An Irish Heart
Page 26
“I just can’t believe we’ve settled it!” exclaimed Abbaline, taking a hearty swig of her drink. “I thought it would take months more, at the very least. But here it is – all settled!”
“And we all know why, don’t we?” asked Tyler, rising from his seat to plant a kiss on Abbaline’s blushing cheek. “All because of you, my love! MacNeill shall swallow back all those words he spoke to you, and shall bow to his errand-girl! Because you’re just that quick, my darling!” He gave her another kiss, and then said proudly, “Quick as a fox, don’t you know!”
As I did not completely understand (which I do believe I’ve already mentioned), I took that opportunity to ask, what was it, exactly, that was settled?
“What’s been settled, she asks!” said Tyler, patting me on the knee as he returned to his seat. “Don’t you know, dear Kate? Don’t you remember the day that Pearse and Markiewicz came to call?”
“Yes,” I said slowly. (I do not consider myself to be stupid, you see; and I did not want to portray myself as being stupid, you see.)
“The rising!” Tyler exclaimed, laughing at the look on my face. “The rising, my dear Kate!”
“The rising of what?”
“Of us! Of us, against England! Tomorrow – tomorrow, dear Kate!”
“Now,” said Abbaline, turning suddenly businesslike. “This is the serious part. Tomorrow morning, we will go to Dublin Castle, to retrieve Mr Butters’s papers.”
“Who is Mr Butters?” I asked.
“My informant,” said Abbaline. “His name isn’t really Butters, of course. It’s just what I’ve been told to call him.”
Again I said nothing; for what I was really thinking, was – if you could choose any name at all to be called by, then why in the world would you choose Butters?
“By then,” said Abbaline, “the demonstration will have begun. There will be crowds of people before Dublin Castle, and therefore very little risk of Butters being identified.”
“Can I stay here?” I asked.
“No,” said Tyler. “Now, think about it – when have I ever said yes to that question?”
I did not answer that, I really thought it would be safer at the hotel. What did I want with any demonstration? What did I want with Mr Butters?
“We will go early,” said Abbaline. “We will get the papers, and then duck out again, like we were never there at all. I must be here, after all, to contend with the business of the thing.”
Again I said nothing; for I was not sure if I should tell her, that there was a great sinking feeling begun in the pit of my stomach; and that there was nothing that I wanted less to do, than to meet Mr Butters at Dublin Castle on the morrow.
I tried, however, to take part in the merriment that quite filled the room. For there was no way I could have known in that moment, that what was to take place on the twenty-fourth day of April, was something quite other than what even Abbaline expected. Later, I would remember that lively look in the eye of Patrick Pearse, and be not surprised at all concerning how things turned out. And I would remember the voice of Eoin MacNeill, and wonder, just why didn’t anyone listen to him?
Not the thoughts of a true patriot – but certainly, the thoughts of a woman who resented what she came to lose.
***
When I lay down to sleep that night, I was visited even earlier than usual by that cruel man in his chair by the window. Tyler was still downstairs with Abbaline; so I struck a match, and trembled with a fit of familiar fear.
He looked at me for a moment; and then blew a mighty gust from his lips, which whipped across the room and snuffed my match. I could hear his feet as they pounded across the floor; and for the first and only time of our acquaintance (either before or after that night), he wrapped his strong fingers round my neck. Cold, they were – terribly cold, and stiff as death. I choked and spluttered there beneath him, and extended one hand towards the matches; brought them back and struck a light against his face, so that every inch of its white darkness was made visible to me. Another smile: the smile of coming death.
He blew out the match again, and was gone.
Chapter 26
Breakfast next day was more of an obligation than a privilege. I took large bites of my dry toast, trying to get it down just as quickly as possible. It stuck in my throat like sand, and sat in my stomach like a rock. By the time we had all gotten into the car in the alley (driven still by the bald-headed little fellow), and had started off into the grey streets of morning, it was moving about like a snake, wriggling this way and that and threatening, a little more each moment, to expel itself.
“Are you all right?” Tyler asked me, having caught sight of my face.
“Quite,” I answered, swallowing back a mouthful of bile and turning my face away from the rolling images outside my window.
I savoured the drive quite as well as I was able; for I was still not at all looking forward to our arrival at Dublin Castle. I held tightly to the door, wishing for something, anything to happen; for the car to stop inexplicably, and for whatever efforts the bald-headed little fellow exerted to get it going again, to fail. I wished for a blockade to spring up before us, and behind us, and to render it impossible for us to go anywhere at all. We would sit that in that little cordoned stretch of street, until Mr Butters had given up on us and had gone far away, to a place where we would never find him. Night would fall, and we would drift asleep in the car; only to wake in the morning to find the blockades gone, and to return to the hotel with all knowledge of Mr Butters erased from our minds.
Why did I think these things? Well, let me ask you – how does anyone ever get to think unfavourably of a thing? It just happens; and that is why, however hard you may try, you can usually not get anyone else to understand why you are thinking such things.
