Drowning in the East River (20 page)

"You're always so in your head," Jessica said. She glanced out the window again as the streetcar continued down Broadway. She looked back over at him, her eyes reading him with unnerving clarity. She moved her hand onto his, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze. "With the way you keep everything bottled up...you just worry me. That's all.”

"You're my first priority. There's nothing that you have to worry about."

Enveloping her hand in his, he could feel her hand shaking.

David stood up, taking one last drink of the whiskey sitting on the bar in front of him. He had gone to the bar in hope of getting drunk, but with each passing day it seemed to take more to loose himself in the haze he was looking for.

Outside, a warm afternoon had bled into a cool and dry evening. Looking at the crowd which had descended on the city center, it must have been a weekend. Crowds of tourists flooded in and out of the bars, a mood of general frivolity hung over the city.

He turned towards the docks. He hoped there was a ship looking for crew, there was nothing left in Cuba for him.

CHAPTER TWELVE

David looked around the street as he stepped from the shipyards onto a deserted, rundown block. He tightened his jacket around his body. Summer had turned into autumn since he left Havana, and by the time he had arrived in Dublin, the change in seasons could be felt in the brisk northern air blowing in unrelenting gusts off the Irish Sea.

Dublin had an unmistakably industrial feeling to it. Walking down the bleak, graying cobblestone streets, David suddenly felt like he was back home in Brooklyn. He continued through the unusually quiet blocks, many of which were lined with small row houses. The whole city seemed to be stained from the permanent layer of coal dust hanging in the air.

Even without the knowledge he had picked up from Jessica, it would have been impossible to ignore the tensions simmering in the city. The few people he saw rushed through the streets, keeping their heads down. Troops of armed British soldiers made their way through the city in tightly organized military efficiency.

As he continued through the rundown neighborhood, David paused just long enough to pull a flask from his pocket, and take a big sip of whiskey. He immediately felt it's warmth wash over him, standing out against the bitter cold of the morning. Picking up his pace, David tightened his jacket and pulled his cap further down on his head.

"It's outrageous!" Jessica said, dropping her newspaper down on the couch next to her. Her feet were hiked up underneath her as she paged through the copy of the New York Times. She was laying with her head in his lap. Thomas slept soundly in the nest of her skirts.

"What is?" David asked, he set his book down on the arm of the sofa. He ran his fingers through her hair, which was spread out around her head.

"They tried to kill Collins again," Jessica said. She looked down at the baby, running her fingers through his curly blonde hair. "I guess they tried to ambush him outside of County Cork. The whole damn country is going to go up in flames again if they're not careful."

"I don't know how you follow all of that," David said, reaching for his watch, which was sitting behind him on the coffee table. "It's depressing."

"I disagree. All those people fighting for what they believe in gives me hope," Jessica replied. She picked Thomas up gently, nuzzling the giggling baby with her nose. She shifted her glance up to look at David, her voice chipper as she continued, "They're trying to make the world a better place. No one should be dominated in their own country.”

"I love you, baby." David said, looking down at her. She always had a glow in her eyes when she talked about her political causes. He wound her thick hair around one of her fingers, a slow smile spreading across his lips. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," Jessica said, straining her neck to look back at him. She nodded towards the book of poetry which he had draped over the arm of the sofa. "How's the book?"

"I remember why I never was able to get into poetry," David said with a smirk. He lightly tossed the book, which landed squarely on the rickety wooden coffee table in front of the sofa. "My attempt at being intellectual has failed me yet again."

Even after Thomas was born, Jessica had managed to indulge her passion for politics. There were always books and pamphlets laying around the living room. Whenever he asked her about them, her response was always, "Trying to keep my brain from stagnating, darling."

David had reserved a bed in a small rooming house. The house on East Merchant Road was in a stretch of row houses. As David turned down the block, he hiked the collar of his jacket up against the bitter wind, which was intensified by the long stretch of unbroken homes.

Looking for No. 22 Merchant Road proved to be a challenge in the unnerving symmetry of the residential block. David glanced up, making eye contact with a young mother who was sweeping off her doorstep. The girl, who couldn't have been much older than eighteen looked harried as a child, who looked to be Thomas' age, cried and struggled against her restraint.

Reaching No. 22, David knocked softly on the weathered, wooden door. Laundry was strung from one of the small windows, bedsheets flapped softly on the line. He looked up as a crack of thunder rumbled above his head.

The door opened softly, a hardened middle aged woman stuck her head out the door. She looked David over with a cynical eye, "Can I help you, sir?"

David dug in his pocket, pulling out a sheet of paper. "David Freeman. I believe I have a room?"

She opened the door and surveyed him one more time. She stepped out onto the doorstep, wiping her hands on her dingy white apron. "Why yes," she offered her hand. "I didn't think you'd be American."

David shook her outstretched hand. He shifted his glance to meet her eyes as he continued. "I'm on the Serendipity. We're docked here for the next couple of months while the family is here on business."

