Men Who Walk Alone

by T. J. Martinell

  “I’m gonna go to bed,” Patrick said as he left the room. He stopped, as if to say more, but held it back and vanished around the corner.

  Evelyn wiped her hand across her face to remove the remainder of tears as she looked down at Sean.

  “Are you alright?” she gasped.

  Sean got up and smiled at her. “I am fine,” he said. “It is nothin’. Do not be upset about it.”

  Evelyn nodded her head, but then convulsed. Her hands quivered while her arms remained still. Her legs buckled underneath her as she breathed beyond her control.

  Sean enfolded her, resting her head against his chest. He rocked her back and forth to the rhythm of the clock that ticked on the wall.

  “It’s gonna be alright,” he said.

  “How?”

  “Ye brother just got angry, ‘cause he’s drunk. He should be fine in the mornin’.”

  Neither one of them spoke for half an hour.

  “Why do ye say that every time?” Evelyn asked. “He hasn’t changed. I donna want him to get into trouble. Ye know how the coppers are about drunken people, especially Irish drunks. They’ll throw him away in jail. Aye, they’ll lock him in one of their horrible cells, somewhere dark and terrible. They’ll put him there and…I’ll…I’ll never see him again!”

  “That won’t happen,” Sean said. “I promise. I give ye me word that things will change. They have to change.”

  “Why won’t ye stand up to him, Sean? Why won’t ye tell him off? He always bosses ye around whenever ye come over. He’s not a hospitable host.”

  “I donna need to prove anything to him or anyone else. I am fine. I can deal with it just as well. I’m not gonna solve anything but hittin’ him and sendin’ him to bed with a sore cheek. What good does that do for us? Do ya really need two violent Irishmen in the same household?”

  “It’ll teach him that he canna fight everyone he wants to. He does that with ye, because he knows ye wonna do anythin’ about it, no matter what. What happens when he decides one day that he’s gonna fight three men in a bar? They’ll kill him!”

  “No, they won’t. I want ye to stop thinkin’ like this, Evelyn. Ya don’t need this in ya mind. It won’t help ye, even if it were true, and it isn’t.”

  Sean brought her over to the sofa. She sat down on it, and didn’t tremble. But when saw looked up at the family picture, the same one Patrick had gazed at, her convulsions resumed.

  “I want me ma and da back! I miss them so much, Sean. I’m never gonna see them again!”

  “Donna talk like that! Yes, ye will!”

  “No! No! No! No! They’re dead!”

  “Ye seem to be forgettin’ Heaven. Do ya really think ya wonna see them there?”

  A thud resonated from the adjacent room, where Patrick had fallen into his bed.

  “I dona know what Heaven is gonna be like,” Evelyn said. “I’ve spent too much time in this Hell to know the difference!”

  “This is not Hell, Evelyn. This is merely a little bit of trouble before we can get into the Promise Land. The Hebrews had to wait for forty years. Forty years, Evelyn. What’s a little bit of waitin’ on our part compared to that?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Of course ye do.”

  “Thank ye for being here. I donna know what I would do without ye. I sometimes feel like Patrick isn’t here anymore. It’s almost like he died along with ma and da and all is left is an empty body that’s still alive but has no soul in it. All he ever does is talk about how much of a problem I am.”

  “Don’t believe any of that. He’s love ya, and so do I.”

  Sean kissed her. After they had kissed, he smiled, but she frowned.

  “Every time we kiss I see them,” she said.

  Sean nodded and did not ask who she meant by “they.”

  “I afraid they’ll come back here,” she added. “They’ll come back to get me.”

  “They won’t. I promise.”

  “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

  “It will pass. Don’t dwell on it, Evelyn. I will come by tomorrow and see how ye are gettin’ along. If ye need anythin’, I will be at home or work. I will call ye on the phone when I can.”

  “Alright.”

  He helped her get up and walk to her bedroom. She took off her robe and slipped into her bed. Sean stood beside it, stroking her hair.

