Worlds Between

by Nordgren, Carl;

  Tommy winced when the officer said “public.” His father didn’t. He stepped forward, the Red Bull Demon in charge.

  “I hain’t the feckin’ public. I’m her goddamn husband. So you tell me, do you think Maureen Burke is IRA?”

  The RUC officers were all in attendance now.

  “You need to leave. We are conducting our investigation and will continue. Any further threating language from you and we will respond with force to restrain you.”

  Tommy took his father’s arm and first Brian resisted but when Tommy whispered “Patrick” he allowed his son to lead him back to their car.

  Brian and Tommy were driving south, to Cong, to check on Grace and Mary and talk with Eamon. Once, after they were driving silently for a long distance, Brian spoke in a flat voice “The feckin’ IRA.” And a few moments later he said, “She never would let me speak ill of the feckin’ IRA.”

  They continued in silence. Tommy stole a glance to see if the Red Bull Demon was gone from his father’s face. He appeared more hurt and confused than angry.

  They passed Lough Gill, kept heading south as the road turned to Sligo, and they crossed the River.

  “The feckin’ IRA. She defended them with her full passions an’ her sharpest wit.”

  “Many who do aren’t themselves soldiers.”

  “I never figured hers was anythin’ more than some feckin’ Irish lost cause patriotism.”

  “The RUC aren’t saying she’s one of them. Only she might have gotten in the middle of one of their battles.”

  With a snort Brian said, “Yeah, what’s the chances of that? I mean, if feckin’ Kevin Coogan is IRA, then what am I to think about…”

  It was evening, and they were all gathered near the peat fire in Eamon’s cottage. Mary and Eamon’s wife sat at the table; the three men sat closest to the stove. Grace had crawled into her da’s lap and soon fell asleep to the low rumble of his voice from deep in his chest.

  “Eamon, I need you to be as straight with me as ever you’ve been, an’ tell me if you ever heard anyone wonderin’ at all about my Maureen.”

  “Wonderin’ how so?”

  Brian didn’t notice he had Mary’s attention at the mention of her friend’s name.

  “About her bein’ involved in it, in…” Brian checked on his daughter, saw she was deep asleep, and said softer still, “I… R… A.”

  Eamon got up to take a pipe off the mantle.

  “There was one night, yeah, one night I wondered about it myself.”

  “Whatta’ you say? Why the feck are you just tellin’ me now? When?”

  Tommy interrupted, “Grace doesn’t need to be in the middle of this.”

  Mary was there before Tommy finished; she picked up the child and cooed in her ear as she carried her to a bed.

  Brian had grown angrier waiting for them to leave the room.

  “So why the feck are you just tellin’ me now?”

  “Cause it was just one night I thought it, no more than a night, one night some ol’ traveler arrived at the pub an’ was tellin’ a room full of stories.”

  “An’ what did he say?”

  “As I recall it, he started off insistin’ Russell had been successful at workin’ the Nazis, an’ that himself got a chest a’ Nazi gold to buy guns.”

  “That rumor’s been floatin’ round pubs since the war years. There was a rumor the gold was hid outside of Wicklow that sent a bunch a’ fellas on a crazy man’s chase searchin’ for it, just after the war.”

  “Well, the story he tells is the fellow that Russell trusted to smuggle this gold into Ireland, well it seems that this fellow an’ his girlfriend managed to snag the gold, or most of it, or some of it, as I recall it, he kept changin’ that bit, an’ then the two smugglers split the bounty an’ went their separate ways.”

  “An’ so what’s that got to do with Maureen?”

  “He said the girlfriend took her share with her to hide somewhere in the great Alaskan wilderness. But then later he said it might have been somewhere in Canada.”

  “Feckin’ hell. You didn’t think I should have heard about that?”

  “I said to meself I have to let Bri know but this was before we were back in touch you see, when I didn’t know where you were. An’ anyway, the same fella shows up in the pub a few nights later an’ he showed himself to be naught but a crazy one, with all sorts of stories, yeah, with stories that the biggest secret in the world is that the Nazis actually won the war, that they secretly infiltrated the British government at the highest levels you see, an’ that Russell learned of this plot, an’ that’s why they killed him, so, they poisoned him, an’ I mean it was all a load a shite, folks was laughin’ about it for weeks after.”

