Chapter Thirteen #2
Cal recognizes that Mart’s feeling for this land is outside his understanding.
Cal grew up among folks whose grip on their land was given a hair-trigger savagery by the fact that they had nothing else; when he first came here, he was wary of asking directions at a strange farm in case he found himself on the wrong end of a shotgun.
When he realized that he could knock on just about any door in the townland and be met with not only directions but a cup of tea, he thought people here held their territory in lighter hands.
It took him a while to start understanding that their tie to their land is different not in its intensity but in its nature: rooted thousands of years deep, through strata of dispossession, famine, bloody rebellion.
This land has been reclaimed, not claimed, and that changes things.
The ferocity of their possession may not display itself in brandished shotguns and yelling dogs, but it’s built into every cell, latent and ineradicable, ready to rise when it’s needed again.
“We can make an objection,” he says, hearing the weakness of it as he says it. “Or take them to court, or something.”
“Oh, there’ll be plenty of objections along the way,” Mart agrees. “And plenty of courts, and plenty of lawyers getting richer, right up until all of us little fellas run outa cash. But we all know who’ll win in the end.”
“I’m not gonna sit back and let Moynihan do whatever he wants,” Cal says. “And I don’t believe you are either. So don’t give me that bullshit.”
Mart turns to look at him. Cal almost takes a step back at the violence in his eyes.
“I could have the man dead in a bog by morning,” he says, “and no one would ever know what happened him. Is that what you want?”
Cal says, “I’ve thought about it.” He didn’t intend to say that out loud, to anyone, let alone Mart.
Mart nods. “I wouldn’t blame you. I heard what Tommy’s been spreading around.”
“Yeah,” Cal says. “I figure most people have.”
Mart’s blue eyes, watery from the cold and infinitely patient, are level on Cal’s. “And what did you decide?”
“No,” Cal says.
“Why not?”
“Few different reasons,” Cal says.
“That’s a good choice,” Mart says. “There’s plenty of people that’d have every right to put Tommy in that bog. And if I thought ’twould sort the situation, I’d get it done. But it wouldn’t sort a bloody thing.”
“It’d sort out most of my problems,” Cal says.
Mart shakes his head. He looks like himself again; the violence has gone out of him, put to one side for now to let him think.
“We need Tommy, boyo. He’s started this off now, and we’ve no way of knowing how far it’s gone; for all we know, if he was outa the way, it could just keep on moving ahead without him.
Getting rid of him won’t get rid of wee Eugene, or alla them big investors up in Dublin.
We need Tommy to pull the plug. Our job is to explain to him that it’d be in his best interest to do that, before things go too far. ”
“I need to be careful,” Cal says. “Tommy’s been loud and clear that if I give him any trouble, he’s gonna fuck up Trey and Lena and me pretty good.”
Mart gives Cal’s arm a tap with the frying pan. “That’s why you were right to come to me, Jean-Claude. Strength in numbers. Tommy can bring out the big guns against one family, but he can’t bring them out against half the townland at once.”
Cal says, “Half?”
“More than that, maybe. But we might as well go into this with our eyes open: there’ll be plenty who’ll find reasons why Tommy oughta have anything he wants.”
“Including their land?”
“Not everyone’s a farmer, man. And even the ones that are: Sure ’twill be grand, you’re only making a loada fuss over nothing ’cause you’re jealous of the man, ’twon’t be my land anyhow, doesn’t Tommy deserve a bitta payback after everything he’s done for this place…
” One corner of Mart’s mouth twists dryly.
“You wouldn’t credit it, wouldja? But I told you before, sunshine: we’re a terrible place for the forelock-tuggers.
You can blame it on the Brits getting us in the habit, if you like, or the Church; take your pick.
But the minute a man’s got a bitta power, there’s some people that reckon saying no to him is the same as saying no to God Almighty. ”
Kojak is still waiting resignedly, at Mart’s heel, for them to start moving again.
Mart whistles a sharp note between his teeth for him to sit, and bends to rub his ears.
“But Tommy’ll need more than just the hardcore forelock-tuggers to get Eugene onto the council,” he says.
“No wonder he had his knickers in a knot when people started blaming Eugene over Rachel Holohan. That could make a big difference: if Eugene’s in the bad books around here and he doesn’t get the votes, Tommy might not get his compulsory purchase orders.
His big investors wouldn’t like that one wee bit.
