Eden Burning

by Deirdre Quiery

  “Don’t hurt him!” Rose shouted, running towards Peter and kneeling on the floor beside Tom.

  “You’ll be joining him too where the grass don’t grow if you make one more move. Or maybe I should quickly finish off the job I came here to do. Why waste more time? You’re getting on my nerves.”

  He pointed the rifle at Rose.

  • • •

  Eileen stood at the bottom of the Church steps unsure of which way to go. What was in Cedric’s mind? Where would William be now? Would he still be with Lily waiting in the taxi? She had followed Cedric through the Grove on her right but would she find her way back? The easiest way back to William and Lily would be down the steps in front of her to the Crumlin Road, turn right and then right again. It would only be a short sprint to the taxi but it would be a dash through the rioters bobbing up and down below her like corks in oily water. The noise was unbelievable – the cursing, chanting. Even with the fear of descending into the madness below, it seemed the best option. Once she reached the Crumlin Road, she would have to move into the middle of the riot in order not to make it obvious that she would be heading for the Loyalist side of the Peace Line. She walked quickly down the first flight of steps. As she reached the second set of steps, she saw Lily’s beret before she saw Lily herself spread on the steps.

  She didn’t remember running down the last few steps at all. She didn’t see the rioters withdraw like a wave dragging itself out to sea. She didn’t see Ciaran McCann spread-eagled by Sammy.

  She knelt beside Lily. “Lily, speak to me. Please be alright. What’s happened?” She loosened the top buttons of Lily’s coat, holding her head in her arms. Lily’s eyes were closed. She didn’t appear to be breathing. Eileen took her pulse. There was a gentle throb.

  “Get an ambulance!” She shouted at one of the rioters. She picked Lily’s beret from the step above and placed it back on her head. One of the rioters lifted her shoe from the road and handed it to Eileen. She slipped it onto Lily’s foot. She sat on the step beside Lily, holding her head in her lap, waiting. Lily’s eyes fluttered open. Eileen smiled at her.

  “What on earth happened to you, Lily?”

  Lily gave a half smile back. “I took a funny turn but it has passed. Give me a few minutes.” She closed her eyes.

  “Where’s William?” Eileen asked.

  “In the taxi. They’re after him.”

  • • •

  Tom was on his knees groping for his glasses. Mr McCabe stood still, gasping, one of those gasps which seemed to go on and on like an inhalation where you wonder when and if you will ever exhale. He seemed to be sucking in the world without stopping. Sammy P moved slowly training the gun on each of them fixing it first on Mr McCabe, then on Tom, then Rose and finally on Peter as he slowly reversed towards the back door. He reached the main door. He jerked the rifle in the direction of Rose. Three shots rang out. The gun smoked, he dropped it on the floor, turned and hurtled through the heavy wooden door, tearing down the steps, stumbling into the Grove.

  Tom and Peter knelt on either side of Rose who lay unmoving face down on the marble floor of the church with her hands over her head. Mr McCabe stood with his hands over his mouth.

  Tom touched Rose’s shoulders, rubbing them gently. “Rose. Rose. Please. No.” There was no sign of blood. Rose moved her hands and lifted her head to look at Tom.

  “Have I been shot?”

  “Don’t move. Let’s see.”

  Tom scanned Rose’s body from head to toe. “No. How did he miss?”

  Rose rolled onto her side and sat up. “I don’t know.” Tom shook his head in relief.

  “I do.” Father Martin walked swiftly down the side aisle with the Rector by his side. “They weren’t real bullets. They were blanks. That was the Rector’s idea. We replaced the bullets I gave you.” He turned and smiled at the Rector who held both hands in the air. “It was always a risk, but then the alternative was totally unacceptable.”

  Tom squeezed Rose and smiled. Then rubbing Rose’s shoulders with his hands, he said, “I’m grateful to you both for recognising my insanity and taking the appropriate measures but the madness is not over yet.” Tom pushed his glasses back into place. “We need to find Lily.”

  Tom didn’t know where he was going when he left the Church. He stood at the top of the steps and took two deep breaths. He felt strangely calm. A cold westerly breeze made him shiver. He tightened the woollen scarf around his neck. His body buzzed with an unrecognised energy. Something was going to happen. He was sure of it.

  “Tom! Tom! Lily is fine.”

  He looked in the direction of the voice. He saw Eileen holding Lily on the steps below him. He descended, taking one step at a time.

