Notes from a Spinning Planet—Ireland (9 page)

“He was really in love.”

“Well, my mom was a pretty cool lady.”

I nod. “Yeah. That’s what Sid always said too.”

“Anyway, she finally agreed to date him, and by the end of the summer, they were engaged. He even talked my mom into staying over here longer, and your aunt went home alone.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I don’t think Sid was too happy about it.”

“Didn’t she like your dad?”

“She didn’t trust him.”

“Oh.”

“And, of course, she wasn’t exactly happy about something else…”

“The broken-heart thing?”

“Yeah, Ian was a good friend of my dad’s.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. That’s how they met.”

“Was Ian an IRA member too?”

Ryan shrugs. “I don’t know for sure.”

“But he might’ve been.”

He shrugs. “Anyway, my parents got married, and they stayed in Ireland for several years. And suddenly it was time to go.”

“You mean because your mom was pregnant?”

“There was another reason.”

“What?”

Ryan looks at me as if he’s trying to decide how much to tell me. I really want him to trust me, but I don’t want to push him. “My dad was in over his head,” he finally said. “He either had to leave the country or risk going to prison.”

“Oh.” I’m still trying to process the fact that Ryan’s very own father was really in the IRA, trying to grasp how his dad did something that could’ve landed him in prison. Was it murder? bombings? What?

“Anyway, it was a good time for them to get out. I know my mom was relieved.”

“So did your mom know about his IRA connection?”

“Not before they were married. But she found out later.”

“Man, that must’ve been tough. I mean, here she is, working in the peace camps, trying to bring unity, and your dad is out there…” I don’t finish the sentence. I know it would sound terrible to say what I’m really thinking.
Was Ryan’s dad a murderer?

“It was hard, but she really did love him. And I think she understood what he was doing—at least on some levels. Just the same, she didn’t agree with the IRA or violence. The truth is, she only started to talk to me about this stuff when she knew she was dying. I guess she didn’t want to leave without answering some of my questions.”

“I can understand that.”

“Unfortunately, I still have lots of questions.”

“So what made your dad come back here? Do you know?”

“Sort of. My parents settled in Seattle, not far from my dad’s
parents. My mom didn’t know it, but my dad never gave up his IRA connections or the cause. He came back here to make a delivery.”

“A delivery?”

“Money.”

“Money?”

“Yeah. There were a lot of Irish sympathizers in my grandparents’ circle of friends. When they heard how bad things were getting over here, they started collecting funds to help the IRA.”

“And your father smuggled the money over here?”

“That’s what my mom told me. And I guess it was successful. He’d called my mom shortly after the delivery. He told her that he was about to leave for the Belfast airport. But he never got there. Someone put a bomb in the car.”

“Oh no.”

He nods sadly. “But that’s not all.”

“What?”

“Ian McMahan was the one driving my dad to the airport.”

“So Ian McMahan was killed too?”

Ryan barely nods. “Pretty sad stuff, huh?”

I just shake my head. “Wow. That is really depressing…and tragic.”

“I guess that’s what really caused Sid and my mom to bond for life. I mean, they’d always been friends, but it’s like they became sisters or something. Sid was like part of our family then. Although I do have some other aunts and uncles, on my dad’s side, they’re all a lot older than my mom, and she never encouraged me to get to know them. I think she was afraid I’d get caught up in their politics
too. Anyway, Sid’s been more of an aunt to me than any of them.”

“Wow. That’s quite a story.”

“I figured it was about time to tell you.”

I look into his eyes and am surprised at how much I’m starting to respect this guy. It’s like there’s so much more to him than I ever imagined. And even though the whole IRA thing with his dad makes me uncomfortable, I’m glad he’s opened up like this. “Thanks for telling me.”

“I asked Sid if it was okay to tell you—I mean, the part about her and Ian.”

“She didn’t mind?”

“No, she thought you should know.”

I sigh. “Wow, I’m still trying to take it all in.”

“I know. It’s a lot to digest.” He points to his watch. “Speaking of digest, if we’re going to meet Sid for dinner, we’d better get back.”

We’re barely out the door when we are hit with a gust of wind and stinging raindrops that seem to be falling parallel to the ground.

