Imagine There's No Heaven - 1. Chapter 1

Imagine there’s no heaven

It’s easy if you try

No hell below us

Above us only sky

Imagine all the people

Living for today…*

8^th April, 1997

Two months before cease-fire.

Life is all about choice. Some choose the high road, others choose the low road, and still some choose the road less travelled. The choices we make enable us to do the things we want, and discard the things we don’t want. There are those who will say that life is more than the sum of our choices, for life is also about evolution, karma, reverence and heart. Life is intuition and intention, creation and power. But, in the end, each choice we make is intended, and we either accept or reject the consequences.

***

The small town of Laferty is a Christmas carol, a picture postcard, a fresh smell, and a special wine with a full bouquet. It is a town built by farmers for farmers; where women respect and serve their men; where children play cricket and soccer in the streets. It is no different from any other small village in Ireland; there is a clothes boutique, a pub, grocery store, a real estate agent, a barbershop and a bakery, all within walking distance of two bus shelters. A sleepy village without tourist nor challenge. But today, all that would change.

***

It had just gone six thirty and Ma Greaney was in the kitchen, preparing breakfast and supper. A full moon hung suspended at six-o-clock in the cobalt morning sky.

Now, preparing supper and breakfast at this time of the day may have seemed odd. But not really. She always arose early to prepare food for a special occasion.

It was Jack and Colton’s third anniversary.

***

Colton groaned as he opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. He heard the mushy sound of Jack brushing his teeth in the bathroom. He heard the hiss of the deodorant can and sniffed as the husky perfume filtered through to the bedroom. A few seconds later, the door opened, and Jack softly passed by the bed. He noticed that Colton had awoken.

“Well, well. Anniversary boy wakens to our special day. How did you sleep?” Jack leaned over and kissed him lightly.

‘Like a lamb,’ Colton said, pulling him closer, he returned the kiss. ‘Hmmm, you smell so good. Happy anniversary, my baby. Pity you have to go to work.’

‘I wish I could stay home, but Sam has been ill for two weeks now and I have to drive the bus in his place.’

‘You don’t have to, and you know that. Jerry could have driven the bus.’

‘Jerry has no time for kids. The company gave me a choice and I accepted. Besides, they’re paying me extra for it. It’s not like they forced me into it. Anyway, I think we need the money. Especially if we want to go to Africa later this year like we had planned.’

‘I’m just saying it would have been an extra special day if you had not chosen to work.’

Jack kissed him again, ‘Well, I could say the same for you. Your mom could have minded the bakery today, but you chose to open it yourself.’

‘Only because you’re workin’.’

‘Oh lord, Colt. We’re going around in circles here.’ Jack straightened and moved away from the bed, grabbed his cap from the hat-stand and placed it neatly on his head.

Colt climbed out of bed and held him in a tight embrace. ‘Well, fox-o-mine, you have a beautiful day. I’ll see you later. Are you coming to the bakery for lunch?’

‘I’ve never missed a lunch. I don’t intend doing that today of all days.’

‘Can you believe that it’s been three years, Jack.’

Colt reached up to cup Jack’s face in his hands. ‘I love you Jack Milner. I love you with all my heart.’

‘And I love you, Colton Greaney. More.’

***

It was a perfect day.

Breakfast was prepared and Jack ate at leisure.

‘Three years today,’ Ma said, scooping homemade yoghurt into his glass.

‘Yes, ma. And I’ve never been happier.’

‘And so you should be. And to celebrate - just for today, mind you - I’ve made for you and Colt a hearty breakfast.’

‘I could smell it upstairs.’

She lifted the lids off the pots to reveal an array of food: A fry up with bacon, sausages, black & white pudding, fried eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms, potato bread, baked beans, and wheaten bread from Colton’s bakery.

She kissed Jack on the cheek and said, ‘Happy anniversary, my boy. I hope this day is going to be everything and more for you.’

‘I hope so too, ma.’

***

It was a ritual.

Colt appeared in the kitchen every morning the moment Jack left for work. He wore his whites and kissed his ma on the nose. She offered him a cup of fresh percolated coffee.

‘Special day,’ he said, dunking a butter biscuit into his coffee.

‘It is so too. Happy anniversary me boy. Tonight we’re going to have the best dinner ever.’

The breakfast spread was tempting. The aromas were overwhelming and he rolled his eyes. ‘You’re going to be God’s chef one day, ma.’

‘I won’t mind that at all. He’s blessed me with the best son on this planet.’

‘What have you got in mind for tonight?’

‘Well, that’s going to be a surprise now, isn’t it?’

‘Well then, I’m going to sneak home this afternoon and peek.’

‘And if you do that, Mr. Greaney, I will have no option but to ground you.’ She said, laughing out loud.