  • • •

  Cedric watched the black taxi plough through the rioters like a battleship in stormy seas. A single shot rang out. It shattered the rear passenger window on the right hand side, piercing the empty passenger seat before exiting through the floor. William’s head and shoulders were barely visible above the steering wheel. A petrol bomb sailed through the air from Kerrera Street and burst into flames on the boot of the taxi, flames licking in through the back broken window pane. Bodies pressed together, squeezing from Kerrera Street onto the Crumlin Road. William watched Cedric hand something to Father Anthony. He flashed the headlights twice.

  Cedric sprinted along the pavement at the edge of the Grove. He opened the back door and jumped in.

  “Lock it.” Cedric shouted. “Go, go, go.”

  “I’m not going to be able to get through them.” William turned his head to look at Cedric.

  Cedric pulled off his gloves and sat, head in hands. His stomach heaved. He gasped for air. “They know who we are, William.”

  William wiped the sweat from his upper lip. “Leave the car in the church grounds and hike it to the back of the monastery. We hit the Woodvale!” William shouted and then continued in a softer voice, “Don’t lose it son. Hold it together.”

  Cedric raised his head and looked at the back of William’s head. The long strand of black hair to cover the bald patch had become dislodged. It hung loose touching his right shoulder. Cedric bent forward and with his head touching William’s damp white nylon shirt, his lips pressed against it, breathing in the saturated musty cigarette smoke, he pulled the long black strand of hair into the correct position over William’s bald head.

  “Let’s go.” William pressed his foot to the accelerator. He mounted the pavement, veered sharply left, skidded, bumped off the railing on the right. Sparks scattered into the air like fireworks as he pulled the car left again, trying to regain control.

  “No, William, no, not left. Remember the car bomb!” Cedric shouted, lunging forward from the back seat to grab the steering wheel, trying to pull the car right towards the monastery. William instinctively pulled left, bouncing the left hand side of the car off the wrought iron railings.

  “Didn’t Sammy P defuse it?” William took his foot off the accelerator, stabbing heavily on the brakes. He tried to reverse. Cedric let go of the steering wheel and fell back into the seat.

  “No. Stop, William. Get out and run.”

  The car was reversing as Cedric, wrestling with the back door, caught sight of the Mini-Cooper and two shadowy soldiers kneeling on the ground beside it.

  William abruptly stopped the taxi. Cedric opened the back door and threw himself onto the ground. William wrestled with the front door. It had jammed. He tugged violently at it, screaming. “Cedric. I’m stuck. Help me, Cedric. Don’t leave me.” William opened the glove compartment, feverishly retrieving a hammer and battering at the door handle. It didn’t move.

  “Get out of the back of the car, William. Move yourself.”

  William squeezed himself through the gap between the passenger’s seat and the driver’s seat and collapsed into the back. Cedric reached in through the door.

  “Give me your hands.”

  William reached both hands to Cedric who hauled him from the
car onto the ground.

  “Run now. To the Woodvale. I’ll delay them.”

  “What about you?”

  “Quit talking. Get out of here.”

  William limped as quickly as he could towards the monastery and the safety of the Woodvale Road. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the moon slip between the two copper spires of Holy Cross Church.

  “Bomb defused,” the bomb disposal expert shouted at Matt.

  The rioters heard the call and surged towards Cedric.

  “Don’t touch him!” Tom ran towards Cedric. “Don’t touch him! You don’t know the truth – the whole story.”

  Just then a petrol tank exploded on a hijacked bus twenty feet away on the Crumlin Road. A wave of burning gasoline fell onto an oak tree beside Tom. The wood blazed, setting on fire the neighbouring trees. Tom felt his face sting with the heat. He wiped tears away, dropped his arms to his side and looked into the blurred shapes in front of him.

  “What are you talking about, Tom?” Sean, leading the rioters, raised a hand to silence them.

  Tom steadied his voice, “You’re looking at Jonas – Catherine’s boy. He is my sister’s boy. This is my nephew.”

  Apart from the hissing flames of the oak tree continuing to crackle and spit, there was silence and stillness from the rioters.

  The silence grew. Tom was aware of it, it was real, tangible, holding him, taking away his fear, making itself a blanket for him. In this moment, he knew the silence for what it was – for what it really was. Silence was the emptiness of the womb without a child. Yet it was not barren. It was full of potential. Silence was the child of the empty womb. He knew that it had always been there waiting for him to know it.

