Notes from a Spinning Planet—Ireland (16 page)

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear of my brother’s passing. But not so surprised. I once had five brothers—Frankie, Glen, John, Colin, and Teddy. But now I am all alone. I fear I’m the last of the McIntires in Malin. Most of my nieces and nephews have moved away. Many to the cities, and some have gone off to America.” Her eyes get misty. “I fear our family is a thing of the past.”

I wonder if this dispersion of relatives is related to Ryan’s dad and his involvement in the IRA. Did he bring shame to the family? Or simply sorrow? The room gets quiet for a couple of minutes, uncomfortably quiet, and I desperately try to think of something to say, something to lighten what feels like a blanket of sadness that’s fallen on us. Fortunately Ryan beats me to it.

“Ian mentioned how my father used to come to visit you here.”

She smiles now. “Aye, he did. When he first came to Ireland, he stayed right here in this very house, he did. Back then I was living here with my sister-in-law Nora. Her husband, my younger brother Teddy, had just died, and Nora and I lived happily here for nearly two decades. But she passed on a couple of years ago. Since
then I’ve lived here alone.” She sighs. “I still remember the last time I saw your da, Ryan. Just a day before….”

She sets her teacup down and gets up to go over to the mantel, which is crowded with framed photos that appear to go back several generations. She picks up a small picture in a silver frame and holds it up for us to see. It’s a faded color snapshot of a baby. Not a great shot, but at least the baby is smiling brightly.

“Michael gave this to me.” She smiles as she adjusts her glasses and studies it more closely. “It’s you, Ryan. Michael was so happy that day he was here. He was to fly back home to America the very next day. He told me how much he missed his sweet wife and his baby boy.” She hands the photo to Ryan, then reaches into her cardigan pocket to extract a white linen hanky and dab her eyes. “I felt so bad for you and your poor mother, Ryan. So very, very sad, it was.”

Ryan nods without speaking.

“Ryan’s mother passed away this year,” Ian tells Mary, as if he wants to get this other bit of sadness out of the way.

Mary places her hand on Ryan’s shoulder and shakes her head. “I’m so sorry, son. It seems you are truly one of the Irish now.”

He looks up with a slightly confused expression.

“The sorrows. We Irish seem to have more than our fair share of sorrows.”

“Oh.”

She takes in a slow, shaky breath, then stands a bit straighten “We also have more than our fair share of the joys and the blessings. Every day I pray to the blessed Mother Mary to balance these
things. And sometimes I think perhaps God, in his wisdom, created the Irish for some divine reason.”

Ryan sort of nods. “I’d like to believe that too.”

We continue to visit with Mary, and she recalls happier times, sharing stories about Ryan’s dad when he stayed with her. “He was quite handy,” she says. “The cottage was a wee bit run-down when he came to stay. But he found me da’s old tools, and the next thing we knew, he was a-mending things and painting and what have you. ’Twas a real blessing to have him here with us. I think it was during that time that I adopted him into my heart. I came to think of him as my very own.”

Ryan smiles. “My mom said my dad loved living in Ireland.”

“Aye, he did. He was Irish to the heart.” She frowns slightly. “But ’twas a hardship for him too. He was a lot like my brother Colin.” She glances at Ian. “You must’ve met Colin while living in Belfast.”

Ian nods without speaking. Something in his expression suggests that Colin isn’t someone Ian cares to remember.

“Colin strongly believed in a united Ireland,” she continues. “I’m sure he influenced your da, Ryan. ’Twas not my idea for those two to meet. A bit like fire and straw, it was.”

“Colin was very involved in the IRA,” Ian explains. “Back to the early days of the organization.”

“I lay much of the blame for Michael’s tragedy upon Colin.” She holds her chin up slightly. “’Twas a sad irony.”

“What do you mean?” Ryan asks. “What was a sad irony?”

I’m glad he asks, because this has roused my curiosity as well.

“John, my brother and your grandfather, and Colin bitterly disagreed about certain things. John, being the oldest boy, tried to force young Colin to cease his political involvement, but Colin, being born stubborn, refused. I believe it was one of the main reasons your grandparents left for America when they did, Ryan.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“So you see, these things began long before your father…and they will undoubtedly continue long after were all gone. Political strife seems to be one of the legacies of the Irish.”

