This is a few hours after Brendan was brutally interrogated by 3 constables. He managed to escape them and get back to his mother's, but he knows it's only a temporary fix; the British will be looking for him, next, but he's too hurt to seek other shelter, yet. Maeve is his younger sister.
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The clanging of trash bin lids signaling the approach of an Army unit. First thought? They’ve exhausted their search of Long Tower and are coming for me. The doctor’s pills had taken enough effect by then so I could crawl from the bed, pull on a pair of pajama bottoms and a shirt, grab my passport and cash and stagger down the hall for the stairs. I had no idea where my boots were and hoped I’d find them by the settee and --
Maeve bolted from Ma’s room, wrapped in a robe, grabbed me by the arm and yanked me in, saying, “You’ll never escape them. Come here.”
Ma was awake and as angry as ever, but she looked at me and pointed to the wall next to her, whispering, “Under my bed. There’s a space.”
I didn’t hesitate but forced myself to crawl over her and slip down the narrow space between her bed and the wall to find the planking had been removed and there was just room enough to crawl into. My back was pressed to the motor of her bed and a spring dug into my hip and I was beginning to feel serious hurt, again, but unless they moved it away from the wall, they’d not see me.
I heard the trucks stop, outside, then pistol dropped down on me and I grabbed it off the floor as Maeve snarled, “Don’t use it! I removed the bullets.”
Now there was pounding on the door and Maeve crying, “Hang on, for God’s sake!” as she rushed from the room.
More pounding and the sound of splintering wood and Maeve snarling, “Stop it, you bloody bastards! I’m here to open it!” Hinges creaked and she continued, “I’m filing a claim for this! Breakin’ my door without givin’ me the chance to -- “
“We have a warrant to search these premises,” snarled a British voice. Army.
“I don’t understand,” Maeve cried as several boots stormed in. “Please, be quiet! My mother’s ill and -- ”
“Collins, Stanley, you check the back,” snapped the British voice. “Worrell, Edwards, you’re upstairs.”
I heard two men clump up the steps and burst into the room. Ma screamed at them, “You bloody animals! I’m sick, here, and you blunder about like bloody bulls in a shop! What the devil do you think you’re doing? I’ll file a complaint! This is against the rules of engagement and -- ”
“Sharrup, ye feckin’ ‘ag,” snapped one of them and I felt my blood boil at the bastard. “Sor, we got not’in’ but a sick awl bitch!”
“Worrell, watch your language! Check the other rooms.”
“What’re you lookin’ for?” came Maeve’s voice.
“Sit down, sit DOWN!” snapped the British voice. “Now, are you related to a man named Brendan Kinsella?”
“What d’you want with him?”
“Answer me!”
“He’s my brother, and what of it?”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“It’s been years! For all I know he’s dead!”
“He was with you at a peace gathering and before that, he was seen at a party and -- ”
“You don’t mean Jeremy?”
“Jeremy?”
“Jeremy Landau,” Maeve said in her best withering tone. Christ, she sounded so much like Ma at that instant, I thought she’d somehow got out of bed and gone downstairs. “He’s an American Jew, NOT Irish, not a part of him.”
“Nothin’ in the back rooms, sir, but we found some men’s clothes.” A normal British accent.
“Bring them down.”
I heard them clump down the stairs.
“Those are Mr. Landau’s things -- ”
“So where is this Mr. Landau?” snarled the British voice.
“He left on the evenin’ bus for Galway and the Cliffs of Moher and -- ”
“’Merican labels on ‘em, sor.”
“Did you find anything else?”
“This bag with more clothes, shoes, nothing else. The bed’s been slept in.”
“I just haven’t made it,” snapped Maeve. “He’s not due back for a week so -- ”
“Sit down!”
“But these are Mr. Landau’s things!”
“Why is he staying with you?”
“My mother’s sister lives in Houston. He knows her oldest son. He’s put up with us while here and -- ”
“Nothin’s in th’ back, sor,” came a new voice. “An’ the washroom’s clear.”
“What about the upstairs?”
“All th’ rohms chicked awt. Nair a sigh o’ ‘im.”
“Maeve, are you all right?” It was Mrs. Haggerty’s voice.
