Read Online Peeling Oranges by James Lawless - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: James Lawless
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MacSuibhne in the face of death:
Why did he not cower down or pull at my sleeve and beg to be saved? Perhaps when one extinguishes other lives so easily, one places little value on one’s own. He stared at me knowingly. His confidence in relation to M made me feel that there was some secret between them to which I was not privy. Absence does not make the heart grow fonder, but rather more distrusting. I feel like a person who has arrived too late at an important event. Childhood bonds cannot be broken, not even by adult institutions, not even by marriage. I feel like Edgar to G’s Heathcliff.
I tried to rise above the attempted slurs. I told him my instructions were to accompany him to the French border at B, whence he would be escorted by the Gestapo to Germany. There it was intended he would join up with other members of the ‘movement’ who were planning Operation Dove. My job was to explain the dangers, that it could be double-cross – ‘the generalisimo is capable of anything,’ I whispered, interjecting into my own statement, while staring at his splint. He could be shot in the back while supposedly escaping. And there would be nothing we could argue against the Spanish head of State who was not putting himself at risk. There were no guarantees. But on the other hand there was no alternative either.
‘Danger is no stranger to me,’ he said.
The guardia civil returned carrying crutches made of wood so rough they looked like they had just been hacked down from a tree.
My heart grieved that we had to abandon Jesús in the dark cell. MacSuibhne protested, but I told him they were orders.
***
Sometimes a life depends on lack of light.
The agreement with the Guardia Civil was to wait until darkness had fallen before moving MacSuibhne; and Javier Jiménez would then drive them to the French border. They had papers which authorised their entry through any Nationalist roadblocks that they might encounter:
As we motored along the Cantabrian coast, JJ kept swearing for being enjoined upon to drive a ‘comunista rojo’. I felt the tension growing between JJ and G. G apparently understood some of JJ’s anti-communist imprecations, and suddenly lashed out at him with his crutch which nearly caused the car to crash.
By dawn we had reached the pass through the Pyrenees. We met two German agents. As G was led away, he struck again with his crutch at JJ, shouting that I would have to banish my fascist friend.
JJ, inflamed, ran to our car and reappeared wielding a revolver. He pointed it at G’s back shouting ‘anarquista” and ‘bastardo’. I hurled myself at the diminutive man, bringing him to the ground. A shot rang out. Blood trickled from my arm. I had possession of the revolver as G and the two agents, their Lugers drawn, glanced back. ‘Go on,’ I shouted breathlessly, ‘everything is all right now. Go gcumhdaí Dia tú.’
I heard the tapping of the crutches on rocky ground for a while longer, and then the harsh sound of an engine, and then the lights turning away from Spain.
***
Patrick made no attempt to have Jiménez reprimanded. He knew it would have caused a diplomatic furore if the Irish legation had sought the reprimanding of a loyal Spanish subject, especially at a time when the Caudillo was at his most triumphalist. It also could have jeopardised the life of Gearóid MacSuibhne.
But there was also a darker, secret reason, as Patrick records in his diaries:
JJ holds a noose around my neck concerning the Barcelona trips. He is a source of great worry to me. He wants more money for his continued silence. I have no choice but to comply.
***
Patrick was recalled from Spain. He spent some time in Washington, where he met up with Doctor Beltrán. He seems to have undergone some sort of operation. He talks about Beltrán extracting sperm from a sample of tissue, taken from the testes, during a small biopsy. His diaries are not clear on this period and, as he was home a lot of the time, there
Why did he not cower down or pull at my sleeve and beg to be saved? Perhaps when one extinguishes other lives so easily, one places little value on one’s own. He stared at me knowingly. His confidence in relation to M made me feel that there was some secret between them to which I was not privy. Absence does not make the heart grow fonder, but rather more distrusting. I feel like a person who has arrived too late at an important event. Childhood bonds cannot be broken, not even by adult institutions, not even by marriage. I feel like Edgar to G’s Heathcliff.
I tried to rise above the attempted slurs. I told him my instructions were to accompany him to the French border at B, whence he would be escorted by the Gestapo to Germany. There it was intended he would join up with other members of the ‘movement’ who were planning Operation Dove. My job was to explain the dangers, that it could be double-cross – ‘the generalisimo is capable of anything,’ I whispered, interjecting into my own statement, while staring at his splint. He could be shot in the back while supposedly escaping. And there would be nothing we could argue against the Spanish head of State who was not putting himself at risk. There were no guarantees. But on the other hand there was no alternative either.
‘Danger is no stranger to me,’ he said.
The guardia civil returned carrying crutches made of wood so rough they looked like they had just been hacked down from a tree.
My heart grieved that we had to abandon Jesús in the dark cell. MacSuibhne protested, but I told him they were orders.
***
Sometimes a life depends on lack of light.
The agreement with the Guardia Civil was to wait until darkness had fallen before moving MacSuibhne; and Javier Jiménez would then drive them to the French border. They had papers which authorised their entry through any Nationalist roadblocks that they might encounter:
As we motored along the Cantabrian coast, JJ kept swearing for being enjoined upon to drive a ‘comunista rojo’. I felt the tension growing between JJ and G. G apparently understood some of JJ’s anti-communist imprecations, and suddenly lashed out at him with his crutch which nearly caused the car to crash.
By dawn we had reached the pass through the Pyrenees. We met two German agents. As G was led away, he struck again with his crutch at JJ, shouting that I would have to banish my fascist friend.
JJ, inflamed, ran to our car and reappeared wielding a revolver. He pointed it at G’s back shouting ‘anarquista” and ‘bastardo’. I hurled myself at the diminutive man, bringing him to the ground. A shot rang out. Blood trickled from my arm. I had possession of the revolver as G and the two agents, their Lugers drawn, glanced back. ‘Go on,’ I shouted breathlessly, ‘everything is all right now. Go gcumhdaí Dia tú.’
I heard the tapping of the crutches on rocky ground for a while longer, and then the harsh sound of an engine, and then the lights turning away from Spain.
***
Patrick made no attempt to have Jiménez reprimanded. He knew it would have caused a diplomatic furore if the Irish legation had sought the reprimanding of a loyal Spanish subject, especially at a time when the Caudillo was at his most triumphalist. It also could have jeopardised the life of Gearóid MacSuibhne.
But there was also a darker, secret reason, as Patrick records in his diaries:
JJ holds a noose around my neck concerning the Barcelona trips. He is a source of great worry to me. He wants more money for his continued silence. I have no choice but to comply.
***
Patrick was recalled from Spain. He spent some time in Washington, where he met up with Doctor Beltrán. He seems to have undergone some sort of operation. He talks about Beltrán extracting sperm from a sample of tissue, taken from the testes, during a small biopsy. His diaries are not clear on this period and, as he was home a lot of the time, there
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