Ian is standing now, looking at his watch. “I hate to end this, but I need to be back in Derry by six o’clock for the dinner hour at my restaurant.”

Mary stands and clasps Ian’s hand in hers. “I thank you for bringing Michael’s boy to me, Ian. ’Twas good of ya.” Then she turns and wraps her arms around Ryan again. “Please come back and see me if ya can, son.”

“I’d like that,” he says.

“’Twas a pleasure to meet you as well, Maddie,” she tells me with bright, pale blue eyes that appear close to overflowing with tears again. “Ya come back to see me—all of ya—anytime.”

We’re all fairly quiet as Ian drives us back to the hotel. I’m sure Ryan has a lot to think about and sort through. I know I’m still trying to put some things together. Back in Malin Town, we thank Ian for coming to meet with us and for taking us to see Mary. Just before he gets in the car, he hands me a business card for his restaurant.

“Come in for a meal when you’re passing through Deny,” he says. “On the house, of course.”

“We’ll see what we can do,” I tell him, although I’m certain there will be snowballs down under before we can convince my aunt to sit down and eat a meal at Ian’s restaurant.

Then he looks at Ryan. “I’m sorry I didn’t have all the answers you were looking for. But I do believe they will come to you in time. If you keep searching for your own truth, that is.”

Ryan looks somewhat puzzled by this. But he nods just the same. “Thanks again,” he calls out as Ian waves and pulls away.

“Cool car,” I say for the second time as we stand on the sidewalk watching him drive off.

“Interesting day,” says Ryan as we walk up the steps to the hotel.

“Don’t you think it was weird that Ian never once brought up Sid? Like he never even knew her?”

“Yeah.” Ryan holds the door for me. “I almost asked him about her while we were driving up to Malin Head, but I couldn’t quite think of how to put it.”

“I would’ve asked him myself,” I admit as we walk through the lobby, “except I promised Sid I’d leave her out of this completely.”

“Well, you kept your promise.”

“Do you think I should tell her about him?”

“I don’t know. I mean, what would you say anyway?”

“Not that he
never
mentioned her name. Can you imagine how that would make her feel?”

“Maybe we should keep quiet about the whole thing. At least for the time being. Unless she asks, that is.”

“I doubt she’ll ask.”

As it turns out, she doesn’t ask. And we don’t tell. But as we drive through Derry the following morning on our way to Belfast, I glance at the street names and wonder where a particular restaurant might be located. I suspect Ryan might be doing the same. Even so, neither of us mentions it or anything else to do with Ian McMahan. Like my dad would say, let sleeping dogs lie.

To my relief, Sid is acting pretty much like her old self as she drives toward Belfast. It turns out that yesterday’s interview went well for her, and as a result her article on the peace camp is almost done. But the way she keeps chattering, maintaining this overly cheerful attitude, makes me think all this might be a cover-up. It could be her way of pretending that our meeting with Ian meant nothing to her. It could mean that she’s really hurting inside.

“I can’t believe we’re really in Northern Ireland,” she says as we drive through countryside that looks no different from any of the other Irish countryside. Just as pretty and green and scenic as the rest of the island.

“Why’s that?” I ask as I absently gaze out the window, looking at the familiar black-faced sheep that seem to be everywhere.

“The last time I was here, back in the dark ages—otherwise known as the seventies—you would get stopped before going across the border. You had to show your passport and go through a checkpoint just to get in. There were British armed forces and guns and the works. Just like a war zone. It was pretty unsettling, really. Now you just drive across. No big deal. You’d hardly know you’d crossed a border.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Ryan asks.

“Of course. It just feels so different.”

“Maybe the whole peace agreement and the disarmament thing is working,” I say.

“In some respects. But don’t forget about last weeks bombing,” she says, “and the RIRA.”

“How many members are in the RIRA?” I ask.

“Hopefully not many.”

Belfast turns out to be a very large city, and I’m impressed with how much Sid’s driving skills have improved, because the traffic here is gnarly. Sid drives around, pointing out some of the sights like Queen’s University, Belfast Castle, the parliament buildings, and several beautiful cathedrals. We finally wind up in a hotel right in the middle of the city.

