Redemption - Leon Uris [138]
Conor was always the lone voice. He knew it would be drowned out in a nationwide Irish rising. He knew such a rising would be an Irish stew. He could control his raid, but he could not control events after that.
Was it not Conor at his purest? Here was a man in an underground army who had never once pulled the trigger, who had refused to take any command that demanded he give an execution order.
I’ll tell you the heart of the matter. I knew what Dan and Atty suspected strongly, that Conor Larkin was not a killer. A well-defined raid, yes, but an insurrection with blood all over the cobblestones? He had no more stomach for it than he had for executing an informer. No matter how he had been brutalized, he could not command men to their death or order the cold-blooded murder of the enemy leaders.
Conor had looked down the rest of his road in life. Atty had brought him great comfort and peace, and he depended upon her as he had never depended upon anyone. And he loved her, profoundly, and was amazed that he could find love again. That was his problem, you see. Life for a fugitive was dead-ended. He knew he would never live another day as a free man. He knew he would never last long enough to even dream about an amnesty. To continue on, he would eventually be gunned down or jailed for life or hung.
More and more, Conor Larkin’s eyes told me that he had studied his mirror and had seen Long Dan Sweeney.
He and Atty girl had spoken idly of a child between them, both knowing the other was not exactly telling the truth but allowing the sweet thought to remain.
Conor had come to love Theo and Rachael, but to what avail? He could not watch them flower or partake in their daily ups and downs. Their visits were a few times a year and all too short, and when they left Dunleer, Conor was heartsick for days.
The shadow hovering over Conor was the same one that hovered over myself as well. Our great mutual failure was that there was no son after us. For him, the Larkin name would be done in Ballyutogue, forever.
We let the room stay dark, with only our voices touching. In a matter of minutes he would spirit away into the night to another room no better than this one, perhaps one with a cot and the agony of Jesus on the wall, and groan himself into sleep.
“What are you thinking of these days, Conor?”
“Rory Larkin,” he said. “I was able to write to him often when I was in America. I’m afraid the last letter he got from Ireland was over a year ago.”
“And you from him?”
“Not possible. When I have a chance to speak to Dary, there’s always a coded message sending me a bit of love. Rory’s to be of age shortly. Shyte now, I wonder why he’s always on my mind.”
“He’s your boy, in a manner of speaking.”
“Of course, I know that. Seamus, I don’t want him playing the patriot’s game. I’d die if he followed in my footsteps. But in a year or so, Irishmen and Irishwomen are going to declare themselves a free people. What a moment in time that will be. A Larkin ought to be there.”
That one hit me like a shot. “You’ll be there,” I said harshly.
“Ah, you know. Can’t totally count on it. Mind you, now. I’ve done all in my power to get the raiding party out alive and back across the lough. It’s not a suicide mission.”
“Except for yourself and Dan Sweeney. Maybe you’ve assigned yourselves to holding a rear guard?”
“You’re too bloody smart. Don’t tell anyone, runt.”
“I’m afraid I understand. As for the rising, Rory Larkin will be there. I can almost sense him on the way.”
“And how’s that, now?”
“It’s the Larkin fate,” I said.
The knocks on the door of the hideaway house always jolted me. Two of our lads had arrived to escort and guard Conor to his next stop. The street below looked clear and calm. Conor laid his paw on my shoulder and smiled. “I love you, Seamus, and that’s a fact. See you soon.”
I could see the three of them in shadows moving with precaution as usual, into the dark. It was time for weeping,