“Want to run?” Ryan asks.

“Sure,” I say. And to my surprise, he grabs my hand, and the two of us start to run down the street, forging our way through what is starting to feel like quite a storm. But I must admit that I like the secure feel of his hand tightly gripping mine. Okay, I remind myself, it’s only to get us to the hotel more quickly. And it is handy having his help as we leap across mud puddles and make a mad dash for several blocks. It’s no reason for me to start getting all starry-eyed. After all, Ryan and I are just friends. Nothing more.

“Thanks,” I tell him once we’re safely inside the lobby.

“No problem.” He removes his parka and gives it a little shake.

I look down at my rather soggy sweater and realize it’s probably not going to shake out quite so nicely. “I better go find something dry to put on before it’s time for dinner.”

As I head to my room, all I can think about is the warm feeling of Ryan’s hand wrapped around mine—and how much I liked it!

Y
ou look like a drowned rat,” says Sid as we meet in the hallway.

“It’s raining like crazy out there,” I tell her. “And the wind is going nuts. Do they have hurricanes in Ireland?”

She laughs. “I don’t think so. But they can have some pretty wild storms, especially on the coastline. Maybe we should stay in tonight. We could eat in the hotel restaurant instead of going out.”

“Fine with me.” I unlock my door. “I just came up to dry off a little. Ryan is already downstairs.”

We agree to meet in the restaurant, and I frantically dig through my bags searching for the perfect thing to wear. I even try on several things, tossing the rejects onto a pile that’s growing on my bed. Finally I decide on a cappuccino brown V neck that I think looks kind of sophisticated on me. Okay, at the same time I’m asking myself why go to this much trouble? Like who really cares how I look?

But the truth is, I care, and I know it’s because of Ryan. Then I spend too much time trying to tame my hair, which is totally hopeless after the wind and rain. I try pulling it back in a scrunchy, but that only makes me look like a poof head. Finally I give up and just let it hang wild around my shoulders. Then I put on some
mascara, some lip gloss, a bit of blush, and even a pair of earrings Sid got for me when we stopped for lunch in Donegal today. She thought the green stones were about the same color as my eyes. Okay, I don’t look too bad.

I find my aunt and Ryan already seated at one of the few tables in this tiny restaurant. They’re both looking at a newspaper, but my aunt seems upset. Her face is pale, and I think I see tears in her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” I ask as I sit down.

Ryan holds up the newspaper for me to see. It’s the front page, and the headline says, “Bomb in Belfast Pub Kills 2, Injures 17.”

“Oh no.”

“I feel so responsible,” says Sid.

“But you warned them.”

She nods, pulling a tissue from her purse. “And John assured me that they were on it, that nothing would happen.” She glances at her watch. “Let’s see…It’s still morning there. I think I’ll call him.” She reaches for her cell phone, then excuses herself, taking the newspaper with her.

“That’s so sad,” I say as I watch her leave.

The waiter is approaching our table now. “Is anything wrong?” he asks with concern.

“No,” I say quickly. “My aunt just needs to make a phone call. We’ll order when she comes back.”

He nods and offers to get us something to drink, but we both decide to wait for Sid.

“I wonder if it really was the guy she interviewed,” Ryan says once the waiter is out of earshot.

“If it wasn’t, it’s a pretty ironic coincidence.”

“I can’t believe he would be so careless, having that conversation when she was right there.”

“Well, it was really his wife who was careless,” I remind him. “Remember she was the one who told Sid to wait in the kitchen.”

His eyes widened. “Do you think that woman actually wanted her husband to get caught?”

“Maybe she just wanted to prevent what she knew would turn into a serious tragedy.”

“Or maybe she didn’t know about any of it.”

“It all seems so senseless.” I pick up the menu and try to focus on the words. “I mean, killing people you don’t even know? And for what? Just to make a point? For vengeance? I really don’t get it.”

He shakes his head. “It goes deep, Maddie. Generations and generations of hatred and fighting, lying and cheating. It might not make sense to us, but it probably does to some people.”

“Like your dad?”

He frowns, and I feel bad. I wasn’t trying to say his dad was evil, but I know it must have sounded that way.

