Bold Fenian Men
Chapter Forty
"Is Padraig about?" Padraig heard Roisin's voice but he didn’t move from the sofa, where he had been lying there, unmoving, for the last nine days.
"He is," he heard Cillian reply. "But I don’t think that he's up to talking."
"Why not?"
"He hasn’t said a word since Cearnaigh was injured."
"Is Cearnaigh going to be OK?" Roisin asked quietly.
"He will be." Cillian replied, just as quietly. "At first they didn’t think that they'd be able to save him. And then they nearly had to amputate his legs. But he should be OK. I think it's hit Padraig harder than anyone."
The living room door opened slowly and Roisin came in, softly walking over to Padraig and crouching down next to where he lay on the sofa.
"Padraig? Are you OK?" she asked quietly. "Come on, Padraig. You've not been about for ages now. We need you. The IRA's falling apart. Please, Padraig."
"I've told him that." Cillian had taken over as Commander for a while, until Padraig recovered slightly, but Padraig wasn't showing any signs of recovering soon. "He knows I'm crap compared to him. But he's just not talking. Not sleeping, eating, anything. He only gets up to get a drink. Seems to be the only thing keeping him alive."
"Oh, Padraig." Roisin said softly, running her hand through Padraig's hair. Padraig took her hand in both his and held onto it, and Roisin smiled gently at him. "Please, Padraig. We need you. Come on, I bet Billy McAllister's laughing all the way to the pub. Please, come back. We need you. We all need you."
Padraig stayed silent, his eyes glazed over.
"Do it for Cearnaigh, Padraig," Roisin put her mouth close to Padraig's ear. "Do it for Cearnaigh, and for Gearoid and Proinsias and Tómás and Sean. And me and Cillian and all those Volunteers, and all those Irish people out there who need you to help them free their country."
Padraig was still staring into space, but there was a flicker in his eyes. They didn’t know what it was, but it looked like a brief flash of the old Padraig. The Padraig that they knew, the Padraig that was their fearless commander.
"You can’t do this, Padraig." Roisin whispered, knowing that she was getting through to him. "Too many people need you. What happened to the guy we knew, hey? You were amazing, Padraig. You really were … and even McAllister would have feared you. What would he do if he saw you now? He'd laugh in your face, is what he'd do. Show him, Padraig. Show him that he can’t get to you."
"For all the ones who've died, Padraig." Cillian put in. "They didn’t save you for you to give up."
Padraig sighed – the first sound he'd made for over a week. Then, he rolled over and turned his back to them both.
Cillian sighed as well.
"Come on." he said, slightly coldly. "He's not fucking listening. As usual." They went into the kitchen for a while.
"Do you think he'll be all right?" Roisin asked quietly.
"I don’t know. Seeing Cearnaigh really fucked him up." Cillian lowered his voice. "He scared me. He was crying. I've never seen him cry before. Not even when Proinsias died. He just broke down. I think it's because of how close they're getting. He's scared. For the first time in his whole life, he's scared."
They both went back through to the living room to see if they could coax Padraig to eat something at least, but when they entered the room, Padraig wasn't on the sofa. He wasn't even in the room. In fact, a search proved that he wasn't even in the house.
"What the Hell is he doing?" Cillian asked, angry now. "They're trying to kill him and he wanders off!"
Cillian and Roisin both searched the area countless times, but to no avail. There was no sign of Padraig anywhere.
Dismayed, angry and worried, both returned to the house and sat in the living room, praying that Padraig wouldn’t do anything stupid.
At about ten o'clock that evening, the door opened and Padraig walked in.
"Where the Hell have ye been?" Cillian demanded as soon as he entered the house.
"Out." was the curt reply. Cillian missed a beat, startled that Padraig had spoken.
"Doing what?" he eventually asked.
"You'll see." Padraig went upstairs, and after a moment's hesitation, Roisin followed him. She needed to have a word with him.
Cillian groaned and fell back onto the sofa, gawking at the TV for a while. And then it came on.
"The device went off at exactly 9:31 this evening, in the porch area of a known loyalist pub on the Shankill Road. Thirty people were injured, seven of them seriously. Four men were killed, all confirmed UVF members. The Belfast Unit of the Provisional Irish Republican Army claimed responsibility for the attack:
"The bomb was in retaliation to the one which exploded under an IRA Volunteer's car a week and a half ago." part of the IRA's statement said. "It is an open warning to those in the UVF who think that they can win. You can't. You want a war, you've got a war."