  “Are ye alright for now?” he asked.

  “Aye, I’ll be fine.”

  “Donna think about anything but happiness.”

  “Is that how ye got through it?”

  “Through what?”

  “Your parent’s being murdered.”

  “I suppose so,” he said. “But we’re not gonna worry about that now. Ya more important.”

  “I just want to know how it felt for ye,” Evelyn said. “I still canna move on from ma and da dying. It wasna long ago, ye know.”

  “I know.”

  “I was just wonderin’ what gave ye the strength to keep livin’, even after it all? Ye were so young, Sean. How?”

  Sean took the covers to her bed and brought them up to her face. He spread his hands across the surface.

  “Do ye know?” she asked.

  “Aye. I know.”

  “What was it?”

  “I donna think it will help ye at all.”

  “This isn’t. What difference will ye make for the worse?”

  “Very well. I just let it go. That is what I did. I was young. I didna understand anythin’ about it. I didna understand bad fellas. Grandda helped with through it all, by being a lovin’ man and carin’ for me when I needed it most.”

  “He just died, didn’t he?”

  “Six months.”

  “Ye miss him?”

  “Aye.”

  “Was it worse losin’ him than your ma and da?”

  Sean looked over at the wall as he answered.

  “I didna ever think to compare the two.”

  “Oh.”

  “I know what ye mean. I can only say that I miss them all. Very much. But I have to move on. I canna be angry about it, or anythin’ else.”

  Evelyn gazed at him and did not speak until he looked back at her.

  “Sometimes Sean, I feel ye close ye eyes to things that ye donna like, rather than try to stop them or deal with them. It’s not a good thing.”

  “There are a lot of things in this world that are not good, Evelyn.”

  “I know that. I know that. I know that.”

  Sean kissed her once more before her tears came back.

  “I need to go back to me home now.”

  Her lips quavered as her eyes moistened.

  “What if somethin’ happens when ye leave?”

  “Nothin’ will happen to ye.”

  “I’m not talkin’ about I. I’m talkin’ about ye.”

  “Myself?”

  “Aye.”

  “I’ve walked done the same street for the past ten years and nothin’ has happened to me. I am not a fella to take to violence, but I am also not afraid of what I know to be safe.”

  Evelyn stared at him with small eyes.

  “They only broke into our house once, Sean.”

  “I know. I’ll be as careful.”

  “Be safe. Please, for me sake.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  He kissed her one last time before heading to the door. Before he walked out, he called out to her.

  “I will be here for Christmas Eve, just a wee bit late.”

  “Alright.”

  “It’ll be a merry time. Ye will see.”

  Sean walked out of her room, heading to the door. In the hallway he threw his coat back on, putting his flat cap back upon his head. Buttoning his coat up, he opened the door, seeing that the snow had thickened on the street. He exhaled as he stepped out, smiling to himself.

  “Who’s there?” a voice said.

  Sean turned to his right, where a shack stood mere inches away from the Malone’s home. The
window on the side wall was open, an outline of a man appearing underneath it.

  It was Éamon Cosgrave, the Malone’s fifty-year-old neighborhood and recluse. He hadn’t taken a step outside of it since he had been almost beaten to death by one of Don Marzio’s men on Fainsod Street after witnessing a murder. For some reason they hadn’t killed him, but their attack had left him in a coma for over a week. He had finally come to, with no memory of the assault.

  “It’s Sean Blood, Mr. Cosgrave,” he said to him. “I’m just visiting the Malone’s.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “No, just me, sir.”

  “You certain?”

  “Yes, sir. No one here but me.”

  Cosgrave’s muttering echoed down the empty street before he articulated any words. Most of the time Sean did not understand what he said, and when he did he did not understand what he meant by it.

  “Get home now,” Cosgrave said. “I wouldn’t dally. It doesn’t bode well for the night.”

  “No, sir.”

  “Good night, Sean Blood.”

  “Good night, Mr. Cosgrave.”