  Tommy asked, “He never spoke Maureen’s name?”

  “Not him, an’ I never heard a word against her name, no.”

  Eamon handed Brian the pipe he had packed.

  “One thing the Brits do right, blendin’ tobacco. You’ll like this, Number 99.”

  Brian took the pipe, then stood and walked to the door. Before he opened it, he turned.

  “So now I’ll be wonderin’ was Innish Cove built wit’ Nazi money, or worryin’s more like it.”

  Tommy’s voice held his father inside. “It’s just travelers’ tales.”

  “If what the RUC say is true, then why not this as well? She had nearly four thousand pounds an’ not much of a story about where it came from.”

  “You’d know if it were true. The IRA wouldn’t let her get away with their money once they knew she had it.”

  “They didn’t let her get away with it then, did they? Kevin Coogan shows up in Cong when I’m there, then he visits us at Innish Cove unexpectedly. He coulda’ been scoutin’ for the money, yeah. The whole time we were out fishin’ he was askin’ questions about the business, an’ how much it cost to start it, what we’d invested. Just then the story was we’d just about run out so maybe he was just bidin’ his time an’ finally they’ve killed her for it. I’ve got to find feckin’ Coogan an’ when I do I’ll beat the truth out of him if I have to.”

  Eamon was finished packing his own pipe. “If it is true, Coz, if your wife had anything to do with IRA, the best thing you can do is go home, right now, take your daughter an’ Mary out of this place an’ return to your Indians. Have a memorial service for her in that Chapel you an’ Tommy built, among them who loved her.”

  Brian was silent. He opened the door and looked up at the stars, then down the dark road.

  Tommy came up behind him.

  “You do violence now, you’ll never get Patrick back.”

  Brian looked past his son to his cousin. “You just said I should plan a memorial service.”

  “I’m sorry if I spoke prematurely.”

  “I don’t think we should give up yet… If anyone has an idea… I need Maureen to tell me what to do next…”

  Brian stepped outside in the dark and headed down the path to the road to town to the pub but first called back over his shoulder. “But mark these words. If the IRA ever show up at Innish Cove, they’ll find the Red Bull Demon an’ his wild Indians waitin’.”

  He continued walking in the dark and said to himself, “I’ll be feckin’ lost without her.” Then he began to cry.

  Brian and his mother-in-law stood behind her cottage and waited for Grace with Mary following to wander to the far edge of the yard before Brian told of all he had learned. He had stopped at RUC headquarters before he arrived at the cottage for any further information they had. He hadn’t liked what he heard, nor was he surprised by what they told him. They now reported what they called a conviction that Maureen was a casualty in an IRA fight and that she was IRA. When he was finished telling his mother-in-law all he knew, he waited for any information, but none came.

  “Can I ask you somethin’ about somethin’?”

  She answered with silence.

  “Their belief is fueled by the fact that your husband himself was an IRA man. So h
er da, IRA. Her close associate, Kevin Coogan, IRA.”

  She was still silent.

  “They claim more evidence of her affiliation, but that’s all they’d share with me… You must have somethin’ to say on the subject.”

  “My Donovan was accused many times, for he supported them, he supported them publicly, givin’ speeches reproachin’ the British an’ justifyin’ IRA actions. But I don’t believe he did anythin’ more.”

  “You don’t? ‘For directin’ terrorist activities against the British Crown’ is how they put it to me as the reason he was shot an’ killed by the Black n’ Tans.”

  “He was shot an’ killed by the Black n’ Tans. They got that part right. But it was for the simple reason he spoke the truth.”

  “An’ poor Maureen was forced to watch when they shot him.”

  “A young girl she was, too, when the murderin’ Black n’ Tans killed her da, yes.”

  “An’ she never told me. An’ you never thought to tell me?”

  Maureen’s mother had no reply.

  “Why’d they shoot him if he wasn’t IRA?”