‘Well, I have to pick you up remember. We’re going into Armagh to fetch Jack’s present.’

Ma stared at him with a bland look on her face, ‘Oh, yes. Of-course. Silly me, I nearly half forgot. What time will you be here so I can have everything prepared before that.’

‘About two thirty I was thinking. Jack’s coming to lunch at the bakery with me.’

‘Two thirty is fine. He’s going to be so surprised.’

‘I know. He’s always wanted a horse. She’s by far the best mare in all of Ireland, ma.’

He checked the time and leaped from his chair, ‘Damn! I completely forgot tha’ Mrs. O Malley asked for four loaves of wheaten bread this mornin’. You know how right crooked she can be, Ma. I best get to it before she comes knockin’.’ He placed the napkin on the table, grabbed the shop keys from the key holder in the entrance hall, and dashed downstairs to open the bakery.

***

Jack drove his Enfield Bullet to work every morning. He disliked cars; they were expensive. Temperamental. In any case, the Bullet was easier to handle even though it was more than fifty years old. The bike had belonged to his pa and his daideo before him. He restored it over time; painted it a matt green and changed the handlebars and modified it to use an electric starter. On his bike, he could smell the apples in the air every morning as the breeze wafted in from the apple orchards.

At work, he clocked in and greeted his colleagues in the locker room. They were a jovial bunch, always making fun of some newsy topic they had seen on TV the previous evening. Jack and Colt never watched TV. They had never owned one. Both found the news depressing. Besides, Jack always got filled in every morning, and Colton’s customers filled him in at the bakery. News of the impending IRA ceasefire was hot and burned the lips of everyone in Ireland. Little did they know that a ceasefire was not the same as a cessation of hostilities. The IRA would have to disarm and that could take years. Still, there was a tangible excitement in the air as that day drew nearer.

Jack approached Mary in the roster office and greeted her warmly.

‘I believe I should kiss you this morning, Jack,’ she said.

‘I believe that would be the fairest thing of the day.’ Jack said, leaning over her desk to receive a peck on the cheek.

‘Happy anniversary. Hope you and Colt live a long and healthy life together.’

‘Ta, Mary. How’re the kids?’

‘Oh, you know, growing up, but as fine as they’ll ever be.’

‘Maybe we should visit you one of these weekends. Colt and I. That would really be a treat for them.’

‘Well, that’s a good idea if ever there was one, Jack. You know how Rodney and Rose just love you and Colt. They’re forever asking after you.’

‘Well, then, maybe this weekend.’

‘They’ll be so happy. I’ll look forward to it then. Lunch, Sunday?’

‘Sunday is perfect. I’ll tell Colton and get back to you.’

‘Fair’nough. There you go, Jack. Keys to bus 23. I made sure to book your favourite bus. Oh, and thanks for helping out today.’

‘I get paid. I’m happy.’

He took the keys dangling off her fingers and blew her a kiss.

***

Bus number 23 exploded without warning. Acrid fumes of burning tyres and molten metal, of blood and unspeakable fear, of hate and hell, hovered above the small intersection. A book shop, twenty metres away; reduced to a pile of bricks. A barber shop, on the other side of the intersection; quartered - one chair remained. Silence descended. One by one, men, women and children emerged from the safety of their coverts and descended upon the intersection. Older women fell to their knees in prayer, crossing themselves in the name of Jesus.

***

Colton rolled out the last batch of fresh bread from the huge oven in his bakery when the explosion came. Mrs. O’Malley, who had, a few moments before, stepped into the bakery, after dropping young Byron off at the bus shelter. She gripped the counter and closed her eyes. Colton dashed to the door and peered out.

‘In heaven’s name…dear God…’ he whispered.

He knew this was no ordinary explosion; the sound of death had finally visited his town and claimed innocent souls in the name of freedom. He threw down his white apron and dashed into the street and didn’t look back as Mrs.O’Malley dropped her bag and ran after him. She stopped running and slowed down to a raggedy, slumped walk when the full extent of what had just taken place hit her. She stopped walking and lifted her hand to her mouth to hold the scream.

***

Colton’s heart thumped wildly when he saw the skeletal remains of what was, only moments ago, a school bus.

The lump in his throat turned to tears in his eyes. The saliva in his mouth was thick and sticky. Severed arms, legs, little shoes and school bags, lunch boxes and school books, caps and gloves and broken bodies lay scattered across the road and in the flower beds. Cars had stopped behind him and drivers rushed by to offer help.

He doubled over. His bowels lurched. The papers had reported an impending ceasefire and the end to sectarian violence and the future looked bright for Northern Ireland. And now, evil savagery had found this small farming community. A small town with two churches, one Catholic, the other Protestant, although very few protestants lived there. Those who did mingled safely with the Catholic community.

