the test before his back was fully to Flannery.
O’Keegan, felt veins pumping blood through his forehead, trying to let the anger wash over him, willing it from bubbling up in his guts. But O’Keegan knew even as he tried to take a few careful breaths that this wouldn’t be it - it never was.
Flannery, his large black boots stepping in as he pushed forward with his palm, aiming to shove O’Keegan against the coal pile with one final forceful shove, the end to the conversation. Blood hammering, O’Keegan reacted, automatic, inbred before his command could stop it.
O’Keegan’s brain fought with itself, years of training and his body responding despite his resolve not to fight.
Sliding under Flannery’s arms O’Keegan threw a meat pounding punch to Flannery’s kidney, following it up with a sharp bony knee into Flannery’s groin. Getting control of himself he grasped at one last chance, one last hope,
‘You’re not listening Flannery. I don’t want to fight, leave me be…’
O’Keegan raised his hands in supplication calling an end to it, but already sure he was trying to stop the unstoppable. O’Keegan glanced around at the faces in the boiler room, some wincing at his cowardice. Was this really the O’Keegan they’d been talking about, keeping themselves entertained with, the different stories of his past victories whispered just before huddled sleep?
Flannery blew a breath out, careful to suck the next in deeply, ‘That…my fighting friend…is because you haven’t said anything worth listening to…but not bad reactions, maybe you are an O’Keegan after all, still, may as well have some fun…’
Flannery punctuated his sentence with a balled fist straight to O’Keegan’s chin. O’Keegan watched it coming letting it land home, feeling a certain pleasure as he was knocked to the coal encrusted ground. In his old life, this fight would have been finished already, Flannery had given him too many chances if had wanted to take them, O’Keegan smiled up at Flannery,
‘Last chance Flannery, you took your best shot….I even let you get it in so you can walk away happy, maybe tell your kids you put one fair and square on my chin…tell them I saw a few stars if you like…now, are you gonna be smart Flannery…?’
Flannery urged O’Keegan up his two hands inviting him to stand. Flannery began to takes small steps, circling O’Keegan as he sat.
‘I’ll tell you when it’s done O’Keegan…’ Flannery panted.
O’Keegan closed his mouth, talking his way out lost to his mind, erased by his anger at Flannery’s stupidity. Leaning against the pile, O’Keegan squeezed his hand around a black and dusty lump, keeping his hand slack, relaxed.
Waiting for the moment when the dance would truly begin. Flannery stepped closer, kneeling, O’Keegan pitched forward using his momentum to send his fist grinding into Flannery’s abdomen, feeling Flannery’s stomach bunching up from the force.
Flannery doubled, his bad breath coughed outwards by the blow, exploding between his teeth, the move his mind had already decided to make continuing, his knee out shooting out to connect with O’Keegan’s face only inches above it.
O’Keegan tumbled back sprawling, his hands falling across the shovel which moments before was for a job he’d grown to hate, his fingers locking around the shaft, he now praised it.
O’Keegan’s grip firmed, he now had a new job, killing Flannery. With a change of strategy, O’Keegan lay back fully, taking a breath and closing his eyes as if he was done, the fight over. Flannery smirked, remembering his spectators.
‘See, I told you we didn’t have ourselves a Fighting O’Keegan, my sister is harder than this man…’
Flannery moved forward, still not prepared to let it go. O’Keegan relaxed on the coal, watching each of Flannery’s steps, two more, just two more. As Flannery’s foot landed for a second time, O’Keegan swung the shovel around in a wide arc, a handful of inches above the ground, skimming the edged slice of metal across the surface until it connected with Flannery’s shins.
Biting deep, the shovels sharpened point excavated a trench along Flannery’s shin bones, wide inches of flesh and blood scooped out as it travelled.
Flannery sprung back, the pain of his legs blotting out everything except howling, his mind struggling to work through the thought blotting cloud of pain. O’Keegan was up and ready for the finish, and piercing through the veil, his mind broke through, hesitating for the first time in his life, pulling back from delivering the end.
In the eye blink it took to get back on his feet and launch himself at Flannery, something inside that had been turned off for so long began to work, for the first time his Father’s imposed bindings began to break. He didn’t want this, didn’t want this….his mind repeated to itself.
Deciding, Flannery never bothering him again would be enough.
As he slowed down, his Father’s beatings and his voice screamed up, twisting every fibre, demanding that he go for the kill, cursing him as pulled himself back…standing boy, standing, his father’s voice sneered at him.
