Torn Asunder

by Renny deGroot

  “That’s what they all say.”

  Emmet was taken to a large cell and shoved in with several other exhausted, grimy, soot-covered men. He found a space on the floor and sat down on the cold stone beside a man in his thirties who still wore his oversized flat cap, long grey trench coat, and incongruously, his tie. “Well, boys. You did your best and stood up for Ireland.”

  The man narrowed his eyes. “Who are you? I don’t know you.” He looked around the group. “Anyone know him?”

  A few shook their heads and a grumble of ‘no’ from others.

  Emmet held up his hands. “They took my identification away, but my name’s Emmet Ryan. I’m a journalist.”

  One man called out. “I know that name. Are you the fella that wrote the piece when Michael Collins took over?”

  “I did.”

  More grumbling. “So, you favour the Treaty?”

  “I don’t. As a journalist I have to try not to take sides, though.”

  The man with the trench coat frowned. “I say he’s a spy.”

  Emmet felt his heart race. “I’m no spy. I just spent the past two days side by side with Holohan and Traynor’s men at the Gresham.”

  Trench coat stood up, swaying with exhaustion. “Collecting evidence? And now you’re here to find out who the leaders are and what we know? Is that it?”

  Emmet saw the man ball his fists. More men struggled to their feet. “No. Jaysus, men.” Now Emmet stood as well. “I’m no bloody spy. I was in the Finglas Volunteers in ’16 and I did my part as well at the Custom House.”

  Trench coat narrowed his eyes. “We all have that sort of history. It’s the side you’re on now that counts.”

  A swarthy man, his jaw blackened with a week’s dark stubble, leaned against the wall and spoke up. “Tell us about the Battle of Ashbourne, so. I’m in the mood for a story.”

  “Sure, he’d know all about it from writing his news reports.”

  Emmet sucked in a deep breath and pointed at the man who’d made that comment. “I know what happened because I was there. As was my father, my two brothers and my closest pal, Liam Kelly. My Da was shot and wounded the day before the battle, but we all were there on the day it went down and went to serve our time in Kilmainham afterwards. That’s how I know what you’re feeling right now. You feel betrayed. You wonder what it was all for when you had to surrender. You’re so tired you can barely stand, so let’s all sit down again, and I’ll tell you what it was like for me that day when I followed Thomas Ashe into battle.”

  A few men crossed themselves at Ashe’s name, and slowly they sat again. The one leaning on the back wall nodded. “You know Liam Kelly?”

  Emmet nodded. “We’re still friends. I thought I might see him over the last few days. I know he’s here somewhere.”

  The man against the wall gave a small nod. “I say he’s all right.”

  Trench coat sat down and folded his arms across his chest. He grunted but didn’t say anything further.

  Emmet sighed and looked at the blackened, grimy ceiling. “I believe in a united Ireland. There isn’t much more I can say.”

  The fight seemed to go out of Trench coat. “It’s hard to know who to trust these days.”

  Emmet nodded. “Fair enough. The reason I’m in here with you now is because I got in the way when two of your men were getting out the back door of the Gresham. The Free Staters weren’t best pleased when they couldn’t fire at the escapees since I was standing there waving my press identification at them.”

  There were some tired chuckles. “And did they get away, then?”

  Emmet nodded. “As far as I know.”

  “Well that’s something, anyway.”

  Emmet held his hand out to Trench coat. “Let’s start again. I’m Emmet Ryan.”

  “Sean.”

  Emmet knew the man still didn’t trust him, but at least the feeling of imminent danger had passed. A few more men muttered their names as Emmet looked at them. Some simply closed their eyes to avoid further discussion. When Emmet looked up at the swarthy man, still leaning against the wall, the man nodded. “Dan Breen.”

  Emmet rose to his feet. “Of course. I should have recognized you. It’s an honour to meet you.”

  Breen crooked a ghost of a smile. “Recognize me from the Wanted Posters the Brits had plastered everywhere, you mean?”

  Emmet returned the smile. “I was thinking of your recent nomination in the elections.”

