The Lost Celt

by Conran, A. E. ;

  My portrait is of Grandpa, too. It’s not as good as Kyler’s, at least I don’t think so, but it’s much better than my report, that’s for sure.

  Ryan and I are in charge of the refreshments table. We cover it with a red, white, and blue plastic tablecloth, arrange bowls of crackers and grapes, and set up cups for the lemonade. Ryan keeps glancing at the artwork. He’s nervous, too. His dad has been in the treatment program for nearly a month. Ryan wants him to be here today, but doesn’t know if he’ll come.

  Ryan looks at his own picture. He drew a Humvee driving along a dusty road that’s scattered with trash. The rest of the class thought it was dumb because it’s not a picture of a war veteran, just a car, but I get it. Ryan’s veterans are in the Humvee. We can’t see them, so we don’t even think they’re there. But they are. Every day. Driving along roads where one soda can might be the bomb that kills them.

  When Ryan finally looks back, I’ve already lined up the cups. His face is whiter than the paper napkins on the table. I’m wondering what I can say to make him feel better when there’s a knock on the door. All the other kids start to talk. Miss O’Brien stands like a soldier at attention. “Ready, class?” she asks.

  Casey’s mom stares through the small glass panel in the door, talking louder than Casey—if that’s possible. Weird that the moms are so noisy when they’re always quieting us down. Casey’s mom says something to the other parents waiting with her outside. They burst into laughter as she knocks on the door again.

  Miss O’Brien puts her head out and asks for a few more minutes. The parents agree and, at the same time, they wave through the door at their kids. You can feel the excitement. The hairs on my arms bristle. Miss O’Brien keeps her hand on the door as she turns and speaks to us one more time. “Before I let our visitors in, I want you to remember that this is a very special day for you and, more importantly, for some of your guests. Some of the veterans you have written about will be in the audience today, and they may be remembering difficult things and old friends. We need to be respectful.” Ryan goes bright red. I think Miss O’Brien notices because she adds, “And I have one more announcement. We have a special guest today. Her name is Dr. Mariko Curtis. Kyler’s mom. She works at the veterans’ hospital a few blocks away. Some of you know her, I think.”

  Casey tells everyone she knows Mariko because Mariko comes to a book club at her mom’s house. I’m in such a panic I can’t say a word. The more Miss O’Brien speaks, the more I realize there’s no escape. I don’t know if I can do this. My report stinks.

  “Dr. Curtis has said that she’s interested in displaying our projects in the main lobby of the hospital. I’m very excited as they will be seen by everyone who visits. This is a great honor, class, but don’t get nervous. Just speak clearly and slowly like we practiced.”

  “Yes, Miss O’Brien,” everyone says.

  We sit in two lines of chairs and watch the adults file into the room. A few of the moms call out to their kids. The kids smile and wave back. Parents chat to each other while they aim for the front seats. There’s a ton of shuffling as people find chairs, pull out phones, or fiddle with the controls on their cameras.

  I hear Grandpa arrive even before I see him. “Heh, heh, heh,” he laughs. Mariko says, “You’re too funny, Marty.”

  Mom is arm-in-arm with Grandpa. There’s something different about her, but I can’t think what it is. Maybe it’s just that she’s smiling. I haven’t seen Mom smiling much the last few months. She’s always too tired. But today she smiles and gives me a little wave. I stare at her as she takes a seat. Miss O’Brien asks everyone to be quiet. Grandpa sits next to Mom. He winks at me as Miss O’Brien says, “Welcome parents, grandparents, and veterans.”

  There’s no turning back now. My knees go spongy.

  Casey’s first up, chirping away like a bird. She talks about her mom’s co-worker who’s in the National Guard. She trains on the weekend and is super fit. Casey’s presentation is really interesting.

  Kyler’s next. His mom claps before he’s even said anything. She’s right in the first row holding her neon green smart phone in front of her face. Kyler blushes, drops one of his papers, picks it up again, and clears his throat. He holds his head high so he looks at the people sitting in the back of the room and not at his mom.