There seemed to be no hate. No revenge.

Until this perfect day.

***

Colton weaved his way through the devastation. A girl’s severed hand held a tissue. Another hand, some feet away held a ballet shoe. A soccer ball had landed on a young boy’s torso. A cricket bat, broken in half, lay on the driver’s seat of the bus. It was the first bus that morning. A second would be coming through in half an hour.

He prayed that Jack would be driving the second bus.

 ***

An ambulance passed Mrs. O’Malley on its way to the intersection. She didn’t seem to notice, for her gaze was fixed on a schoolbag with the name RALPH written across it. She picked it up and hugged it. She picked up another bag, and another, and another, and laid them on the side of the road in a neat line as she searched for Byron’s belongings.

***

An agonizing whimper came from somewhere behind Colton. He spun about and waited to hear it again.

The whimpering grew louder into a blood curdling groan.

The young man lifted his arm and then it dropped. His blonde hair was soaked in blood and he didn’t wear a school uniform. Colton froze and began to mumble: ‘Our Father, who art in heaven, Hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done…”

It was Jack lying in a pool of blood.

Broken.

His face, once so lively and radiant with lean lines, was lipless, his nose flat, as though it had been pushed into his face, and his eyelashes, thick and blonde this morning, had been ripped from the hem of his eyelids.

Colton fell to his knees and his voice choked up when he spoke.

‘Jack. Oh my God! Jack? Oh God, Jack, stay with me. Stay with me, y’hear. Everything…everything’ll be fine. The ambulance is here. Jack, please…please…Just stay with me. Where is the pain?’

He gripped Colton’s arm and squeezed. He couldn’t speak, and instead, released a pain filled groan that tore at Colton’s soul.

***

Mildred O’Malley found her son.

His legs had twisted beneath him.

A jagged sheet of metal protruded from his forehead.

She screamed out his name over and over again and cradled his twelve-year lifeless body in her arms. A few moments later a man in short pants and short-sleeved shirt sank to his knees and embraced her before screaming out at the world around him. Seamus O’Malley’s tormented scream echoed through the apple orchard across the field.

A scream that cried out for a reason.

***

‘Is he alive?’

Colton glanced up. The man wore a police uniform.

‘Yes.’

‘Let’s get him into the ambulance.’ It was Sherriff MacDougal. His voice trembled. His eyes were wide, his brow tense.

‘It’s Jack, sheriff.’

‘Christ! What a bloody mess.’

‘Sheriff, may I go with him?’

‘You’re the only family he has. Get to it.’

Paramedics scuttled towards them and rolled Jack onto a stretcher. Within minutes the ambulance negotiated its way to Armagh’s provincial hospital ten kilometres away. Colton sat on a bench holding Jack’s hand tightly. His head bowed in prayer. He too sought reasons for this senseless attack on innocent children.

The IRA had a lot to answer for. Sinn Fein appeared stronger with each passing day. Their cells had expanded and were now in every part of the country. Nowhere was safe. The quiet neighbour was the enemy. A sister. A brother. Parents. Everyone.

Even the innocent.

Jack’s body stiffened as the pain engulfed him. He gripped Colton’s hand and the paramedic immediately applied an injection of morphine. Seconds later his body relaxed.

***

Several doctors sprang into action and prepared him for an emergency operation. A squat young intern approached Colton in the waiting room.

‘Excuse me, we found this on the poor man. ‘Twas in the top pocket of his jacket. We thought you might need it.’ The young doctor handed him a postcard sized notebook. His accent, heavy with rolling r’s and light esses, conveyed a tinge of sadness.

‘Thank you so much. Thank you.’

Colton pocketed the small notebook and lay his head on the wooden bench. Within a few minutes he was fast asleep.

***

‘Mr. Greaney…wake up, Mr. Greaney…’

Colton opened his eyes and leaped up. It was a surgeon, fresh out of theatre.

‘I thought it best to tell you that we have done everything we can. The rest is up to the Lord. He’s been taken to intensive care. One word of caution, young man. Jack is blind. - a direct consequence of the blast. He hit his head on the road and the trauma brought it on. We don’t know if he will ever regain his sight. However, we are also concerned with his face. His left cheek and lips are severely damaged and he shan’t be able to talk for a while. He’ll need major constructive surgery and may have to wear a mask for a long time. We’ve made arrangements for a plastic surgeon to see him when he wakes.’

***

Colton sat on the chair beside the bed staring at Jack’s bandaged face. Pipes, carrying fluids to his body, had been fed through his abdomen. It was obvious, to Colton, that both he and Jack would require psychiatric help to get through this. One could not hope to have a healthy mind after such a tragedy. Colton felt it to be his duty to remain with him until he awoke, however long that might be.