  “Right.” Breen slid down the wall and tipped his cap low over his eyes. Conversation was at an end.

  Emmet wasn’t lucky enough to have a wall to lean against and sat feeling his backside get numb with his arms wrapped around his knees and forehead resting against them. What happens now? Not back to jail. God, I hope not. Bridie doesn’t deserve that.

  Chapter Twenty

  Dublin, 5 July 1922

  Emmet must have dozed off because when they came, banging nightsticks against the bars, he leapt up, heart pounding.

  “Up, up. Come on now. Arms out so we can cuff you as you come out.” Police guards stood, guns cocked and ready as the prisoners rose and lined up, ready to leave the cell.

  Breen shouted over the muttering and groaning of the shuffling men. “Where are you taking us?”

  Emmet took his place in line and inched forward as one by one the men were cuffed and shoved forward in the passageway.

  Breen called out again. “Well? We have a right to know.”

  The officer in charge responded. “You’re going to Wellington Barracks. You’re the army’s problem now.”

  When Emmet was next in line to be cuffed, the officer in charge poked him in the chest with his night stick. “Ryan?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not you.”

  Sean with the trench coat was already in the lineup, hand-cuffed and waiting to move forward. He turned and threw a glare in Emmet’s direction.

  Emmet saw it and gritted his teeth. “I’m not a fecking spy.”

  Sean turned and walked away.

  Emmet stepped back into the cell and watched the others leave. The officer in charge gestured him to come along. Emmet came to the cell door again and held out his hands, but the officer shook his head. No cuffs.

  “Follow me.”

  Emmet resisted the temptation to ask questions. Maybe Mr. Hooper is here to get me out.

  He walked behind the broad back of the Civic Guard officer, the man’s black boots and belt shining in the pools of light along the hallways. It was the middle of the night, yet the dark uniform was well turned out.

  He was taken into an office where an older man wearing the chevrons of a sergeant sat behind a desk, an open file in front of him.

  The officer escorting Emmet saluted. “The prisoner Ryan, as requested, Sergeant Kelly.”

  The sergeant nodded. “That will be all. Thank you.”

  Another crisp salute and the officer swivelled and left, closing the door behind him.

  Emmet remained standing as the sergeant turned pages in the file. Finally, he looked up. “All right, sit down.”

  Emmet felt the sweat prickling under his arms. He sat down.

  The sergeant crossed his arms across his chest. “Do you know who I am?”

  Emmet frowned, a glimmer of recognition crossing his mind. “I’ve met you before.”

  “Yes.” He pulled an envelope from under the file and withdrew a single sheet of notepaper. He unfolded that and flattened the crease.

  From his side of the desk Emmet tried to read what the note said or at least figure out who it was from. It wasn’t Freeman’s Journal letterhead. Not Hooper then. Then it came to him. He couldn’t read the words, but he recognized his father-in-law’s writing.

  Emmet muttered. “Kelly.”

  “Yes. Sergeant John Kelly at your service.”

  Emmet’s mouth fell open. “You’re Bridie’s uncle. Her mother’s brother. You were at our wedding.”

  “I was. It was a happy day. I didn’t
expect to see you here in front of me, Ryan.”

  “No.”

  “We are now in unhappy times. Irishman against Irishman. Sad, and dangerous times.”

  “I agree.”

  “I’ve had a note from my sister’s husband.” Sergeant Kelly slid the note across for Emmet to read.

  After reading the plea for help, Emmet shook his head. “Bridie shouldn’t have asked her parents to send this. I understand the position it’s putting you in.”

  “Do you? Do you really understand? You have a bit of a history, boyo. I can’t easily just let you go.”

  Emmet nodded. “In my defence, I have to say that we were all on the same side when I experienced my history, as you call it. Now, I’m simply doing my job. I wasn’t taking sides, I was just getting as close to the action as I could to get the story. I could have stood with the rest of the crowd, watching the bullets fly, but that’s not what a real journalist does. Anything that happened was just a case of wrong place at the wrong time.” Emmet prayed that no one had looked at his notes which would clearly show where his sympathies lay.