“Keep outside,” snapped the British voice.
“I’m a friend of the family, and I’ll come in if I please!” Mrs. Haggerty snapped right back at him.
Then Mrs. Fitzgerald’s voice cried, “We’re watchin’ yous!”
“I got a Polaroid!” cried another woman. Mrs. McClatchey?
I have to say, I never thought I’d be happy for the day a bunch of old hens would come pecking about in someone else’s business, but they changed the tenor of British voice’s snarls.
He gave a great sigh and said, “Leave that. Outside. Miss Kinsella, I’m going to check on the information you gave me -- ”
“Do it,” snapped Maeve. “And if you DO find my brother in this country, you bring him to me and I’ll show you what true punishment is. His mother’s upstairs dying of the cancer, putting up with bloody Brits storming through her house for no good reason and he’s off hiding somewheres? He can’t come see her? You bring him to me and he’ll find more than the back of my hand to his face, he will!”
Her voice headed outside and other women’s voices chimed in with catcalls and rude comments, even after I heard their Saracens start up and drive away. The hens had pecked the British Lion to near death, it seemed, and I nearly lost myself and laughed about it.
The voices lowered to self-congratulatory murmurs so I made myself slip out from under the bed and peek up over the side to find Ma glaring at me in question. “Brendan, what is this about?”
I forced myself to climb out over her as Maeve proudly came up the stairs.
“Did you hear it,” she said.
“Every word,” I replied, out of breath. “You’re a wonder, Maeve.”
“Just because I want the Troubles to end doesn’t mean I can’t handle the bastards in the meantime.”
“Brendan Kinsella, you tell me what this is about!” Ma’s voice was tight with anger.
My face was showing serious bruises, now, so I looked straight at her, pointed to them and my nose, and said, “What you see. Here. Was me being interrogated by three constables. They want to know who helped Danny plant the bomb. They know I know his name.”
“What makes them think you know?” Maeve asked.
“They know I was there.” I said, still looking at Ma.
She blinked. “And they’re still lookin’ for that name? That’s why they’re lookin’ for you?”
I nodded.
Ma looked at me with the purest confusion, as if she didn’t know me, then she turned away. “Maeve, I -- I’m out of water and I need my pills.”
------------
The clanging of trash bin lids signaling the approach of an Army unit. First thought? They’ve exhausted their search of Long Tower and are coming for me. The doctor’s pills had taken enough effect by then so I could crawl from the bed, pull on a pair of pajama bottoms and a shirt, grab my passport and cash and stagger down the hall for the stairs. I had no idea where my boots were and hoped I’d find them by the settee and --
Maeve bolted from Ma’s room, wrapped in a robe, grabbed me by the arm and yanked me in, saying, “You’ll never escape them. Come here.”
Ma was awake and as angry as ever, but she looked at me and pointed to the wall next to her, whispering, “Under my bed. There’s a space.”
I didn’t hesitate but forced myself to crawl over her and slip down the narrow space between her bed and the wall to find the planking had been removed and there was just room enough to crawl into. My back was pressed to the motor of her bed and a spring dug into my hip and I was beginning to feel serious hurt, again, but unless they moved it away from the wall, they’d not see me.
I heard the trucks stop, outside, then pistol dropped down on me and I grabbed it off the floor as Maeve snarled, “Don’t use it! I removed the bullets.”
Now there was pounding on the door and Maeve crying, “Hang on, for God’s sake!” as she rushed from the room.
More pounding and the sound of splintering wood and Maeve snarling, “Stop it, you bloody bastards! I’m here to open it!” Hinges creaked and she continued, “I’m filing a claim for this! Breakin’ my door without givin’ me the chance to -- “
“We have a warrant to search these premises,” snarled a British voice. Army.
“I don’t understand,” Maeve cried as several boots stormed in. “Please, be quiet! My mother’s ill and -- ”
“Collins, Stanley, you check the back,” snapped the British voice. “Worrell, Edwards, you’re upstairs.”
I heard two men clump up the steps and burst into the room. Ma screamed at them, “You bloody animals! I’m sick, here, and you blunder about like bloody bulls in a shop! What the devil do you think you’re doing? I’ll file a complaint! This is against the rules of engagement and -- ”
“Sharrup, ye feckin’ ‘ag,” snapped one of them and I felt my blood boil at the bastard. “Sor, we got not’in’ but a sick awl bitch!”
