“Sure,” I say. “It’s kinda fun.”
He points across the road. “Want to check out the bay?”
I nod and pull the collar of my sweater up around my neck, and we hurry in that direction, straight into the wind. And even though its biting cold, it’s also invigorating. We walk for several minutes, but Ryan seems to know where he’s going. And after a while we find ourselves down by the docks, just in time to see fishermen hurrying to unload crates and tie things down, as if they’re getting ready for a storm. Everyone seems busy, and we try not to get in their way as we look at the various fishing boats. Then it starts to rain. Not just small drops either. It’s like the sky has literally opened up, and the rain is coming down by the bucketfuls.
“Let’s get out of this,” says Ryan as he grabs me by the arm and practically drags me through a dark doorway right off the street. My eyes adjust to the dim light, and I instantly recognize that we’re in a pub. It figures. But at least it’s warm and dry, and I notice there’s even a fire crackling in a small stone fireplace over in the corner. If it weren’t a pub, it would be very inviting.
Ryan leads me over to a tall table situated right in front of the window, and I sit down and peel off my damp sweater. “This is nice,” I say as I peer out the cloudy glass to see the docks and boats being pelted by the rain.
“Really?” One of his brows lifts in a skeptical expression.
“Yeah. Really.”
“So are you going to wig out if I order a Guinness?”
I consider this. “No,” I finally say, “I am not.”
“Cool. I don’t want one, but I appreciate the flexibility.” He smiles, and it occurs to me that he has a very nice smile.
I’m not sure why, but for the first time since we’ve been in Ireland, I don’t feel all that concerned that I’m sitting in a pub or that Ryan might have a beer. It seems like no big deal. Whether this means I’ve made some kind of spiritual compromise is a mystery to me. But at the moment, I don’t care. I’m just glad to be in a dry place.
We order our drinks. Coffee for Ryan and hot tea for me. “So how does it feel to be in the same region where your father’s family came from?” I glance around the sparsely populated pub. “Think anyone here is related to you?”
He studies the guys sitting at the bar. They look like fishermen, but I don’t see any resemblance to Ryan. “Who knows?”
“Want me to ask if anyone here knows someone by the name of McIntire?” I say in a slightly teasing tone.
He laughs. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that just yet. I feel like I need to get my bearings first. You know?”
I nod. “Yeah, it must seem kind of strange.”
“Yeah. It’s really making me think about my dad. To be honest, I haven’t done that much. I mean, I never really knew him. And my mom didn’t speak of him much. At least not until this past year.”
“What was he like?”
“Well, like I said, he was born in America, but according to my mom, his heart belonged to Ireland.”
“How’s that?”
“I suppose it was a result of hearing family stories and stuff. But during the seventies, he really got caught up in Northern Ireland politics. He wanted to come over here, but his parents said he had to finish college first. So after he graduated, he came. I guess it was supposed to be just for a visit, but then he decided to stay.”
“For good?”
“For good or for bad.”
“Huh?”
“I think he was kind of torn. I mean, he really loved my mom, and he knew she didn’t want to live here, not back then when things were such a mess. And then she got pregnant with me, so they went back to America.” He sighs.
“But then he returned to Ireland?”
“Like I said, he came back when I was a baby. It was supposed to be a short trip…”
“But he never came home again.”
“Yep.” Then he takes a drink of his coffee.
“Because he died here,” I offer, feeling as if I’m the one telling Ryan’s story.
“Yep.”
“How did he die, Ryan? Do you know?”
“My dad was a member of the IRA.”
“Really?” I blink in surprise. All I know about the IRA is that they want to reunite Ireland through means of violence. They’re the ones who were responsible for the bombings and shootings when Sid and Danielle came here. And even though they’ve “disarmed,” it seems their influence is still around—especially after hearing about Sid’s interview with the dude who’s plotting to bomb a Belfast pub. That pretty much creeps me out.