  Sergeant Kelly removed his reading glasses and rubbed his nose. “The fact is, you abetted two escaping Republicans, whether you intended to or not.”

  Emmet licked his lips but remained quiet. He knew that Kelly was deciding his future and it was best if he let the man think rather than continue to plead his case.

  Kelly put his glasses on. “I’m letting you off with a warning.”

  Emmet didn’t realize he was holding his breath until he expelled it. “Thank you.”

  Kelly waved a finger at Emmet. “This is the first and last time. I’m doing that for my sister and for my niece, of whom I am very fond. Don’t let me hear your name again.”

  “No, Sergeant.”

  Kelly’s face softened then. “Unless it’s for an invitation to a baptism.”

  Emmet smiled. “That may not be for a while, but I’ll remember.”

  • • •

  It was mid-morning when Emmet got home. He held Bridie as she sobbed against his shoulder. At last, he led her to the kitchen and she grew calm as she went through the familiar tasks of making tea and getting a breakfast of rashers and eggs with brown bread ready. She showed him the note her uncle had sent to her mother as they waited together in her parents’ home for word.

  Dermot,

  Emmet has been arrested for aiding and abetting criminals. During the final round-up of the anti-treaty militants, it is alleged that Emmet helped two men escape through the kitchen of the Gresham Hotel. They were spotted coming out of a rear door with Emmet stepping out first and then standing in the way, preventing the capture or prevention of escape of the two Republicans.

  I have interviewed Emmet and am giving him the benefit of the doubt in this incident.

  Given the small amount of evidence against him, I have made the case to the Commanding Officer to release Emmet with a warning. He will be processed and his name now on record, but he should be able to go home in the morning.

  Regards to my sister

  John Kelly

  Emmet set the note aside and watched Bridie moving around the kitchen. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

  He saw her shoulders stiffen, but she didn’t respond.

  “It’s over now, Bridie.”

  She turned the thick slices of bacon and then swivelled to him. “I thought when we got married, you would put your family first. That’s what you promised me.”

  “This is my job. Do you expect me to just stand with the crowd of women and children who watched the fighting from behind the barriers like they were watching some sort of performance at the Abbey Theater?”

  His wife turned back to the sizzling rashers. She cracked an egg into the frying pan and cut a thick slice of bread while the egg cooked. She said nothing as she put everything out on the plate and set it in front of Emmet.

  He grasped her hand after she laid down the plate. His voice felt thick in his throat. “Bridie, love. Please, let’s not row. I was never in any real danger, but I can’t just stand back. That’s not who I am. As it is, I just spent the night amongst men who thought me a spy.”

  He dropped her hand and picked up his knife and fork.

  She made a pot of tea and poured out a cup for each of them and then sat across from him as he ate. “Who thought you were a spy?”

  He looked up. “Most of the men in the cell.”

  She set down her cup. “That must have been hard for you.”

  He closed his eyes briefly. “First Michael Collins, and then the men I think of as comrades think me a spy.” He heaved a long sigh. “It breaks my heart.”

  Tears slid down Bridie’s cheeks. “And then I berate you.”

  Emmet pushed the empty plate away. “Hush. I’m just exhausted, but I’ll need to go in and file the story.”

  She stood and took his plate and cup away. “You’ll have a wash and a sleep first.”

  He nodded and stood, weaving on his feet, feeling almost too tired to even make it to the bedroom.

  She came and looped her arm around his waist. “Come, love. Hold on to me. You know I didn’t mean anything earlier. I was just afraid.”

  He leaned on her. “I know.” He felt stronger with the warmth of her arm around him.

  The worst is over.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Dublin, 6 July 1922

  He woke to her finger stroking his cheek and for a moment longer kept his eyes closed, enjoying the touch and sound of her voice. “Emmet? Are you awake?”

  He opened his eyes and sat up. “I am.”

  “You said to waken you at noon.”

  “Right. I’m awake now. I’ll be out directly.”