  He starts by saying that he loves fantasy novels because the characters are always fighting to save their countries or their species. “They’re fighting to save their world,” he says, “and that’s what our veterans do, too.” Only Kyler would start a report like that, but he’s deadly serious. He goes on to talk about Grandpa fighting in Vietnam, how he lost his leg, how hard it was when he came back because there were war protestors saying the troops shouldn’t have been there in the first place. He makes it funny too. He tells Grandpa’s favorite story about the exploding can of peaches. When everyone gasps, Grandpa turns around and says, “It’s true, every word.” The parents laugh out loud and clap. Grandpa takes a bow.

  Kyler waits for them to quiet down, just as Miss O’Brien told us to, but in the end he has to talk over the giggles. “But Mr. Andersen says the thing he found hardest about being a soldier was that he missed seeing his daughter grow up. Even when he came back, he wasn’t really there for her. He says apart from bringing back his buddies who died, if he could change anything, that’s what he’d change.”

  “And that’s true too, Honey Bee,” Grandpa whispers, and his eyes fill with tears.

  Mom rests her head on his shoulder for a moment and smiles. “Oh, Dad,” she says.

  The clapping is slow, but it gets louder and louder until everyone has joined in. And they keep on clapping. The parents at the front stand up then the people at the sides and the back, until Mom and Grandpa are surrounded. Everyone nods their head at Grandpa and thanks him for his service.

  Kyler turns around and grins. “Cool!”

  Mariko smiles and gives Grandpa a pat on the back as everyone shuffles to sit down again. And it’s then I see what’s different about Mom. She’s wearing a new pair of shoes, and they are red. Bright red. Just as red as the little shoes she hid in her closet.

  Ryan nudges me in the ribs. “That’s you,” he whispers.

  “What?”

  “It’s your turn.”

  I’ve been so busy thinking about Mom and Grandpa that I didn’t hear Miss O’Brien talking. “Mr. Andersen is his grandfather,” she’s saying.

  It takes me a while to react.

  “Mikey, are you ready?”

  I jump to my feet. For a second, I want to push through the chairs and run right out the door. Mom must catch the look on my face because she smiles to reassure me. As she crosses her legs, I catch sight of her bright red shoes again, and I know I have to change my report. I have to say something different from all of the stuff I’ve written down. My heart thumps as a lava flow of words gushes up my chest.

  “My presentation…” I say.

  At the back of the classroom, the door cracks open a few inches. Ryan’s mom looks in. The door opens further, and she walks in leading Ryan’s dad by the hand. His red hair is cut short and spiky. His beard has gone, but he still has a mustache. He looks more like a Celt than ever, but he also looks broad-shouldered, rugged, and every inch a Marine.

  Ryan lets out a gasp of surprise as his dad nods at him. Mariko looks up as the door clicks shut and pats the empty chairs next to her. Ryan’s mom shakes her head. They stay at the back, leaning against the wall. Miss O’Brien signals that I should start my presentation again.

  I look around the room. Pride glitters in Ryan’s eyes. Mom whispers in Grandpa’s ear. Ryan’s dad stands at the back of the room.

  “Mikey?” Miss O’Brien prompts.

  “Umm, this isn’t quite what you’re expecting,” I put my report down on my chair, “but it’s…like…” My face is burning up. “I want to do my presentation about someone in this room…”

  Everyone looks at Grandpa expectantly. I catch Ryan star
ing wide-eyed at his dad, and I look away. I can’t risk catching Ryan’s eye, or Mom’s eye, or anyone’s. I look down at the floor and carry on. “Two people actually, who are not called veterans of war, but are veterans all the same. At least, I think they are, because they’ve gone through a war, but in a different way.” I’ve never felt so stupid. My voice drifts off. I glance at Miss O’Brien. I’m sure her nose is quivering. She must be boiling mad, but I’m wrong. She leans forward and whispers, “Go on, Mikey.”

  “So, I’m doing my presentation about my mom and my new friend, Ryan O’Driscoll.” My voice shakes, but I keep going. “Because when a veteran comes back, the war doesn’t stop. A new war starts for them and their families. It’s the memories and the sad, bad feelings, and sometimes injuries that we can’t even see, that they have to fight this time. My Grandpa says that’s because when you’re fighting, you don’t have time to think and feel or you won’t survive. So it’s only when you come back home that you realize what happened to you, and what you had to do. It’s only then you feel it and relive it. Every day. Even when you’re just in the supermarket, or walking down the street.”

