The Troubles Read online

  The spectrum of lust to interest is a lengthy one for me and I am absolutely positive my sudden enchantment is one that is serendipitous and beyond my control or trepidation. This terrifies me beyond anything else I have ever faced; to love unrequited is the only model of marriage I have ever been privy to. I too loved my Mother yet she had abandoned me along with my struggling excuse of a father. Was I as undesirable as he?

  ‘There’s the boreen! Finally mates!’’ The small road lay before us and relief could be felt within the exhilarated atoms of our travelling fleet. With earnest relief Kiera grabs my hand and Ena’s as well. Her frigid small fingers melt instantly against my throbbing weather bitten palm. ‘‘Tis quite the eve, aye, Alastar?’’ Her gray eyes appear much darker than they were in the absence of moonlight and I still must, in my blindness, remind myself of their innocent yet compelling effect.

  ‘’Aye, bet ya lasses won’t be makin’ this trek again,’’

  ‘’Don’t be so certain, ‘bout that we’ve come accustom to adventures, ’’ Ena boasts somewhat naively as I can feel Kiera squeeze both hands in a measure to silence.

  “Didn’t mean nothin’ by it, Alastar. We came upon yer brother and assisted him. He spent the hours regaling us of you and Bobby Sands.” Kiera gestures to the confident young man that stride a few feet in front of us.

  ’’Quinn was the most curious and fearsomely loyal brother one could ever wish for. I s’pose I’m blessed he chose me to be his own.” The water begins to chill the damp of our heavy, impotently useless clothing and I pull Kiera and Ena into a quickened pace, perhaps too exertive, for their smaller statures for we truly only have an hour at tops, before pneumonia, or worse, hypothermia, will overcome every last one of us.

  “Quinn had been in a bad way but shite, had I known we would had walked him to yer very door.” Ena spits the consolatory words as her overtly guilty and nurturing nature has visibly shaken her.

  “Aye miss. I’m sure ya two would have.’’ My attempt at a gracious smile falls flat in the deafly, dark silence between us. I will not be returning home now. I am the one in the trenches, enlisted or perhaps conscripted, forever uprooted and to live and somehow exist in IRA owned buildings set up like wartime barracks.

  CHAPTER 28: Is treasa dithis a dol thar an atha na fad o cheile. (Two should stay together when crossing a ford)

  Kiera Flanagan…’’I am buggered. I must get some shuteye!’’ Ena sleepily rubs her forehead. The pungent musk of burning kindling and sodden firewood percolates and steeps into a sooty thick tea with the sweet, wet birch catching alight in outbursts that paint the antiquated white walls in her figure’s purview. The combination of dew and ash intermingling in a dance of contradiction, gives both warmth and credence our eve’s grand undertaking.

  “Aye, Ena. I’ll handle our mess of clothes and be up to catch a nod in a moment,’’ I state, as I make myself useful by the fire which is crackling and hissing quietly, with the feeble strength of frenzied incendiary implosions. We had been delivered rather gallantly to my vacant void of an inheritance, when I had involuntarily trembled at the prospect of being alone, after such a jarring and equally exhilarating night. I had caught myself desiring to prolong the company of Alastar Taggart, however exhibiting more prudence, he had made another date for us to all resume our reverential death ritual to our prospective relatives. Ena, as my professed sister, had the instinct to invite herself into my cold dwelling, devoid of lifeblood.

  I am above the tussled-dream-addled body of a young woman as another lies on the floor in the darkness of shadow, just barely out of my line of sight. Vibrant blue and green colors run in and out of one another allowing silhouettes to become obscure as though I am gazing upon a painting in the renascence period. There is such a light weightlessness that I look down in an attempt to find my body and find without characteristic incredulity, that it has been replaced by nothing; not air, not a ghostlike mirage, but wondrous nothingness. How am I seeing anything with my physical form? The girl on the bed stretches an arm off from her porcelain, almost perfect face with a bored yawn and I see my own visage in her hibernation. Without will or reason, I observe myself gathering momentum and gravitating into an alternate dimension of sorts. Abruptly, I am in the unknown land of the Fae, as a nymph-like, white haired fairy, regards me quizzically with a obviously disabled newborn infant in her arms. “Tis yer baby Kiera!’‘ she tells me.