“Worrell, watch your language! Check the other rooms.”
“What’re you lookin’ for?” came Maeve’s voice.
“Sit down, sit DOWN!” snapped the British voice. “Now, are you related to a man named Brendan Kinsella?”
“What d’you want with him?”
“Answer me!”
“He’s my brother, and what of it?”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“It’s been years! For all I know he’s dead!”
“He was with you at a peace gathering and before that, he was seen at a party and -- ”
“You don’t mean Jeremy?”
“Jeremy?”
“Jeremy Landau,” Maeve said in her best withering tone. Christ, she sounded so much like Ma at that instant, I thought she’d somehow got out of bed and gone downstairs. “He’s an American Jew, NOT Irish, not a part of him.”
“Nothin’ in the back rooms, sir, but we found some men’s clothes.” A normal British accent.
“Bring them down.”
I heard them clump down the stairs.
“Those are Mr. Landau’s things -- ”
“So where is this Mr. Landau?” snarled the British voice.
“He left on the evenin’ bus for Galway and the Cliffs of Moher and -- ”
“’Merican labels on ‘em, sor.”
“Did you find anything else?”
“This bag with more clothes, shoes, nothing else. The bed’s been slept in.”
“I just haven’t made it,” snapped Maeve. “He’s not due back for a week so -- ”
“Sit down!”
“But these are Mr. Landau’s things!”
“Why is he staying with you?”
“My mother’s sister lives in Houston. He knows her oldest son. He’s put up with us while here and -- ”
“Nothin’s in th’ back, sor,” came a new voice. “An’ the washroom’s clear.”
“What about the upstairs?”
“All th’ rohms chicked awt. Nair a sigh o’ ‘im.”
“Maeve, are you all right?” It was Mrs. Haggerty’s voice.
“Keep outside,” snapped the British voice.
“I’m a friend of the family, and I’ll come in if I please!” Mrs. Haggerty snapped right back at him.
Then Mrs. Fitzgerald’s voice cried, “We’re watchin’ yous!”
“I got a Polaroid!” cried another woman. Mrs. McClatchey?
I have to say, I never thought I’d be happy for the day a bunch of old hens would come pecking about in someone else’s business, but they changed the tenor of British voice’s snarls.
He gave a great sigh and said, “Leave that. Outside. Miss Kinsella, I’m going to check on the information you gave me -- ”
“Do it,” snapped Maeve. “And if you DO find my brother in this country, you bring him to me and I’ll show you what true punishment is. His mother’s upstairs dying of the cancer, putting up with bloody Brits storming through her house for no good reason and he’s off hiding somewheres? He can’t come see her? You bring him to me and he’ll find more than the back of my hand to his face, he will!”
Her voice headed outside and other women’s voices chimed in with catcalls and rude comments, even after I heard their Saracens start up and drive away. The hens had pecked the British Lion to near death, it seemed, and I nearly lost myself and laughed about it.
The voices lowered to self-congratulatory murmurs so I made myself slip out from under the bed and peek up over the side to find Ma glaring at me in question. “Brendan, what is this about?”
I forced myself to climb out over her as Maeve proudly came up the stairs.
“Did you hear it,” she said.
“Every word,” I replied, out of breath. “You’re a wonder, Maeve.”
“Just because I want the Troubles to end doesn’t mean I can’t handle the bastards in the meantime.”
“Brendan Kinsella, you tell me what this is about!” Ma’s voice was tight with anger.
My face was showing serious bruises, now, so I looked straight at her, pointed to them and my nose, and said, “What you see. Here. Was me being interrogated by three constables. They want to know who helped Danny plant the bomb. They know I know his name.”
“What makes them think you know?” Maeve asked.
“They know I was there.” I said, still looking at Ma.
She blinked. “And they’re still lookin’ for that name? That’s why they’re lookin’ for you?”
I nodded.
Ma looked at me with the purest confusion, as if she didn’t know me, then she turned away. “Maeve, I -- I’m out of water and I need my pills.”
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