Run, Lily, Run

by Martha Long

  But it wouldn’t come, my face was burstin an me chest was stranglin me. Oh the pain has me gripped in a too-tight bear’s hug. I lifted me head an stared straight inta his eyes feelin death was waitin te snatch me, but God was here mindin me in his arms an talkin softly, an he was holdin death back, keepin him well away from me.

  ‘Go on!’ he whispered, shakin his head givin it a slow nod. ‘You’re OK! You will be fine. Come on, breathe.’

  Then I heard the sounds fightin outa me. ‘Hhhhhah,’ then a scream erupted but caught.

  ‘Easy, easy, let it come,’ he whispered, strokin my back an starin inta me eyes, smilin.

  I let go an dropped me head an eased through the fright an the pain an then it came, a lungful of air heaved in an I let it out. Suddenly I was breathin an screamin an holdin onta the arm of God, not wantin te let him go. The shock an the fear had me openin me mouth an throwin me head back an screamin up at his house in the heavens. I didn’t want te go there! An I certainly didn’t want te ride wit the devil on horseback an go all the way te hell as Mister Mullins had warned. I threw me head back even more an screamed wit the rage. Then I heard another ragin scream.

  ‘Get me the fuck up outa this! Who is tha? Is tha you, Frankie? Get me up fer fuck’s sake! I’m wrapped under this green stuff!’

  I stopped screamin an looked around seein flowers in the middle a the road move an the Fat Mammy lift her head wearin a lovely bunch a them, an spittin out more. They was all packed tight around her mouth an face. Then she lifted up an a big wreath was crownin her head, but ye couldn’t see the rest a her because tha was buried underneath.

  ‘THE CURSE A JAYSUS ON THE FUCKIN LUNATICS AN THEIR MAD DASH FUCKIN RACIN!’ shouted a voice.

  ‘TOO FUCKIN RIGHT YOU ARE THERE, SQUINTY!’ roared Mister Mullins beside me, crawlin out from under the seat lyin on top a wha’s left a the carriage. ‘They won’t get a penny outa me for this! I can tell you that!’ he spat, sendin somethin white flyin outa his mouth. ‘There go the last a me fuckin teeth,’ he spat, bringin out another one wit threads a blood hangin from his mouth.

  ‘Can you stand up?’ said the lovely man te me, easin me offa his arm an liftin me onta me feet.

  I looked down, seein me wellie was gone an me foot was cut.

  ‘Wriggle your toes for me.’

  ‘Like this?’ I said, liftin up me foot, nearly shovin it under his nose an inta his mouth wit a big wriggle.

  ‘Ah not a bother on ye! You’re a grand little thing, I think you’ll live! Now, where is yer mammy?’

  ‘Wha? In there, they put her in a grave in a big black hole but it’s not really her! They were mistaken,’ I said, leanin in te tell him tha, just so he would know tha childre can tell these things, we’re not all fools like they try te think.

  ‘Oh,’ he said, clampin his mouth lookin very sad but agreein wit me. ‘You could be right,’ he said, shakin his head thinkin about it. ‘Where is yer wellington boot?’ he said, lettin me go an liftin things outa the way, lookin fer it.

  ‘There it is!’ I shouted, rushin over te see it was thrun over the railings an sittin on a grave inside the dead yard.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ I said, hoppin an hobblin wit me foot startin te drip blood. Then I saw the hearse lyin on its side all battered, an the flowers thrun around wit some lyin in a heap. Then on the side a the road close te where me boot landed was a coffin, it was smashed wide open against the footpath. There was nothin in it! The white-satin linin was all torn an muddy an tha was sprawled on the footpath.

  ‘OH SWEET JESUS! LOOKIT THA! OH MERCY!’ voices started te scream.

  I looked around seein faces starin an pointin at me. No! I looked again, they was lookin behind me up at somethin. I looked around then me eyes lifted an went foggy. I blinked an rubbed them then stared hard. It was the corpse starin down at us! It was caught hangin up on the spikes a the railings, an it was held there be the strings at the back of the shroud, an now all ye could see was the bare white skinny legs of an old man wit his eyes wide open starin back at us.

  I stared wonderin, did they leave the pennies on his eyes te keep them shut when they put him inta his coffin? Me eyes peeled around lookin te see if I could spot the two pennies. No, I’m not goin te be tha lucky, I thought, now beginnin te take in the roarin an shoutin, then the ringin bells of ambulances an the police whistles blowin in the mouths a coppers, they’ve all come flyin in, hangin outa the Black Maria.

