Eden Burning

by Deirdre Quiery

  “What have you done, Peter?” Eileen asked her voice dropping even lower.

  “I dragged Paddy O’Connor from the taxi to the garage. I waited with him as Father and Cedric went to have drinks in the Black Beetle. Cedric returned alone to kill him.” Peter sat at the kitchen table, holding his head in his hands. “I feel sick. Mum, what can I do to get out of this?”

  “Why did you do it Peter?”

  “They lied to me. But they’re not going to get away with it.”

  Eileen removed the hot plate with its cod and cheese sauce from the pot of boiling water, where it had been kept warm. She slipped the plate towards Peter.

  “Let’s stay calm.” Eileen whispered. “You need to explain. We will then do what we can and we will trust in God to do the rest. Please eat your dinner.” Eileen sat facing Peter. “Tell me why you went to Holy Cross this evening?”

  “To warn Rose Martin that Father and Cedric are planning to kill her.”

  “How do you know Rose Martin? What do you mean that they are planning to kill her? Why?” Eileen jumped to her feet and walked towards Peter. She held his face with both hands and stared into his eyes. “Tell me, Peter. Everything you know.”

  Why did Peter trust Eileen? How was she so different to William? There are some things which Peter knew without being explained. There was something seeded within Eileen that radiated from every pore of her body. The way she looked at him now was the flower of that seed. Peter’s words tumbled from his mouth uncensored.

  “Rose lives on the Crumlin Road, opposite Holy Cross Church. I was in the car with Father and Cedric when they spotted her as their next target.”

  “Rose Martin.” Eileen sat down again at the table, “I’ve met Rose. She has an aunt, Lily. I met Lily at the inauguration of the Art Exhibition. Rose arrived with her uncle Tom and a few friends.”

  “Yes, she has an uncle Tom. They live facing Holy Cross Church.”

  Eileen slid her hands across the table towards Peter, who, pushing the plate to his left squeezed Eileen’s hands and dropped his head onto her knuckles.

  “I’m afraid of Cedric Mum. I saw him with Paddy O’Connor. When Cedric came back from the Black Beetle, Paddy was sitting in a chair with his rosary in his hands. Cedric’s face and neck were red as he grabbed him from behind. He brought his arms across his chest and squeezed it hard. He whispered something into his ear. I couldn’t hear because I was standing against the door. Paddy started crying, almost growling, and struggling to free himself from Cedric’s grip. Cedric pulled his arm even tighter across his chest. Paddy couldn’t move. I felt sick in my stomach. I wanted to do something but all I did was open the door. I took one last look at Paddy. He looked at me. He stopped making noises and struggling. I’ll never forget the look in his eyes, Mum. He said, “Jesus, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” He kissed his rosary beads. I saw Cedric rip the rosary from his hands, break it in two and throw it on the floor. I left and closed the door behind me. Peter whimpered, “Mum, even now his eyes stare at me; plead with me to do something. All I did was walk away.”

  “I know, Peter.” Eileen got slowly from her seat, walked towards Peter and gently placed her arms around Peter’s shoulders as he sat on the chair. She rested her cheek against his soft nest of curly hair.

  “It was the same with Michael McGuckin. Father helped Cedric murder him. I walked away.”

  The kitchen was in silence apart from the ticking of the large white faced clock on the wall, showing nine-thirty pm. The second hand moved rhythmically clicking tick, tick, tick. The net curtain rippled from the draught in the faulty window frame. The rain which was almost turning into hailstones pinged against the window. Eileen watched the sleet-like rain dissolve and melt as the drops caught the light from the kitchen before trickling onto the windowsill and disappearing into the darkness. Peter told her everything he knew.

  “Don’t blame yourself,” Eileen whispered in a low voice, “Maybe it’s my fault this is happening.”

  “What do you mean, Mum? What have you done? You’ve never been anything other than kind. What are you talking about? This is crazy enough without you starting to make it even crazier. My head and stomach are spinning. Please talk sense to me, don’t make it worse.” Peter stood up and paced up and down the kitchen.

  “I can’t tell you now. I will tell you soon. I have to speak to Cedric first. There is something he needs to know which will change everything.”