“I’m going to be busy doing research and writing for the next couple of days,” she explains as we load our baggage onto a big brass cart in the underground parking lot. “I figured this downtown location would be fun for you two. You can book tours through the hotel or just wander around the city and discover things for yourself.”

“Sounds great,” I tell her as we walk toward the elevators.

I think I’m relieved that she has work to do. All day long I’ve been feeling guilty about our meeting with Ian yesterday—like Sid was left out in the cold, and suffering as a result. All her cheerful chatter and upbeat attitude, which just barely ring false, are starting to bug me. A couple of days might be what we need to put the whole Ian thing behind us. Poor Sid.

R
yan and I begin our first day in Belfast by grabbing a quick breakfast at the McDonalds that’s just a block away from our hotel. Okay, I know American fast food is a huge cop-out, but this enables us to catch the nine o’clock open-bus tour. The open bus is a big red double-decker deal with an open place to sit on top. Okay, it’s a little unsettling, since I’ve heard of bombs going off in these. But that was most recently in London and not even related to the RIRA. And I seriously doubt it will happen here today.

The tour takes about an hour and gives us a bit more of an overview of the city than what Sid gave us yesterday. But afterward I want to get a better look at Belfast Castle, and Ryan wants to look at the shipyards. He informs me that the
Titanic
was made here.

“The movie?” I say, instantly realizing how stupid that sounds.

But he just laughs. “They had to make the boat first, Maddie. The movie came later.”

So we part ways. And I have to say I’m relieved to have some time to myself today. The past few days have been jam-packed and somewhat stressful for me. I mean, it’s been really interesting too, but I’m ready for a mental-health break. I also noticed there are some pretty cool shopping places around here, and I want to find
a few things to impress my friends when I get home. Katie brought home all kinds of cool stuff from their trip to Europe last year. Thinking of Katie makes me wonder if she’s gotten engaged yet. I hope not. Even though I’m feeling more grown-up now, a lot older than when I left for this trip just a week and a half ago, I still think nineteen is way too young to get engaged. I’m halfway tempted to break Dad’s cell-phone rule (emergencies only) and give her a call, along with a piece of my mind.

I feel a small wave of homesickness as I stand on the corner, waiting for the bus that the hotel concierge said will take me to the castle. I’ve only been homesick a couple of times so far, and it hasn’t lasted long. But the way I feel right now takes me by surprise. I suddenly miss my parents and my brother and the farm and my friends and everything. I remind myself that I’ll be back home in five days. And then, still feeling a little blue, I actually take a moment to pray for them. I even thank God for them. Compared to Ryan and Sid, I have it pretty good when it comes to family. I guess it’s something I’ve always taken for granted.

The city bus arrives, and I get on with several others. As the bus makes a turn, a street sign catches my attention. Antrim Street? Now why is that name familiar? Then I remember that Antrim was the place Ian mentioned the other day—the place he drove to instead of taking Ryan’s dad to the airport. I decide to pull out my map of Ireland and find out where Antrim actually is. After searching a while, I realize that Antrim is actually the name of the county where Belfast is located. But then I see it’s also a town, and it’s only a little ways north of Belfast—in fact, it’s not very far from the airport.
This makes me wonder why Ian wasn’t able to do his errand and also go to the airport. Why didn’t he just take Ryan’s dad with him to Antrim? Maybe it was Ian’s excuse to part ways with Michael. But why? Michael was leaving the country anyway. What difference could a few more hours make? Of course, those hours would’ve cost Ian his life. I feel like a dog chasing its tail as I run these facts around in my head.

The more I think about it and the more I study these places on my map, the more I wonder if Ian was telling us the truth after all. I remember how Ryan kept questioning him about these things, and I think I’m beginning to see why Ryan thought Ian’s story was a little fishy. A little too convenient. Although I must admit that I found Ian’s story quite believable, at the time anyway. On the other hand, I can be pretty gullible. The old fresh-off-the-farm thing isn’t too far from the truth.

Just as the bus stops to let us out near the castle, which actually looks fairly spectacular, I remind myself I was not going to think about this stressful stuff anymore. Today is supposed to be
my day
, my chance to just relax and enjoy Belfast and shopping and whatever trips my trigger. And that’s what I intend to do. I will put all thoughts of Ian, along with the whole confusing IRA business, totally out of my head.