Authors: M.L. Janes
Séamus shifted slowly in his chair so as not to seem too obvious. The table behind him had one woman seated, a pint of beer opposite her suggesting a male companion somewhere nearby. Her blouse was low-cut and showing an exceptional amount of cleavage. McMahon was not referring to a pair of people. Then it struck Séamus like a clenched fist: his Irish companion has spoken in Gaelic.
It was all that Séamus could do to control his disappointment with himself and not register anguish on his face. He, the intelligence agent, had blundered mindlessly into one of the oldest
gotcha
tricks, made most famous by
The Great Escape
movie when a Gestapo officer, after checking the false French papers of a disguised British prison-camp escapee, wishes him "Good luck!" and receives a "Thanks!" in return. He had just demonstrated to this near-stranger that he understood Gaelic reflexively, without having a clue what he was doing until he had done it.
What a blatant set-up he has stupidly ignored! He had arrived in the pub more than an hour earlier, plenty of time for someone to text McMahon that the new, Irish-named, self-claimed government auditor was drinking there. The barman had even handed him a virtually giveaway clue that McMahon normally frequented the White Hart, home to his encounter with Alice's ex-boyfriend. A whole network in this Yorkshire county was systematically processing him and he, a trained government agent, was simply not paying much attention.
He tried to console himself that, even though he had been grossly slow-witted, there had been little lost in exposing his knowledge. McMahon had confirmed that there was some kind of nationalist streak in this FitzGerald. Maybe that was enough for him to conclude that the newcomer's British Government role stopped at auditing – in which case, wonderful. Maybe he had links to the Irish Republican Army, and was going to have Séamus FitzGerald checked out. In which case, there was a very good chance he would be viewed as a useful ally to the crime ring. And only a very small chance – 3% or less – that he would end up dead after being worked over thoroughly with blowtorches and drills.
Anyway, it was done. Séamus turned back from looking at the woman, about the same time that a man was approaching the other side of her table. He replied in English, "I could do with purchasing a pair this winter. If you can recommend a good shop, I'd be obliged."
The next four days at the facility each followed a similar pattern to the first, a pattern that felt reassuring to Séamus and gave him an increasing sense of well-being. It was only on the Saturday afternoon that two events shook the apparent good order of his mission.
Each of the weekdays, the girls finished their sessions in the lab around a similar time. He would then talk with Alice about the day and visit each girl in turn, sometimes taking either Jenny or Chrissy, or both in turn, for walks. He would work out in the gym after dinner, then make his final rounds with the girls before settling into his room for the night. He continued to go to the same pub at lunchtime but decided there was no need for an evening visit now. He had told McMahon he was in no hurry for company - a week or so's time would be fine.
When sitting at his desk or in his armchair late at night, alone with a cup of tea or glass of beer, he felt more content than in a long time. He was able to start catching up on all the Irish literature he had intending to read but putting off. More intriguing to him, he started sketching again. He had not done that since a boy, when he would spend hours drawing his own pictures from photographs. He had no idea whether or not he had much talent for it, but he enjoyed the process. He would copy pictures from the Internet and magazines, trying different techniques. And at the end of this relaxing process, there was something he could look at, put away, then look at again with fresh eyes.
Jenny had remained upbeat all week, thrilled at her growing knowledge about her new "family." She expressed how hard it must have been for the other girls in their poorer countries. When Séamus suggested she had had it no better with both parents suffering debilitating addictions, she replied, "But my family sort of inflicted that upon itself. It's not that my parents couldn't have had a reasonable life; they just couldn't take the strain of it without alcohol or gambling. That's their failing – their lack of inner peace, their
karma
. As their child I share in their failure, it's sort of my duty as it lessens the weight of it for them. Despite their failings, they brought me into this world and it's my job. I didn't do it very well before, because I stayed in my room all the time and watched TV and movies. I think now is my one chance to do better."
He saw no reason to argue with her. It meant she was devoted to the project, and he could not ask for more. She was starting to love Phyllis, re-telling stories of her going to school during floods on the back of a swimming water-buffalo, or climbing trees for coconuts and bananas. Jenny felt fascination with Tina, who had experienced a more glamorous lifestyle with rich foreigners in Bangkok, and was a little scared of Chrissy who often refused to answer questions. But anyway she now saw them all as her sisters. Perfect, Séamus thought.