  “What, Mum? Don’t talk in riddles. Tell me.” Eileen stared into space, ignoring Peter.

  “Let’s keep calm and think about what is the best thing to do.” She paused. “I could talk to Lily.” She jumped to her feet to find her handbag perched on the windowsill. She quickly opened it, breathing shallowly. A bead of sweat rolled down her forehead. She didn’t bother wiping it away. “I have Lily’s telephone number.”

  She had no sooner said the words when the telephone rang. It was Lily.

  “Eileen?”

  “Hello Lily.”

  “Is it safe to talk?”

  “Not now.” Eileen heard a key turning in the front door, followed by the heavy tread of feet along the hallway. “Lily, I have to go. Peter has told me what’s happening. They’re back. Tomorrow. Let’s talk tomorrow. I’ll come to Saville’s after you finish work at five. There’s something I need to tell you.”

  Eileen quickly hung up the telephone as the kitchen door squeaked open.

  “Mum, this is stupid. Tell me before you tell Cedric and Lily,” Peter whispered as William stumbled into the kitchen with a bundle of fish and chips wrapped in newspaper.

  “Anyone for a chip?”

  Cedric followed behind, walking over to the television and switching it on. “Let’s catch the ten o’clock news.”

  William didn’t bother using the plate Eileen placed beside him. He uncurled the newspaper and pulled the battered cod into four pieces dropping the white fleshy meat into his mouth. Cedric lounged back in the chair watching the television. He grabbed a couple of chips from William’s newspaper and without taking his eyes off the television screen mumbled with a full mouth, “Peter, we’re going to need some help from you tomorrow for that little job. You’ll have to say no to any extracurricular school activities. We need you here at six o’clock.”

  He swung around in the chair, grabbing a second handful of chips. William picked at his front teeth trying to dislodge a trapped fishbone. Eileen and Peter quickly exchanged glances.

  “Where’s the vinegar?” Cedric asked, slapping William on the hand. “You’ve had enough. Leave some for me.”

  “What do you want Peter to do?” Eileen asked in a lighter tone of voice, and a forced smile as she placed the bottle of malt vinegar in front of Cedric. “You know he has homework to do. He can’t be out every night. Tonight he had rugby practice. Tomorrow he needs to do school work. He has exams to think about.”

  “He can do his homework the rest of the week. One night without homework never killed anyone.” Cedric wiped his fingers on his jeans. “We need Peter’s help. I’ve learnt that it’s better not to procrastinate. There is work to be done tomorrow – not the day after.”

  Peter and Eileen looked at each other again. Peter’s breathing now turning rapid and shallow. His head thumped with every heartbeat. He felt a strange dull pain in his lower back which spread into his stomach and up around his heard. He could hardly make out the words of newscaster reading the News at Ten:

  “There has been another sectarian murder in North Belfast. The victim Anthony Magee was a young man of twenty two from the Ardoyne District. His family disclosed that he had recently moved to Dublin to work but returned to Belfast because he was homesick. Last week he was offered his old job back as barman in the National Bar in the City Centre of Belfast. He had left the National Bar this evening following his first night at work and hailed a black taxi in the City Centre. One man already in the taxi allegedly asked if he could share the ride with him saying that he was going to
Ligoniel. As they drove up the Crumlin Road, the passenger pretended to be sick. The taxi stopped close to the Mater Hospital on the Crumlin Road. The driver and passenger got out of the taxi, pulled Anthony from the back seat and fired three rounds into Anthony’s chest.

  In spite of the severe nature of his injuries, Anthony was able to explain what had happened to police before dying a short time later in intensive care in the Mater. Police have confirmed that they have a description of his attackers and are now investigating the connection between this murder and other murders which have taken place over the last two weeks close to the Crumlin Road. Anthony’s parents have appealed for anyone who saw the black taxi or who witnessed Anthony being taken from the car to contact the Police. They have asked for no reprisal killings to take place in honour of their son who they say was a kind and home loving young man.”

  “What a fool. Wouldn’t you think you would be a bit more careful who you’d take a lift from these days? I don’t imagine his description of his attackers will be up to much. Probably scare tactics by the police.” William laughed.

  Cedric chuckled. “If you’re going to be gullible, that’s what happens to you.”

