The Scorching Wind Read online

  All he was interested in then was to get to the fresh air. He heard screams and shouts coming from behind him, and had reached the air, when the lights went on again. He came out of the place coughing, feeling like retching. So what must the people of the stage feel like.

  ‘Get away! Get away!’ he heard Lowry saying: ‘Let you all get out of sight for a week.’

  And the face of Sam Browne loomed in front of him. Sam had to bend down to him. Sam didn’t smell at all, Dominic thought, Sam had been wise enough to get out before the bombs exploded.

  ‘Now you see,’ said Sam. ‘That makes up for the Belgian.’

  ‘I see nothing,’ said Dominic. ‘I see nothing.’

  ‘You will,’ said Sam. ‘ You will,’ and he was gone and Dominic was running towards his digs.

  They weren’t far. Up by the market-place and into a street of a row of two-storey houses. He opened the letterbox and reached for the string of the key, pulled it up and inserted it and opened the door and closed it quickly behind him, and stood there looking at his father and mother.

  They were sitting at the kitchen table, just sitting, with the lady of the house turning from the range where the kettle was boiling.

  ‘What’s that awful smell, Dominic?’ his father asked.

  Dominic didn’t answer. He shed the old coat and ran with it to the back door and heaved it into the yard. Then he stood and sniffed. He didn’t smell quite as bad, he thought. Then the face of his mother came into his mind and he turned and looked at her. The kitchen was lighted by two gas brackets with coloured globes jutting from the bricked walls each side of the range, but even in that poor light he could see that his mother was very pale.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s Dualta,’ she said. ‘We got word. He is missing.’

  Her head dropped in her hands. Dominic got on his knees before, her and pulled one hand from her face and said, ‘It will be all right, I tell you. It will be all right. I feel nothing.’ Although he knew he felt as if he had been kicked in the heart.

  Chapter Four

  EASTER TUESDAY there was no postman.

  This was a sensational occurrence. Dominic’s mother was always watching the postman now. She had heard that Dualta was missing, that was, officially, but she also knew from other people that the captain of the company or the chaplain or someone always sat down and painfully composed a scrawl. This was what she was waiting for.

  Dominic kept away from the house as much as he could. His father had developed a cold and stayed in bed surrounded by books and hot drinks mainly composed of heated potheen. It was reputed to hunt the germs of a cold in short order, probably burning them to death, Dominic thought; one time it had been forced on himself.

  When the postman didn’t call on Tuesday he went to the post-office shop to find out the reason.

  Nobody could get in or out of the town, he was told. There were no trains, no mail, nothing allowed in or out on account of the rebellion in Dublin. Who? He didn’t know. Some young blackguards. They said there was something moving in the county too. Police and military were piling into the town. Didn’t he see all the warships puffing into the bay, making white water?

  He told this to his father. It nearly cured his father’s cold. It couldn’t be true, his father said. Tackle the pony and go and see for yourself.

  So he tackled the pony and only got two miles when he was turned back by armed policemen, strangers, who searched the trap and himself, asked his name, what was his business, where did he think he was going, and when asked ‘What’s up?’ told him to mind his own business, turn the pony and go back to hell from where he came from. He did so. A rising in Dublin, his father said, just could not be. Who was there among the young men who would have the courage to rise now? Wasn’t the patriotism burned out of the lot of them? Well, there’s something up, Dominic told him. There are no trains. There are no letters. The shopman below cannot get supplies. Have you ever known this to happen before? No, his father admitted, but it was something to do with the war. All the red-blooded young men of Ireland were spilling it in France under the Union Jack. What about the Sinn Fein Volunteers? Them, said his father. Wet wind most of them. All they were good for was throwing stink bombs in public buildings. He said this looking over his glasses at Dominic. Then he settled back to his book.

  Dominic wasn’t so sure. He remembered Lowry. He seemed to have an air of dedication about him, and sureness. It wasn’t just talk with him. If it wasn’t for the Easter vacation, Dominic would have been in there and would know.

  One night as they sat with their back to Moran’s gable-end, they heard the sound of the ships in the bay and saw the flash of a searchlight sweeping the coast. It brought them all to their feet in amazement. The searchlight played along the rugged coast, for nearly an hour as the cruiser worked up and down the bay.

  ‘My soul, but they’ll ruin the potheen business, if they keep lighting the land like that all night,’ said Peter O’Flaherty.

  They laughed. But it was a strange business. One said he had heard a German boat was to land arms at Spiddal. This was scoffed at. Who was there who knew one end of a gun from the other except soldiers?

  Finally the searchlight went out, and they could barely see the outline of the cruiser making its way back towards the town. Later, they heard the crump of a ship’s gun firing a few rounds. It was distant. They could recognize this sound because they had often heard it before at sea when the warships were practising or whatever they did. The fishermen said they always disturbed the fish.

  It was Friday before they came on more perfect knowledge.

  Dominic was in the field behind the house helping Poc Murray to plant potatoes. Poc was a big young man who was excellent with a spade. He wore heavy hobnail boots and they said he could split rocks when he drove that spade into the ground with his right foot. The field was small like all the fields within the eyes of man around here. Most of them had been won from bog and rocky soil with great labour, and the cleared rocks built into dry-stone walls to shelter them from the bitter winds of the Atlantic.

