Through The Barricades: Winner of the SCBWI SPARK Award 2017

by Denise Deegan

  ‘It’s not a face that a woman falls for but the spirit of a man.’

  ‘Are you saying that Daniel’s face means nothing to you?’

  ‘It is the most special face in the world to me. But should he return with a different one, I won’t love him less. I would just be so happy, so relieved, to have him back in my arms. You’ll get your spirit back, Michael, and there’ll be someone for you.’

  ‘Someone blind.’ He smiled.

  ‘That’s it! Don’t you see? You’ll make someone laugh and that’ll be the start of it.’

  ‘You think?’ he asked doubtfully.

  ‘I know. Wait and see.’

  He seemed to brighten.

  Then, she had to know. ‘How bad is it?’

  He looked at her as though struggling with what to say.

  ‘The truth,’ she prompted.

  He closed his eyes. A vein in his temple began to throb. Perspiration broke out on a face drained suddenly of colour. He began to tremble all over. It was as though Gallipoli had crept into the room and up onto his shoulders, whispering in his ear, ‘remember me.’

  ‘Michael?’

  He was no longer present. She didn’t know how to rescue him, comfort him, if that was indeed possible.

  ‘Michael!’ she said, more urgently.

  He seemed to wake from it then. He fumbled for his cigarettes, lit one and inhaled deeply, hands shaking. He looked at her with urgency. ‘Write to him. Assure him of your love. It’s all that keeps him going.’

  ‘It was you that kept him going. And you will again once he knows that you’re alive. Write to him. He’s in Salonika now, in Greece.’ She looked at him hopefully. ‘Perhaps it’s better there?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ he said without conviction. He looked at her. ‘There’s another reason I came.’ His eyes beseeched her suddenly. ‘Leave Na Fianna, Maggie.’

  Her breath caught. ‘He told you?’

  He smiled. ‘There are no secrets in the trenches, Maggie.’

  She struggled with what to say. ‘I know that you don’t believe in the plight of-’

  ‘It has nothing to do with my beliefs and everything to do with my experiences. I rushed to take up arms for this country. I was not prepared. No one can be. For the destruction. You cannot imagine it. Destruction that I try not to think of – every day, every night. Fighting is not the answer – to anything.’

  ‘You don’t understand!’

  ‘It is you who doesn’t understand. You haven’t seen what I’ve seen.’

  And because he was desperate and haunted and broken, she lied. ‘I’ll consider what you’ve said.’

  He smiled. ‘If you think I believe that, you don’t know me at all, Maggie Gilligan.’

  ‘It’s too important, Michael,’ she explained.

  ‘Then I can only hope that a day will never come to make you realise your error, as I have done.’

  She went to her mother’s bureau. With a heavy heart, she wrote out Daniel’s address for him.

  He placed it in his top pocket then patted it. He rose. ‘Let’s have a race. Whoever writes to him last is a rotten egg.’

  ‘Then you’re the rotten egg for I’ll have started before you reach home.’

  ‘Send him socks.’

  ‘You’re only trying to slow me down.’

  He smiled. ‘All right, I’ll send socks. You send cigarettes.’ He grew serious. ‘Allow me to tell him the news about myself, though, will you Maggie?’

  ‘I would never take it from you.’

  Sitting at her writing desk, words failed her. How confidently she had spoken of a man’s spirit but what if that was what the war took first, a man’s spirit, then his heart and soul? She imagined Danny cold and lonely and she could not help the bleakness that crept into her heart. Would he ever return? Would this war ever end? She needed him home, safely in her arms. She needed him to kiss her and talk of the children that they would have. She needed to stop crying.

  She reminded herself of Michael’s words. She must keep Danny going and get him home. What could she write that would be powerful enough? She rose and went to the window.

  She gazed up at the stars, millions of them, twinkling away as though all was well with the world. Did Danny see the same ones? She imagined herself floating up to the brightest, then leaping from it to the next one east, then swinging to the next until she crossed over the Great War to where he was.