  “What about Jenny?” Eileen interrupted, clearing the table.

  “Jenny who?” Cedric ate the last chip and licked his fingers.

  “Oh dear.” Eileen wiped the table. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out. She was good for you.”

  Peter pushed his chair to one side. “Mum, you don’t mind if I leave the kit for you to clean? I’m off to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Of course. Sleep well, Peter.”

  “I’ll have an early night myself.” William crunched the fish and chip newspaper into a ball and threw it at the bin, where it bounced off the wall and landed on the floor. He slid his chair back across the tiled floor, making a screeching squeal, hoisted his trousers up at the waist and limped towards the kitchen door after Peter.

  Cedric pulled his chair closer to the table. “Any chance of a cup of tea Mum?” William and Peter’s footsteps were heard tramping across the floor of the bedrooms upstairs.

  “Were you involved in the murder of Anthony Magee tonight Cedric?” Eileen asked, checking that the kitchen door was closed. She pushed it again as the kettle whistled.

  “What are you talking about Mum?” Cedric’s breathing shortened. He pushed a long oily fringe back from his forehead and leant forward to stare into his mother’s blue eyes across the table. “Have you got holes in your head? What would I be doing on the Crumlin Road near the Mater? It’s a bloody hellhole. I wouldn’t touch it with a barge pole. There’s enough work to do in the safety of the Shankill.”

  “What are you doing, Cedric?” Eileen began to cry gently. “Tell me what you’re doing. I don’t believe a word you say any more.”

  “Then what’s the point in telling you what I’m doing, if you don’t believe me? Has Peter been talking to you?” Cedric’s eyes narrowed. Eileen’s face was streaked with black mascara.

  “It’s not about Peter. It’s about you and it’s about me. We need to talk. I should have done this a long time ago.” Eileen’s shoulders heaved. She smeared mascara in dark fingers across both cheek bones. “Can you turn the light out?”

  Cedric obediently pushed his chair back, ambled towards the kitchen door and switched off the light. Eileen lit a small candle on the kitchen table.

  “There’s something important that I need to tell you. You don’t need to listen to or to obey anything that William tells you to do. He’s not your Father. He has no authority over you. Listen to me.”

  • • •

  Peter never thought that he would be able to sleep, but after an hour of tossing and turning he fell into a deep slumber. He dreamt that he was in a bedroom which seemed to be a cross between an expensive hotel, a monastery and a prison. He was in a white washed room with a large bed, a small hand basin in the right hand corner and a large oak writing desk and chair on his left. He sat on the bed and looked straight ahead at tall French windows covered with white chiffon which led onto a small balcony. It was daylight. Peter threw back the smooth white linen sheets, placed his feet into the golden slippers beside the bed and walked towards the window. He pulled the chiffon curtains to one side and opened the French doors to the balcony. Below was a Plaza filled with Nazi-like soldiers wearing helmets, heads down, arms raised in salute. From the balcony they seemed like a sea of bobbing lentils. Who were they saluting? It was someone who was standing on the balcony in the room to the right of him. Who was it? Peter looked to his right and could only see an arm waving back into the Plaza. He couldn’t see the face or the body attached to the arm. Peter turned around, looking back into the room. Jenny appeared from nowhere, standing beside his bed, smiling at him. He walked towards her, caught her by the hand and together they walked towards the door. Would it open? Easily. They walked hand in hand along a hallway; an older woman approached them,

  “Do you want to see the games room?”

  They followed her, squeezing one another’s hands. She opened a door into a spacious room with a large television screen, a jogging machine, a snooker table, darts board, and a table tennis table. The woman smiled proudly. “There’s everything you need here.”

  A younger woman wearing a pinstriped suit and white blouse approached, smiling. Peter realised that he and Jenny were prisoners. They were to be entertained but not allowed to escape. Peter knew that at some unknown point in time they would be executed but were being allowed to enjoy the time before the killing. In fact they were encouraged to be distract themselves until the planned hour of their deaths. Peter was determined to help Jenny escape even if it seemed that the forces lined up against them were insuperable.