  “You need to ask that? Because he was a true Irishman who was never ashamed to say so, loud an’ proud. He was a threat to them, for Donovan O’Toole stood in the public square an’ named them as evil. Their actions proved him right, wouldn’t you say?”

  “An’ what about any acts of terror that he might have—”

  “I don’t like this.”

  “But that’s why they think Maureen herself was IRA.”

  “So they lied about both of ‘em and you can’t be claimin’ that they don’t do that all the time. Maureen called it disinformation…”

  She turned quickly and walked back to the cottage. Brian spotted Grace in the garden with Mary, then followed his mother-in-law.

  “Maureen called what disinformation? When would she be—”

  She stopped at the door. “That’s enough of this. Stop asking me your questions. Maureen wasn’t IRA. My dear husband was not IRA.”

  Then she slammed the door.

  Brian again located his daughter; she was singing to Mary in the garden. He caught Mary’s eye, and she nodded that everything was fine. Brian entered the cottage and found his mother-in-law sitting at the table, tears on her face, wringing a cloth in her hands. She looked up at him and spoke in a near whisper.

  “I’m arranging a memorial service for my daughter. In two days.”

  “A memorial service. That means you’ve given up hope she lives.”

  She didn’t answer. He sat across from her.

  “So you’re sayin’ I need to go out to the garden an’ tell Grace O’Malley her mum is never comin’ back. She’s not missin’. She’s dead.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “Look…”

  “No, you look. I know my daughter. She’d be here if she could. If she can’t, that can only mean one thing.”

  “That someone killed her. That she’s dead.”

  “You said yourself that the RUC are treating her as a casualty.”

  “Sure, but…”

  “I just know… I… just know.”

  And finally, for the first time, Brian did too.

  Brian sat at the table, trying to find a way to tell his daughter this terrible news. He found her with Mary in the garden. He asked Mary to stay with them then sat down next to his daughter on the garden bench. Mary stood right behind them.

  “I want to see Mum.”

  Brian wrapped his arms around her and hugged her close.

  “Will you try somethin’ for your da, my Gracie girl?”

  “I want to see Mum.”

  “An’ I want you to, an’ so I’m askin’ you to try somethin’ now for Da. It’s a new game we’re gonna learn to play together.”

  “Will I see Mum?”

  “If you do what I say now, I hope so.”

  “What do I do?”

  “You start by closin’ your eyes, an’ get cozy comfy. Give me just a little smile, to show me you’re ready to play this game with Da… Ah, such a lovely smile you’ve got an’ how many times have I said your smile is the perfect picture of Mum’s smile…”

  Mary closed her eyes too, and a trace of a smile graced her face as she followed Brian’s prompts to see her dear friend.

  “Keep your eyes closed now, an’ listen to my voice. I want you to pretend I am tellin’ you a story. I want you to find that place you go…” Brian gently patted her head. “…when you want to see pictures of the stories Mum tells you when you’re lyin’ in your bed at night—”

  Eyes closed, Grace interrupted. “When Mum tells me stories about when Grace O’Malley is a pirate I can see her sailing ships.”

  “Well just like you see those pictures of sailin’ ships, just like you see those pictures, I want you to make a picture of my Gracie girl, of you an’ of Little Stevie, together, playin’ under your table, in the kitchen at the Lodge. You’re playin’ with the animal carvin’ Old George gave ya, you’ve got Otter, yeah, an’ he’s jumpin’ over your favorite stones, an’ Little Stevie is playin’ with ya…”

  “He has the piece of wood where Nigig likes to dance.”

  “That’s right, an’ while you an’ Little Stevie are playin’ together you can hear all the women workin’ around you, an’ the pots a’ clangin’ an’ water is runnin’ an’ Little Stevie is laughin’ an’ laughin’ an’ then he’s tellin’ you that he’ll always be there next to you, an’ then you can hear Mum callin’ you…”

  “She says, ‘Now Mary, where is my Gracie Girl?’ ”

  “Yes, that’s right, that’s just how she says it, she’s sayin’ your name like she loves to say it, an’ then there she is, peekin’ under the table, lookin’ down at you an’ smilin’. You can see her. She’s so beautiful an’ she loves you so much.”