  She imagined herself drifting down to him, holding out her hand and returning with him, star by star.

  But when she opened her eyes, he was as far away as ever. So she closed them again.

  ‘Dear God, keep him safe, just for tonight.’ Tomorrow, she would pray for tomorrow and the next day, the next. That was not too much to ask of a God in such high demand, to keep one person alive for one more day?

  Maggie had plans for Michael. He would not remain hidden in darkness. She would drag him out into the sun and walk beside him. After school, the following day, she called to his home.

  His mother was so visibly grateful that someone would visit her son that Maggie’s heart ached for her. It made her more determined than ever.

  ‘Michael and I are going for a stroll,’ she said as though it had been prearranged.

  ‘Excellent,’ his mother said with surprised delight.

  Michael opened his mouth to argue but Maggie raised her eyebrows. ‘I thought you said you wanted to make things right between us. This is the only way, Michael Hegarty.’

  His mother left the room smiling.

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘A quick one.’

  It wasn’t lost on Maggie how he lowered his cap over his face. She was an expert at it herself.

  Out on the street, a passing woman stared at the mask, making no attempt at subtlety. Maggie linked Michael’s arm and stared back at the woman who blushed and lowered her gaze.

  ‘So you wrote to Danny?’ Maggie confirmed.

  ‘I did.’ He looked relieved. ‘I’m glad you made me.’

  ‘I didn’t make you do anything.’

  ‘All right, you encouraged me. And now I want an immediate reply.’

  She smiled. ‘Ah, so now you know my life – a constant state of eagerness.’

  They entered a park and strolled to a bench. Sitting down – uncomfortably – Michael lit a cigarette. He closed his eyes as he inhaled. His whole body seemed to relax. Then he turned to her.

  ‘Where are my manners?’ He held out the packet to her.

  ‘No bad habits,’ she smiled.

  ‘I can think of one.’

  ‘Don’t even mention Na Fianna.’

  He looked at her boldly. ‘What would you do, shoot me?’

  ‘I might.’

  ‘I wish you would.’

  ‘Stop.’ She put a hand on his arm.

  They gazed at two children chasing each other around the park. Their shrieks were the most joyful, carefree sound.

  ‘What will you do now?’ she asked. ‘Do you need to return to school in order to be accepted into university?’

  He inhaled deeply on a cigarette and blew out a great plume of smoke. ‘How could learning possibly matter when nothing at all does?’ He forced a smile. ‘I’m sorry for being so morbid.’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry for asking. It was insensitive.’ She knew now that he could never return to his old life. ‘Do you hate the British for what they’ve done to you?’

  ‘You mean the Turks?’

  ‘No, the British Army for putting you on the front-line.’

  He seemed confused. ‘They put everyone on the front-line.’

  ‘But the Irish more than any other.’

  He frowned. ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘A friend.’

  ‘Who was not at Gallipoli. We were all in it together – English, Irish, Welsh and, on other beaches, Australians, New Zealanders, French, even the Gurkhas from India, all fighting the same enemy, all of us only trying to live one more day.’

  She
stared at him. Could it be true? He had no reason to lie.

  ‘It’s not, and never will be, as simple as you say,’ he continued. ‘War has taught me one thing only: all that matters is getting along with your fellow man, living in peace. There is no other way.’

  ‘There will be peace. When we get our country back.’

  He sighed deeply. ‘What must I do?’

  ‘There’s nothing you can do.’ She grabbed his hand and dragged him up from the bench. ‘Now, where is this girl who needs someone to make her laugh?’

  thirty-three

  Daniel

  In his dugout, Daniel wrapped Maggie’s scarf about his neck and face, then up under his helmet. He blew on his fingers and rubbed them together for all the difference it made. He wondered if he stopped blinking would his eyeballs freeze? His eyelashes were frozen along with the rest of him. It was as if the cold had climbed inside him and lived amongst his organs. Behind him a throat cleared.

  ‘A letter, Sarge.’

