has
short thinning black hair and is clean-shaven, with heavy boots and a
fur-collared overcoat. He looks me over half-amused, half-annoyed.
‘The two of you,
get back on patrol.’
His accent is
middle-class Dublin southside.
The two slovenly
henchmen climb back up the escalator.
‘Gave you a bit
of a doing over, did they? What’s your name?’
‘George Holden.’
‘Who are you
with, George? Army or Guards?’
‘I’m just a
civilian.’
‘What were you
doing upstairs?’
‘Looking for
food.’
‘How did you
get in without Tommo and Griffin seeing you?’
‘I don't know. I
just walked in.’
He is silent
for a long interval during which the blood starts to pound through my brain so
hard I think my ears might burst.
‘Linda!’ he
shouts.
An overweight
red-faced woman emerges from the checkout area.
‘Tell Tommo and
Griffin to come back.’
She starts to
huff her way up the steps.
‘Get a move on,
Linda.’
‘Shut your hole.
I'm going fast enough.’
When Tommo and
Griffin return he gives me a hard shove.
‘What do you see
here?’ he says to them.
They look
confused.
‘Does he look
like a copper or a soldier to you? Are you thick, bringing him in here? He’s
nobody. Why didn’t you just shoot him?’
‘We thought
it'd be better if you handled him, Victor.’
‘Where were you
when he walked in here?’
They look at
their boots.
‘This happens
again, I'll throw your children out into the snow.’
‘It won't
happen again, Victor.’
‘We'll do
better.’
‘Get back
outside and do your job.’
Victor turns to
me. ‘George, are you a political man?’
I have say
something. ‘Not really.’
He shakes his
head. ‘My friend, everyone has sympathies. What I am asking you is, do you
stand with us?’
‘I don’t
understand.’
‘Think, man. Do
you support the ideal of a united island governed according to socialistic
principles?’
I dare to look
at him. ‘Of course.’
‘Good. Never
let it be said that the Unity IRA took life when it wasn’t necessary.’
I’m not sure
what he’s saying.
‘We’ll lock you
away for now. Think of it as a bedding in. Behave yourself, do what you’re
told, and you might get out of this alive.’
He puts me in a
small, pitch-dark room behind the meat counter.
Unity IRA. I’m a
prisoner of the Unity IRA.
Feel around the
walls. Junk-filled dusty shelves, boxes and sacks on the floor, sweeping
brushes and mops in the corner.
My eyes adapt to
the dark. Slivers of light penetrating from the corridor, where a sort of red
emergency lighting is in operation. It’s cold in this room. Hold my coat
tightly. I can hear shouting, guffawing.
My body rocks to
the beat of my heart. How much time has gone by? Not sure. Nor am I sure about
space. The darkness is a void whose limits may be a few feet away, or a billion
light years. Drifting now, afloat on a river. My body rotates, head over heels.
Arcing around slowly.
I emerge into
clear, fresh air, bright morning sunlight. The Salt Desert shines like ice, so
beautiful, so far below me. But I am descending, descending…
The door is
unlocked and red glare floods in from the corridor, hurting my eyes. It’s the
woman Linda.
‘Jaysus, have
you been in the dark all the time? I'll get you a candle, love. Look, I've
brought you a cuppa and some biscuits. Don’t tell the men. We’re not supposed
to give you anything. Do you like digestives? I'll leave this bucket over here
for when you have to go to the toilet, okay? We have to use the buckets outside
too. The bleeding pipes are frozen up with the weather.’
Only now do I
realise how hungry I am. All is consumed as she watches. She laughs and takes
the empty cup.
‘Can I have
more?’
‘We’ll see,
love.’
She locks the
door behind and returns in a little while with a lit candle, but no more food.
‘Please let me
go.’ I have moved myself with my plaintiveness.
‘Sorry, love.
It’s Victor you need to talk to.’
She locks
short thinning black hair and is clean-shaven, with heavy boots and a
fur-collared overcoat. He looks me over half-amused, half-annoyed.
‘The two of you,
get back on patrol.’
His accent is
middle-class Dublin southside.
The two slovenly
henchmen climb back up the escalator.
‘Gave you a bit
of a doing over, did they? What’s your name?’
‘George Holden.’
‘Who are you
with, George? Army or Guards?’
‘I’m just a
civilian.’
‘What were you
doing upstairs?’
‘Looking for
food.’
‘How did you
get in without Tommo and Griffin seeing you?’
‘I don't know. I
just walked in.’
He is silent
for a long interval during which the blood starts to pound through my brain so
hard I think my ears might burst.
‘Linda!’ he
shouts.
An overweight
red-faced woman emerges from the checkout area.
‘Tell Tommo and
Griffin to come back.’
She starts to
huff her way up the steps.
‘Get a move on,
Linda.’
‘Shut your hole.
I'm going fast enough.’
When Tommo and
Griffin return he gives me a hard shove.
‘What do you see
here?’ he says to them.
They look
confused.
‘Does he look
like a copper or a soldier to you? Are you thick, bringing him in here? He’s
nobody. Why didn’t you just shoot him?’
‘We thought
it'd be better if you handled him, Victor.’
‘Where were you
when he walked in here?’
They look at
their boots.
‘This happens
again, I'll throw your children out into the snow.’
‘It won't
happen again, Victor.’
‘We'll do
better.’
‘Get back
outside and do your job.’
Victor turns to
me. ‘George, are you a political man?’
I have say
something. ‘Not really.’
He shakes his
head. ‘My friend, everyone has sympathies. What I am asking you is, do you
stand with us?’
‘I don’t
understand.’
‘Think, man. Do
you support the ideal of a united island governed according to socialistic
principles?’
I dare to look
at him. ‘Of course.’
‘Good. Never
let it be said that the Unity IRA took life when it wasn’t necessary.’
I’m not sure
what he’s saying.
‘We’ll lock you
away for now. Think of it as a bedding in. Behave yourself, do what you’re
told, and you might get out of this alive.’
He puts me in a
small, pitch-dark room behind the meat counter.
Unity IRA. I’m a
prisoner of the Unity IRA.
Feel around the
walls. Junk-filled dusty shelves, boxes and sacks on the floor, sweeping
brushes and mops in the corner.
My eyes adapt to
the dark. Slivers of light penetrating from the corridor, where a sort of red
emergency lighting is in operation. It’s cold in this room. Hold my coat
tightly. I can hear shouting, guffawing.
My body rocks to
the beat of my heart. How much time has gone by? Not sure. Nor am I sure about
space. The darkness is a void whose limits may be a few feet away, or a billion
light years. Drifting now, afloat on a river. My body rotates, head over heels.
Arcing around slowly.
I emerge into
clear, fresh air, bright morning sunlight. The Salt Desert shines like ice, so
beautiful, so far below me. But I am descending, descending…
The door is
unlocked and red glare floods in from the corridor, hurting my eyes. It’s the
woman Linda.
‘Jaysus, have
you been in the dark all the time? I'll get you a candle, love. Look, I've
brought you a cuppa and some biscuits. Don’t tell the men. We’re not supposed
to give you anything. Do you like digestives? I'll leave this bucket over here
for when you have to go to the toilet, okay? We have to use the buckets outside
too. The bleeding pipes are frozen up with the weather.’
Only now do I
realise how hungry I am. All is consumed as she watches. She laughs and takes
the empty cup.
‘Can I have
more?’
‘We’ll see,
love.’
She locks the
door behind and returns in a little while with a lit candle, but no more food.
‘Please let me
go.’ I have moved myself with my plaintiveness.
‘Sorry, love.
It’s Victor you need to talk to.’
She locks
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