  ‘Fuck! Wha a consterdenation!’ snorted a horseman standin on the road just beside me wit his neck shiftin from left te right, an his eyes not knowin where te look next.

  ‘Murder mayhem! Youse are all killers!’ shouted a skinny little granny, tryin te hurry herself gettin helped by three other old grannies, they were all wantin te get their hands on a horseman, tha’d be Wally the driver. He was busy examinin the bits wha was left of his carriage.

  ‘Eh you! Mister!’ they shouted, wantin his attention from starin down, he was lookin very sad at all his loss. ‘We’re gettin our death a cold out here,’ they complained, noddin an agreein te each other.

  I could see they were wrapped in shawls, but yeah, they were all lookin blue an white wit shock an the blue bits looked very frostbitten.

  ‘Tha’s her husband!’ they shouted, pointin up at the corpse lookin like he was ready te give a wave, because his arm was stuck in the air. ‘Youse load a no-good, not-worth-rearin-never-mind-feedin lumps a thick shite!’

  ‘Yes!’ croaked the granny, agreein wit her friends.

  ‘May youse die roarin,’ they said.

  ‘An I curse youse all to hell, the lot a ye’s!’ cried the granny, openin her shawl an makin a run now losin her rag at the driver, then she whipped it at him, tryin te blind him. You can do tha wit a shawl, lots a mammies do it when they is fightin each other, it’s mostly over childre gettin hit be one a them. The mammies fight by pullin hair an flyin out the shawl tryin te catch the eye an blind you.

  ‘How will I get me boot?’ I asked, lookin around at the crowds all millin their way now te get a look up at the corpse. I don’t know why everyone is gettin into a big state. Sure I see corpses all a the time, an they’re stone dead! People are always dyin. You get fed up after a while goin te wakes, because the biscuits an lemonade an cake does be gone as soon as it hits the plate, word spreads very fast then the childre do be queuin before the door even opens. Then they get the best pickins. The only ones tha really like the wakes are the mammies an grannies, they think it’s like a holiday, wit all the free food, snuff an tobacca an of course the drink! Tha’s wha the men come for … an the grannies! Except if the wakes fer a child, then people don’t say or do much.

  I stood lookin at them now, they were pushin an shovin then standin an gapin, grabbin each other an goin mad wit them all moanin. I watched them hold their mouth then slowly drop their heads an quickly bring it back up again, lookin te see were they mistaken. No! They shook their heads not believin it.

  I was lookin an listenin te them, they were more interestin te me now than the corpse they were moanin at.

  ‘Oh Jesus, missus! Oh, me nerves is gone after seein this. I’ll never be the same again.’

  ‘No nor me!’ whined two women wearin headscarves, an one had a hat over hers te keep out the cold.

  ‘Poor Arty Mildew, he couldn’t even have a funeral in peace! It’s a cryin shame.’

  ‘No, indeed, missus, true for you! An he never did a bit a harm te neither fish nor fowl, never lifted a hand in anger te no one he did! No, not in all his borned an livin days. Now look at him! This is how he’s ended! Up there hangin, like he’s been sentenced fer commitin murder!’

  ‘Oh it’s a cryin shame, shockin it is, scandalous altogether. Wha should happen now is them bowzies should be hanged. Hang them I say. Hang the lot a them!’

  ‘An I’ll second tha, missus! Yes! Hang them, but draw an quarter the bowzies first!’

  ‘Where are they, them cursed murderin horsemen?’ the hat woman said, wit th
e two a them lookin in different directions. The hat looked around, seein Wally gettin smothered by a gang a women, they were all shoutin an roarin, tryin te tear lumps outa him.

  ‘Lookit! Looka tha! Quick, Nora! Biddy’s managed te get her hands on one a them, now she has him be the hair an is swingin fer him! Go over an give her a hand!’

  ‘Who? Me?’ said the skinny woman wit the red sore eyes. ‘I can’t be gettin inta fights, I’m ailin! I’m under the doctor’s orders, he wouldn’t let me!’ she puffed, lookin like she was goin te collapse from even the idea.

  I whipped me head te get a look just in time te see Wally squealin wit his head bent an the hands workin, he was dancin around like mad havin a tug o’ war, tryin te peel the aul ones’ hands from the grip on the hair of his head. They were reefin the hair outa him.

  ‘LEMME GO, YOUSE AUL HAGS!’ he was screamin.

