This is late Spring, 1970, Brendan is 14:
----
Two months after we'd moved to Clíodhna Place, Eamonn came home from Belfast, his clothes bearing the scent of burned wood and rubber. And he announced he was not returning to Queens.
"Everyone's mad, there," he said, his voice holding a quiver in it I'd never heard before. "It's naught but abuse and anger from all in control, and the Army listens only to them. I can't get to me classes without being rousted five times, each way, and all but spat upon for being Catholic."
Mairead was home from Tilly's and asked, "Could you go on to Trinity?"
"Be run off from my home?" he snapped at her. "I think not."
"True," Ma said. "You've never been the sort to back down or give in to those who hate us." Then she shot me a glance, and it seems I was the only one to see it. I paid no attention. By now, I was used to her disdain.
Rhuari asked him, "Then what're you gonna do?"
"I...I have some possibilities," he said, then ended the discussion by wondering about dinner.
Mairead hopped down to McClosky's for some fish as I peeled some potatoes to boil, and Eamonn marveled over how easy it was to fix meals with the new kitchen. Ma fussed about him and made him sit at the table with a cup of tea as she worked, as if he were man of the house, and finally he noticed I'd yet to say a word to him beyond hello.
"You're quiet, Bren," he murmured to me, smiling.
I gave him a shrug and focused on the spuds. And for some reason, my bloody cough started up. Not major just...just occasional, but enough to irritate me. I finished and set them to cooking, then went back to the parlor to work on an ancient Royal typewriter Mr. Connelly had brought to me. The sticking keys he was having problems with were just him not doing a good job of removing the oil-dabbled dust between the levers, over the years. As a courtesy, I had also checked the teeth on the tab key and now was cleaning the ink tape fibers from the letters. For this, I'd make a pound...and all would go to Ma, since she knew of it from the start.
I had myself set up on a cloth laid over the two bottom steps of the staircase, giving me a level spot to both work and sit. Eamonn brought his tea and another cup in and sat on the floor next to me, his eyes soft and careful. He put the second cup on the step. We could hear Ma jostling about in the kitchen.
"You didn't get any tea," he whispered.
It shrugged then took the second cup, and it was done as I like it. I smiled at him.
He smiled back, and struck me so much as someone much older, I had to focus on the tea to keep from gasping. "Don't you like my decision?" he asked.
"There's more 'n what you're tellin' us," I whispered back.
He nodded and was about to say something, but Mairead returned and nearly knocked him aside when she bolted in.
"Jesus, Eamonn, what're you sitting in the door, for?" she snapped.
"Sharing a cuppa with Bren."
"You could put yourself up three steps to do that and be out of the way, if you gave it a moment's thought!" Then she headed on to the kitchen.
He chuckled, rose, and followed her into the kitchen, saying, "Does Terry know he's getting a girl who's nothing if not always in a rush?"
We didn't speak again till I was in bed and he joined me, freshly washed. "What a joy to have hot water in the tap, eh? And a toilet inside." he murmured as he joined me in the bed. "You mind sharing your bed with me?"
I shook my head and looked out the window, at the back of Mr. Carroway's. "The view was better on Nailors," I said.
"What's the trouble, Bren?"
I looked at him. He was back to seeming like good old Eamonn, again.
"I read the papers," I said, soft and easy so as not to wake Rhuari and Kirean. "Mr. Hennessy -- he's the clerk at the news agent's -- he lets me for having fixed his bicycle. The bloody thing's older than me and..." My voice trailed off. I coughed.
"And?" whispered from Eamonn.
I took a deep breath. "There were fires in the Ardoyne and Short Strand, in Belfast. Catholics burned out. People on both sides shot. Nothing near to Queens. But I can smell it all in your coat. And I hear PIRA's been -- "
He held up his hand to stop me. Did not look at me. His voice was tight as he said, "I have never known you to be one who spreads gossip."
"I only say this, 'cause I'm scared for you." He noticed my words quivered and turned his gaze upon me. I kept on with, "I feel like I did when you were goin' on that long walk and...and I don't want you hurt, again. Seeing you in hospital, like that...like you were that time...I'm scared for you."
He leaned up on one arm. Put his hand on my shoulder. "I've always wondered what you really think about the rest of us. You're so quiet. So focused on what you do. Sometimes it felt as if you were looking down on the rest of the family."
"Eamonn!" It jolted me that he said such a thing.
"I know better, now. I'm sorry for having ever thought it. I can't tell you anything more than...than I did not return to Queens in January. The IRA's cowardice in the face of what's been happening...it had to be remedied. And so...it is."
Oh, Jesus... "Can I help you in some way?"