  “I see her.”

  Mary nodded her head. She saw her, too. She whispered a prayer for her dear friend.

  “Tell me what she’s wearin?”

  “She’s wearing her red blouse… Where are you Mum? Da and I miss you.”

  “Now Gracie, I want you to tell Mum that Da needs you. So tell her you’ll be back later, an’ open your eyes… you saw her clear, yeah?”

  “I saw her.”

  “Well honey, I need to tell you that I’ve been lookin’ an’ lookin’ for days an’ days for Mum. I’ve searched the mountaintops, an’ I searched the valleys an’ I couldn’t find her. I’ve searched the towns an’ the villages, an’ I can’t find her there neither.”

  Grace leaned away from her father so she could look at his face.

  “Have you searched the bogs?”

  “Yes, we’ve searched the bogs.”

  “In Mum’s stories the little baby lamb got lost in the bogs.”

  “I’ve searched the bogs; I’ve searched everywhere an’ I can’t find her anywhere.”

  “Where did she go?”

  “Well, Gracie girl, I have found some men who think they know where she’s gone. They think she’s gone to Heaven.”

  Grace sat straight up.

  “That means they think she’s not alive anymore?”

  “Yes Gracie girl, I am afraid that’s what it means. It means they think she’s died, an’ gone to Heaven where she’s smilin’ down on you an’ livin’ forever more in your stories.”

  Grace O’Malley started to cry. Mary started to cry.

  “What did you say to those men when they said that?”

  Tears gathered in Brian’s eyes. He couldn’t speak.

  “Did you tell them they’re wrong?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  Grace sobbed softly.

  “What men told you that?”

  Brian was crying. Mary was crying.

  “They are policemen, like our Mounties.”

  She was sobbing deeply, and looked at Mary.

  “Little Stevie does not like the Mounties.”

  “Ye
s, well, only some Mounties are mean to the Indians. Not all the Mounties are bad.”

  She cried in his arms; he cried as he held her; Mary leaned forward to touch them both.

  “I know Mum loves her Grace O’Malley so much that before she went to Heaven she left a big part of her livin’ inside you. She’s livin’ inside your dreams, an’ she’s livin’ inside your heart. She lives in the stories we will tell each other about her, an’ she lives in your love, Gracie girl, in the love that you an’ I share, that Mary an’ Little Stevie and Joe Loon all share… An’ she lives forever at Innish Cove. She loves you so much she’ll be waitin’ for you any time you need to tell her somethin’.”

  They sat together, Mary stood over them, and Grace slowly stopped crying. When she spoke, still tight in her father’s arm, Brian heard the sounds of Maureen’s voice.

  “Mum said when she went to heaven that she would make shore lunch for the angels.”

  “She… when did she tell you that?”

  “We were in my bedroom. It was part of a story she told me when she was teaching me how to pack my suitcase. She took a trip up to heaven and her job was to make shore lunch for all the angels.”

  Brian looked to Mary for evidence of her understanding but she hadn’t heard this before.

  “Do you remember more of the story?”

  She started crying again. “Oh Mum. I miss you Mum.” Her crying grew.

  Mary placed her hand on the girls shoulder. “She will always love you.”

  “I will always love her.”

  Maureen’s memorial service was to be held at Saint Columba’s, in the Long Tower Chapel, in the center of Derry, where Maureen’s parents had each been baptized and were married, where all of their children were baptized, and where Donovan O’Toole’s funeral mass had been conducted with pews overflowing and plenty of RUC quietly watching.

  Maureen’s service would begin shortly. Brian and Tommy met with the presiding priest in a sitting room, in the undercroft. The priest asked if Tommy intended to vest; Tommy wanted to sit with his family but was able to convince the priest to bend liturgical rules so he could say a few words about Maureen before the concluding rites.

  After the priest left the cramped room, Katie led Grace and Mary in, and they sat together waiting for the service to start. Katie sang a Celtic hymn in a soft voice to her little sister, and Tommy, Grace, and Mary were comforted though Brian took little notice.