  As far as your eye could see were those small wall-enclosed fields, sloping down to the sea in front, and at the back towards the bogs and the lakes to the horizon where the mountains reared themselves, mistily blue today, and deceptive with distance.

  The road was a few hundred yards below them, and even if a dog moved on it they would lean on the spades and speculate about the dog. If it was a man or a woman they would conduct a shouting match. God Bless the Work, and You Too, and What Story is at You, and Devil a Story that is New and many others and they would spit on their palms and get back to the digging.

  It was Poc who drew Dominic’s attention to the cyclist.

  ‘See there,’ he said, ‘there is a stranger on the road.’

  Dominic looked. Sure enough about a mile away there was a man pedalling a bicycle on the road. He wore a raincoat that was open and napping in the wind that he was creating himself. Dominic wondered how Poc knew he was a stranger. Why couldn’t it be one of their own? He thought of the number of people with bicycles in the area. They were few, and the ones who owned bicycles he would recognize. So this was a stranger, but he thought that the stranger looked familiar, if that was possible.

  ‘Where would he be going now?’ Poc wondered.

  ‘He has a hard time wherever it is,’ said Dominic as the cyclist continued a most erratic course, dodging the many pot-holes.

  ‘This won’t get the work done,’ said Poc, spitting on his hands and digging again, but, as Dominic noticed, keeping one sharp blue eye on the behaviour of the cyclist. ‘By the grain,’ he said later, stopping work again, ‘if he isn’t turning into the house!’

  They lost sight of him then. He must have propped the bicycle in front of the house, because he didn’t pass it. Then they saw him coming around the back of the house and rattling the latch. They saw the door opening and a conversation taking place, Brid appearing and poi
nting up the hill.

  ‘It’s for yourself,’ said Poc, ‘I’d swear. Don’t let the stranger catch us idling,’ and the soil flew as he dug with great vigour. Dominic dropped his shovel as he got a clearer view of the man who had jumped the wall below and was coming towards them by the cart-track.

  ‘I know him,’ he said to Poc. ‘I will go to him.’

  ‘God go with you,’ said Poc, disappointed. ‘I hope he has favourable news for you.’

  ‘It won’t be long until you know all about it, I’m sure,’ said Dominic, leaving him and running.

  He met the man below the second wall and leaned there until he came near him.

  ‘Sam,’ he said, ‘ you are a long way from home.’

  ‘I am,’ said Sam Browne. ‘What cursed roads this country possesses. Maybe that’s what the rising is all about. Maybe they were just unhappy about the state of the roads.’

  He shook Dominic’s hand.

  ‘You are well?’ he asked. ‘You are all well?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Dominic. ‘Not now. Every time I see you there is trouble around the corner. Have you plenty of stories, new ones?’

  ‘I have,’ said Sam grimly. ‘I wanted a holiday, just for a few days. It is very hot in the town.’

  ‘There is frost at night everywhere,’ said Dominic gravely.

  ‘I wish to see your father,’ said Sam. ‘Maybe he would ask me to stay with ye for a few days.’

  ‘I am sure he will,’ said Dominic. Sam had the ends of his trousers tucked into his socks. The pockets of his suit and the overcoat were bulging with papers. The old raincoat he wore was the worse for wear. Sam saw him looking him up and down. ‘If your mother won’t object to a tramp,’ he said.

  Dominic clapped him on the shoulder. Sam stood firm under the blow. He looks frail, Dominic thought, but he is really very wiry.

  ‘Our house is yours,’ he said. ‘We wouldn’t even turn you away if you were a tramp. Do you know a lot of what is happening?’

  ‘I know enough,’ said Sam. ‘We’ll save it for your father. Not that it will sour in the telling. The place is like a hornet’s nest. Aren’t you lucky to live in the peace and quiet of a place like this?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Dominic. ‘Maybe we are. Come on down. You had a hard trip out. A wonder you were not stopped.’

  ‘I went by many by-roads,’ said Sam, as they went down. ‘Sometimes I shouldered the bicycle and walked through the bogs. Soldiers and police are as thick as horseflies in August. Lowry is taken.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Dominic asked.

  ‘They took Lowry,’ said Sam.

  ‘Where do they have him?’ Dominic asked.

  ‘They have himself and many others battened down in a warship,’ said Sam.

  ‘Not Lowry,’ said Dominic.

  ‘Why not,’ said Sam. ‘They’d arrest a donkey now if they thought he was braying in Irish.’

  ‘You got away,’ said Dominic.

  ‘No,’ said Sam. ‘They don’t know much about me. I’m doubtful. As long as I’m not under their eyes, they’ll forget about me.’

  They were silent then. Dominic thought about Lowry. All that vast energy and excitement which he generated closed up in a small space. ‘Lowry will explode,’ he said. Sam grunted.

  They went in the back way. Dominic’s mother was in the kitchen. She was laying places for the dinner.