“I know my dad made some mistakes,” he says slowly. “But now that I’m here in Ireland…I don’t know…It’s like I can almost understand.”

“You can understand the IRA?”

“In a way. I mean, they weren’t all violent. And their goal was to reunite Ireland. But violence often got in the way. And now we have the RIRA.”

“What’s the RIRA?”

“I was just reading that article about the bombing in Belfast, and they mentioned the RIRA. The extra
R
stands for
real
, as in the Real Irish Republican Army. Anyway, that’s what this new generation of IRA members call themselves, and they’re taking credit for today’s bombing.”

“Not the old IRA?”

“No. The new RIRA refuses to disarm and refuses to give up this fight.”

“How can you be sure that the new RIRA isn’t really just another name for the old IRA?”

“Because the old IRA had more dignity.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’ve done some reading. I did a little research before we came here. I wanted to know why my dad had been pulled into this. And I could partly understand it.”

“Meaning you sympathize with them?”

“Of course. So did you when we first got here. I remember you saying that you thought Ireland should just reunite.”

“But not with bombs and guns.”

“I agree. Not with bombs and guns. But, don’t forget, the British army uses the same means to keep Ireland under their control. How do you fight back when someone is shooting at you?”

“This is way over my head,” I admit. “I want to understand it, but the whole IRA and RIRA thing kind of overwhelms me.”

“I know,” he says. “I feel like that too. And I hope you understand that in no way do I condone the RIRA. What they did today was totally wrong. But I guess I’m just starting to feel differently
toward the original IRA, the ones who wanted to unite Ireland, to be free of British rule.”

“But through means of force?”

“How do you think our country won its independence?”

“I know.” I shake my head. “But that was so long ago.”

“Think about the world in general, Maddie. How do countries get liberated? What about Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan?”

“I’m sorry, but I hate war.”

“So do I. But maybe it’s inevitable—sometimes.”

I’m wishing Sid would come back. Maybe she could carry on this conversation with Ryan. It just seems to be irritating me.

“Anyway…I’m starting to see things differently. I’m starting to ask questions that I wouldn’t have even considered before.”

“Questions about your dad?”

He nods. “Yes. Like why he was pulled into their cause. Have I been missing something? I’ve done the research; I know that thousands of innocent Irish have died as a result of British interference. But it wasn’t as if I really cared. Then suddenly, being here in Malin, where my family’s roots go back for centuries, and hearing about the bomb in Belfast—not to mention how this has impacted Sid—well, I guess I’m starting to feel sort of guilty. Like maybe this has something to do with me. And maybe it’s time I come to grips with my own heritage and what it means to be Irish. Instead of sitting around just accepting things for what they seem. Maybe I need to open my eyes.”

Okay, this is really messing with my mind. Is Ryan saying he has become sympathetic to the IRA? or even the RIRA? Because
that just seems crazy to me. I’m about to point this out to him when Sid returns.

“Sorry to be gone so long,” she says as she sits back down. Her eyes are still red, and I can tell she’s still upset.

“Did you talk to your editor?” I ask. I’m so relieved to have her back. It gives me a break from this confusing conversation with Ryan. I wonder if she realizes how he’s feeling. Like does he plan to run off and join the IRA or the RIRA or whatever it’s called? Okay, I realize I’m being ridiculous.

“We had a nice long talk.” She unfolds her linen napkin and places it in her lap, releasing a long sigh. I can’t tell if it’s from frustration or relief. Maybe both.

“And?” I prompt her.

“And John said he did inform the authorities, and he said he was quite specific about what I told him. He even gave the name and address of”—she glances around to make sure no one’s listening, then lowers her voice—“of Sean Potter.”

“Do you really think he’s the one who did it?” I ask in a quiet tone.

“I definitely think he’s part of it. But I doubt he actually did it himself. John did confirm that Sean is suspected of being a member of RIRA.”

“How did he find that out?” asks Ryan.

“Friends in high places, I suspect.” Then she smiles at the waiter who’s approaching our table and changes the subject to the weather. We place our orders, but when the food comes, we aren’t very hungry.
Our waiter is concerned that something is wrong with the food.