And, of course, as life seldom concedes to follow the pattern of our dreams, it was not long before we pulled to the curb of an empty side street, and were told by Abbaline to get out. Feeling sicker than ever, I stepped out onto the sidewalk. I listened with half-attentive ears to the partings spoken between Abbaline and the bald-headed little fellow, between the bald-headed little fellow and Tyler. Then the car was moving away, and Tyler was taking my arm, and we were moving off at a brisk pace down the sidewalk.
We turned at street corner after street corner, faced again and again with nothing but quiet passages; until we turned for the last time, and were faced with a sight that quite turned my stomach all the way upside down.
It was the first time, you see, that I had ever seen Dublin Castle. We were entering (or so I heard Abbaline say to me) into the upper yard; and the principal thing visible to my eye was a tower that jutted up out of the top of the structure. It was rather cylindrically shaped, with a little dome atop it, and then a short spire that stuck out of the dome. We approached it, with a not very purposeful step (an intention, I assume, of Abbaline’s); and then we entered its cobbled courtyard, and injected ourselves into the throng that was already milling there, like three ants into a hill.
The courtyard was full, with its temporary inhabitants pushed all the way out into the street; all the way back, in fact, to that last street corner we had turned. I felt as though I was being suffocated by the arms and hands which buffeted me; and clung more tightly to Tyler, afraid of being separated from him. Abbaline led us to a low arch at the right side of the courtyard, where we slipped out of the crowd and pressed ourselves against a stone wall.
“He should be here any minute,” said Abbaline.
And sure enough, Mr Butters appeared several minutes later. He darted through the arch and hurried over to us; and I could remember thinking, through all my unhappiness and nausea, that if there was anyone in the world who should be called Butters, it was the fellow who stood before me. His face was round and doughy, inlaid with a pair of watery blue eyes that seemed always to be squinting. He reached into his greatcoat with a chubby hand, and pulled out a thick envelope, which he passed immediately to Abbaline.
“Thank you, Butters,” said Abbaline, stashing the envelope beneath her own coat. “You’ve done well.”
He nodded, and then dashed straight back out of the arch.
I looked to Tyler and Abbaline, beseeching them wordlessly for a quick exit.
“All right,” said Abbaline. “We’ve done what we came to do. Let’s get back to Frome –”
This was the first time that I heard the name of the bald-headed little driver. I took no notice of it, then – and only remembered it later, with no cause but a playback of the events of the day – for I was too busy trying to pull Tyler with me out of the arch.
But he had cocked an ear, and was listening intently.
“Do you hear that?” he asked Abbaline, taking a firm hold of me and dragging me back to his side.
“I don’t hear any –”
But then we all heard it. From not so very far away, a gunshot had sounded; followed by another, and another.
“Oh, no,” whispered Abbaline, moving to the mouth of the arch to peer out into the courtyard. “Goddamn it – no!”
Tyler dragged me with him to the place where Abbaline stood. We looked out into the courtyard – and witnessed a terrible sight.
It seemed, now, that most of the men and women in the courtyard had firearms in hand. More were rushing in from the street; and all were hurtling towards the doors of the castle. Out said doors came the infantry of the castle, rushing into the crowd to create a clash between rebel and soldier.
I did not ask what was going on. I did not care, for all I needed to know (and did know) was that something very bad was happening; and that I had known it – oh, had I known it! – would come to something very bad in the end.
But like Eoin MacNeill, no one had listened to me.
But then I remembered – that I had forgotten to tell them.
***
The three of us flew just as quickly as we could through the crowd, with the objective of escaping the courtyard. If we could just get back to Frome, said Abbaline, then everything would be –
But her words were interrupted by an especially loud uproar in the crowd behind us. It seemed that someone had been killed; and that everyone was very, very unhappy about it.
“Hurry!” said Tyler, as the soldiers from the castle drew nearer to the place where we were pushing through the mass. They had fire in their eyes, and were more than willing to fell anything and everything in their path.
We turned down the first side street we came to. It was full of people; but there was more room, at least, to manoeuvre in.
“We’re going the wrong way,” said Abbaline. “When we get to the corner, we have to turn left –”
But she was interrupted yet again. Loud gunfire was ringing out from the end of the street. We all turned to look; and saw a large truck, filled with soldiers who were firing down into the crowd.
“Run!” shouted Tyler. Abbaline was already off down the street. Tyler half-pulled me, half-carried me after her; for no matter how I pumped my legs, it seemed that I just could not match his speed.
Finally we reached the street corner, where Abbaline was waiting for us. But the truck was gaining speed. We pelted down the sidewalk; but when I turned to look over my shoulder, I saw another truck, coming down the street we had changed onto. The two vehicles came to a momentary stop at the street corner, where the soldiers from each began to holler to one another; but then they both started in our direction.
There was a swarm of people between us and the trucks; but that did not help to lessen my fear. It was soon decided that we could not make a dash for – not now at any rate – the place where Frome had been told to wait for us. And who was to say he would even be able to make it back? The streets were in a craze.
