Traitors

I was really happy with how this story turned out. I wrote it just after the killing of two innocent policemen in Northern Ireland earlier this year.

It's always awkward when two old friends catch up. At first there's the usual small talk about jobs and wives and children. It takes a lot of wading, a lot of formalities before the reconnection occurs with the reminiscing. The longer the period since your last encounter, the more awkward this becomes.

Connall and Deaglan were two old friends like this. They hadn't seen each other since school, where they had been a pair of rascals. They caused trouble for teachers and parents each and every day. Amazingly their paths hadn't crossed sinced Connall had moved away to go to university in Belfast. Then they ran into each other on Connall's day off, at the supermarket of all places. They arranged to meet up for a drink the next evening. The following is an account of their meeting:

Connall was the first to arrive. He sat at the bar and ordered a pint. Just one. He wasn't sure if Deaglán was still a Guinness drinker or if he had moved on to something stronger. He had always been a better drinker than Connall. Deaglán arrived shortly after Connall. They shook hands and, both sat down. Deaglán ordered a Guinness.

"You haven't changed friend", noted Connall.
"Nor have you", indicated Deaglán, motioning toward his friend's drink.

The pair laughed. Any tension which may have been there disappeared. Connall was the first to begin the small talk. He told his childhood friend about his wife and children. He talked a lot about his children. He took out his wallet to show off their pictures (as well as buy another round.)

"That's Sean on the left, he's nearly 8 now, and Cliona is the one on the tractor. She's just 4. The other ones are the inlaw's kids. Mary's brother Michael, his two. They live around the corner, so it's pretty handy. His wife never minds looking after them."

Connall's conversation continued like this. Deaglán didn't envy his friend, because these days Connall's life revolved around his children. He never thought he could be like that. He told his friend how he had a son, Bobby, but he rarely saw him. He lived with his mother.

"Selfish bitch", he spat.

Connall decided not to probe any more, and enquired about his friend's job.

"It doesn't have an official status, but there's no job more important for young Irish men" Deaglán claimed. "I'm a soldier, fighting for what's right. For freedom. Remember, like in the olden days? How we'd meet up and desecrate pictures of the Queen?"
"But we were just kids, " Connall exclaimed.
"I know. Now I can really make a difference. The tide is turning, friend, and I want you to join me, join us. Did you see Martin McGuinness on the news after those dirty Brit soldiers were killed?"

Connall did't have time to answer, to interject. He was in shock. it was childish what they used to do. Every Catholic kid is the same. It's just a bit of fun when you're that age. Then you discover girls and learn right from wrong.

Deaglán continued: "It's him that's the fucking traitor. I remember when he used to fight for our side. Now he sits and shakes hands with that Unionist scum. See him there in America? Side by side with prods. How dare he? He used to fight for us. Remember all those pictures of McGuinness and Adams in their younger days? Age makes fools of good men."

Connall stared down into his pint. He was taken aback by what his childhood friend had uttered. Was this the same Deglán? The same Deaglán who used to throw stones at cars from bridges because they had English numberplates. That's one thing, but this is another. Had he just moved up the chain, or is it down the chain, into this hate-filled figure? Stones become rocks, become bombs. Is that what happens? Was this malevolent bastard sitting across from him the fun-filled acorn of his past? What had happened to the kid who used to read comics and loved imitating super heroes? Connall shook his head, he looked for, tried to formulate something to say. Some words to show his friend's mistakes. He couldn't speak. Deaglán took this to be an acknowledgment of agreement. He continued his tirade.

"This is only the start", Deaglan began, "We need to get bigger, better. We need to be noticed."
Connall was still in shock but managed to squeak out a reply "why?"
"We need people to hear about our crusade. To understand we're not happy with this sham government. With these false rulers. People need to know Ireland is not free. Northern Ireland is not Ireland. It's just west United Kingdom. We can't stand for this."
"What do you plan on doing?", Connall stuttered.
"Something that gets us noticed. Like Omagh again. We have to show them we're serious."
"You mean killing innocent people?", Connall asked.
"Nobody's innocent up here. We're all born with an agenda implanted in us. Some just lose the way. We shall not falter."
"But what about the kids caught in the crossfire? Children the same age as mine. And younger?"
"What happens happens. It's all for the greater good. They'll die for Ireland. Who wouldn't want to be remembered for that? They'll be the children Tone and Pearse never had. Heroes", Deglan explained.

Connall took a moment to take all this in, then he asked his old friend a question: "Do you know what my job is these days?"
"No, why?" Deaglan replied.

Connall opened his wallet again, and showed his friend his badge. PSNI.

"But, but, you can't be. You're Catholic."