  Me eyes lit up, the fight looked good, I rushed over, shoutin, ‘RUGGY-UP!’ Then suddenly there was a blast, an people looked around.

  ‘Tha was a gunshot!’ said a man mutterin te people, wit everyone lookin, tryin te see where it was comin from.

  I lifted me eyes an looked inta the crowd. They was millin everywhere, an it was terrible upset no matter where me eye landed. People were slumped against railins gettin helped wit hankies pressed against their face, all covered in blood. An some were sittin on the edge a the footpath lookin shocked, wit holdin their head in their hands.

  I rushed inta the crowd headin fer the direction I heard the shot, then saw it all happenin. Over here was the ambulances, all lined up behind each other on the middle a the road. They were loadin people on stretchers an the police was everywhere, doin everythin an stoppin fights an arguments. Then I saw the horsemen gettin talked to be the police, an they were lined up, five a them, against the railings beside the big entrance gates te the graveyard.

  I heard cryin an looked over, people were bein moved apart an pushed back. Then I saw it. A horse lyin on the ground an a man kneelin beside it. He was wearin a long trenchcoat an brown horsey boots wit ridin trousers an a dark-green hat on his head. I was wantin te move but didn’t get goin an just stared.

  He had his arm stretched out dead straight, an a gun in his hand pointed right at, just inches, from the head a the horse.

  I rushed over wit somethin makin me move fast. Ah no! It’s the little flyin horse wit the tinchy small legs. Ah how could they do tha te him? Let tha poor little horse come te harm like this? They’re bad! People are bad! Me face creased up lookin the length a him. He had a fat little body an tiny legs, but he had a gorgeous mane a blond red hair te match his colour, he was so little, tweeny weenie inchy small. His big brown eyes stared straight inta the face of the man wit the gun, like he knew full well wha was comin.

  Then I heard the cry again. I looked around seein the little midget man gettin carried off in a stretcher te the waitin ambulances. ‘No! No ah don’t ah God, Jesus no, not you, Flasher,’ he cried.

  His arm was out wantin te stop the killin an his face was flooded wit tears an covered in blood, an the gushin tears was turnin it to a watery red flood. It was all now drippin down on his torn white shirt, an his black overcoat was in ribbons. The ambulance men covered him wit a blue-wool blanket, then lifted him up inta the ambulance.

  I turned away an looked back at the horse, just, as a blast from the gun went straight through his skull. He jerked then slumped, an his eyes closed instantly. I could smell the gun, the blue-grey powder hangin around his head, an it burnt me nostrils. I started te keen hummin out me pain. ‘Ah the little horse, the little man,’ I muttered, feelin me own heart startin te scald. Where’s his cab?

  I looked around movin off slowly, the police was pushin everybody back, them tha wasn’t hurted, or just passin an stopped te get a look. Here an there an everywhere, no matter where I looked I could see everythin, people an things, was lyin in smithereens. There was another dead horse wit blood dripped from its head onta the black cobblestones, it was lyin just a bit away. Now tha I open me eyes an take it all in, there seemed te be an awful lot a broken bits of everythin. There’s bits of harness an bits a carriage, an a door from one tha flew a distance an landed against a wall up the road. There’s blood on the road an more on the footpath, tha came from people tha made it, lived te walk away an drip their blood where they now stood an sat. Everywhere people were cryin, or tryin te talk but in terrible shock, the voices was only comin out in a whisper.

  I started te cry, wantin things te go back. The little horse te be whole again, an the little man te be standin straight, happy wit his little pal the horse! I just know they was great friends, you can tell these things by lookin at the way he loved tha little fella. He could fly, or his legs did. An all the people! I cried lookin around me. Everyone is in tatters, everythin is wrecked! Men are so stupid. All because they didn’t want te wait their turn on the queue, so they could fill their belly wit drink. They wanted te get te the pub fast, or it would be less drinkin time Mister Mullins said.

  Where is he? Where’s the fat mammy? I could feel a panic suddenly rise in me! Have they gone without me? Can they walk?

  ‘MISTER MULLINS!’ I took off in an awful hurry pushin me way through people, then suddenly I went flyin, head first over an old woman sittin on the footpath. She was gettin fixed up by the St John’s Ambulance Brigade.

  ‘Ahhhh! Me head! The pain!’ I held me forehead feelin a lump rise, then erupted wit the screams an started te roar me lungs, cryin fer all I was worth.

