Кен Бруен: In the Galway Silence

Pulled him up the shore and collapsed. He was muttering,

“Cold, so cold.”

I got to my feet and retrieved my coat, wrapped him in it, then got my phone and called an ambulance. My whole body shook. I reached back into my jacket, got the flask, got some of the Jay into the man’s mouth. Took a long swig my own self.

The ambulance came within minutes with a squad car right behind. I explained the situation. The attendants got the man wrapped fast and offered me a blanket, said,

“You better come too.”

I said no.

I saw the flash of an iPhone. Damn dog walker.

The Guards treated me with suspicion. One of them suddenly said,

“God almighty, it’s Taylor.”

His partner, young and eager, asked,

“Who’s that?”

The older guy said,

“Trouble is what he is.”

Leveled a hard stare at me, barked,

“What are you doing here, this time of the morning?”

The ambulance attendant said,

“Being a hero, is what.”

I took a slug from the flask to the disapproval of both Guards.

The ambulance attendant handed me my coat, said,

“You might well have saved that man from hypothermia.”

Not to mention drowning but I said nothing.

The young Guard grabbed the coat, said,

“That is an official Garda coat. I’ll write you up for that.”

The attendant said,

“Christ, don’t be a bollix.”

My thoughts exactly but they kept the coat.

Before the ambulance departed, I went over to check on the man. He managed to sit up and beckoned me. I was ready to say,

“No need to thank me.”

He leaned real close, whispered,

“Fuck you.”

The ambulance guy heard him and, as he prepared to leave, said,

“It’s the shock.”

I thought about that, answered,

“He’s probably a Guard.”

Coatless, I made my wet, frozen way home.

The country was reeling under a double horror.

The Grace case where vulnerable children were left in a home where abuse of all kinds was not only known to have occurred but had been reported numerous times to the department of health. Grace was removed once, but

Then returned to the same home.

And this was not a matter of months but twenty years.

As people tried to find some way of analyzing this, it was revealed that a

Septic tank, yes a septic tank , was the dumping place for babies of unwed mothers or mothers deemed unfit , and children up to three years old had been thus dumped. A cursory search had disclosed that at least eighty-five bodies were

Thrown there.

The order of nuns in charge of the poor women refused to take any responsibility and had indeed hired a PR lady who, on hearing of the accusations, replied,

“So?”

Further, she told a TV crew investigating that the most they would find was

“ A few old bones .”

I made the papers.

“Local hero saves drowning man. ”

They detailed how ex-Garda John...

John!

“... Taylor risked his life to save a man in the Claddagh Basin.”

It didn’t mention the Guards confiscating my beloved coat.

In the pub, I took a fair amount of slagging.

Like

“ Oh, save me Johnny .”

“ Throw us a lifeline, John boy .”

It did earn me some free drinks. I was on my second of these when Renaud appeared. Not, alas, to praise me.

Opened with,

“You have time to jump in rivers when you should be searching for the killer of my sons?”

I nearly said,

“I was looking for clues.”

But went with,

“I found nothing in my investigation.”

He looked like he might spit in my drink.

Which would have been a very, very bad idea.

I finished my drink, brushed past him out to the street. He followed me, uttering a string of French invectives. He reminded me of somebody.

On a wall opposite was a tag that was to be found all over the city.

2

 4

  J

I was staring at it when Renaud grabbed my arm, shouted,

“You are fired.”

I turned to him, the penny dropping. I said,

“Trump! You are the spit of the Donald.”

He laughed almost manically, exclaimed,

“ Le Donald, c’est magnifique .”

The Tuam babies scandal rocked Irish life to its core.

How do you even vaguely understand how nuns...

Nuns!

Dumped the bodies of babies and very young children into a septic tank.

The Grace shock.

A vulnerable girl, later as an adult, was left for twenty years with foster parents who abused her in every way there is.

And

Despite social workers’ reports, even after she was temporarily removed, was then put back into the same viper’s hole. And other children and adults too.

All vulnerable and horrendously molested.

You listened to the news, the reports and, truly, your jaw dropped.

Enda Kenny, our much-maligned leader of the coalition government, responded with one of the finest speeches of barely contained rage.

Said,

“We did not just hide away the dead bodies

Of tiny human beings.

We dug deeper

To bury

Our compassion,

Our mercy

And

Our very humanity.”

Amid all this horror, you strove desperately to find a reason even to stir from bed. Got some through football.

For once, the beautiful game was... beautiful.

Barcelona were four down going into the second match with Paris Saint-Germain. The papers had crucified Barca in the week leading up to the second match.

Incredulous, I read descriptions of

Has been

Finished.

I mean, seriously?

You can never, ever write off such a team. I knew that team would roar back with absolute ferocity.

Did they just.

Not only had they to score four but, when PSG scored, they had to up the ante again.

And again.

And, fuck me,

Again.

Never have I seen such a comeback.

I’m not your up-on-his-feet shouting at matches unless it’s Galway in the hurling and even then I’m relatively mild.

I was up

Shouting

Wild.

And only sorry I hadn’t my beloved pup to dance with.

Thinking of dogs, my heart was scalded by the memory of my gorgeous dog.

Storm.

And a tiny hurricane he was.

Jesus.

I wept when they killed him.

And in such a vicious bloody fashion.

The maniac who did it had a warped awful sense of twisted humor.

Cut the pup’s heart out

And

Left this note, with the heart literally in the middle of the sentence:

I heart Fenians.

I made an unholy pact to enter the darkness of my own mind. The cold place where nothing lives.

I did so with vengeance aforethought.

Did I fucking ever.

And knew such a price as would ensue from that dark territory. They mutter,

“For revenge, then dig two graves.”

I dug a whole brutal field.

I was not consoled.

I would never again go gentle into any sane night.

Ever.

I knew and I was content.