“Yeah. My dad was really sympathetic to the IRA cause. Like lots of other Irishmen, he resented the British and wanted them out of Ireland completely. Like I said, he grew up hearing his parents’ stories. He knew all about the kinds of persecutions that had gone on here for centuries. My ancestors lost valuable land to the British, and even though my grandparents pretty much recovered from poverty not long after they immigrated to the U.S., I don’t think they ever got over the painful memories.”
I nod as I refill my teacup.
“So, anyway, my dad met my mom at a party in Belfast, and according to my mom and Sid, he fell head over heels for her.” Ryan kind of smiles. “After meeting my mom, my dad somehow tracked her back to the peace camp, and he started writing her letters with poems, and he sent her flowers and all kinds of things. The poor guy was totally smitten. I guess he even volunteered to help out at the camp, which seems kind of weird, considering he was a member of the IRA. But he just wanted to be near her.”
“He was really in love.”
“Well, my mom was a pretty cool lady.”
I nod. “Yeah. That’s what Sid always said too.”
“Anyway, she finally agreed to date him, and by the end of the summer, they were engaged. He even talked my mom into staying over here longer, and your aunt went home alone.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“I don’t think Sid was too happy about it.”
“Didn’t she like your dad?”
“She didn’t trust him.”
“Oh.”
“And, of course, she wasn’t exactly happy about something else…”
“The broken-heart thing?”
“Yeah, Ian was a good friend of my dad’s.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. That’s how they met.”
“Was Ian an IRA member too?”
Ryan shrugs. “I don’t know for sure.”
“But he might’ve been.”
He shrugs. “Anyway, my parents got married, and they stayed in Ireland for several years. And suddenly it was time to go.”
“You mean because your mom was pregnant?”
“There was another reason.”
“What?”
Ryan looks at me as if he’s trying to decide how much to tell me. I really want him to trust me, but I don’t want to push him. “My dad was in over his head,” he finally said. “He either had to leave the country or risk going to prison.”
“Oh.” I’m still trying to process the fact that Ryan’s very own father was really in the IRA, trying to grasp how his dad did something that could’ve landed him in prison. Was it murder? bombings? What?
“Anyway, it was a good time for them to get out. I know my mom was relieved.”
“So did your mom know about his IRA connection?”
“Not before they were married. But she found out later.”
“Man, that must’ve been tough. I mean, here she is, working in the peace camps, trying to bring unity, and your dad is out there…” I don’t finish the sentence. I know it would sound terrible to say what I’m really thinking. Was Ryan’s dad a murderer?
“It was hard, but she really did love him. And I think she understood what he was doing—at least on some levels. Just the same, she didn’t agree with the IRA or violence. The truth is, she only started to talk to me about this stuff when she knew she was dying. I gu
ess she didn’t want to leave without answering some of my questions.”
“I can understand that.”
“Unfortunately, I still have lots of questions.”
“So what made your dad come back here? Do you know?”
“Sort of. My parents settled in Seattle, not far from my dad’s parents. My mom didn’t know it, but my dad never gave up his IRA connections or the cause. He came back here to make a delivery.”
“A delivery?”
“Money.”
“Money?”
“Yeah. There were a lot of Irish sympathizers in my grandparents’ circle of friends. When they heard how bad things were getting over here, they started collecting funds to help the IRA.”
“And your father smuggled the money over here?”
“That’s what my mom told me. And I guess it was successful. He’d called my mom shortly after the delivery. He told her that he was about to leave for the Belfast airport. But he never got there. Someone put a bomb in the car.”
“Oh no.”
He nods sadly. “But that’s not all.”
“What?”
“Ian McMahan was the one driving my dad to the airport.”
“So Ian McMahan was killed too?”
Ryan barely nods. “Pretty sad stuff, huh?”
I just shake my head. “Wow. That is really depressing…and tragic.”