  He turned. The Private was skin and bone, unshaven and reeking of too many things. He stood to attention before Daniel, a reminder of how he himself was. But there was a letter. That was something.

  ‘Thank you, Private.’

  Alone again, he squinted in the candlelight at the scrawl on the envelope. He brought it suddenly to his eyes as he was transported back in time, back to school and the copybook of the boy beside him. He tore it open. And there it was, at the bottom of the page, proof that he wasn’t dreaming. Sudden relieved tears blurred his vision. He dashed them aside; there was too much to know.

  My dear friend,

  Forgive the silence. I could not find the words to tell you that I’ll no longer fight alongside you. There, I’ve said it. It wasn’t so hard, after all. I have lost vision in one eye and have only partial in the remaining one. So that’s the end of the rugby too! We’ll say no more on it. How are you, my dearest friend? Tell me of Salonika. Is it the hell that Gallipoli was? Could it be? I will not ask after our old Pals for I do not wish to hear who is no longer beside you. Still, I long to know who is! You make a decision on it and keep that head of yours low.

  I got my discharge but in my mind I’m still in the trenches. I doubt I’ll ever leave. Nothing here seems to matter. I would go back in the morning – despite everything.

  I was mistaken about Maggie, Danny, as I was about possibly everything. You have a great girl there, though, of course, you already know that. She will have you back, whatever shape you’re in, however disfigured your face. I’m ruined, as it happens. No one will have me now. I must get used to that.

  Come home to us, you old bastard, preferably in one piece, though I know that Maggie will have you no matter how many pieces you are in. She has told me so. How she loves you, Dan.

  Your dearest friend in the world, Michael

  Daniel kept the bottle of ink in his pocket to prevent it from freezing. In his hurry to open it, it fell. He scrambled to retrieve it, praying that it had not broken. He opened it in relief, dipped his pen in and was off, scratching as best he could with frozen, shaking fingers and the words blurring from tears he had been holding in too long.

  Dearest Michael,

  I am the happiest man alive to receive your letter and delighted that you will never again see war. You say that you do not know what to do with yourself. Here is what to do – look after Maggie for me, Mick – now and should I fail to return.

  You saved our lives by getting wounded that night. Had we stayed up on that ridge, we would have been annihilated for certain. It was a bloodbath. You will be saddened to hear that we lost poor old MacDonald, killed in action the day after you were wounded. I’m not ashamed to say that I cried when I learned of his death. Gone too is Major Harrison, who gave me permission to run you down out of there. I will never forget his kindness. You ought to have seen Wilkin, Mick, what a stunt he pulled, grabbing cricket balls and throwing them back – until he exploded to kingdom come, God Bless his beautiful soul. I don’t suppose you have news of Walkey? He came down with dysentery and was taken off.

  You ask of Salonika. Well, someone up there is having a good laugh at our expense, I’ll say that much. In Gallipoli, we baked to death. Here, we freeze. Men have died from exposure, no lie. Frostbite is our newest enemy. When we arrived, it was malaria – a different location, a different fly, equally eager to finish us off. Should I make it home, there will be diseases lining up for me to cure. I often consider that a better use of time for the human race would be finding cures rather than ways to kill. We are over here, helping Serbians fight Bulgarians, though it would appear we are too late for that. Who are these peoples anyway and why are they fighting and what has it got to do with us? What is this war about anyway? Has anyone stopped to ask?

  Our dear Pals. We have been broken up. Leaving Gallipoli, they asked those of us that were left (79 out of the 239 we started out with) to become officers, as they were urgently needed. It was a wrench to disband but it was our duty and that was that. I am a sergeant now. It suits me fine since I find it hard to bond with all these rookies forever arriving only to be mowed down. I remind myself of that old sweat at the Curragh who warned us of war. Like him, I am happier in my own company. And yet, sadly, I find myself developing a fondness for my men, despite it all, each with his own habits, quirks, ways.