We turned down the next street on the right. We huddled against the side of a building, catching our breath; for we knew that we had only moments. Both Tyler and I looked to Abbaline.
“We have to find a place to hide,” she said. “We can’t go left; for the main street will be swamped, and we’ll get nowhere. I think we have to accept that we’ll get no help from Frome. We have to run to the right –” (she pointed down the street we were huddled in) “– and duck into the best place we can find.”
Then it was down the street, quite as fast as we could go. We emerged into the wide thoroughfare, and made to cross it; but there was a truck lumbering up on the right-hand side. Its occupants had spotted us, running against the tide.
“Where d’you think you’re going?” hollered one of them, jumping down into the street to run after us.
Abbaline was nearest him; and she held her ground. “Run!” she said to us, drawing her revolver from beneath her coat.
But Tyler, of course, would hear none of it. He went to stand beside her, while I was carried away from them on a sea of angry heads.
I saw Abbaline raise her revolver; and I saw another soldier sneak up beside her, and knock it out of her hand. He plucked her up off her feet, and drew her away towards the truck.
“Abby!” shouted Tyler, ramming his full weight against the soldier before him, trying desperately to get to her. But the soldier only raised his rifle, and brought the butt down forcefully against Tyler’s head. I saw him fall; I saw the soldier laugh; and I saw Abbaline being hoisted up into the truck.
I pushed my way to the right side of the road, where I flattened myself against a brick wall and began to inch back towards the place where Tyler had fallen. I looked up into the truck, and saw many pairs of hands struggling to subdue a violent Abbaline. I caught one glimpse of her face, contorted in a fury the likes of which I do not think I have ever seen rivalled in a mere human being; and then the truck began to move off.
My heart dropped into the acid of my stomach, to convulse in anger beside the snake-like toast. I watched as the truck rumbled away; but quickly shook myself, and remembered, I had to find Tyler. I crept along the wall, drawing closer and closer to the place where I had left him. When finally I reached it, I waded out into the crowd, searching for him. But even if he was there, I would never find him – he would have been trampled.
I looked to the right. If he had crawled that way, away from the people . . .
I dashed into the nearest side street. When I had gotten into it, I realised that it was only an alley; but ran all up and down it, looking for Tyler. I shouted his name, over and over again; until finally I heard, a very low and miserable moan.
I looked to a mess of garbage cans at the side of the alley. I hurried over to them, and peered behind them; and sure enough, there was Tyler lying prostrate in the muck, holding his head and sobbing.
“Abby!” he moaned. “Oh, Abby . . .”
“Tyler,” I said quickly, knocking one of the cans out of the way so that I might take hold of his arms. I tried to pull him up; but he was too heavy. “Come on!” I said. “We have to go!”
There was a gash in his forehead, and blood was pouring down into his eyes. I pulled the handkerchief out of his pocket, and wiped at his face. “We have to go,” I repeated, interjecting quite as much urgency as I could into the words, so as to make him understand the fully exigent nature of the situation. “We have to go, Tyler!”
But then there came the sound of pounding footsteps, directly behind us. I whirled about; but it was only a group of frightened-looking people, running from the bullets just as I had done.
I saw three men, and two women. Two of the men ran over to me, and looked down at Tyler. “We know of a place to hide,” one of them whispered. “We’ll help you with him. Follow us!”
Not knowing what else to do, I watched as the men began to lift Tyler up off the ground. He was mumbling senselessly, and pushing them away. “Geroff me!” he shouted, taking a swing at the man nearest his head.
“We’re trying to help you, you
fool!”
In the end, the moving of Tyler required the help of the third man. They dragged him along the alley behind the women, who were hurrying towards what appeared to be a dead end.
“Hurry up!” they said to me, waving me along behind them. I looked back into the street, where a host of people were fleeing before the guns; and then fled down the alley.
On the left side of the alley, at the very end, there was a door set neatly into the brick, all painted red. Even the knob was red. Had no one told me it was there, I would never have seen it.
“Hurry, Jane!” said one of the men, changing his grip on Tyler as he began to slip out of his hands. His eyes were closed now, and he was murmuring Abbaline’s name.
One of the women fished a key out of her pocket, and turned it in the knob. The door swung open, and we all fell in.
Just before my head popped through the door, I looked towards the street; and saw a truck drawing level with the mouth of the alley.
The woman named Jane closed the door softly, and clicked the deadbolt into place. The second woman made for the front of what I saw now to be a small bookshop, and was about to draw the shades down over the windows, when one of the men called to her.
“Leave them!” he said. “They’ll know something’s up, if they see the shades drawn.”
Jane was unlocking the door to a back room. When she got it open, we all filed through, closing and locking the door behind us. The men laid Tyler down on the floor, and I sat down beside him.
All was dark for long minutes. Finally, Jane located a book of matches, and lit a candle that sat upon a desk in a corner of the room.
In the flickering firelight, everyone sank down to the floor, and released the breath they had been holding. I looked down at Tyler, who was blinking his eyes slowly, and mopping the blood from his head with his sleeve. I tried to give him the handkerchief, but he pushed my hand away.