The UVF did not reply to the IRA's provocative comments."
"By Jesus," Cillian whispered. "We've got our Commander back."
"He is," he heard Cillian reply. "But I don’t think that he's up to talking."
"Why not?"
"He hasn’t said a word since Cearnaigh was injured."
"Is Cearnaigh going to be OK?" Roisin asked quietly.
"He will be." Cillian replied, just as quietly. "At first they didn’t think that they'd be able to save him. And then they nearly had to amputate his legs. But he should be OK. I think it's hit Padraig harder than anyone."
The living room door opened slowly and Roisin came in, softly walking over to Padraig and crouching down next to where he lay on the sofa.
"Padraig? Are you OK?" she asked quietly. "Come on, Padraig. You've not been about for ages now. We need you. The IRA's falling apart. Please, Padraig."
"I've told him that." Cillian had taken over as Commander for a while, until Padraig recovered slightly, but Padraig wasn't showing any signs of recovering soon. "He knows I'm crap compared to him. But he's just not talking. Not sleeping, eating, anything. He only gets up to get a drink. Seems to be the only thing keeping him alive."
"Oh, Padraig." Roisin said softly, running her hand through Padraig's hair. Padraig took her hand in both his and held onto it, and Roisin smiled gently at him. "Please, Padraig. We need you. Come on, I bet Billy McAllister's laughing all the way to the pub. Please, come back. We need you. We all need you."
Padraig stayed silent, his eyes glazed over.
"Do it for Cearnaigh, Padraig," Roisin put her mouth close to Padraig's ear. "Do it for Cearnaigh, and for Gearoid and Proinsias and Tómás and Sean. And me and Cillian and all those Volunteers, and all those Irish people out there who need you to help them free their country."
Padraig was still staring into space, but there was a flicker in his eyes. They didn’t know what it was, but it looked like a brief flash of the old Padraig. The Padraig that they knew, the Padraig that was their fearless commander.
"You can’t do this, Padraig." Roisin whispered, knowing that she was getting through to him. "Too many people need you. What happened to the guy we knew, hey? You were amazing, Padraig. You really were … and even McAllister would have feared you. What would he do if he saw you now? He'd laugh in your face, is what he'd do. Show him, Padraig. Show him that he can’t get to you."
"For all the ones who've died, Padraig." Cillian put in. "They didn’t save you for you to give up."
Padraig sighed – the first sound he'd made for over a week. Then, he rolled over and turned his back to them both.
Cillian sighed as well.
"Come on." he said, slightly coldly. "He's not fucking listening. As usual." They went into the kitchen for a while.
"Do you think he'll be all right?" Roisin asked quietly.
"I don’t know. Seeing Cearnaigh really fucked him up." Cillian lowered his voice. "He scared me. He was crying. I've never seen him cry before. Not even when Proinsias died. He just broke down. I think it's because of how close they're getting. He's scared. For the first time in his whole life, he's scared."
They both went back through to the living room to see if they could coax Padraig to eat something at least, but when they entered the room, Padraig wasn't on the sofa. He wasn't even in the room. In fact, a search proved that he wasn't even in the house.
"What the Hell is he doing?" Cillian asked, angry now. "They're trying to kill him and he wanders off!"
Cillian and Roisin both searched the area countless times, but to no avail. There was no sign of Padraig anywhere.
Dismayed, angry and worried, both returned to the house and sat in the living room, praying that Padraig wouldn’t do anything stupid.
At about ten o'clock that evening, the door opened and Padraig walked in.
"Where the Hell have ye been?" Cillian demanded as soon as he entered the house.
"Out." was the curt reply. Cillian missed a beat, startled that Padraig had spoken.
"Doing what?" he eventually asked.
"You'll see." Padraig went upstairs, and after a moment's hesitation, Roisin followed him. She needed to have a word with him.
Cillian groaned and fell back onto the sofa, gawking at the TV for a while. And then it came on.
"The device went off at exactly 9:31 this evening, in the porch area of a known loyalist pub on the Shankill Road. Thirty people were injured, seven of them seriously. Four men were killed, all confirmed UVF members. The Belfast Unit of the Provisional Irish Republican Army claimed responsibility for the attack:
"The bomb was in retaliation to the one which exploded under an IRA Volunteer's car a week and a half ago." part of the IRA's statement said. "It is an open warning to those in the UVF who think that they can win. You can't. You want a war, you've got a war."
The UVF did not reply to the IRA's provocative comments."
"By Jesus," Cillian whispered. "We've got our Commander back."