  The room is completely silent, or at least it seems that way to me. Don’t look up, Mikey, I tell myself. Just keep going.

  “So, when you are the kid of a veteran, the hard thing is that, sometimes, when your mom or dad comes home they’re different for a while. You want to love them just the same way you used to, but you can’t. You want your old parent back, but they can’t come back—not until they work it all out in their own heads first. It’s a hard battle to get back to normal. It’s not their fault, and it’s not your fault either. It’s just hard, and it’s even harder when it’s a big secret that no one else talks about or understands. So, that’s why I think my mom and my friend Ryan are veterans of war, too.”

  I speak the last line as quickly as I can and sit down. No one claps. No one says anything. Everyone hates me.

  Ryan stands straight up. I wonder if he’ll get mad at me, right here in front of the whole class, but he just says, “I’m Ryan. My dad is a Marine. He did three tours in Iraq, and I’m really proud of him.”

  I’m still shaking, and I can’t seem to listen to the rest, but I know Ryan is talking about how hard it’s been for his dad to come back. When I finally look up, Ryan’s dad has tears in his eyes. No one’s glaring at me. They’re all listening to Ryan, listening so carefully that even Sawyer’s baby sisters are quiet. When I catch my Celt’s, I mean Ryan’s dad’s, eye he mouths, “Thank you.” It is the best thing anyone has ever said to me.

  I’m jolted out of my thoughts by my name. “Like Mikey said,” Ryan finishes up, “it’s hard to go to war and it’s just as hard getting back home and getting help. I’m doubly proud of my dad because he’s done both.”

  There’s a pause.

  Then everyone begins to clap. They clap for Ryan and then a little murmur goes around the room. People turn in their chairs to see Ryan’s dad standing at the back. Ryan’s mom holds his hand tight as his eyes fill. Then he stands tall, nods his head to thank everyone, and puts a finger to each eye to stop the tears. They clap quietly and respectfully at first, but when Ryan’s dad smiles, everyone stands and claps and cries.

  Ryan sits down and nudges me hard in the ribs. “Wow,” he whispers. “Wow.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  That evening we eat at our house, Ryan’s family, Kyler’s family, my family, and Grandpa’s buds. Our projects will be on the walls of the hospital next week and we are all proud. Everyone is talking through the meal, but I can’t concentrate. I’m sitting next to Ryan’s dad and there’s one question I have to ask. I finally blurt it out while Kyler and Ryan are fighting over the last piece of apple pie, and the adults are talking about TV shows.

  “Why Cuchulain?” I whisper. “Why did you keep talking about him? I thought you were him.” I should bite my tongue out, saying such a stupid thing, but Ryan’s dad doesn’t seem to mind.

  “So did I, when I was a kid. I loved him. My da’ told me the stories all the time. I couldn’t get enough of them. Those stories saved me in the end,” he says, “saved me and confused me too, perhaps. Sounds unbelievable, but when I was in Iraq, I went back to those stories on the bad days, as I patrolled the streets. You see, me and my guys patrolled the road on foot. We had to keep it safe from IEDs, homemade bombs that is. They can go off at any second, anywhere. Sometimes they’re hidden in soda cans, or trash. Sometimes they’re triggered with a cell phone. They went off every day, were planted anew every day, and I was on the lookout every day. So, I told myself I was like Cuchulain at the ford, fighting a new champion every day. I told myself stories about my life, my fighting, as if I were him. Sounds strange, but you do what you can to survive. You do what makes sense at the time. I even bought myself a torc online, before my third tour, for luck.

  “Then, when I came back, I began drinking a lot. It was easier that way.” He pauses and looks at Ryan. “Easier for me at least. But then, when the bad memories came, I started to imagine I really was him. I tried to change the stories from mine to his, but they got all mixed up. I’m sorry,” he says, leaning out to touch Ryan’s arm.

  At the end of the meal, Mom asks who wants coffee. All the adults do, especially Grandpa who says that he can’t sleep until he’s had at least three shots of coffee. “Even better if there’s a tot of rum in there, too. Heh, heh, heh.” Mom whacks him playfully on the shoulder as she walks to the counter.