O’Keegan saw Flannery sitting, knees pulled up to his chest, both hand holding his bleeding shins his eyes squeezed shut in screeching pain. O’Keegan couldn’t feel it, had no sympathy but gone too was the pleasure, was there ever any? Maybe this time he wouldn’t feel the dead hollowness after?
O’Keegan knew he still needed to end this, half a breath later his boot flew.
As he rocked himself holding on to his bleeding legs, Flannery’s blinked his eyes open from their scrunched state, seeing the boot coming, almost welcoming what would come after.
An instant later O’Keegan’s metal toe capped boot took up all vision before it knocked him backwards against the metal floor, his head hitting against the crusty spit mark he’d made a few minute before, the candle in his brain extinguished. Flannery was out and wouldn’t be coming back for a good few hours.
O’Keegan looked around the room, the smiling faces of those men that had been pushed around by Flannery. No claps on the back, no rounds of applause, O’Keegan didn’t expect any, these guys weren’t the type but he could see their relief as they took the moment to breath, looking anew, their new world a Boiler Room without Flannery at the top of the shit heap, tools strewn around their feet. A few nods to O’Keegan, that was enough, that was everything. As they walked back to their own spaces O’Keegan heard their whispers, the words he hated bubbling out…the fighting O’Keegan, the fighting O’Keegan.
O’Keegan’s eyes flicked over to Flannery, watched the twitch of his eyelids, Flannery wasn’t dead, O’Keegan had seen ‘dead’, no, Flannery would wake up with a headache from Babylon, but perhaps the kick would have knocked some sense into him. O’Keegan doubted it. People like Flannery didn’t often get smart, but when they lost, they sometimes got controllable. These people had struggled to leave lives going nowhere, only to find a man like Flannery, just like all the rest back at home, well, he was done now.
He allowed himself a few breaths, as the rest of the men went back to their work, happier, perhaps the world did get evened out sometimes. As they filtered away, Shorty jumped from person to person, collecting his winnings.
O’Keegan got back to work, hand and shovel starting to push downwards into the never ending pile, the men taking it as a sign that a new kind normality had begun. They all seemed to drop easily back into their routine, each man beginning to feed the steamship as it ploughed its way through the Atlantic waters.
No one tried to help Flannery as he lay rolling from side to side in his unconsciousness. Left forgotten as everyone slipped back into the rhythm. The ship continued, another slow journey of hope even for the hopeless, looking to the United States for their salvation.
O’Keegan turned back to his own world, his own ghosts, shovelling and th
inking, what else was there?
Chapter 6
‘Did you win son?’
‘No Pa, there were two of them, they jumped me as I was coming home. One held, the other laid into me. Couldn’t do anything, couldn’t even give them any back’. O’Keegan looked to the floor, his shoulders a bow, feeling the weight of his Father’s stare.
O’Keegan’s father always played it just as straight.
‘Don’t care if there were twenty of them, do you hear me? This is what we were made for…it’s why we’re here, what we are.’ Taking a step forward, his arms across his barrel chest O’Keegan’s father could never leave it there, his words lisping between broken teeth.
‘You’re not coming back in this house until you beat two tons of shit out of them. I don’t care if they’re still together… better they are so you can have it done with. Do what it takes. Now they can’t surprise you…maybe you can surprise them…be smarter, harder…if you can find it in you…’
‘But Pa, I’m hurt and-’
‘Hurt?...’ His voice rising in anger, ‘Do you think I give a shit? Did anyone ever give a shit about me? Even you’re Mother took the easy way out…’ Swallowing down any emotion, his Father grabbed a hold of his anger,
‘I won’t have you going her way do you hear me? Find them, show them you’re an O’Keegan, anything else worth a damn in this shit hole? If you lose again, stand up… again and again until you win.’ Grabbing O’Keegan by the collar, O’Keegan was thrown stumbling back into the street.
‘Remember who you are…try to be my SON for God’s sake.’
O’Keegan could do nothing but leave, under his breath mumbling through already tortured lips,
‘Yeah, Pa, an O’Keegan…your Son…not like Ma’
Turning back into what the locals generously called a street, his chin weighted to his chest, O’Keegan would drop heavy tired feet until he found some kind of rhythm. He set out to find the boys that had already knocked him down and out once, the boys that kept him from his home, the dark and forgetfulness of his bed, his one safe place.
The Fighting O'Keegans Page 2
