The Fighting O'Keegans

by Aaron Kennedy

  Hard hands planted on the coarse thick leather of his belt, his Father stepped into the centre of the street shouting after him, neighbours discarded and irrelevant, bugs the father had already squashed in drunken summers past.

  ‘I’ll not have a loser in this house, do you hear me? Do you all fucking hear me? I’ll not have anyone saying that the O’Keegan’s can’t look to themselves. I’ve got standing in this town. Standing…you hear me…standing. Try to be a fucking O’Keegan, I’ll not have you be from your Mother’s side.’

  Each syllable a sideways razor blade across O’Keegan’s back.

  ‘Find them and do whatever it takes. No one can stop you. You’re an O’Keegan. Son…Son?’

  O’Keegan would turn, hope fresh each time, he still hadn’t learnt, a glimmer in his eyes that maybe this time would be different. Maybe his Pa’s heart hadn’t died lowering his Mother into the earth.

  ‘…Son, they’ll be a hot dinner waiting for you when you get back…IF you win. If you don’t…you’ll not be coming back in this house. Standing boy…it’s all there is for a man, all he can rely on…take it away and it all dies…it all dies, do you hear me boy?’

  Every time was the same, gouging fingers pulled across his heart, the one part he knew was his Mothers, vulnerable, human, the pain leaving him without doubt. O’Keegan stopped watching before his Father pushed Jamie back into the house, the noise of the slamming the door reverberating mocking as it closed it on him, no backwards look from father or son.

  Chapter 7

  The heat of the boat returned, bringing O’Keegan back from his memories.

  Looking at the unconscious Flannery, perhaps the only way was to accept that everyone was in the same fight, you either hid and hoped life would let you get by or you stood up and took your chance.

  O’Keegan had wanted a different way of life but wondered if he ever could. Even here, trouble had still sought him out, had put him to the test as it had every day of his life.

  O’Keegan had felt a release when he had first walked into the boiler room, nothing to do but to work, but even in this small world someone still wanted to be on top, pushing others around. Maybe it was human nature, everyone needed someone to look down on to give themselves a sense of standing as his father called it. From all O’Keegan had seen, all standing seemed to bring was suffering.

  Chapter 8

  Flannery began to move, shaking his head as he tried to surface from his personal darkness. O’Keegan continued to shovel but kept himself fully alert as Flannery came too. There were two ways Flannery could play it, either he would shuffle himself off into a dark corner or he would start again. O’Keegan knew which way he would go, how he had been trained and he was ready, just in case.

  Flannery woke rubbing his head his hand travelling over his mop of hair, grimacing as it passed over too many tender places, looking over the streak of blood smeared across his palm as he brought it down. O’Keegan held a breath, watching, Flannery’s face cracking open into a huge grin, a space left where once a big front tooth had pushed its brothers to the side.

  ‘Why you fucking Mick…that was a good one…Fighting O’Keegan’s…I should have known better…’

  O’Keegan moved quickly, raising his fist to give Flannery one more hurtling punch, sure Flannery’s next move would be to begin it all again.

  Raising his hand in mock surrender, Flannery flagged O’Keegan to stop.

  ‘Hold it, hold it…God, you guys really are the Fighting O’Keegan’s aren’t you…’

  Wiping his hand back over the cut on his head, he relaxed against the floor making no moves to stand.

  ‘Now O’Keegan, I give…there’s no need for that. Put those fists of yours away, I know a better man when he hits me in the face. You seen my tooth anywhere around here?’ Flannery chuckled, his eyes roaming around the floor.

  Summoning up his strength, Flannery stood, staggering on screaming legs, the gouged skin across his shins begging for attention, pushing his palms against his knees, his fingers trailing across the rip trousers from the shovel’s cut.

  Flannery raised his right hand close to his mouth, spitting hard into it, blood, phlegm and fragments of teeth coming out in a red slimy glob. Limping forward Flannery offered O’Keegan his hand.

  ‘Shake O’Keegan. Let’s be friends Okay? The world is a tough enough place as it is without fighting battles you can’t win. Shake?’

  For the first time since the journey began Flannery seemed a new man, different, as if he had been waiting all along to find someone to best him.

  O’Keegan looked down at the spit dripping palm, knowing might be the closest to a friendship a man like him could ever have, grasping it.

  Flannery grinned, then stepping back looked to each man in the boiler room.

  ‘Men, O’Keegan beat me fair and square. I fought almost all of you since we all started in this tin can…I had a feelin’ about O’Keegan, wanted to leave the best ‘til last. As far as I am concerned, he’s the best man among us. Anyone disagree?’

  Like a wind passing through new branches, each of the heads around the room moved side to side. Flannery went on.

  ‘The fact that we’re all here means that we’re all poor as church mice and no one owes us any favours’ Flannery watched as a few heads nodded around the room, their eyes questioning where this was going..

  ‘The fact that we’re here means even the poor quarters are too good for us, it means we’re alone, without family or friends.’

  This time all the heads, bobbed in agreement.