  ‘’Me child?’

  ‘’Aye girl. She is yers.’’ She slaps the lustfully crying baby into arms that are now miraculously realized into being. The enticing, humanistic fairy is now embracing a healthy twin materialized from either the obvious sibling to the deformed morose infant that is heart wrenchingly seeking nourishment from my bare breast. “Feed her Kiera. To shun her would be a curse onto ya and yer family.’’

  ‘’Why did ya take me child?’’

  ‘’What child?’’ Warm tears fall upon the infant’s soft pink misshapen forehead as I yearn desperately for my own offspring, which the fairy has now abducted. Yet, I cannot reject the fairy’s gift of life, no matter what troubles and ailments the little magical beast might come with.

  I awake with sudden, spiking alertness that betides with the habitual dread of releasing the trance that occurs with dream’s ensnarement. To be frequented by a fairy, whether it is reality or not, is to be haunted by misfortune and bad luck. The fable of the fairy’s trick to abduct a healthy infant and replace it with a disabled one was perhaps the most despicable human explanations for nature’s deformities and I will not allow the subject of my dream to fall into antiquated prejudices. I am my own critical thinker and not all that is pagan is wise. To get up to an empty house past ritual sunrise arousal is jarring and I blink furiously to adjust to the bright midday sunrays that fan through my lace curtains athwart my single bed headboard. My former past life begs me to reminisce naively of my once platitude conviction, of innocent joy and contentment. My future providence of being an orphan, is a wound I must bury in sorrowful penitence, one I will visit I am sure at a future date. This repression is allowing commonplace existence its own maturing, perhaps into true humble contentment. I fear I cannot bear any further hardship yet the visitation from my imagination’s own mirage is now beyond my variable control and luck or fate has taken its course.

  I make my way through my home and the sorrow born impulse of selling it is giving me courage and release as I regard and assess heirlooms of monetary value and those useless, yet sentimental belongings that we Flanagan’s have gathered, whilst living and now exiting Belfast. I will leave and start anew away from all memories of this blue-collared, narrowly misguided, city and ferry upon every street corner that is named after my brethren or my so-called enemies.

  I had the rare audacity this afternoon to send a message to Alastar Taggart and I await his arrival with such new daring interest I can barely sit nor stand still for a moment. My long, slim legs wrapped by the customary navy blue thick cotton slacks are fidgeting and cajoling like a newborn colt excitedly curious and clumsy in survival. My long auburn waves, which I have freshly shampooed with a delicate tangerine scented shampoo, have been gathered into a French braid with but a few tendrils of silken curls escaping to frame my delicate jawline. My skin is fresh and clear with not a blemish to take attention away from my cosmetic-free appearance.

  Bang, bang, bang…Rapping on the front door startles me as I quickly take a final appraisal in my grandmother’s mirror. “Not bad. He won’t be appalled, but not beautiful enough for his interest, Kiera,” I chide myself.

  ’’Good afternoon, Ms. Flanagan.’’ Alastar Taggart’s voice is low and husky and he mulls his tongue over my sir name appreciatively. “Ya must be buggered after last night’s circus of events.’’

  Lost in obvious concern is his proclivity for me. “Aye Mr. Taggart, I am.’’ I playfully regard him by his formal last name. “Ya know me name is Kiera and are ye just gonna stand there on me porch for the neighbors ta talk or wil
l ya come in?’’

  CHAPTER 29: Bidh an t-ubhal as fearr air a’mheangan as aired (The best apple is on the highest bough)

  Alastar Taggart…I stumble in embarrassment at Ms. Flanagan’s brash, audacious quip as I make my way through the Flanagan household threshold and land clattering with an overtly loud thud an inch away from Kiera’s surprised prone chin which she has angled up in an avoidance of physical contact. The shorn, sleek black hair of my crown grazes against her high cheekbone as my eyes cast a supine decline connection. My downcast gaze catches a glimpse of healthy rose, pink lips capturing their quick exhale as my own breath hides in uncharacteristic abashment deep in my abdomen. ‘‘Forgive me darlin’. I don’t know what came over me.’’ I fondly wink at her, misrepresenting my flurry of nervousness, as she flushes, glowing responsively from the overt confirmation of my affection. She abruptly angles her back to me and I realize I might not have disarmed but humiliated her. Perhaps this girl has never been courted. Has her alluring demeanor been dormant until now? My dominant male ego attempts to convince me that I have been the one to awaken it.

