I did not write one word on APoS-HNH, today. Didn't even open the file. I couldn't work myself up to it. I'd sit down at my laptop, tell myself I was going to get started...then find some excuse to do something else, just for a moment, and hours later I'm still not on it.
I've watched more cat and dog videos in the last seven months than through my entire life, which includes during the work I did on NWFO. But it's grown more-so in the last few weeks. I do anything I can to avoid dealing with the last volume of my trilogy.
This is going to be a rough one...as shown my this conversation between Brendan and his mother, the day after he's arrived back in Derry:
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So once I heard her slip into the tub, I knocked at Ma's door and entered with her breakfast--a boiled egg with butter, no salt or pepper, and more of that hideous lemon water. "Something to eat, Ma," whispered from me.
She glared at me, snarling, "Did I invite you in?"
“Do you want your morning meal or not?” I managed to ask it in a very bland voice.
She huffed and looked away, which I took for a yes.
"I need to speak with you," I continued, my voice calmer than I felt. It helped that I was cranky from having slept on the divan, after all. Maeve's sheets were in dire need of a wash, and the hutch was even worse, I so I'd wrapped myself in a blanket and let jet lag kick me into a near death-like slumber. Then woke with my neck and back pissed as hell at me and my head pounding.
I set the bowl on a little tray with legs and placed it across Ma's lap. Then I added a spoon and wet napkin.
She ignored them and snapped, "You have nothing to say that I want to hear."
I brought one of the chairs over and sat in it.
She all but spat, "Brendan Kinsella, did I ask you to sit?"
I sat, anyway, saying, "I'm not Brendan; not while I'm in Derry."
"What're you on about?"
"I'm Jeremy Landau. A friend of your sister's family, who's willing to help your daughter have a wee bit of a breather as he researches a paper he wants to write."
That actually took her by surprise. "What? What nonsense is this? Why would you be that?"
I sighed. "Stop it, Ma. You know as well as I, when I was taken across the water it was not by legal channels. The only way I can return is by the same method.”
“But that was dealt with...and-and-and you were given another name and that’s what everyone expects and...”
“No, while I'm here, my name is Jeremy. And I am Jewish, not Irish or Catholic. An extra layer of confusion. I tell you this because I think Mrs. Haggerty overhead Maeve and myself, downstairs, and she may think she knows who I really am. It's my hope you'll help cloud that in her mind."
"Why would I need to? She's a good mate."
"Who loves a good craic, and things will slip out. I'd like to minimize the possible damage."
"What damage could come from--"
"I’ve had indications that the Brits still want to talk to me about that bombing. They may even believe I was involved in staging it.”
“But that’s ridiculous. And it’s been eight years. How could they even know you’re still about?”
“I don't disagree, nor do I know what they think they can learn, but it's beside the point. They've been to Aunt Mari's more than once, looking for Brendan, the latest not so very long ago. Now, if I'm arrested, it will be bad for the whole family, including the Houston one, but so long as I'm able to show I'm someone else, we might be fine till I'm gone."
"How long will you be here?"
I let an edge come to my voice. "How long do you think?"
She didn't flinch in the least, just leaned back and looked at the window. Her voice grew hollow. "So this is what's come back to me."
I could not help but ask, “If you didn’t want me around anymore, then why didn’t you just let them put me in a grave?”
That jolted her eyes back to me. “I-I don’t know what you mean.”
“I remember some of it, Ma. Colm going to get you to protect me. The men fighting with you to just end me. You even started to smother me while threatening them. You spent so much time hating on me, why save me?”
“I never hated you...”
I almost laughed. “Jesus, Ma!”
“I hated how you looked down on me. And your father. Always so superior and sneaky. Goin' your own way. Treatin’ me like anything but your mother and disparagin’ him.”
“All the more reason—”
“But you were still my child! My son. I should let those bastards blame you for their own incompetence? Poor Danny there, cryin', It wasn’t supposed to go, it wasn’t supposed to go. Colm frantic. And you broken and bleedin' and hysterical. And those idiot fools wantin’ someone to take it out on instead of helpin’ you lads! Bloody men, always doin’ and never acceptin’.
“Eamon De Valera would never have allowed it. Nor would your father. He was strong, once. A man, once. Eamonn...my Eamonn is like him. Like you never could be, for your sneakin’ ways. Superior and condescending.”
“So instead you killed who I was.”
She grew still and cold, and a bit distant. “I had a son named Brendan once. I loved him, but he never loved me. Never loved any of us. Endin’ him was needed to save him. Sendin’ him away...” She actually laughed. “Sendin’ him away when he was runnin’ away. Madness. All of it. But promises were made.” Her eyes whipped at me, sharp as knives. “Promises he’d never return.”
It took me a moment to find my voice so I could say, "As I asked you, last night, would you rather I leave? Being here as no relation to the family and-and-and as a citizen of the United States, I can go anywhere. Do-do-do you send me off, again, or shall I stay? The choice is yours."
She looked at me as if I truly were a stranger. "Why did you send Eamonn to Long Kesh?"
I was so taken aback, all I could think to say was, "He's in the H-Blocks, Ma. The name was changed, years ago."
"And they'll never let him out, thanks to you."
"I-I-I had nothing to do with his arrest, as you damn well know. I was gone for months before they snatched him."
"No, it was..." Her voice trailed off and she looked at nothing before softly continuing, "I remember it bein' right after they took my child away. Poor little Brendan. So simple. He’d done nothin’ wrong. Bastards wanted him dead because he’d done nothin’ wrong...” And she was close to tears.
This was beginning to worry me. Aunt Mari had been right about Ma’s rambling, but had been wrong that it made no sense. Even lost in her mind, she was revealing everything...and it made me feel so cold.
Finally, she looked at me, confused. “Who are you? Why are you here?”
Without a thought, I replied in my Texas voice, "I-I-I'm Jeremy. Landau. A-a friend of the family. Come to work on my thesis about the peace movement, while livin' with those caught up in the Troubles. Discuss how hopeful and futile it is. I've also said I'd help your daughter, Maeve, in exchange for a place to sleep. I have some medical background and she's just plain stretched to her limit. Is that all right?"
She shifted her focus to the window. "I’m an old woman, dyin’. Have I the choice?” Dear God, how pitiful she looked at that moment. “So many dead. So many dyin’. Here we have Bobby Sands, the best of our lads, the greatest in our cause, starvin’ himself in the name of Ireland and...and..."
And that angered me and before I could stop myself I said, "And he'll die, as will more after him."
She was silent, for a moment, then nodded and murmured, "Yes, more will follow. There's a list. And our Eamonn will be one...our Eamonn will join it."
"I'll be damned if he does."
That brought her cutting eyes back to me, glittering cold with hate. "You already are, Brendan." She all but spit my name out. “Comin’ back here to meddle in things you know nothin’ about, like a fool. A simple stupid fool.”
Well, Ma was back to herself, and as harsh as ever. I made myself rise from the chair, slowly. "I’m Jeremy while I’m here, Ma. Are we agreed on my staying?"
After a moment she whispered, "Jeremy. You should address me as Mrs. Kinsella." God, was her voice distant and kind. "Now leave me to my breakfast, before it’s cold."
Which it already was, but I felt no need to say anything more.
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