  While everyone’s still talking, Mom beckons me over. She reaches behind the coffee canister and pulls out two things: a copy of Romanii: Gaulish Explosion, that’s the French version of Northern Borders with Vercingetorix as the leader, and a plastic snack bag. “I want you to have these,” she whispers, tapping her index finger against her lip in a “shush” sign, so I don’t draw attention.

  “Oh man! Thanks Mom!” I can hardly control my whisper. It’s incredible! Romanii: Gaulish Explosion and a bag full of the guns we found above the doorframes. Mom has taken them down herself, and now she’s giving them to me.

  “Mikey,” she says, “I know now that you understand what war’s about. I’ve hidden these all this time, but now I want you to have them.”

  The bag hovers over my hand. I’ve dreamed of this moment for years, but now it’s here, it’s not that big a deal. I know my little soldiers are upstairs waiting to ransack Rome, and I know that Kyler and I will rock Romanii: Gaulish Explosion. My money is still on the Celts. I am going to change history. Vercingetorix will never lose again! But right now I say, “Thanks Mom, that’s great. But, you know, I think Ryan, Kyler, and I are going to play soccer tonight.”

  Ryan’s dad stands up, one hand on Grandpa’s shoulder, one hand on his wife’s.

  “Maybe I can teach you hurling?” he says. “It’s the game of champions.”

  And we boys shout, “Cuchulain!” all at the same time.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  When A. E. Conran was Mikey’s age she had a tin of tiny Roman and Celtic warriors, which she never finished painting, and a desire to time travel, which remains with her still.

  A fan of historical fiction by Rosemary Sutcliff and Henry Treece, she also heard stories from her parents, grandparents, and their friends about living through, and returning from, war.

  In addition to writing middle grade novels, A. E. Conran works as a freelance editor, bookseller, book talker, and children’s book club facilitator. She lives with her family in Northern California.

  Author’s Notes

  I grew up in a small village in England where there were still veterans of the First World War, one of whom used to walk to the local pub in his medals, greatcoat, and puttees (strips of cloth that First World War soldiers wrapped around their calves). There were also veterans of the Second World War, and even a German Prisoner of War who stayed on in our village after the war ended.

  My grandfather, whom I never met, was a career soldier, away for years at a time. My
father did his National Service and was an Army Reservist when I was a child. Like many people my age in Britain, I was always aware that people in my family and in families around me had served during wartime.

  When I started writing this book, I did not expect one of my main characters, Liam O’Driscoll (the Celt), to be a veteran of a recent war. But as I listened to the news, I became aware of how deeply the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan were affecting a relatively small portion of our society. It struck me how large a gap there was between those who serve and their families, who have given and are still giving so much, and those of us who do not. I sincerely hope this book closes that gap a little.

  Liam O’Driscoll (the Celt)

  It is important to know that most men and women who return from war will not act like Liam. I had to make Liam behave in certain ways so that Mikey and Kyler would continue to believe that he was a Celt. So, I made Liam find it temporarily difficult to tell the difference between what is imaginary and what is real. This can happen, but it is not common.

  Some of Liam’s symptoms, however, are consistent with the “invisible” effects of war that are recognized by doctors as post-traumatic stress disorder and mild traumatic brain injury. Many people who have served in wars, and their families, are dealing with one or both of these conditions. Doctors are constantly discovering new ways of understanding and treating these invisible injuries. There are excellent resources on the Internet. Please visit my website, www.aeconran.com, for links to more information. I am not a doctor, so I will try to explain these injuries only briefly here. The following information has been taken from www.ptsd.va.gov.

  Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), which Grandpa just calls “post-traumatic stress,” happens when someone has seen or experienced scary things that they cannot stop thinking about. Sometimes they may have flashbacks, as if they were right back in that scary moment. People with PTSD may have bad dreams and find it hard to sleep; they may be constantly on the look out for danger, even when it is safe; they may avoid situations that remind them of the scary event; and they may startle or react strongly to loud noises or sudden movements, sometimes with anger or frustration. Liam ducks when he hears loud noises. Grandpa still has bad dreams. Both Liam’s behavior and Grandpa’s dreams could be symptoms of PTSD.