Thump, whish; sounds of life
supported in misty country from the shadowed corner behind Seth Shamus
O’Ceallachain. The elderly man peered into an antiquated basinet. Wiping a
single tear with a palsied hand he spoke to the infant.
“It’s a mercy of fate that I
remember the names of Caelan and your ma, Mary; the good I have wrought. Yet the
evils I have committed run together.
“There are no Irishmen in heaven. The church urges us to kill for Ireland but
does not forgive our actions. A story I have told a million times I will tell
you only once. Perhaps it is time to put old stories away with the bombs.”
Dublin, July 18, 1982, I had two
jobs. For money I sheared sheep for a prottie bastard. The job I loved, with
the IRA, was the reason I had two bombs in the car. I was on my way to plant
those explosives in an Anglican hospital.
Imagining the impending aftermath
is why I bumped the car in front of me. Anger filled me from twin valves of
worry an officer would find my explosives and annoyance at the delay. Clenching
my fist I stepped to the offending vehicle, the urge to strike grew upon seeing
my bastard boss.
My hand rose, ready to shout. As I
glanced to the passenger seat my fist lost the power of speech. I had never
seen a lass so beautiful. I was not a young man even then. While the boss’s
daughter was younger she was no spring chicken but rather burned with the
beauty of summer. I asked in a near whisper.
“How do I get your daughter’s
hand?”
“Earn it and keep the peace.” With
those simple words he drove away.
I sold those bombs. Two days later
they were used in London to begin the death of the IRA. I put death behind me
to become a semi-respectable member of the Sinn Fein and eventually convinced
Siobhan to date me.
On our first date she showed me how
much devil the protties can have in them. That was not the reason for our love.
She did for me what the church could not. She heard everything I had ever done
and she forgave me. She loved the man and did not see the monster. In her arms
I was always safe.
Seth jumped as warm arms wrapped
around him. “Gra, do you have to fill their heads with sex and violence?”
Leaning into his wife he looked
over his shoulder. “You look twenty.”
“You’re still here”
“Making amends.”
“They will all forgive you for passing
the day after they announced she was coming. You need your rest.”
“They expected you to follow the
day after me. We were one of those couples. You held on though.”
“I promised that I would meet our
granddaughter.”
“You have, but now we must go.”
“Where?”
“Not heaven, there are no Irishmen
there but anywhere in your arms will be paradise.”
#shortstory #irish #love
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