Chrissy admitted that she probably shared the least information, but reassured him that she was still committed to the project and just didn't feel so much need to push herself, given others' enthusiasm. She would say more when they had a language that allowed better explanation. She still liked the girls well enough but recognized she was more the private type. She asked him for a shoulder massage a couple of times which he gave her. She told him he was ready to turn professional any time.
Phyllis was also enjoying the company of the other girls. She had nothing negative to say about any of them, admiring each one, but specifically reciprocated Jenny's warmth towards her. Yet she did have one comment of concern to Séamus. She expressed worry about the vulnerability of Jenny and Tina. She felt both were women in serious search of love and were open to much more hurt than Chrissy and herself. She wondered if they could defend themselves enough against life's inevitable disappointments.
It was Tina who delivered the first shock. All the week she had seemed content enough, feeling they were making good progress with the experiment. She had full respect for the other girls, believed they had the same for her, and that helped a lot. She wasn't sure she could ever feel very close to them because they were not Thai women. She wasn't sure, but she thought she could only really empathize with her own countrywomen of the same background. Her feelings about men were completely different – whether she liked it or not, she could not help herself being attracted to Western men, even though she could not trust them. Her remarks to Séamus were always thoughtful and perceptive, as if she were able to stand back from her own emotions. Her mood suddenly changed after the end of the Saturday session.
His final girl to visit that afternoon, he entered her room to find her sitting on her bed, hugging her knees. Her expression was dark and she stared at him with what appeared to be fright. He walked over to the bed slowly and sat on the end of it. She made a quick arm movement, ordering him to come closer. When he did so, she grabbed him and hugged him. He was amazed at the strength of her hug. They barely moved for about a minute before he said, "Tina, tell me something."
"I'm so scared." She paused, then added, "All we girls are going to die, I know it. When this thing is over, we're going to be killed."
The hug did not change. He could not see her face, but it felt like tears were soaking into the top of his shirt from her chin. "That's crazy talk, Tina. You girls will be heroes and vital talent to the world. Why would you say that?"
"In our last conversation," she told him, "Jenny was saying how important this work is to the world, just like we have all been told. Then Chrissy says her first long sentence all week. It's not very clear, of course, being this very basic sign language. But whatever she meant to say, this is what came into my mind. 'Yes. It's very important. And we are all very
unimportant
. Don't forget that. And soon they will have taken from us everything they will need from us. And then we will know far too much than it's good for us to know.'"
Séamus realized how much he had been suppressing this particular line of thinking. We tell ourselves that the world will thank us for our contribution, and it often does. But what if our contribution turns into a legacy of liability? Does the world say, we will suffer your liability because we owe you so much? Or does it say, the past is over and we must reappraise our current threats. Through no fault of your own, you have now become a threat to our peace of mind. We hope you can understand this.
What was worse for these girls was that they were classified as ex-convicts, and their families viewed them primarily as a source of badly needed revenue. If these families were handsomely compensated for the girls' accidental deaths, on condition that there was no further investigation, what would be their incentive to create more trouble for powerful governments which were prepared to kill?
"Séamus, I don't want to sound pathetic," Tina was saying in a surprisingly level tone," But I don't want to die before I have been loved. Can you understand that? It's the most important thing to me of all."
He held her shoulders gently and looked her in the eye. "Tina, it's my job to protect you. I will make sure that you're kept safe."
Her tearful, round face could have been that of a sixteen-year old, just larger and above a woman's body. "But isn't it your job to protect us until we invent this language? Then who knows what your orders will be?"
Séamus gave a thin-lipped smile. "OK, let's talk this through professionally. My primary mission is to help you succeed. You will not succeed if you believe it will result in your death. So it is necessary that I promise to protect you even after you succeed."
Tina looked skeptical. "But you could break your promise then."
"In which case my promise is worth nothing. In which case the world can't work because no one trusts anyone."
"I think that
is
the way the world works, isn't it? You trust people to keep their promises only when it is in their own self-interest."
Séamus frowned. "Why did they give me such sly girls?" He sat back, still meeting her eyes. "I think that, despite your clever words, you still trust me, don't you?"
"Yes. I don't know why, but I do. I think we all do."
"You trust me because you understand the kind of man I am. I'm the type who can't break a promise. I'm the type who can't see any meaning in life unless promises are kept. To do the job I've been asked to do, I need to make a promise to protect you from any consequence of this work. No further instructions from my bosses are going to change that."