“I guess that’s what really caused Sid and my mom to bond for life. I mean, they’d always been friends, but it’s like they became sisters or something. Sid was like part of our family then. Although I do have some other aunts and uncles, on my dad’s side, they’re all a lot older than my mom, and she never encouraged me to get to know them. I think she was afraid I’d get caught up in their politics too. Anyway, Sid’s been more of an aunt to me than any of them.”
“Wow. That’s quite a story.”
“I figured it was about time to tell you.”
I look into his eyes and am surprised at how much I’m starting to respect this guy. It’s like there’s so much more to him than I ever imagined. And even though the whole IRA thing with his dad makes me uncomfortable, I’m glad he’s opened up like this. “Thanks for telling me.”
“I asked Sid if it was okay to tell you—I mean, the part about her and Ian.”
“She didn’t mind?”
“No, she thought you should know.”
I sigh. “Wow, I’m still trying to take it all in.”
“I know. It’s a lot to digest.” He points to his watch. “Speaking of digest, if we’re going to meet Sid for dinner, we’d better get back.”
We’re barely out the door when we are hit with a gust of wind and stinging raindrops that seem to be falling parallel to the ground.
“Want to run?” Ryan asks.
“Sure,” I say. And to my surprise, he grabs my hand, and the two of us start to run down the street, forging our way through what is starting to feel like quite a storm. But I must admit that I like the secure feel of his hand tightly gripping mine. Okay, I remind myself, it’s only to get us to the hotel more quickly. And it is handy having his help as we leap across mud puddles and make a mad dash for several blocks. It’s no reason for me to start getting all starry-eyed. After all, Ryan and I are just friends. Nothing more.
“Thanks,” I tell him once we’re safely inside the lobby.
“No problem.” He removes his parka and gives it a little shake.
I look down at my rather soggy sweater and realize it’s probably not going to shake out quite so nicely. “I better go find something dry to put on before it’s time for dinner.”
As I head to my room, all I can think about is the warm feeling of Ryan’s hand wrapped around mine—and how much I liked it!
Eight
You look like a drowned rat,” says Sid as we meet in the hallway.
“It’s raining like crazy out there,” I tell her. “And the wind is going nuts. Do they have hurricanes in Ireland?”
She laughs. “I don’t think so. But they can have some pretty wild storms, especially on the coastline. Maybe we should stay in tonight. We could eat in the hotel restaurant instead of going out.”
“Fine with me.” I unlock my door. “I just came up to dry off a little. Ryan is already downstairs.”
We agree to meet in the restaurant, and I frantically dig through my bags searching for the perfect thing to wear. I even try on several things, tossing the rejects onto a pile that’s growing on my bed. Finally I decide on a cappuccino brown V neck that I think looks kind of sophisticated on me. Okay, at the same time I’m asking myself why go to this much trouble? Like who really cares how I look?
But the truth is, I care, and I know it’s because of Ryan. Then I spend too much time trying to tame my hair, which is totally hopeless after the wind and rain. I try pulling it back in a scrunchy, but that only makes me look like a poof head. Finally I give up and just let it hang wild around my shoulders. Then I put on some mascara, some lip gloss, a bit of blush, and even a pair of earrings Sid got for me when we stopped for lunch in Donegal today. She thought the green stones were about the same color as my eyes. Okay, I don’t look too bad.
I find my aunt and Ryan already seated at one of the few tables in this tiny restaurant. They’re both looking at a newspaper, but my aunt seems upset. Her face is pale, and I think I see tears in her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I ask as I sit down.
Ryan holds up the newspaper for me to see. It’s the front page, and the headline says, “Bomb in Belfast Pub Kills 2, Injures 17.”
“Oh no.”
“I feel so responsible,” says Sid.
“But you warned them.”
She nods, pulling a tissue from her purse. “And John assured me that they were on it, that nothing would happen.” She glances at her watch. “Let’s see…It’s still morning there. I think I’ll call him.” She reaches for her cell phone, then excuses herself, taking the newspaper with her.
“That’s so sad,” I say as I watch her leave.
The waiter is approaching our table now. “Is anything wrong?” he asks with concern.