” He glances up from Kojak. “I wondered about that: why wouldn’t Tommy just forget about this election, send Eugene back up to Dublin till it all blew over, then have him run next time round instead?
But it all adds up now. If he done that, he might miss his big chance. And the stakes are awful high.”
“From what I’ve gathered,” Cal says, “Rachel was planning to make a difference, all right. Eugene told her what him and his daddy had in mind. And Rachel didn’t like it one bit.”
Mart’s eyebrows lift. “Wouldja look at that,” he says.
“Columbo’s been out there getting the goods.
Tommy was right to try hiring you, bucko.
” He straightens up, in increments, and scratches thoughtfully at his white stubble.
“I’m not surprised Rachel was having none of it,” he says.
“The Holohans are dacent people, always have been; there’s no notions about them.
This wouldn’t be their style at all, at all. ”
“She was looking for ways to stop Tommy and Eugene,” Cal says. “I don’t know what she had in mind, exactly. I get the feeling she might’ve been thinking about warning people what they were up to.”
Mart tilts his head, unconvinced. “That wouldn’ta done the job.
It’ll pack a fair aul’ punch now, with the poor girl dead and people already blaming Eugene, and the blood up all round.
But back then, sure, most of the place wouldn’ta believed her, even.
Ah now Tommy’s a great lad, where would we be without him at all, he’d never do the likes of that.
That Rachel one musta had a row with Eugene and now she’s looking to make trouble, disgraceful carry-on, I’da thought better of her.
No: if Rachel wanted to scupper Tommy’s plans, she’da needed a better strategy than that. ”
“Rachel was just a kid,” Cal says. “Sweet-natured, too, from all’s I hear. She didn’t have your resources.”
“I’m sweet-natured,” Mart says, offended. “I’m only saying: telling the world woulda done fuck-all. And wee Rachel may have been sweet-natured, but she was no thick.”
“Even if that’s all she could come up with,” Cal says, “seems like, as high as the stakes are, Tommy might not have wanted to run any risks.”
Mart’s eyebrows go up again. He ruminates over this, scraping something off his frying pan with a thumbnail. “You might have a point there,” he says. “Tommy’s after getting awful outa hand.”
“Tommy’s a piece of shit,” Cal says.
“True enough,” Mart agrees. “But ’tis a bit more complex than that, Sunny Jim. Tommy always did find ways around the rules, but you mighta noticed, we’re fans of people that get around the rules.”
“I picked up on that,” Cal says.
“You can blame that one on the Brits as well, while you’re at it.
There was plenty of centuries where the rules were only made up to keep us down and take what was ours.
Why wouldn’t we prize the people that could find ways around them and get away with it?
So when Tommy handed around a few brown envelopes to get the factory up and running, and when he sorted out a few inspectors now and then so he could cut some corners, everyone thought he was a great fella altogether, not letting themens up in Dublin get the best of him.
And sure, who’d turn down the chance to get a speeding ticket squared, or the rezoning sorted? ”
He glances up from the frying pan to meet Cal’s eyes. “But there’s other rules, boyo,” he says, “as well as the ones that get made all the way up in Dublin.”
“Yeah,” Cal says. “I picked up on that part, too.”
“With all them pats on the back Tommy gets, and all them lickarses telling him anything he does is pure gold, that fella’s after losing the run of himself. We shoulda put manners on him a long time back.”
The sheep are still calling. Mart turns his head to watch them, pale smudges in the mist, moving in their own mysterious, restless patterns.
“I shoulda seen this coming,” he says. “I blame myself for that. I never liked the fucker, but I thought there was lines he wouldn’t cross.
’Tis a long time since I felt like an innocent, Sunny Jim, and I don’t like the feeling one wee bit. ”
“If Tommy was to get arrested for murder,” Cal says, “or even just questioned, his big-shot investors wouldn’t like that. They’re not gonna pump millions into some project when their fixer might land in jail any minute.”
Mart gives Cal a look like he suggested enlisting the Tooth Fairy. “Tommy’s not getting arrested for anything, bucko. He’s got the Guards around here in his pocket. I thought you’d spotted that.”
“There’s other Guards besides the ones around here.
Some detective up in Dublin doesn’t know Tommy Moynihan from Adam.
He doesn’t give a shit about the meat-processing plant.
” Cal still can’t picture himself explaining this situation to a Dublin detective, but it seems to him that someone should at least try.