  Cosgrave stuck his head out of the window. Sean strained his eyes to look at him, but then he turned away when he remembered the stories. Cosgrave did not fear anyone, including the O’Brien’s. If anything, he was feared. After what Marzio’s men had done to him, his face resembled that of a ghoul. Rumors had done their work, too. His house had become marked as haunted. It was one of the few houses on the block that hadn’t suffered a burglary or robbery in six years.

  Walking down the block, Sean observed the silhouettes of two men at the corner of the street. The light from the lamppost glistened on one of them as they approached it, throwing their coat over it. Now blending in with the darkness, they ran across the road and up to a building.

  Seeing this, Sean looked away, his eyes closed.

  He then heard a voice that sounded as though someone whispered in his ear.

  “How long are you going to do nothing?”

  Startled, Sean stopped himself and looked over his shoulder. No one was there.

  “Hello?” he said. “Who said that?”

  No one answered.

  He kept walking. Father down the sidewalk, the voice came back. This time it sounded angry, frustrated.

  “You can’t keep doing this. It won’t work. You think you’re doing the right thing by keeping to yourself. But you’re not. One of these days you’re going to have to choose to either do good or evil. You can’t avoid it.”

  This time, Sean stopped and spun around several times. He looked at each of the houses to see if a window was open. None were. He then inspected the narrowed lane between two shacks for a person to appear. No one did. He was alone, it seemed.

  “If you want to speak to me, then come out,” Sean said. “I won’t talk to you if you won’t come out.”

  When no one replied to his demand, he resumed his journey back home. He didn’t hear the voice again, but walked as though someone walked beside him in the snow.

  On Christmas Eve Sean’s supervisor blessed him with a half day, which meant he had time to take on a job working in the downtown sewer system. A street block had reported problems with their plumbing which necessitated an inspection the other workers weren’t keen on. Because Sean knew the tunnels from previous work, the men permitted him to volunteer for its inspection, which he didn’t refuse.

  After spending the afternoon in the sewers, he rushed home to bathe and put on a new set of clothes as he hurried to the Connell’s home. The Connell’s lived down the street from him and had been close with his family, as well as the other Irish families who conglomerated in the same neighborhoods.

  Normally, Sean enjoyed Christmas Eve with his grandfather, but now that he was dead, the Connell’s had invited him over to their home so he would not be alone, and they had him at their house for Sunday supper at least three times a month.

  The couple, now in their early sixties, had two sons, Murphy and Conan. Murphy was in his thirties, slender and tall, while Conan was thirty-two and shorter and bulky. They worked together at the harbor loading and unloading cargo. Additionally, Sean often observed them arguing with men inside the pub, though it always seemed they had not had anything to drink.

  Mr. and Mrs. Connell ran a grocery store that had passed through several owners and had operated since the city had first incorporated.

  Though he was not tied to them by blood, they regarded him as a member of the family when he arrived. Mrs. Connell hugged him until her husband admonished her to stop so he could shake Sean’s hand as they led him into the dining room, where Murphy and Conan sat at the table. Both of them had cleaned themselves up before arriving, as well.

  On the table was spiced beef, ham, pudding, potatoes and goose, the main course of the meal. Mr. Connell served them ale and some sherry, albeit he offered Sean some cider.

  After a prayer of thanks and a special blessing by Mr. Connell, they ate, all their eyes fixed on Sean.

  “So, me boyo,” Mr. Connell said, “how are things for ya at work?”

  “It is good,” Sean said. “I am very thankful for what I have. I know others that are not as blessed.”

  “That they are not,” Murphy said. “Bloody mobsters keep recruiting all of the fellas that are out of work and canna find anythin’ to do. O’Brien’s the worst of them, tryin’ to get us to join his bit o’ trouble.”

  “Ye boyos be careful, now,” Mrs. Connell said. “The O’Brien fellas are not ones to be trifle with here now. Their ma is a Jezebel of a heathen, that one.”

