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Authors: Brian Conaghan
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thought you hated our Reg– … Government, Dad?’ I said.
‘That may be true, if you can call them a Government –more like a cabal of hoodlums! I want them overthrown through democracy and diplomacy, Charlie. Not with bombs and bullets.’ Dad pointed to his head and mouth. ‘I want to do it with this and this.’
‘So why do they want our land?’ I asked.
‘They say they have a right to it,’ Dad said.
‘It’s written somewhere apparently, Charlie,’ Mum said, taking yet another puff.
‘Your mum’s right,’ Dad said.
‘So? Some guy writes it somewhere and everyone believes him?’ I said.
‘That’s about the size of it,’ Dad said.
‘That’s hardly a law,’ I said.
‘It’s illegal, that’s what it is,’ Mum said.
‘That’s what they believe,’ Dad said. ‘That’s what they live by.’
‘And so that means you have to start bombing people out of their homes just because you believe in some tripe that was written, like, a million years ago?’
‘It’s a world gone wrong, morally mad,’ Mum said.
‘That’s just crazy stuff,’ I said.
‘I couldn’t agree more, son,’ Mum said.
I bowed my head and tried to gather my thoughts. Mum stood up and looked out of the window. The news guy was now off our telly screen. Our screen was blank. Obviously all the television-making people had done a runner. No chancewould I have stayed peering through a camera; I’d have been offski too. Stuff that, waiting to film bombs being fired straight at you.
Mum whispered from the window, ‘So this is it then?’ and just before she sat down she said, ‘The place is deserted.’
In all the books I’d read about bombs and coups and death there is always this big moment of panic before everything hits the fan. But that was fiction. Here in the reality of Little Town my family sat in silence. A strange sort of calm washed over us. Usually at this time of night Mum would be busting my chops to do the dishes, tidy my room or to stop ripping her knitting. Instead we sat in the silence of our own thoughts.
‘Can’t they just live here with us … in harmony … or whatever?’ I said. ‘It’s not as if they’re perfect.’
‘It’s not as easy as that, Charlie,’ Dad said.
‘It’s not, Charlie,’ Mum said.
‘Why?’ I said.
‘The fact is, they don’t like us and we don’t care much for them. We’re not compatible. End of. And anyway, replacing one controlling Regime with another is hardly a progressive move, is it?’ Dad said.
‘Our ways are different, Charlie,’ Mum said.
‘But how can I not like them when I don’t even know any of them?’ I said.
‘But you do know them,’ Mum said.
‘No I don’t,’ I said.
‘What about your wee buddy across there?’ Dad said, pointing at our front door.
‘Who?’
‘The Duda fella,’ Dad said.
‘Pav?’
‘Yes.’
‘He’s not one of them,’ I said.
‘He is, Charlie,’ Mum said.
‘He’s only from there,’ I said. ‘That doesn’t make him one of them.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ Dad said.
‘But Pav and his family don’t want our land; they only came here for protection, like refugees. Pav’s dad earns an honest crust. It’s not like they pure love our Regime or anything.’
‘We know this, Charlie, son,’ Mum said.
‘And he was a major player in some brainy job back in Old Country.’
‘I know this,’ Dad said.
‘How do you know?’ I asked.
‘This is Little Town, Charlie. We do know a thing or two about who comes in and who goes out. People talk … well, whisper. People listen,’ Dad said.
‘So if you know what he did why can’t he get a similar job here then?’
‘It’s not as simple as that, Charlie,’ Dad said.
‘But he has the skills,’ I said.
‘And so do many Little Towners,’ Dad said. There was anger in his voice. Maybe it was fear. ‘Our Government don’t want skills, they want control, or men who’ll exercise that control.’
Dad was meaning people like The Big
‘That may be true, if you can call them a Government –more like a cabal of hoodlums! I want them overthrown through democracy and diplomacy, Charlie. Not with bombs and bullets.’ Dad pointed to his head and mouth. ‘I want to do it with this and this.’
‘So why do they want our land?’ I asked.
‘They say they have a right to it,’ Dad said.
‘It’s written somewhere apparently, Charlie,’ Mum said, taking yet another puff.
‘Your mum’s right,’ Dad said.
‘So? Some guy writes it somewhere and everyone believes him?’ I said.
‘That’s about the size of it,’ Dad said.
‘That’s hardly a law,’ I said.
‘It’s illegal, that’s what it is,’ Mum said.
‘That’s what they believe,’ Dad said. ‘That’s what they live by.’
‘And so that means you have to start bombing people out of their homes just because you believe in some tripe that was written, like, a million years ago?’
‘It’s a world gone wrong, morally mad,’ Mum said.
‘That’s just crazy stuff,’ I said.
‘I couldn’t agree more, son,’ Mum said.
I bowed my head and tried to gather my thoughts. Mum stood up and looked out of the window. The news guy was now off our telly screen. Our screen was blank. Obviously all the television-making people had done a runner. No chancewould I have stayed peering through a camera; I’d have been offski too. Stuff that, waiting to film bombs being fired straight at you.
Mum whispered from the window, ‘So this is it then?’ and just before she sat down she said, ‘The place is deserted.’
In all the books I’d read about bombs and coups and death there is always this big moment of panic before everything hits the fan. But that was fiction. Here in the reality of Little Town my family sat in silence. A strange sort of calm washed over us. Usually at this time of night Mum would be busting my chops to do the dishes, tidy my room or to stop ripping her knitting. Instead we sat in the silence of our own thoughts.
‘Can’t they just live here with us … in harmony … or whatever?’ I said. ‘It’s not as if they’re perfect.’
‘It’s not as easy as that, Charlie,’ Dad said.
‘It’s not, Charlie,’ Mum said.
‘Why?’ I said.
‘The fact is, they don’t like us and we don’t care much for them. We’re not compatible. End of. And anyway, replacing one controlling Regime with another is hardly a progressive move, is it?’ Dad said.
‘Our ways are different, Charlie,’ Mum said.
‘But how can I not like them when I don’t even know any of them?’ I said.
‘But you do know them,’ Mum said.
‘No I don’t,’ I said.
‘What about your wee buddy across there?’ Dad said, pointing at our front door.
‘Who?’
‘The Duda fella,’ Dad said.
‘Pav?’
‘Yes.’
‘He’s not one of them,’ I said.
‘He is, Charlie,’ Mum said.
‘He’s only from there,’ I said. ‘That doesn’t make him one of them.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ Dad said.
‘But Pav and his family don’t want our land; they only came here for protection, like refugees. Pav’s dad earns an honest crust. It’s not like they pure love our Regime or anything.’
‘We know this, Charlie, son,’ Mum said.
‘And he was a major player in some brainy job back in Old Country.’
‘I know this,’ Dad said.
‘How do you know?’ I asked.
‘This is Little Town, Charlie. We do know a thing or two about who comes in and who goes out. People talk … well, whisper. People listen,’ Dad said.
‘So if you know what he did why can’t he get a similar job here then?’
‘It’s not as simple as that, Charlie,’ Dad said.
‘But he has the skills,’ I said.
‘And so do many Little Towners,’ Dad said. There was anger in his voice. Maybe it was fear. ‘Our Government don’t want skills, they want control, or men who’ll exercise that control.’
Dad was meaning people like The Big
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