  ‘This is Sam, Mother,’ said Dominic ‘He is a friend of mine. We want to see Father.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ said his mother, shaking hands with Sam. Dominic thought her face was thinner, her hair a little whiter, and he felt sad. But her greeting of Sam was warm.

  ‘Himself is a bit better today,’ she said. ‘He is not as choked. If I can keep him in bed another few days he will be all right. You will eat with us, Sam?’

  ‘It would be a pleasure, ma’am,’ said Sam.

  ‘Sam wants to stay for a few days, Mother,’ said Dominic. ‘Is that all right?’

  ‘I’ll ready a bed,’ she said immediately.

  Sam followed Dominic up the narrow stair. Here on the landing over the scullery they turned to the right. As he was about to knock Sam placed his hand on Dominic’s arm.

  ‘You have heard nothing of Dualta?’ he asked in a whisper.

  Dominic was shocked. He felt his heart miss a beat. It was always like this when anyone mentioned his name.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘We have heard nothing.’ He knocked then and went in. There were two windows looking out at the sea. The head of the bed was against the door wall, facing the windows.

  ‘I have a man wants to see you,’ said Dominic to his father. He was sitting up in the bed propped by pillows, wearing a scarf around his neck. The patchwork quilt on the bed was littered with books. There was a small table at the side of the bed where he was making notes with a pen. Dominic always admired his father’s calligraphy. He wrote a copper-plate hand. Dominic could still feel the tingling of the stick on his palms when he was corrected for his slovenly writing.

  His father looked over his spectacles at Sam.

  ‘I’m Sam Browne,’ he said. ‘You don’t know me, sir, but I know a lot about you.’

  ‘I hope they are good things,’ said the old man, taking off his glasses. He loosened the scarf on his neck. Sam could see the red flannel covering his chest. ‘Sit down. Can I do something for you?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sam, ‘You can get up from your bed and dress yourself and go to a neighbour’s house where they won’t find you.’

  Dominic saw his father’s eyes widening, and then he started to laugh. He had always marvelled at how good his father’s teeth were.

  ‘Are you trying to cure me with humour?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ said Sam. ‘I’m serious. There has been a rising in Dublin. A lot of Galwaymen came out too. They are in a panic. They are arresting everyone within reach. I think they will come for you.’

  The old man laughed again. He had deep-sunken eyes. They almost vanished. Then he coughed, and had to stop laughing. He leaned on a hand.

  ‘Dominic told me something of the rumours,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t believe him.’

  ‘Read this,’ said Sam, separating one from a bundle of papers he had taken from his pockets. ‘It’s a copy we got.’

  The old man put on his glasses. He looked at the broadsheet. It was well crumpled. He had to sit up and turn it to the light of the window to see it. He read out loud, disbelievingly:

  ‘Poblacht na hEireann. The Provisional Government of the Irish Republic to the People of Ireland. Irishmen and Irishwomen: In the name of God and the dead generations from which she receives her old tradition of nationhood, Ireland, through us, summons her children to her flag, and strikes for freedom.

  ‘Having organised and trained her manhood through her secret revolutionary organization, the Irish Republican Brotherhood, and through her open military organizations, the Irish Volunteers and the Irish Citizen Army, having patiently perfected her discipline, having resolutely waited for the right moment to reveal itself, she now seizes that moment, and supported by her exiled children in America and by gallant allies in Europe, but relying in the first on her own strength, she strikes in full confidence of victory.…’

  His voice trailed away. They watched him tensely as he read the rest to himself. They could see him changing as he read it, the disbelief giving way to a wide-eyed awareness, his fingers tightening on the paper.

  In five minutes he took his eyes from the paper and looked at them. He hardly saw them, Dominic thought.

  He said: ‘ These men who signed it, I know the man Sean MacDiarmada. He is a handsome man with a limp. I talked to him. He used to be around the province on a bicycle. And this Pearse man. He writes in the language. He is a poet. I have heard of Connolly, and MacDonagh. Listen, these men are dreamers.’

  ‘Dreamers don’t die,’ said Sam.

  ‘What did you say?’ he asked.

  ‘Dreamers sit in corners d
reaming dreams,’ said Sam. ‘They don’t fight. These dreamers have the whole of Dublin in flames for the last week. That is the proclamation they put up outside the post office.’

  ‘But Clarke is an old Fenian,’ said the old man. ‘He is as old as myself.’

  ‘He’s not too old to fire a rifle,’ said Sam.

  ‘Good God, so it’s true,’ he said. ‘ What are we doing here? Where is my son Dualta? Is the whole of Ireland up?’

  ‘No,’ said Sam. ‘The whole of Ireland is down.’

  ‘They knew?’ Dominic’s father asked. ‘ Who rose? Tell me. Who rose? All this activity in the bay?’

  ‘They were to rise on Easter Sunday,’ said Sam. ‘ Others didn’t agree. There were countermanding orders. So people were bewildered. There was a German ship to land arms. A man called Roger Casement was captured in Kerry. The ship with the arms was captured. It was scuttled. Now the crabs have it What were the people to do? No arms. Conflicting orders.’

  ‘But these men went ahead with it anyhow?’ the Master asked.

  ‘They did,’ said Sam.