***

9^th April, 1997

Imagine there’s no country

It isn’t hard to do

Nothing to kill or die for

And no religion too

Imagine all the people

Living life in peace*

Jack coughed.

Colton leaped from his chair where he had dozed off and pressed the buzzer above the bed. Jack wailed and cried. Within seconds two nurses appeared.

‘Sir, please, we must ask you to stand aside.’ one said.

They closed the curtains around the bed and within a few minutes, Jack’s wailing subsided and they opened the curtains.

‘Is he awake, sister?’

‘Yes, sir. If there is an emergency just press the buzzer and we’ll return. You may speak with him but don’t tire him out.’

Colton stepped up to the bed. He reached out for Jack’s hand lying limply on the sheet, but withdrew.

‘It’s okay. You’ll be okay.’

Jack tried to speak, but his lips were on fire. He wwas unable to press his lips together. The words came out in broken English. ‘E…Erything …so dark. I can’t…can’t see you.’

‘Your eyes are bandaged.’

‘Eyes. Can't see.’ He let out a gut-wrenching sob.

‘I…I’m so sorry, Jack’ Colton felt the tears rising up but choked them back. He needed to be strong for his man.

Jack’s breathing increased. After a few moments he said, ‘Colton?’

‘Yes, my baby. ’

‘I…I so tired.’

‘Rest. You’ll be fine. Sleep.’

‘Can’t…rest…the…the children?’

Colton remained silent. A lump knotted his throat. If he spoke now, he would never be able to contain his emotions. He decided not to say anything.

‘No! Not the kids…oh God! Not the kids,’ he sobbed. His chest heaved as a choke wedged in his throat. For a moment he strained to breathe.

Colton whispered, ‘I’m so sorry.’

A nurse rounded the corner and called Colton aside.

‘There’s a telephone call for you, Mr. Greaney. It’s your mother.’

Colton nodded a polite thank you and returned to Jack. ‘There’s a telephone call for me. I’ll be back in a moment.’

Jack nodded and said, ‘Colton.’

‘Yes.’

‘Thank you.’

Colton smiled. He wished Jack could see his smile. It was all he needed to know that his efforts hadn’t gone unnoticed. He followed the nurse into a small administration office and took the receiver.

‘Hi ma. It’s me.’

‘Colt…’her voice cracked when she heard him. ‘I was worried, son. They couldn’t find you. I couldn’t find you. Mildred O’Malley, dear woman, lost her son Byron, in the explosion. Bless his little soul. She said you went with the ambulance to the hospital and … are you hurt?’

‘No, ma. I’m fine as can be. It’s Jack, ma.’

‘Oh my Lord! It was him driving the bus wasn’t it?’

‘Yes, ma.’

How is he?’

‘He’s in a bad way. He’s…he’s blind, and his face is all messed up, ma.’

‘Oh, God have mercy on us. I’m so sorry, Colton. You do know that all those poor children perished’

‘It was terrible, ma,’ his voice cracked and left an opening for a sob. ‘I…I don’t know what I’ll do without him. If he dies I…I…’

‘No, Colton. Stop right there. You listen to your mam, and listen good. He won’t die. He’s as strong as an ox. And he’s a brave man. Now you go and be with him and give him a hug from me. Tell him I love him very much. I locked the bakery and put up a sign. When are you coming home?’

‘In a bit, ma. Jack needs me. I promise I’ll be home soon, ma. I love you, and thank you.’

‘I love you too, son. I hope Jack recovers soon.’

He replaced the receiver and returned to the intensive care unit. A nurse approached and took his hand. ‘He’s fast asleep, sir. There’s nothing you can do, now. We have everything under control. Besides, you look tired. If you want to return tomorrow…or we can set you up in a vacant ward where you can sleep the night.’

‘Thank you, nurse. I’ll stay. ’

***

The following morning Colton awoke to a nurse shaking him awake. At first he had no idea where he was, but the events of the previous day soon caught up with him and the first thing he thought was that something had happened to Jack while he was sleeping.

‘Jack!’

The nurse took his elbow and lifted him off the bed. ‘Jack’s awake, Mr. Greaney. He’s asking for you.’

‘Oh thank God. Thank God.’ The nurse released her grip and he sprinted through the double doors of the ICU.

‘Jack! God I was so worried there for a minute.’

Jack lay on his back, but instead of greeting Colton, he remained silent.

‘What’s wrong my baby?’

Jack opened his mouth but no words came out. Instead, a stream of tears clotted the bandages on his face.

‘You can tell me, Jack. You can tell me.’

Jack turned his head to face Colton’s voice. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet and without emotion. ‘I…I … Colton, I done a terri’le thing.’

To Be Continued