  ‘’How’s yer Da, Alastar?’’ As she walks gliding with a dancer’s grace into her parlor, I trail just a few feet behind her absently admiring the view of her rhythmic hips and swaying shoulders. With her back to me, I can fully regard just how exquisitely beautiful Kiera is. Though she is dressed demurely, in slightly baggy slacks and a white cotton T-shirt, I manage to admire her fit, slim athletic build; I should have known she was a prime female specimen from the force of physical endurance she had displayed two nights ago.

  “Me Da will be fine, I’m sure of it,’’ I am not certain of this because I honestly have not seen him since my brother’s funeral where he had been so inebriated he had sworn at the minister and caused a scene of such humiliation I had then and there vowed I would not enable his behavior and until he has a grasp on his addiction I would not act as his son. My younger siblings are now on their own with him and I am desperate to provide safe housing for them. Realizing how strange that has sounded, I add, “though it is terribly sad for me whole family.’‘

  ‘’Well ye are lucky to still have a family.’’ Her honesty shines bright and sincere from her gray eyes as she smiles sadly in my direction. I can barely contain my shock at the young woman’s candor.

  ‘’Aye Kiera, I am the more fortunate.’’ She hides her eyes as they mist over and instead methodically begins to go over her newly laid plans.

  ‘‘I’ll be gone and rid of this house. What I cannot bring with me I’ll sell.’‘

  ‘’What can I do today to be of service?’’ I ask my newly acquired friend, frankly acknowledging to myself the interest in further romantic pursuits is the only reason I have come over today.

  ‘‘Well I have no menfolk to assist with the heavy furniture, therefore ya looked to be more than capable when we met.’’ She blushes as she subconsciously appraises my forged in the shipyard steely physique. I laugh at her shy endorsement, the levity of laughter cutting through the mournful weight of loss that we both are carrying like boulders on our young shoulders.

  The house smells of grimy desertion and sharp synthetic poisons as we walk into the back where a small kitchen resides. The caustic scent of cleaning agents stings my eyes and as I cough, I croak out, “Whoa! Kiera have ya just bleached yer bloody gaff?’’

  ‘’Na, not bleach just this.’’ She picks up a white plastic container with intimidating cross bones on the side. “It’s from me work. It’ll do the job.’’ The harsh chemical, cleaning agent container weighs heavily upon her petite wrist and as though in slow motion, I can foresee the accident that proceeds to follow. I lunge foreword as she spills the bubbling white solution onto her right pant leg.

  “Shite. Cop on, ya daft lass. What have ya done?’’ I yell perhaps too aggressively because this time when she fragilely looks up at me a well of tears threaten to spill. “Oh Kiera!” I conceded with exasperation. “Where’s the loo?’’ She gingerly points down the aged wood skirted hallway trying not to animate the turbulent liquid that had now blistered through her pant leg material and is exposing scarlet skin that is clearly seared. “We’ve got to get yer pants off!’’ Those gray eyes flash stormy wild with perplexity. “Not much choice me sham, the poison will just continue to eat at ya.’’

  The vicious pain of an acid burn is now burrowing into her secondary layer of skin tissue and she concedes quickly. “Aye, get these bloody pants off of me.’’ And in one fail swoop I grasp the pants unzipping the metal zipper and as though I am pulling off a Band-Aid, yank the material off of her delicate hip bones exposing white undergarments with the threading now adhered to the skin of a milky white thigh. Wincing empathically, I wrench the remainder of the pestilent poison from the girl’s overtly fragile and broken skin. “Agghhh shite that bloody smarts!’’ With a quake of agony she grasps my shoulder and I am now waist height with my face cast aside, as this girl in need of care, is undressed. The modesty she had expressed but moments previous has been replaced by the insight of survival. Picking her up into my arms, I momentarily note her slight weight. This will not do as I mentally note that she needed to eat more.