  “I made some soup.”

  “Lovely. Thank you. Where would I be without you?”

  She smiled and left him to get ready.

  He had his lunch and then set off on his bicycle to get into the office. Dublin was a very different place than it was just yesterday. The percussion of heavy artillery and rat-a-tat-tat of smaller guns were replaced by the sounds of hammers and saws as demolition and reconstruction began. Packs of children dashed across the road armed with sticks as they replayed elaborate battle scenes in place of rifle-toting men.

  Emmet arrived at the office and shook his head at the good-natured comments thrown at him, teasing him about his time in jail.

  He went first to his editor’s office. He knocked and entered at Hooper’s “Come.”

  Hooper sat back and laced his fingers behind his head. “They’ve released you, then.”

  “Let me off with a warning.”

  “What were you thinking to get between soldiers and escaping Republicans?”

  Emmet raised his eyebrows. “So you’ve heard the details, then?”

  “I have my sources, Ryan.”

  “Of course. Well, I just wanted to let you know I’m back and I’ll write up my notes from the last couple of days.”

  Hooper sniffed. “I’m not sure we’ll use them. It’s rather after the fact now, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Emmet felt the chill from his boss. “I’ll write it anyway and you can see.”

  Hooper folded his arms across his chest. “Remember what I told you before. I don’t want a whole sad story about this pack of renegades fighting a just fight. The people voted. We’re a Free State now and that’s the position we support, right?”

  Emmet felt heat rise in his neck and face. “So, it’s all right to write something less neutral as long as the slant is in the direction of the Free-Staters?”

  “That’s the side of the law, Ryan. We are for the law, and if you don’t see it that way, maybe you shouldn’t be working here at all. Maybe you should find some place that suits you better.”

  Emmet felt the sweat prickle under his arms and his palms were sweaty where he gripped his leather briefcase. “Maybe I should.”

  Hooper waved his hand towards the door. “Don’t let me stop you
. You’re a fine writer, Ryan, but I don’t think you fit in here anymore.”

  Emmet hesitated for another second. “Right, then. I’ll clear out my desk.”

  Hooper stood. “I’ll let payroll know. You can pick up your final pay on your way out.”

  Emmet blinked. What have I just done? He turned and went across to his own office.

  • • •

  Bridie sat on the sofa and cried. “Oh, Emmet. What will happen to us now? You need a job.”

  Emmet took a deep breath. “I know I need a job, Bridie. I’ll find another one. It was bound to happen one of these days. The paper is barely struggling on after they had the presses destroyed. The poxy little office they’re in and renting time on other presses are all signs that the paper’s struggling. I’ll find a better job. Don’t worry yourself so.”

  Emmet rubbed his eyes. It was only six in the evening, but it seemed like the day was endless. I just want to sleep for a week. He drank his tea and watched as Bridie picked up a piece of fabric and continued the sewing she’d been working on for the past few days.

  He saw the tears spilling down her cheeks. “What are you working on?”

  She looked up, eyes wide as if searching for an answer, but before she responded there was a knock at the door.

  Emmet sighed. “Whoever it is, don’t offer them a cup of tea. I’m just too tired to be sociable.”

  Bridie set her sewing into her basket and went to answer the door.

  Emmet stood when he saw Liam. “Come in and sit down. Jaysus Liam, you look worse than I feel. You look completely banjaxed.”

  Liam’s eyes were circled with dark purple shadows. He had scrapes and scratches on his face, neck and hands. He was clean but hadn’t shaved in several days.

  Bridie stood behind Liam and raised her eyebrows to ask Emmet silently if she should offer tea or not. Emmet nodded, and she touched Liam’s arm. “Will you have a cup of tea?”

  Liam hadn’t said anything after his initial hello but looked Emmet steadily in the eyes. He turned to look at Bridie. “You wouldn’t have a drop of brandy, would you?”

  Bridie frowned. “I’ll get out the whiskey.”

  Liam nodded and stepped towards Emmet. He reached up and grasped Emmet’s shoulders with both his hands.