Silence Read Free

that threatened to empty him every time he pressed his foot to the accelerator pedal. No wonder his neighbours and friends were leaving in their droves, those who weren’t dead or in prison, emigrating to England and America, never to return. They left in silence, without uttering a word or fighting with anyone. Many of them had been in the middle of building new homes, like his brother. Their half-finished houses dotted the countryside, building sites overgrown with briars and nettles, wastes of muddy puddles. He did not want to go to England or America but he did not want to be left behind either, amid their abandoned dreams.
    He knew with certainty that in the weeks ahead, there would be more interrogations at checkpoints, more smiling men like Major Hannon, more pestering, more harassment and insinuation, more whispering about failure and revenge, and the dire consequences of his inaction. He began to think there must be some other way to leave behind these hills and their sprawling thickets of thorns, this warren of roads disappearing into tunnels in the dark.
    The rain intensified. He switched off the wipers. It was cosy in the driver’s seat as he moved up through the gears. He peered through the web of raindrops densely crowding the windscreen. He came quickly upon a blind corner and pressed the accelerator pedal as hard as he could. The car skidded as he took the bend. He had the impression of blurred branches sailing close to the car, a few seconds of flight, and then the crunch of gravel as the wheels bit into the verge, and the car corrected itself.
    He drove off again, foot pressed flat against the accelerator. He took the next corner at even greater speed. Again, the car teetered. The engine whined and the wheels locked into a spin. He was no longer in control, the speed of the car dragging him on. He shut his eyes, waiting for the brute force of the impact, but instead of noise, everything went silent. He felt the darkness beyond the thin shield of the windscreen erupt in upon him, and then an overwhelming force lifted him out of his seat. For a moment, fragments of broken glass and thorns rose with him. He felt so pure and free that he grinned with delight. He forgot about the cold business of the river and its trees dripping darkness and betrayal. He willed himself up towards the tranquillity of the night sky, up and up, but then he butted against the stubbornness of his flesh and blood. He felt himself dragged back to the crashed car and the lonely black mass of anger that was his heart.
    When he came to, he lay slumped over the steering wheel. The car had slid down a gully and crashed into a tree. He gaped at the hole where a branch had smashed through the windscreen. Inside he felt disappointed. It was not as easy as he thought to escape border country. A few lights flashed on the dashboard but his head felt too light to understand their instructions. Perhaps they were warning signals. He swung open the door and staggered out. His thoughts felt mangled. He climbed back up the slope and sat hunched by the roadside, trying to quell his giddiness.
    He set off, head bowed, unsure of which direction he was going, until a passing car slowed down. In the twilight, he could just make out the car registration – AIB 726. He recognized the young woman behind the wheel, a neighbour who had recently lost her brother in an IRA attack. Her name was Dorothy Agnew. He looked at her, wondering if she would recognize him. She smiled at him and instinctively he waved back. She held her chin up bravely, but her eyes were downcast, her smile still carrying the shadow of her grief. To his surprise, she stopped and gave him a lift home.
    After she had dropped him off at his gate, he felt confused. He had been close to ending his life, but somehow her smile and act of kindness had filled his mind with new confidence, new conviction. In the course of their short conversation, he had told her about his brother’s murder at the