  ‘What’s wrong? Are ye all right?’ people said, rushin te bend down an take a look at me forehead an examine me skull. They did tha by rubbin their hands around me head. ‘I don’t feel no cracks, do you?’ a man said, talkin te an old woman rubbin one side, while he felt the other side.

  ‘Hang on! We need ice for that,’ said the St John’s Ambulance man.

  ‘Yeah, where is it?’ said a mammy-lookin woman.

  ‘We haven’t got any,’ he said.

  ‘Jaysus you’re a great help,’ she snorted.

  ‘Anyone here see what happened? Better still, was involved in the funeral carnage? I’m looking to speak to the mourners,’ an aul fella said wit a hat sittin on the back of his head an a card stickin out tha spells ‘PRESS’.

  I don’t know wha tha means, because I only know me letters, an I can’t read yet.

  He whipped his eyes fast te everyone, takin us in one by one.

  ‘Any one of you the mourners? Or are you just angels of mercy givin assistance? More like gettin under foot,’ he muttered, turnin his head lookin around, then he spotted someone. ‘Over here, Paddy!’ he roared, liftin himself up te be seen over the crowd an wavin his arm at a fella. He was wanderin around wit a big camera strapped te his neck an bangin against his stickin-out belly. Then he whipped the head te us again an pushed the hat, lettin it tip back until it was barely hangin.

  ‘Now, what about you?’ the hat man said, bendin down an lookin at me.

  ‘No! I’m not a moaner,’ I said, shakin me head not wantin te be called tha.

  ‘Are you hurt? Were you in one of the cabs?’ he said, droppin te his knees an swingin on his hunkers, givin me a good look over te see was I gushin blood.

  ‘Yeah I was! Kilt stone dead I was, nearly!’ I then said, feelin a bit disappointed I had te tell him tha. ‘An I’m hurted, me foot is gushin blood,’ I said, liftin me bare foot te show him.

  We all stared at the long streak a dried blood. It had stopped.

  ‘Will I get a bandage fer tha?’ I said lookin at him, then pushin him outa the way te talk te the St John’s man, he was busy now, lookin after an old man tha came over wit his nose all drippin blood.

  ‘MISTER!’ I shouted, shiftin meself up te pull the leg a his trouser.

  ‘What?’ he snapped, lookin down an gettin annoyed at the crease I pulled, it was now gone outa his lovely uniform.

  ‘Can I have a bandage … a big one?! Like he got!’ I said, lookin over at the man sittin on the
path wit the big bandage wrapped around his hand. ‘I want one like tha an tied wit a big plaster,’ I said, liftin me foot an givin the cut a squeeze te get it goin again, I didn’t want it te stop bleedin until I got me big bandage.

  ‘Yeah ask him,’ he said, pointin te another St John’s man givin an aul fella water from his flask.

  ‘Right, give us a few details,’ said the man wit the hat hangin on the back a his head.

  ‘Wha paper you from?’ asked the mammy-lookin woman wit the big red cheeks, an she had a lovely big cushy chest fer restin yer head on, or fer a babby te sink its gums in an get a grand suck a milk. She was keepin her big blue eyes fastened on him, while all the time tightenin her fancy red shawl wit the tassels on the end. But I think she was really only wantin te show it off.

  ‘The Morning Press,’ he said, lookin her up an down givin her a big smile.

  ‘Hmm, is tha right now?’ she said, givin him the eye.

  I could see they like each other, you can tell these things. But I don’t think her husband would like it! When ye see a woman do tha, the other women all turn up their noses an they won’t talk te her no more.

  ‘It was a massa me cation,’ I said, wantin te interrupt an get them back te lookin an talkin te me.

  ‘A what?’ he said.

  ‘It’s a big word, it means everyone’s goin te be dead!’ I said, seein him lift the eyes te stare at the sky, tryin te understand wha tha word meant. I took in a deep sigh feelin very satisfied wit meself.

  ‘Do you mean a massacre?’ he said, lookin at me waitin te see wha I thought.

  ‘Tha’s it, tha’s the very word,’ I said, noddin me head doin an sayin exactly wha Mammy says, an the way she says it.

  ‘Oh right!’ he nodded copyin me, then looked around givin everyone the laughin eye. I could see it! You get te know all these things when ye earwig on the big people. If ye’re very quiet when they start te talk, then sometime they can forget you’re there. Tha’s the best way, because then you don’t have te strain yerself listenin.