Redemption - Leon Uris [134]
“Then that’s it?”
“What’s it?”
“Everyone knows you are reluctant to give an execution order.”
“That’s part of it.”
“Then we’ll relieve you of the burden. All executions will have full Council approval in the future. You’ll have nothing to do with giving the orders.”
“That’s a British kind of word game, Seamus. Informers must be put away if we are to exist.”
“But you won’t do it?”
“Aye, and I do not aspire to be chief of staff.”
“But, Jaysus, you’re running the show now.”
“Then take my resignation back to the Council.”
“Shit, man!”
“Control yourself, runt.”
“Shit, Conor! Now you fucking listen to me. I’m Seamus O’Neill, the most loyal man you’ll ever know. But you’ve had a wild hair up your ass driving you crazy since we were kids. Think I don’t know you’ve dirty doubts? What are they, Conor? Why won’t you take command of the Brotherhood?”
“Because I’m not a liar,” he snapped suddenly. “I won’t command men I’m lying to.”
“Well now, it’s becoming interesting,” I said.
“You’d better start emptying the bottle, Seamus, because you won’t want to be sober after you hear what I’ve got to say.”
I respectfully did as he suggested. His face, always glowing with kindness, grew dark and hard-edged. In these moments his years of agony pushed through and I saw the rebel boy’s cynicism.
“Let me ask you a question, Seamus. Would the Catholics of Ireland ever, of their own free will, declare themselves a part of England?”
“That’s pretty stupid, Conor.”
“Is it? Let me ask it again. Would Catholic Ireland freely declare itself loyal to the Crown?”
“Of course not,” I said fearing what was coming.
“Then what makes you think that Protestant Ulster will ever openly and willingly declare themselves part of Ireland?”
“We know all that, Conor,” I replied angrily.
“And do you know that the Ulsterman is incapable of rising above self-imposed ignorance fired by raw fear? Their minds have become vacuums and under the total manipulation of preachers who have shut out the light and air of ideas and beauty. Ulster has enslaved itself. The only ecstasy they are capable of is to demonize themselves into religious fanatics and sorely mistake their unlimited capacity for hatred as some form of joy.”
“Tell me something I don’t know!” I demanded.
“The Irish Republican Brotherhood,” he said softly, “is fostering a delusion of a united Ireland.”
Conor was speaking blasphemy! He was attacking the very cornerstone of republicanism. I tried to wave him off, to hear no more.…
“What the hell does Ireland want with a million lunatics sworn to destroy us? They are the tragic orphans of this Irish calamity, His Majesty’s Royal Ulster lepers,” he continued, grabbing me by the arms and shaking me. “By God, Seamus O’Neill, we Irish are a civilized people. We cannot allow them to poison our wells with their hatred. I say, wall them off and let them bang their bloody Lembeg drums and sing their bloody Reformation hymns and fly their bloody Union Jacks…but keep them out of our lives or we will end up diseased like they are. I say, give them their filthy province, for if we don’t we will have condemned the Irish people to eternal damnation.”
“God!” I screamed, “Who else have you told this to!”
“Ah, Seamus lad, I’ve not seen you so pale. What’s the matter? Truth is truth.”
“And treason is treason!”
“So be it. The truth is that there is as much chance of bringing reason, much less love, to these people up north as there is of trying to draw gold out of the winds. The truth is that I would have to destroy my own truths, and myself, in order to become a Long Dan Sweeney.”
We were as quiet as the tombstones in Sam Grady’s yard. Ah shyte, it was vintage Conor Larkin I heard. Who in the Irish Republican Brotherhood had not lied to himself about the same question? We would go on for generation after generation without the courage to face the truth that Irish unity was a myth.
Who but Conor Larkin would have the courage to stand up and speak truth in the face of a hurricane of hypocrisy? Conor alone refused