  “Red haired gals are always trouble,” Conan said. “She’s livin’ proof of that, she is. She’s always a flarin’ with the fires of Hell in her eyes. I wouldna be surprised if she was the Devil herself.”

  “Have they made any threats?” Mr. Connell asked.

  “Naw, just a little bit of blather. They know not to be gettin’ in over their heads with us. We know how to take care of ourselves. I just wish we had enough guns to blow them back to Dublin and hand ‘em over to the Brits, just like their da.”

  “What about you, Sean?” Murphy said. “Are ye havin’ trouble?”

  “Naw. Nothin’ to worry about.”

  “Those men ye work for treat ye well?”

  “That they do.”

  “Ye boss a good man?”

  “That he is.”

  “Ye see any trouble goin’ around ye parts when ye work? Any of O’Brien’s gang or Marzio’s”

  “Every now and then. Cities always have troublemakers. There’s nothin’ ye can do about it.”

  “I see. How’s the Malone’s? I hear they are not doin’ so well.”

  “I’m afraid to say that be true.”

  “How long ago did they lose their parents?”

  “Not long enough ago for them to forget it likely.”

  “That young sis of Patrick’s, Evelyn; is she doin’ alright?”

  “I hope so. I canna say for sure. Only time will tell.”

  “And the coppers never found the bad eggs that did it, did they?”

  “No.”

  “Of course not!” Conan said. “When did they ever give a shilling’s worth about an Irishman being murdered, or his wife being murdered with him, or his daughter being taken advantage of? Now if it were some rich man, or better yet, one of those mobster’s daughters, they’d of had the man hangin’ from the nearest tree!”

  “Conan!” Mrs. Connell stated. “Ye think ye can talk about somethin’ else besides that on Christmas Eve?”

  “I would, ma, if there was somethin’ better to talk about.”

  “Whadya think, boyo?” Conan asked Sean.

  “I donna know, to be honest with ye. I donna pay too much attention to it. I’ve got more important things to worry about.”

  “More important things? They’re the ones letting the bloody mobsters roaming around our community, taking what’s ours, and threatenin’ to blow us to bits if we protest.�
��

  “Ay, that be the truth of it,” Murphy stated. “It’s just like Ireland.”

  “No,” Mr. Connell said. “It is not the same. Do not talk like it is. Ye boys donna know what ye be sayin’.”

  “How is it any different?”

  “Perhaps ya should have asked Sean’s grandfather what happened in 1916 during the rebellion. I wasn’t there because I was too busy scurryin’ ye fellas out of Ireland before somethin’ like that could happen to us. Ya lucky that ye didn’t have to see what he saw.”

  “And we’re sorry that he is not with ye anymore,” Mrs. Connell said to Sean, putting an arm on his shoulder. “He was a good man, better than most of the gents that roam this town now. He was a decent man, God rest his soul.”

  “Thank ye, Mrs. Connell.”

  “All respects to his grandfather,” Conan said, “but just ‘cause somethin’ is worse on the other side of the world donna mean that we have to suffer from bad things ‘cause someone else is goin’ through the same. We left to get away from the injustice and now it is bloody comin’ here.”

  “Ay, and a toast to that,” Murphy said as he and his brother clinked their glasses together.

  “Ya donna want to scare our visitor away so that he donna want to come back ever again,” Mrs. O’Connell said.

  “Of course not, ma,” her two sons said.

  “Trust God, my sons.”

  “To do what?” Murphy said.

  “Whatever He deems fit to be done.”

  “Indeed,” Conan said. He then said to Sean, tapping him on the arm. “Ye a young fella. I donna want ye to have to learn everythin’ through experience, so I’ll be upfront with ye. Donna let Patrick ruin that lovely sis he has. I can see somethin’ there between ye and her.”

  “Conan Connell!” Mrs. Connell stated. “Are ye out of ye mind?”

  “Naw, ma. I’m tryin’ to help out another Irishman in need. Isn’t that what God wants? This is what ‘He deems fit to be done.’”