  He wakened from the dream with a sense of relief. Jenny was safe in the nurse’s home. What did the dream mean? What did the future hold for them? Last night Cedric had implied that everything was over between him and Jenny. Maybe it would be possible to see Jenny, but first he had to take care of Rose. Peter threw off the sheet and woollen blankets and his feet touched the bedroom floor which was cold. As he pulled back the curtains, ice crystals were starting to melt like snowflakes on the inside of the windows. He whispered to himself. “What time is it? Where was Mum? What had she said to Cedric?”

  chapter 13

  Thursday 13th January 1972

  Eileen woke at four in the morning. William snored in bed with his back to her. She watched his back heave, heard him splutter, then return to steady snoring as she quietly pushed the sheets back and found her slippers. She pulled on a warm pink brushed cotton dressing gown, and made her way downstairs. The candle had burnt out, the white overspill of wax solid like a glacier going nowhere on the pine table top. She filled the kettle. There was something comforting in the increasing volume of the gentle hum of water heating to boiling point. She removed it from the gas just as it started to whistle and carefully placed four teaspoons of leaf Assam tea into the silver teapot, poured the boiling water and waited three minutes before opening the front door. Mug of tea in hand, Eileen walked into the garden and stood beneath the cherry tree.

  The icy January morning air immediately settled on her eyelashes, face and hands. The short grass was crisply frozen and drops of melting ice seeped through her slippers. Eileen held the cup of tea with both hands and looked up into the clear starry sky. Standing beneath the cherry tree, the branches created a lacy canopy above her. A waning crescent moon cut through the velvet darkness. Eileen watched the stars dancing with their edges flickering, changing positions, winking. Beneath the light of the moon she felt herself bathed in a purity of light. Everything in the sky was perfect, held in symmetry, balanced with mathematical positioning. The moon and stars movement was planned, certain, regular, tracking with precision across the sky, the stars glittering with utter dependability. Eileen touched the rough, cold bark of the cherry tree, its empty branches holding within them life for spring.

  As a child sh
e had wondered what it would be like to be a tree, a star, or to be the moon. She imagined that it would be lonely and boring to be a tree, not to be able to move apart from pushing its roots slowly into the bowels of the earth, or swinging its branches from side to side in a breeze. What would it be like to be a star, dancing, burning, flickering in an immense universe, until all its energy was gone? Self-destructing as a supernova, scattering, falling, unknown fragments sinking through the layers of the mud and stone, waiting for millions of years to erupt as a volcano of diamonds or, not finding earth, exploding into infinity, unremembered, jettisoning eternally into a world of mystery, nothingness and blackness.

  What would it be like to be imprisoned as the moon, following a designated elliptical route in an inky black universe, unable to quicken or slow its pace? What would it feel like dizzily spinning around the Earth, catching light from the sun and occasionally feeling the pale reflected Earthshine? This morning, Eileen would happily surrender all her sense of aliveness in a world of coming and going – all of her freedom – to be able to settle in the stillness of the stars, to be rooted and unmoved like the cherry tree and to tranquilly observe like a crescent moon,

  What dread can the cherry tree feel? What remorse churns the moon? Do stars itch to escape the discomfort of being? These feelings which she had regarded as being so important in being human, she would now swap for the calmness of the detached observing moon, untouched, accepting, steady, totally trustworthy and reliable. She sipped the warm sweet tea and prayed to the silent moon, asking it to touch and transform her mind with its coolness. She wanted to learn from the moon, from its reflection of what was real.

  “Mum?” Peter stood at the door in his pyjamas and dressing gown. He walked into the garden, towards the cherry tree, standing below it and looking into Eileen’s eyes. “Were you able to change Cedric’s mind about Rose?”

  “Sssssshhh. Keep your voice low,” Eileen whispered. “We don’t want them to waken for a while. Let’s enjoy the peace for a moment. It may be all we have today.” Eileen took Peter’s hand. His eyes were puffy, his sandy blonde curly hair tight with ringlets. He pulled the dressing gown up to his chin, shivering. “I spoke with Cedric for quite some time last night. I’m not sure if I have been able to help him see things differently. He has lived his life for more than thirty year’s feeling, thinking and acting in a certain way. Will three hours make a difference? I don’t know. I know that one second can make a difference, if he wants it to.”