  “Ya were acting the maggot, Kiera,” I murmur both chiding and scolding the poor girl.

  “I’ve just been so bate since Ma and Da…’’ she replies trying to explain her asinine injury away. Ya must think me a real tool.’’ Tears continue their free fall from her wide almond shaped eyes as I run cool water onto a cloth.

  “Is this clean?’’

  She tilts her head up and avoiding eye contact determines whether or not the material should come in contact with her raw flesh, regarding it must be bacteria free, she replies, “Aye, I believe I just laundered it along with everything else in this house.’’ She grimaces as I squeeze the cloth over the injured area of her upper thigh.

  “Be still lass. I haven’t touched ya yet.” My words gather a layered, somewhat suggestive tone to them and she jerks away, mortified by my unintentional, flirtatious inflection. Droplets of sweat bead over the small cupid’s bow of her heart shaped lips and with agitation her cheeks gleam rosy yet she stoically and silently grits her teeth. So silent is the young lady, I can barely hear a breath, but I can see her chest heaving imperceptibly, therefore, I continue my medical undertaking with speed and assuredly nimble fingers.

  “Done. Now breathe Kiera.” I smile, proud of my handy work, her wound disinfected and now bandaged appropriately.

  “Thanks a great deal, Alastar.” She exhales her relief as the searing pain is now dissipating and as we stand, her face in line with my neck, warm, moist, mint scented breath migrates to my nostrils.

  “I’ll get ya somethin’ to wear. Where’s yer bedroom?’’ The bathroom size now feels truly claustrophobic as she once more looks aghast at my directness.

  “Umm, well upstairs, first door on the right.” Having resolved her unease with mature swiftness Kiera’s voice is demure and I am struck by her social grace.

  Her bedroom sits ajar above an empty staircase. In the vacancy of the enclosed ambiance, I can sense with psychic alertness the quality the space takes when devoid of life. This is one experience I have yet to encounter in my family home, although I am facing the intuition of desertedness more and more. There is a depth of loneliness that takes my breath away as I make my way into what could have been a child’s room. All of Kiera’s affirming belongings have been stripped, forming a barren haven, aside from a humble dresser and single bed. I do not wish to intrude further into her private dominion nor disturb the mournful atmosphere, thus I fumble through my task speedily, and precisely remind myself this is an invasion of the barely adolescent young lady’s privacy.

  ‘’That’ll be fine, Alastar. Yer a sound fella.’’ There is a lucent pool of gray that is surrounded by incoming waves of teal blue, composing the eye that gazes up at me with her grateful smile so innocent and youthful my heart lurches into my stomach. The comfortable repose
that might have existed has dissipated as quickly as the succor between us has been forged. Nervous tension alerts me again to the indecency of the station our newly forged friendship has appeared to take on.

  ’’O.K. Kiera. I’ll be on me way now.’’ Without so much as a handshake, I can feel myself decomposing into a frenzy of unrequited intent, therefore unceremoniously; I bolt for the back door.

  CHAPTER 30: Is fearr rith maith na drochsheasamh (He who runs away, lives to fight another day)

  Kiera Flanagan…I am in a cold shock. The devouring chemical which has been permanently branded upon a peach haired thigh could not be as veracious as my ravenousness for the man who has just deserted me while lying on stark linoleum floor naked, cold and longing for more. I unsteadily pull my pants up gingerly over my wound and make my way out of my bathroom door to see a shadow behind me. Whirling with a wild panic I shout,’’ Get the hell out of me damn house!’’ My clenched white knuckled fist connects with a cinder block solid chest. I feel something grab my wrist in defense and I hear a man’s surprised voice.

  ’’Kiera, it’s me Alastar. Don’t worry please.’’

  I gaze upward, suddenly furious and humiliated. “What the hell are ya up to Alastar? Either ya are with me or ya are not. Don’t ever do that again.’’ I take my fist from his grasp and spin away from the bewildered man I have left in my wake of fury. “Not these days anyway. Ya never know what fenian scum will find their way in through a sham’s backdoor!’’ Still frazzled and shaky from the fear his relatively innocent action has evoked in me, I declare adamantly, “I have to get out of the city!’’