  I am weary. Your letter, though, is the greatest boost. Thank you for the fags. They won’t last long! I’m dreaming of leave like we dreamt of water in Gallipoli. I’m glad that you’re out of it. Don’t say a word to Maggie about what it’s like out here. It wouldn’t be fair on her. You know yourself. I made the mistake of sending her a letter or two when I was not in good spirits – losing MacDonald comes to mind. I did not whine or anything like it but my mood could not have been good. I ought to have waited. But she is keen for news. She worries.

  I must stop talking of Maggie – I’ll drive you insane.

  Look at that! I have not written a letter this length in a very long time. It is good to have someone to write to who understands.

  Take care of yourself, Michael,

  Your old Pal, Danny

  thirty-four

  Maggie

  Patrick, in full uniform, stood to attention before Maggie in the empty Na Fianna hall. He had called her here in advance of the usual meeting, without explanation.

  ‘Remove your hat,’ he ordered.

  She hesitated. They were friends. He never pulled rank on her. But there was something in his tone that made her obey. Something ominous.

  ‘You are being formally dismissed from Na Fianna Éireann.’

  She stared at him. ‘I don’t understand.’

  He looked at her with obvious disdain. ‘Maggie, I’m told your name is,’ he said as if they were strangers, as if they’d never shared all those conversations, never laughed together and almost, at times, cried.

  ‘Who told you?’

  ‘A letter arrived detailing your deception.’

  ‘Deception?’

  ‘What else would you call it?’ His eyes were so cold.

  ‘Who wrote the letter?’ That was where the deception lay.

  ‘It was anonymous. Your dismissal takes effect immediately.’ He put out his hand.

  Stunned, she reached out to shake it.

  But he had not offered his hand. He simply wanted her hat.

  She passed it to him as though it were her life.

  ‘Now, leave.’

  She swallowed and then turned in silence.

  Her footsteps echoed through the empty hall. Her eyes soaked in every last inch of it. Who had done this to her? Who would? Reaching the door, fists clenched, she turned.

  ‘Where was the letter posted?’

  His expression changed then, softened, for he knew what she was asking. He opened his jacket and removed a folded envelope from his inside pocket. He looked at it, then at Maggie.

  ‘Dublin.’

  No one knew that she was in Na Fianna outside of her f
amily, Danny and – now – Michael. She remembered his words: ‘What must I do?’

  Clearly, he had figured it out.

  She marched to his home and hammered on the door.

  Then, suddenly, she was facing a member of the Dublin Metropolitan Police. In her fury, she had forgotten about Michael’s father. Now they faced each other, the policeman and the rebel. She could see him take in the detail, her uniform, her face. Then Michael’s mother appeared behind him. Her face lit up and she clasped her hands together in delight.

  ‘Maggie! Maggie! Come in. Come in.’ She shooed her husband out of the way.

  ‘I’m not staying, Missus Hegarty. I simply need to talk to Michael for a moment.’

  ‘Of course. Let me fetch him.’

  Maggie heard the cane before she saw him. It would not influence her.

  Their eyes met. She read in his an admission.

  He reached for his coat. ‘Let us take a walk.’

  She turned on her heels, storming to the gate, where she waited.

  ‘Why?’ she demanded when he reached her.

  ‘Let’s get a bit further from the house before you finish me off.’

  She marched to the end of the street where she waited for him, folding her arms, turning one way, then the other.

  At last he reached her.

  ‘Do you have any idea what Na Fianna means to me? Any idea?’ She didn’t let him answer. ‘Let me ask you this. What would you have done had someone informed the army you were underage?’

  ‘I’d have loved them for it, Maggie. Not immediately. But now.’ He said it earnestly. ‘You haven’t seen a man shot in the head. You haven’t had a friend’s brains blown into your mouth. You haven’t heard a dying man call for his mother.’

  ‘I have seen men die and women, innocent, unarmed civilians shot dead right in front of my eyes by the British Army. Do you imagine that I’m doing this for fun, for amusement? I’m doing this because I could not live with myself if I did not. You had no right to betray me like this. No right. You cannot decide other people’s lives! You are not God!’