“No,” I say quickly. “My aunt just needs to make a phone call. We’ll order when she comes back.”
He nods and offers to get us something to drink, but we both decide to wait for Sid.
“I wonder if it really was the guy she interviewed,” Ryan says once the waiter is out of earshot.
“If it wasn’t, it’s a pretty ironic coincidence.”
“I can’t believe he would be so careless, having that conversation when she was right there.”
“Well, it was really his wife who was careless,” I remind him. “Remember she was the one who told Sid to wait in the kitchen.”
His eyes widened. “Do you think that woman actually wanted her husband to get caught?”
“Maybe she just wanted to prevent what she knew would turn into a serious tragedy.”
“Or maybe she didn’t know about any of it.”
“It all seems so senseless.” I pick up the menu and try to focus on the words. “I mean, killing people you don’t even know? And for what? Just to make a point? For vengeance? I really don’t get it.”
He shakes his head. “It goes deep, Maddie. Generations and generations of hatred and fighting, lying and cheating. It might not make sense to us, but it probably does to some people.”
“Like your dad?”
He frowns, and I feel bad. I wasn’t trying to say his dad was evil, but I know it must have sounded that way.
“I know my dad made some mistakes,” he says slowly. “But now that I’m here in Ireland…I don’t know…It’s like I can almost understand.”
“You can understand the IRA?”
“In a way. I mean, they weren’t all violent. And their goal was to reunite Ireland. But violence often got in the way. And now we have the RIRA.”
“What’s the RIRA?”
“I was just reading that article about the bombin
g in Belfast, and they mentioned the RIRA. The extra R stands for real, as in the Real Irish Republican Army. Anyway, that’s what this new generation of IRA members call themselves, and they’re taking credit for today’s bombing.”
“Not the old IRA?”
“No. The new RIRA refuses to disarm and refuses to give up this fight.”
“How can you be sure that the new RIRA isn’t really just another name for the old IRA?”
“Because the old IRA had more dignity.”
“How do you know that?”
“I’ve done some reading. I did a little research before we came here. I wanted to know why my dad had been pulled into this. And I could partly understand it.”
“Meaning you sympathize with them?”
“Of course. So did you when we first got here. I remember you saying that you thought Ireland should just reunite.”
“But not with bombs and guns.”
“I agree. Not with bombs and guns. But, don’t forget, the British army uses the same means to keep Ireland under their control. How do you fight back when someone is shooting at you?”
“This is way over my head,” I admit. “I want to understand it, but the whole IRA and RIRA thing kind of overwhelms me.”
“I know,” he says. “I feel like that too. And I hope you understand that in no way do I condone the RIRA. What they did today was totally wrong. But I guess I’m just starting to feel differently toward the original IRA, the ones who wanted to unite Ireland, to be free of British rule.”
“But through means of force?”
“How do you think our country won its independence?”
“I know.” I shake my head. “But that was so long ago.”
“Think about the world in general, Maddie. How do countries get liberated? What about Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan?”
“I’m sorry, but I hate war.”
“So do I. But maybe it’s inevitable—sometimes.”
I’m wishing Sid would come back. Maybe she could carry on this conversation with Ryan. It just seems to be irritating me.
“Anyway…I’m starting to see things differently. I’m starting to ask questions that I wouldn’t have even considered before.”
“Questions about your dad?”
He nods. “Yes. Like why he was pulled into their cause. Have I been missing something? I’ve done the research; I know that thousands of innocent Irish have died as a result of British interference. But it wasn’t as if I really cared. Then suddenly, being here in Malin, where my family’s roots go back for centuries, and hearing about the bomb in Belfast—not to mention how this has impacted Sid—well, I guess I’m starting to feel sort of guilty. Like maybe this has something to do with me. And maybe it’s time I come to grips with my own heritage and what it means to be Irish. Instead of sitting around just accepting things for what they seem. Maybe I need to open my eyes.”
Notes from a Spinning Planet—Ireland Page 7