A Life for a Life

"Where are we going?" Miceál asked Diarmuid once more.

"Get yer head down!" Diarmuid commanded. Miceál, who was the back seat passenger in Diarmuid's old, beat-up car, ducked back down again. "They see you with me and you may as well go to jail for IRA membership before you even join."

It was several weeks later, and after much speaking with Miceál, Diarmuid had managed to get him a meeting with one of the senior figures of the Belfast IRA, to see if they could get him fixed up with anything.

"But where are we going?"

"I've got you a meeting with someone."

"What? Who?"

"You don't need to know his name at the moment. But you can speak to him about your intentions."

They arrived at a house, at the back of it. Diarmuid got out, signalling to Miceál to wait in the car. Diarmuid went up to the door and knocked on it, glancing back to make sure that Miceál was doing as he was told. He could just see Miceál's face watching him. He looked so much like Darragh …

"All right, Diarmuid?"

"Fine." Diarmuid turned to the man who had just answered He was a little younger that Diarmuid. "I brought the wee lad."

"Right enough. Bring him over."

Diarmuid went back down to the car and, upon checking that no one was observing hem, ushered Miceál out of the car and brought him up to the house, pulling him into the hall. Miceál was led into the living room, where the other man was standing with two others.

Miceál watched them closely.

"Jesus, he looks just like Darragh, doesn't he?" the first man, with a shock of ginger hair, said.

"I'm his son." Miceál stated proudly. "Miceál Callaghan." Ginger smiled.

"Oh, we all know who you are, lad. You know the last time you were in this house?" Miceál looked around, confused.

"No."

"I shouldn't think you remember. You were three weeks old."

"I was?"

"Aye. Your Da brought you here to show you off. You were a wee cutie as well. He was so proud of you. Still is, I'd imagine."

Miceál smiled, feeling tears in his eyes. He blinked them away.

"And ye look so much like him. I remember when he joined. The same age as you, he was. And you're identical. So, I take it you're here for the same reason, hey, lad?"

Miceál nodded.

"That's exactly why I'm here. I want to join the IRA. I've known that for my whole life and now I want to make it a reality. I'm ready. I want to do this."

"You do realise that you're going to have to be one hundred per cent sure?"

"I know. I've been getting told that for ages. And I am one hundred per cent sure, or else I wouldn't be here, would I? Now I don't want to be beating around the bush, right? I saw my father die, and as he lay there dying I promised him that I'd fight for Ireland when I got older. I don't want them getting away with it. I want to get some of those bastards back for the families they destroyed, not just mine, but also everyone's. I'm not the only one that lost a parent because of them; Ma isn't the only one that lost a husband. My grandmother isn't the only mother who lost a son, and I'm sick to death of it. They come into our country, they kill our people and our children and they put the Irish people down, and I'm fucking fed up of it. I want to fight fire with fire now. I'm sure of it."

Ginger smiled again.

"He's Darragh's kid all right, isn't he?" he asked, peering at Miceál closely. "All right, if you're sure. We need to ask you a few other questions … obviously members of your family have been involved with the IRA. Is there any reason for the peelers to believe that you'll be involved?"

"Not a chance. I've made sure of that. I've been preparing for this all of my life, and I've made sure that I've not been seen in the company of IRA members, I've not been seen near any known Republican haunts, I don't sing rebel songs in public and although it near killed me I've never been to another Republican parade or funeral."

"You really have thought about this, haven't you, kid?" Ginger was serious now, looking at Miceál with a slightly impressed expression.

"I have. I'm being serious, guys. I'm ready for this. I'm going to put everything into this. I want to do this more than anything in my life."

"All right. We'll put your name through and if you're successful then we'll get Diarmuid to let you know if you've got into the lectures. I can't see why not, though. You're no naïve learner driver, that's for sure." Miceál nodded.

"Cheers."

"No problem."

Diarmuid and Miceál walked back to the car silently. Miceál clambered into the back seat and ducked down again and Diarmuid swung the car around and drove back up the street.

"I didn't realise you'd thought about it so deeply." Diarmuid said, smiling at Miceál in the rear-view mirror.

"It's something I haven't stopped thinking about. I don't think that anyone realises how serious I am about this."

"What else do you know, Miceál?" Diarmuid suddenly said, all of a sudden his voice serious and firm.

"What?" Miceál asked, bewildered.

"You know something else about the day your father died, don't you?"

"No. I knew it all already. I was there, Diarmuid."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I just … there's just this book I keep reading. It's got a big paragraph about Da in it. I'm just a little obsessed with it at the moment."

"But you know everything in it?"

"Yes." They arrived back at Diarmuid's house, and Diarmuid brought the young boy in for a while, so it didn't look suspicious. Policemen always got suspicious when there was a quick pick-up or drop-off.

"You know if there is anything, you can speak to me about it, Miceál? I know Grainne probably isn't the best person to go to."

"I know." Miceál sighed. "There is … there is one thing, actually."