Rebel Streets by Tom Molloy

Author:Tom Molloy
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-9848359-8-0
Publisher: Nortia Press

Soldiers stood on rooftops, in windows, at every curb and street corner. Soldiers draped like green bunting upon their armored cars, soldiers squinted into telephoto lenses. Still other soldiers crowded them as they bore upon their shoulders the coffins of Big Mick and Tommy Higgins. The British were an armed wall all around, saying look at us, our numbers, our skills, our machines, our technology. We are stronger than you.

The Irish, unarmed, silent, footfalls in slow cadence carrying their martyred dead, basking in their ancient rituals, replying. Look at us, we are better than you.

As the British gripped their weapons the IRA began to materialize in front of them. Men in masks, women and children crowding close. Now the honor guard, green jackets, black berets, masks, to place a black beret and pair of gloves upon each coffin. At a low command, the coffins hoisted to the guards’ shoulders. Now forward toward the end of the block where the hearse waited.

The soldiers leaned in to brush against their enemies, to not yield one inch of this place. The mourners pushed slowly through, the families squeezed tight, the parents, the widows, the brothers and sisters, the children, shoving against the strong arms of the British, pushing forward.

The British allowed them through, squeezing them, smirking, looking down from rooftops, staring and staring at them, as near the hearse the crowd grew to thousands, and more thousands moved toward it and waited along the route to the cemetery.

On the route the soldiers were gathered in large groups at key intersections, green knots to the flowing ribbons of Irish mourners who lined the sidewalks.

At the cemetery Jimmy and Louis stepped forward, the black mask sucking at the tears that fell freely from Louis’s eyes. When they lifted the coffin to their shoulders, Jimmy felt the furious eyes of the dead upon him, heard them whisper at him to keep away.

Step left, again, and thrice more, turn slowly, and from the coffin a whiff of the destination awaiting them all. Halt. Turn again. From the crowd masked men with pistols suddenly appeared, raising the guns in salute. One, two, three volleys.

Jimmy stood straight, the back of his knees aching, his throat dry as words sprinkled on him and fell on the grass nearby. Words of anger, grief, hope, indignation. Words of prayer.

Pray, he told himself, pray for the dead. He tried. He could not bring his thoughts into focus. Pray, he told himself, but all he could do was endure the two gaping holes in the soft earth, the sobs of the women, the coolness of the soldiers in the distance watching and watching, and the radiating heat of his race’s rage.

On command he snapped to attention and executed his salute, closing together heels, his left thumb perfectly on the seam of his trousers. The bugle played, their f lag of rebellion was folded, the beret and gloves presented and wrung dry by the widows.

The hard men melted away, the guards of honor faded into the crowd that began to dissolve.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.