  ‘Well, there’s no way that poor bastards like us, without friends or family are going to have lives any different than we left behind. You think America will be any different? You think human nature is any different in the land of Cowboys and Indians?…If that’s what you truly believe then you deserve everything you don’t get and everything you do’ No waiting any longer Flannery continued.

  He held his breath, everything he had done was for this moment, since the idea had come to him in this boiler room, watching what they had managed to accomplish when they had worked together. Flannery let his words come out.

  ‘We’ve can arrive with something no other immigrant has had…a real chance but it all depends on if we can work together…like we have every day since we slunk our way into this sweat box. We can watch each others backs. Not just now, in this boiler room but from today forward, from now ‘til we make our money or have got what we all came here for, why we all threw away the meagre life we had before.’

  Shorty stepped forward, hands dug deep into his pockets. ‘Flannery, I’m not lining up for a beating but you’ve pushed us around since we all got here. Why should we listen to anything you have to say?’

  Flannery thought about it for a few seconds, knowing this was a question they must all be asking themselves.

  ‘The truth is I’ve been thinking about this since the beginning. I’m not a leader but I’ve been looking for the one that can be and I think I’ve found him.’ Flannery turned to O’Keegan who stood, rigid, not believing what he was hearing.

  Shorty wanted more than anything to step back into the crowd but something kept him foot forward.

  ‘And how do you see it going, now you’ve found that guy?’ With that last question Flannery smiled, ‘…With O’Keegan at the top, with us all carrying out whatever’s needed to make us winners. What do you think?’

  Everyone looked at everyone else, Shorty and the rest sizing each other up, Flannery could almost read their minds, America didn’t have to be so hard, life didn’t have to be so hard, if they worked together then perhaps…perhaps they did have a chance.

  Flannery turned to O’Keegan. Wanting more than anything for O’Keegan to agree, waiting for the magic words that would kick start their future, tasting the moment.

  Chapter 9

  His Father’s face was there, it always was, Jamie a few steps behind, the big, but youth sapped old man, shrunken down by a life too hard.
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  ‘So, you’re really going then? Didn’t think you’d have the balls. You always was the weak one…’

  O’Keegan ignored him, pulling his few things together into the sacking bag he’d managed to find beneath the dust and cobwebs smothering it in the back of the out house. They would both be getting out from under the crap, looking forward to the fresh air that had disappeared here years ago.

  Sweeping the bag to the floor, his father stuck his face a few inches from Ryan.

  ‘…You ignoring me boy?…is that how I grew you up? I’m your old man, you owe me some respect…I still got standing boy, don’t forget it…’

  Looking down at the crumpled bag, O’Keegan closed the gap with his Father’s face, now just an inch apart, eyeball to eyeball.

  ‘You think I’m still some little boy you can still slap around old man? You think you still have it? You lost it a long time ago. You drank it away…You know it and so do I. Now it’s just me and Jamie keeping the family strong. Let me tell you old man…I am showing you respect, I’m not busting your head before I leave…’.

  ‘Why you little-’

  His Father’s hand started to come around, but O’Keegan’s hands were faster, grasping his Father’s in his own, squeezing.

  ‘I ain’t little no more Pa. No more beatings, no more pushing me around, making me into something I don’t want to be. I’m going to America, that’s all I have now. Just let it be Pa.’

  His eyes casting around the cottage O’Keegan’s father began to plead for the first time since he’d begged God for his wife’s life, already knowing this would turn out the same way ‘You want to leave this all behind, you’ve got it all here boy…we’ve got standing, we’ve carved out our place, the fighting O’Keegan’s boy. The people around here notice us when we walk by boy…this is our place.’

  ‘Fuck them and fuck you old man…you don’t think I wouldn’t give up my name if I could? Fighting O’Keegan’s? They notice us when we walk by?’ O’Keegan mimicked, whining. ‘…what has the name ever done for us except make the good folk walk on the other side of the street while the scum tried to walk over us on our own side? Is that what your standing has given us? Is that what I’m supposed to be proud of?...to want for my life?’

  He looked down at his Father, how had it happened? How had this big man got so old, he couldn’t remember a time when this strong man had ever been smaller than him? Still holding his Father’s hand, he watched his Father crumble inwards, O’Keegan had done the worst thing he could have ever done, holding up a mirror to his Father’s life, he could tell it was almost too much.

  ‘This is what being a fighting O’Keegan’s is Pa. No conscience, winning at any cost. I learnt the lesson Pa…you happy?’

  Maybe it was his imagination but O’Keegan thought he saw his Father shake his head, sure he would question it every night of his life as he fought against his own sleeplessness.

  ‘You know what Pa, I’ve never been able to tell you this but I love you Old Man. I’m strong enough to tell you that now…but I’m not going to miss you…or miss this’ O’Keegan’s eyes looking around the scruffy place he’d called home for too long.

  ‘…I want something better than this Pa…but I’m thankful to you…you tried your best. It just wasn’t good enough’.

  Looking over his Father’s shoulder, O’Keegan managed a sad smile over to Jamie, apologizing with his eyes. Stony faced, Jamie just looked back, already a younger version of himself, of his Pa. God help them all.