He looked at me, deep in thought. His face took back the expression of someone far older, then he said, "Do you...have you already built some fresh hiding spaces in this place? For to keep your money?"
I nodded. "It wasn't easy, believe me. Ma kept a sharp eye on me, expecting it."
"Is one big enough for this?"
He shifted off the bed and dug into his bag to pull out a felt wrapper...and inside it was a pistol.
I gulped in air and slapped my hand over my mouth to keep from saying anything. He knelt by the bed and set it on the covers, his eyes locked on me.
I looked at him and whispered, "How'd you get it past the checkpoints?"
A crooked smile crossed his face. "I didn't come home the usual route. And it's not mine; I'm keeping it for a friend."
"It's too big for any of my spaces. Have you a match?"
He pulled a box from his bag. I struck one and looked the pistol over, carefully.
"It can come apart, easy enough," I murmured. "I could spread it about."
"Could you?"
In answer, I slipped off the bed to get my screwdrivers, but Eamonn stopped me and moved the pistol to the window for a bit better light then he proceeded to dismantle it.
First he ejected the bullet clip then pulled the slide to rear to make sure it was empty, cocked it, pushed a tiny button on the right side of it, shifted the sliding part back to release a lever -- a slide-stop. When he removed that, the pistol nearly exploded apart. He grimaced. "Forgot you have to hold it tight for the spring."
Now I knew why he hadn't returned to Queens. I began to cough, again.
He took a section off the main grip then removed the barrel and bushings. In moments, the pistol was in pieces. The grip was still on the large side, so I removed the wood panels on each side, then I snuck them downstairs and used bits of wax paper from a fish and ships takeaway dinner, adding a bit of oil from the larder to wrap the pieces in while leaving the felt bag to hold the barrel and recoil bits. I put the felt bag and recoil bits in a small space behind the frame of the pantry door.
Then I slipped under the sink and pulled away a fake slat by the water pipe to hide the slide and stop. I kept the pistol grip, magazine and sear until the morning, when Ma was downstairs fixing breakfast. I snuck into her room, found a small groove I'd made, and pulled at it. Part of the sill dropped down to reveal a hole in the wall. I hid the last of the pistol in there.
Later in the morning, Eamonn took me aside and asked for me to show him where everything was hidden, and I wouldn't.
"Better if you don't know," I said, my true intention being never to let him near that thing, again.
----
Two months after we'd moved to Clíodhna Place, Eamonn came home from Belfast, his clothes bearing the scent of burned wood and rubber. And he announced he was not returning to Queens.
"Everyone's mad, there," he said, his voice holding a quiver in it I'd never heard before. "It's naught but abuse and anger from all in control, and the Army listens only to them. I can't get to me classes without being rousted five times, each way, and all but spat upon for being Catholic."
Mairead was home from Tilly's and asked, "Could you go on to Trinity?"
"Be run off from my home?" he snapped at her. "I think not."
"True," Ma said. "You've never been the sort to back down or give in to those who hate us." Then she shot me a glance, and it seems I was the only one to see it. I paid no attention. By now, I was used to her disdain.
Rhuari asked him, "Then what're you gonna do?"
"I...I have some possibilities," he said, then ended the discussion by wondering about dinner.
Mairead hopped down to McClosky's for some fish as I peeled some potatoes to boil, and Eamonn marveled over how easy it was to fix meals with the new kitchen. Ma fussed about him and made him sit at the table with a cup of tea as she worked, as if he were man of the house, and finally he noticed I'd yet to say a word to him beyond hello.
"You're quiet, Bren," he murmured to me, smiling.
I gave him a shrug and focused on the spuds. And for some reason, my bloody cough started up. Not major just...just occasional, but enough to irritate me. I finished and set them to cooking, then went back to the parlor to work on an ancient Royal typewriter Mr. Connelly had brought to me. The sticking keys he was having problems with were just him not doing a good job of removing the oil-dabbled dust between the levers, over the years. As a courtesy, I had also checked the teeth on the tab key and now was cleaning the ink tape fibers from the letters. For this, I'd make a pound...and all would go to Ma, since she knew of it from the start.
I had myself set up on a cloth laid over the two bottom steps of the staircase, giving me a level spot to both work and sit. Eamonn brought his tea and another cup in and sat on the floor next to me, his eyes soft and careful. He put the second cup on the step. We could hear Ma jostling about in the kitchen.
"You didn't get any tea," he whispered.
It shrugged then took the second cup, and it was done as I like it. I smiled at him.
He smiled back, and struck me so much as someone much older, I had to focus on the tea to keep from gasping. "Don't you like my decision?" he asked.
