Redemption - Leon Uris [51]
“You know as well as I,” Ingram said, “if he tries to rove the world, he’ll never get far from Ireland. He is sealed into a life in dubious battle, we both know that. Trouble is, Kevin, he is a master of a great craft. Where can he go in Ireland?”
“Andrew, I know a thing or two about my visits to England and you know it as well. When Conor was in Ballyutogue at the wee village forge, the Anglos in two or three counties around were already seeking him out to do gilded ironwork. In Derry, they’d be coming from half the country….”
“You’re dreaming and you’re desperate and I ache for you, Kevin, and I am pained for myself. But Conor cannot ever grow in stature in the Bogside without running head on to Roger Hubble’s yard at Caw & Train.”
Out came the bottle from the bottom drawer and two glasses were glugged half full and clinked, for Andrew knew that O’Garvey was close to saying what he had come to say.
“Can’t lose him, Andrew,” Kevin said, with the whiskey and sincerity bringing water to his eyes. “I’m so bloody fucking tired of the agony of Bogside. I’m done in, man. I can’t bear to see the wanes playing in the gutters all covered with sores, and husbands beating up wives, and old people dying of the cold in winter because the Bishop’s fuel fund is empty, and the drunks without jobs from birth to death warming their hands over the fire at the base of the wall, and the factory girls, most of all, dragging home too tired to laugh, much less make love.” His voice lowered to a weary rasp. “You know, Andrew, Conor has ethereal qualities about him. A light shines about him sometimes, like he’s the Holy Ghost, himself. You’ve a powerful sway over him, Andrew.”
“And you want me to convince him to stay? Aren’t we doing the same kind of manipulation that Tomas did?” Andrew asked.
“Fuck, no. They were a family filled with love until the rocks and debts and privation ground them down. What happens if a Conor Larkin is driven out of Ireland? I want to give him the place to follow his destiny and his dream.” Kevin held up his hand as he brought himself under control and took another gulp with trembling hand. “Andrew, as you know, I’m a member of the Parliament and opportunities have shown up in the natural course of events… but I’m clean. I’ll take and I’ll deal, but only for Bogside. We’ve gone through a half-dozen schemes to try to get some enterprise started there, some male labor to create dignity. For one reason or another nothing has really ever come together. In the past several months I’ve been talking hard to a group of Irish-Americans who have scored big, some very fat cats. I’ve convinced them to set up a fund that can actually start changing things. We need everything, a decent livery stable, a girl’s secretarial school, all kinds of stores, our own dairy. I can get together the money to put Conor into a first-class forge and foundry.”
Andrew Ingram gnawed on his left forefinger, his thinking finger.
“I’ve got twenty enterprises in mind right off the bat, and more—the funds to buy fifty apprenticeships. I must have Conor lead off with a forge. If he can’t make it, no one can.”
“What is Roger Hubble going to say about all this?”
Kevin emptied the glass and leaned over the desk. “After all, Andrew, I also represent the Earl of Foyle in Parliament. We owe each other a lot of favors and, in actual fact, a word from you to Caroline Hubble wouldn’t hurt a thing. What I mean is, I think I can work it out with Hubble to leave us alone.”
“This American money…”
“It’s in the bank in England.”
“I want to see the names of your contributors,” Andrew countered.
“I can’t. I’ve gotten the money only on the condition of anonymity. Otherwise every member of the Irish Party will be after these fellows to do the same in every village in Ireland. I was able to convince them that Bogside was the most desperate situation in Ireland…and that’s our pact.”
“Is that it?” Andrew asked.
“No, there’s something in it for you. I have the votes to pass a bill to open a new public college in your district.”
Now it was Andrew Ingram