Tina continued to stare at him. Finally she smiled. "Yes, I believe you. But maybe that means you're in danger, too."
More than she could ever know, he thought. "Don't worry about me. Believe me, I know how to protect myself and the people I'm caring for. I'm an encyclopedia of dirty tricks."
They talked for a little longer, then Séamus went to his room. He checked the time and decided it was acceptable to pour himself a whiskey. Two-to-one with water wasn't yet hard-core. He forced himself to sip it. The alcohol hit him and now he could let himself think. No reason to blame Chrissy, she was just saying what she felt, and why should she tell him first? He had slipped up somewhere, but he could not yet figure out where. Jenny and Phyllis had not yet voiced their concerns, and had seemed their normal selves. Perhaps it meant much less to Phyllis, provided her children were provided for. Perhaps Jenny was determined to maintain their collective spirits. Of course, he should not raise the matter with them, and perhaps even needed to wait and see if Chrissy raised it herself.
For the first time that week, he actually wanted to hear Sheryl's voice. He dialed her number. She answered after a few rings, stating her name without expression. He then realized he had called her from his secure phone in error, so she had not known it was him. "It's me," he said simply.
"Oh." She sounded taken aback. "Why aren't you using your own phone?"
"Sorry. I was a bit disoriented by some news just now. I wasn't thinking. How is everything?"
"Oh, everything's fine with me. Very busy, as always. Is there any problem?"
As always, nothing he could ever discuss. "Just a sudden complication that I'll need to think through. You know, a week into the assignment and still stuff coming out of the woodwork. I felt the need to reboot my brain-cells." His voice became softer. "So, I really needed to hear your voice for a little while."
"Hmm, that's nice." Her voice remained oddly formal. "Maybe if you spend a little while thinking it through, we can chat about it tomorrow some time?"
Strange. "Well, you know we can't really discuss it. Just that I wanted a chat with you. You know, normal stuff."
Sheryl gave a short laugh, not kindly. "Yes, no discussion. Well, I'm glad I can be of use. But is it OK to schedule it tomorrow? I assume nothing too urgent?"
Pushing more could only hurt. "Sure. I'll try you late tomorrow morning."
"OK. Meanwhile, don't worry too much and take care of yourself."
Séamus slumped back in his armchair and drained his whiskey. He could not recall when she had sounded so distant before. Her words were little different from those she would have used with a business acquaintance. Was there someone within earshot from whom she wanted to hide his identity? Would she have taken the call if she had known it was him? Was she on a date? He was tempted to call her back on his personal phone, where she could see his number, and see if she picked up. But he knew that would only make matters worse. And why the hell shouldn't she be on a date? Her boyfriend has just abandoned her for a year and had been content with the company of five single girls for the past week. He had just wanted to hear her voice, like she was some piece of music that could give him a quick buzz. What right did he have to interrupt whatever she was doing?
He dimmed the lights in his room and stared out at an almost-f moon, casting faint light across the fields. Saturday night in Nowhere. Maybe Sheryl was having a pre-theater cocktail and dinner, going to watch the top play on Shaftsbury Avenue, with premium tickets purchased by a young and articulate investment banker. A man of impeccable taste who could buy the dream cottage in her parents' village without a mortgage. Also buy her into the local doctors' practice. Now compare life with Séamus FitzGerald who, on his government salary, would probably always have the lower of their two incomes. If Sheryl
wasn't
dating other men, her parents could very reasonably ask why she was being so dumb.
There was a knock on his door and he called out that it was open. He saw Alice peering into the gloom. "Did I wake you?" she asked.
"Sorry, I was just entertaining myself tonight by watching the Moon cross the sky. I know I've seen if before but I've forgotten how it ends."
"Wow, perfect Segway for me. I need a break. How would you like to accompany me to the White Hart tonight?"
Séamus gave a sad smile. "Thanks for asking, but I don't think I'd be great company."
"I didn't ask you to be great company," Alice said, walking to his kitchen and picking up his bottle of Jameson's. "But I hope I might offer
you
better company than this."
What he had meant as a tactful refusal had now been rebutted. How could he justify sitting alone all night drinking, when he could be sitting in a noisy bar, drinking? The results were the same, but the second had a face-saving veneer of normalcy. "OK if I choose my own poison?" he asked. She readily consented and he pulled himself out of his armchair.