"There's more 'n what you're tellin' us," I whispered back.
He nodded and was about to say something, but Mairead returned and nearly knocked him aside when she bolted in.
"Jesus, Eamonn, what're you sitting in the door, for?" she snapped.
"Sharing a cuppa with Bren."
"You could put yourself up three steps to do that and be out of the way, if you gave it a moment's thought!" Then she headed on to the kitchen.
He chuckled, rose, and followed her into the kitchen, saying, "Does Terry know he's getting a girl who's nothing if not always in a rush?"
We didn't speak again till I was in bed and he joined me, freshly washed. "What a joy to have hot water in the tap, eh? And a toilet inside." he murmured as he joined me in the bed. "You mind sharing your bed with me?"
I shook my head and looked out the window, at the back of Mr. Carroway's. "The view was better on Nailors," I said.
"What's the trouble, Bren?"
I looked at him. He was back to seeming like good old Eamonn, again.
"I read the papers," I said, soft and easy so as not to wake Rhuari and Kirean. "Mr. Hennessy -- he's the clerk at the news agent's -- he lets me for having fixed his bicycle. The bloody thing's older than me and..." My voice trailed off. I coughed.
"And?" whispered from Eamonn.
I took a deep breath. "There were fires in the Ardoyne and Short Strand, in Belfast. Catholics burned out. People on both sides shot. Nothing near to Queens. But I can smell it all in your coat. And I hear PIRA's been -- "
He held up his hand to stop me. Did not look at me. His voice was tight as he said, "I have never known you to be one who spreads gossip."
"I only say this, 'cause I'm scared for you." He noticed my words quivered and turned his gaze upon me. I kept on with, "I feel like I did when you were goin' on that long walk and...and I don't want you hurt, again. Seeing you in hospital, like that...like you were that time...I'm scared for you."
He leaned up on one arm. Put his hand on my shoulder. "I've always wondered what you really think about the rest of us. You're so quiet. So focused on what you do. Sometimes it felt as if you were looking down on the rest of the family."
"Eamonn!" It jolted me that he said such a thing.
"I know better, now. I'm sorry for having ever thought it. I can't tell you anything more than...than I did not return to Queens in January. The IRA's cowardice in the face of what's been happening...it had to be remedied. And so...it is."
Oh, Jesus... "Can I help you in some way?"
He looked at me, deep in thought. His face took back the expression of someone far older, then he said, "Do you...have you already built some fresh hiding spaces in this place? For to keep your money?"
I nodded. "It wasn't easy, believe me. Ma kept a sharp eye on me, expecting it."
"Is one big enough for this?"
He shifted off the bed and dug into his bag to pull out a felt wrapper...and inside it was a pistol.
I gulped in air and slapped my hand over my mouth to keep from saying anything. He knelt by the bed and set it on the covers, his eyes locked on me.
I looked at him and whispered, "How'd you get it past the checkpoints?"
A crooked smile crossed his face. "I didn't come home the usual route. And it's not mine; I'm keeping it for a friend."
"It's too big for any of my spaces. Have you a match?"
He pulled a box from his bag. I struck one and looked the pistol over, carefully.
"It can come apart, easy enough," I murmured. "I could spread it about."
"Could you?"
In answer, I slipped off the bed to get my screwdrivers, but Eamonn stopped me and moved the pistol to the window for a bit better light then he proceeded to dismantle it.
First he ejected the bullet clip then pulled the slide to rear to make sure it was empty, cocked it, pushed a tiny button on the right side of it, shifted the sliding part back to release a lever -- a slide-stop. When he removed that, the pistol nearly exploded apart. He grimaced. "Forgot you have to hold it tight for the spring."
Now I knew why he hadn't returned to Queens. I began to cough, again.
He took a section off the main grip then removed the barrel and bushings. In moments, the pistol was in pieces. The grip was still on the large side, so I removed the wood panels on each side, then I snuck them downstairs and used bits of wax paper from a fish and ships takeaway dinner, adding a bit of oil from the larder to wrap the pieces in while leaving the felt bag to hold the barrel and recoil bits. I put the felt bag and recoil bits in a small space behind the frame of the pantry door.
Then I slipped under the sink and pulled away a fake slat by the water pipe to hide the slide and stop. I kept the pistol grip, magazine and sear until the morning, when Ma was downstairs fixing breakfast. I snuck into her room, found a small groove I'd made, and pulled at it. Part of the sill dropped down to reveal a hole in the wall. I hid the last of the pistol in there.
Later in the morning, Eamonn took me aside and asked for me to show him where everything was hidden, and I wouldn't.
"Better if you don't know," I said, my true intention being never to let him near that thing, again.
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