  O’Keegan picked up his half empty bag. Sending himself out this time to win one more battle, not coming home again until he did.

  Moving up the street, bag over one shoulder O’Keegan knew his Father had never given him a choice about the kind of man he had become, but his father never had much of a choice either. It was all up to him now, each day from now on was finally his…to make or break.

  As O’Keegan walked away he remembered something his father would often say - life was a tall, redheaded bitch with a fucked up sense of humour. For the first time in a long time O’Keegan found himself laughing, picking up his pace toward a new life. Life was hard for people like them, but what else was there but hard?

  Chapter 10

  ‘O’Keegan, do you agree?’

  Flannery looked for some response, ‘A man like you can get what he wants in America with the right men behind him, we’ll create more waves than a whale’s dick when we get to Boston…’

  O’Keegan didn’t move, didn’t say a word, slowly each of the faces turned from their own thoughts until each was waiting for O’Keegan to show some sign he had taken in what Flannery had said.

  A few more minutes passed, each of them waiting. Flannery reached up, gently holding onto O’Keegan’s shoulder, wanting to break the spell, to get some kind of reaction. Just needed that touch to begin functioning again, O’Keegan stepped back, shaking his head from side to side, his voice squeezing out,

  ‘No, no, that’s not it at all, that’s not what I want,’

  Flannery’s mouth fell open, then it firmed up as he took onboard O’Keegan’s answer.

  ‘You’re not interested? Have you lost all the fight in you boy? Why the hell not? Let’s grab America by the throat until she gives up the goods, who hasn’t dreamed of making it bigger than fucking Texas?’

  O’Keegan raised his hands, warding off the thoughts Flannery’s proposal were creating in him.

  ‘I’m done with fighting for other people, that’s all my life has been about. I want an end to it, always looking over my back, waiting for the next idiot to stand up to take their shot, the taste I get in my mouth as I win one more fight, knowing as that one falls I’ve got just a few more breaths before the next starts again. You don’t know what you’re asking me to do. ’

  Flannery’s shoulders sagged, then something tightened in him, standing straighter as he made one last attempt.

  ‘O’Keegan, you’ve spent your life fighting? Look around, you think you’re so different from the rest of us? Go on, look…look’.

  He walked to each man turning a few faces towards O’Keegan ‘…we all fight, every day, it’s what life IS…especially for people like us…We may not all be raising our firsts every day... but fighting is what being a Man is. You think you’re so special? The fighting O’Keegan?’

  He continued to pace his way around, all faces peering inwards at the two men, sure this could be the most important thing they had ever heard.

  ‘Your life’s brought you trouble? That’s just because trouble’s what you’re good at. You’ve been fighting…just like we all have one way or another, but alone, just you and your fists. And America won’t be any different, how long do you think it will be before your fists are back up in front of your face and you’re knocking the next guy on his arse…but you’ll be doing it alone O’Keegan, alone, just like every day before today.’

  ‘And your way is better?’ O’Keegan growled.

  Flannery took a breath before answering, honesty in his voice ‘You know, I don’t know but I’m tired of it too. I want someone else to watch my back, and believe it or not, I want to watch someone else’s back for them too. Does the reality of being a man mean being alone? Can you understand any of this?’

  O’Keegan tilted his head, the beginning of a nod, Flannery saw it, they all did.

  ‘We can all have something we haven’t had before, people to watch out for us, to help us in the fight, a family of sorts. The need to fight won’t go away, it never will O’Keegan …but you’ll have something you have never had before…a family that will be in there swinging with you when you need them, people that don’t turn their backs when it doesn’t work out as planned.’

  Flannery reached his hand back out, gambling, praying that O’Keegan was sold, nothing left to say. O’Keegan looked down at the extended hand, then held Flannery’s eyes in his own while he made up his mind. This time it was O’Keegan who spat into his hand, grasping Flannery’s.

  ‘F
amily…’ O’Keegan’s quiet voice travelled around the room, smiles on each man’s face, lands, each feeling more relief than they expected as they found themselves a leader. It was decided.

  So began the O’Keegan gang. God help them God help Boston. This was the beginning of a new life for them all. God included.

  Chapter 11

  As the gigantic engines of the steam ship slowed, the men stopped too, listening to the sound as the energy in the great machine died, feeling the shaking vibrations ceasing underfoot, only now noticing by its absence just how much a part of life it had become.

  In the near metal melting heat of the boiler room, something had happened. They had walked in as afraid and alone, their own stories holding their lives back like disfiguring birthmarks, but were to leaving as a family, men welded together in the heat of the ships furnace.

  America was pitched as a land of opportunity, a better life open to all whatever their background or religion. These men had been through too much to believe in myths and fairy stories but they were expecting, even demanding a new beginning. In the belly of this ship, amongst the coal and ashes, these men had been born anew as O’Keegan’s men, the boiler room boys. They would not leave this ship as straggling poor individuals thrust out to fend for themselves - They were a family now.

  Laying down their tools, standing straight for what seemed like years, they took in the silence. This was going to be a real beginning, maybe they did have a chance to grab hold of what, in the corner of their minds, they hoped America could deliver.