  The burning oak tree no longer disturbed the silence. Flames instead burnt into the earth and up into the heavens with a purifying fire, allowing silence to breathe, to expand and to grow. Even Sean’s question could no longer interrupt the peace which ebbed between Tom and the objects of the world.

  Sean either shouted or whispered at him, “What are you saying? Are you saying that we should let him go because he is your nephew?”

  The silence was not changed by the question, in the same way that water is not changed by its rippling. Tom shook his head, “No. I’m asking you to let justice be done.” Tom reached a hand towards Cedric. “Come home.”

  The oak tree continued to blaze beside Tom, spitting and hissing and then abruptly bursting into deeper orange and blue flames. Sparks flew into the black sky like fallen stars returning to the Universe. Under the oak tree the smoke swirled a hazy grey tinged with orange. Cedric threw his gun onto the gravel. Dropping onto his haunches, he took Tom’s hand and fell onto his knees onto the path beside him.

  Tom dropped to the ground and threw his arms around Cedric and held him to his chest. He breathed out, resting his head on Cedric’s shoulder. Cedric’s leather jacket was wet and cold against Tom’s cheek. Cedric shuddered, quivered, trembled and sighed deeply. Tom heard Cedric’s breathing slow down. He felt Cedric’s head press into his heart. He lowered his head further and breathed into Cedric’s ear, “Welcome home, Jonas. It’s never too late to come home.”

  Sean moved behind the burning oak tree. Out of the corner of his eye Tom saw the glint of the barrel of a gun through the leaping flames.

  “Don’t!”

  Tom gripped Cedric tighter. He swung him to his left as a bullet was fired, falling heavily on top of Cedric.

  Matt ran towards Tom, pulling him onto the gravel path. Cedric lay unmoving on the ground beside them. Matt searched for Tom’s pulse. There was a faint throb in Tom’s neck. He rolled him on his side and searched for the bullet entry wound in his back. The green tweed jacket had been shredded by the bullet towards his lower back. There was no exit wound. He removed Tom’s jacket and shirt and then his own. Using his shirt, he pushed it against the small penny-sized hole. Sean, Danny and the others watched in silence, as Matt’s bruised torso curved over Tom and he breathed into his mouth and then pressed his chest with a strong rhythmical pressure. A sigh of relief rose from the crowd as Tom spluttered and coughed. An ambulance siren wailed close by. Matt waved to the crowd to move aside to allow the ambulance to approach. Wordlessly, they obeyed. Matt rose to his feet, naked from the waist upwards as Tom was lifted onto the stretcher. Matt turned around as the front door of the monastery opened, light falling onto the path to his right. Rose ran towards him, arms reaching out. To his left Lily and Eileen opened a pathway through the crowd.

  Matt softly repeated, “He’s alive. He’s going to be OK.”

  Cedric trembled on the gravel as Eileen fell to her knees beside him. Perhaps a hundred or more people crushed together to watch Eileen embrace Cedric and to see his arms move and gently stroke her back. Cedric didn’t raise his head, kept his eyes closed, straining to hear a sound – any sound. A hundred voices were silent. He felt the silence around him – every bit as real as the warmth of Eileen in his arms. The oak tree continued to burn, showering golden and orange sparks, some of which fell on Cedric’s hands. He winced, pulling Eileen closer to him. There was a soft gasp from the crowd as the tree gave a final burst of flames, illuminating Cedric and Eileen in tongues of fire. Eileen raised her head.

  “You see, it’s done. It’s over. The truth has been told. Don’t be afraid of the fire. The fire is love.”

  DEIRDRE QUIERY

  Based in Mallorca where she runs Seven Rocks Consulting, a leadership development consultancy she founded with her husband, Deirdre brings her vast experience of emotional intelligence and mindfulness to bear in her creative endeavours. Taking inspiration from experience, Deirdre has not only painted with Argentinian artist Carlos Gonzalez in Palma and Natalia Spitale in Sóller, she is also a winner of the Alexander Imich Prize in the US for writing about exceptional human experiences, and the Birmingham Trophy Prize in the UK.

  Eden Burning is Deirdre’s first novel and is shaped by her experiences growing up in Belfast during the Troubles. She is already working on her second novel, Gurtha.

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