Redemption - Leon Uris [81]
They had accepted the system of birth-to-death unemployment, birth-to-death poverty, birth-to-death humiliation.
Where in the name of Jesus were the Kilty Larkins!
For a year and a day Conor took to the roads of Ireland seeking the old Fenians, men who had done battle, Gaelic warriors of old. He found them. One or two in wee villages sitting at the end of the bar stool. The living legends were glassy-eyed drunks repeating their imagined valor one more time for one more pint.
What few Irishmen remained worthy of a rising were away in South Africa fighting the Brits. Seamus O’Neill was among them. They were all gone, Tomas and Kilty and Seamus and Andrew Ingram and Kevin O’Garvey and, in the most heart-wrenching sense, Caroline Hubble.
The thin thread of keeping Conor Larkin fell to his younger brother Dary, a seminary novice. Dary was able to transfer to the diocese of Derry in temporary service to help contend with the tragedy of Bogside. Wee Dary became a rock, a healer, and man of God in the ultimate sense. And, he was his brother’s keeper.
One more bombastic drunk, one more bombastic hangover. Conor sat dizzy in the middle of his forge, which had not seen the glow of the fire for over a year.
“I have to return to the seminary and my studies,” Dary announced abruptly.
Conor anguished. “How can I do without you, wee Dary?”
“It’s nigh on to springtime,” Dary said. “I saw some daisies pushing through the rubble. Enough time has passed, Conor. You and I have to have our go at it, now.”
“Ah, what do you want of me, Dary? I’ve prostrated myself before your throne. I’m awash in guilt! You know my dark secret. Maybe the Lord took vengeance on me for loving Caroline Hubble?”
“Stop babbling, you’re wracked with pity.”
“You want me in a monastery talking this over with Jesus, don’t you?”
“Tell you what I want, Conor. I want you to get on the next ship out of Ireland.”
Conor gnarled and tried to weep at the same time. But the tears were all long spent on poor dear Myles. That was the last time he’d cried. “Go to hell, Father Dary.”
“Well then,” Dary pressed, “you’ve a few choices. You’ve done your year and a day looking for stout-hearted fighting men to no avail. You can take on the British singlehanded or take a shortcut and rip Roger Hubble’s Adam’s apple out with your bare hands.”
“You’re a kid and you’re talking like a Jesuit. Say what you mean and mean what you say.”
“I’m also a Larkin,” Dary said. “I’ve a drop or two of republican blood in my veins, but I’ll not go the way of the gunman. I’m also an Irishman. What I am now most of all is your brother. I know you better than you know yourself. You’re very fuzzy, and what I see clearly is a man who is fast becoming a danger to himself.”
Conor stopped battling his brother long enough to allow Dary’s words to make their way in. “You really want me out of Ireland, don’t you, Dary?”
“Aye, I do, until you can get reacquainted with yourself.”
Conor was always baffled by Dary. He grew up liking skirts and bosoms well enough. Had he taken a stand against the priesthood, Finola could never have forced him. He was his own lad and he chose the priesthood. He made a deliberate choice that there was something better in the world than what he saw around him. Who could argue? He alone, among the Larkins, was at peace with himself.
“Dary…”
“You’re almost to the point where you’ll go to the bottom of the wall in Bogside and pitch pennies and never draw a sober breath again. Or, you’ll go killer. You’re a promise that will never be fulfilled. Look at this forge-it’s desolate. Myles and Maud are not coming back and you ” can’t take on the British presence in Ireland by yourself.
“Sail the seas, Conor,” Dary went on. “Take control of 1 the memories of Caroline Hubble and tuck them away. There is a woman somewhere who wants to come in to you, but you’ll not find her until Caroline stops blocking her way. What you