"You look harmless enough," she said. The woman had wide set brown eyes, and judging by the mild suspicion in her gaze, she had seen a lot. She held the door open, gesturing for him to enter the living room. She turned towards him as she tucked a strand of red hair into her stringy updo. "Do you need help with your bags? Your room is upstairs."

"I think I can manage, m'am." David said, picking up his suitcase and stepping into the sitting room. He glanced towards a narrow staircase at the back of the house. "Thank you very much."

The main room of the row house was intimate and cozy. It couldn't have been much wider than 10 or 15 feet across, but the furnishings seemed to make the room look bigger.

David shut the door quietly behind him as he stepped into the cosy bedroom. He dropped his suitcase on the floor and dropped into the bed. He stared at the worn beams above his head as the stress from the day drifted from his muscles.

"Where the hell am I?" David asked, sluggishly opening his eyes. What should have been clear speech sounded heavy and garbled in his head as the world gradually came into focus.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he was in a tent. The only light came from some nearby candles, flickering violently on a nearby table. The mood in the room pulsated with intensity, chaos and screaming surrounded them. 

"Doctor, he's coming 'round..." The one of the nurses glanced towards the doctor and moved around towards his head. "What shall I do?" 

He glanced up at her, his eyes focusing on the thick blood coating the front of her formerly white dress. Straining his neck to look down, a nurse struggled to hold pressure on his a wound in his stomach. Blood gushed up from underneath her hands, which seemed to be sinking inside of him.

"You're a fool, David." Swallowing back the pain starting to overwhelm his body, he looked up to find the source of the voice. He looked up, trying to meet her eyes. He winced as another nurse jabbed a needle into his arm.

"What happened to me?" David asked. He blinked his eyes as the room started to spin violently, nausea surged in his system.

"You realize she's never going to wait for you," David blinked again as the voice continued. "You practically ran to get yourself killed out of some strange desire to prove you're a man. That girl needs a man, not a simpering boy who gets himself killed playing solider..."

David felt his body seize, a jolt of stabbing pain overwhelming his body.

"Nurse, hold him down!” The Doctor's voice was sharp in the growing darkness of the room. "He's bleeding out."

As David stepped out of the general store, a gloomy mist had settled in over the city. It had started to rain, which seemed to hang in the air like a thick blanket. Noting the weather, David stepped to the side, taking shelter under the awning.

David reached into his pocket and pulled out his cigarettes. Putting one in his mouth, he struck a match on the rough concrete facade of the building he was leaning against. Looking up into the gray sky, the sun was little more than a dim lightbulb, millions of miles away.

David looked up, his eyes drawn towards yet another platoon of British troops moving in crisp symmetry down the center of the street. Studying the looks of those who passed, the faces ranged from disinterest to overt hostility as the locals were forced to step into the gutters to avoid the soldiers.

They were supposed to provide a comforting presence, but the well-drilled military proficiency felt like a thinly veiled threat against anyone even contemplating a rebellion against the comforting mother country.

David dropped to his knees as the familiar pop of gunfire ring out from somewhere in the crowded city square.

He pressed himself low to the cobblestones, his eyes searching for the source of the all too familiar noise.

Around him, panic engulfed the crowd as people fled to get as far away from the danger as possible. Others dove to the ground, pressing themselves as low as possible to the street. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion as people struggled to find anything which could be used as cover. The sounds of the city were replaced with indiscriminate screams.

"Get down!"

The troops reacted with their training, muskets were quickly at the ready as the group of young men retreated into a tight circle. Even from where he laid, David could see the restrained panic in their eyes as they searched for the source of the shots.

"Drop the fucking gun!"

Through the chaos, David could see the body of a British soldier contorted on the ground. Blood oozed from the body and mingled with the water collecting on the dark gray cobblestones.

More gunshots rang out, and another member of the platoon crumpled to the ground. The street exploded in the angry pops of gunfire.

People who were still diving out of the way fell to the ground, hit by bullets from the panicked soldiers' muskets.

David pressed his fingers into his ears, and buried his head in the cobblestones, the gunfire taking him immediately back to the last time his life flashed before his eyes. The memories had never really left him, but they had suddenly come washing back over him, transporting him back to where he didn't want to go.

David closed his eyes, and leaned against the wall of the trench. He reached into the mud and picked up his musket. It still laid where he had dropped it when the shooting began. Opening his eyes against the harsh January wind, he wiped the caked mud from around the trigger, clutching the gun close to his body.

Between the harsh, arctic gusts of wind, the trench was claustrophobic. Men were huddled tightly together in the poorly ventilated, subterranean maze. The air reeked with the stench of anxious humanity, moist with body odor and nervous sweat.

The ping of bullets ricocheting off the ground sounded feet away from his head. David felt himself flinch with each shot he heard imbed itself into the wall of the trench. Someone was shouting in fast German across the void. Even with three years of high school German, he couldn't translate the clipped words being shouted across the dark countryside.