After lights out, Gerard lit them both a thin roll-up and they had their smoke. Some of the lads were saying the rosary, but Gerard said he was going to skip it and smoke instead and Sean agreed to do the same. They had a lot on their minds. O’Malley had given them a short talk in Irish that evening and Gerard was explaining to Sean the bits he’d not been able to follow.
There was a spotlight on across the front yard of the block and Gerard was standing by the window with his face partially revealed. He had his blanket about his shoulders and round him like a poncho. His fingertips went in and out of his thin beard as he sucked on the little cigarette.
‘One thing’s certain, Sean, we can’t go on like this for another, what, ten or fifteen years?’
‘What was he saying about what’s happening on the outside?’
‘There’s some talks going on, with O’Fiaich in the middle, and there’s some other ones as well with an MI5 man the middle man, but it’s not looking good and with this goon Reagan all palled up with Thatcher there’s little or no chance of negotiations coming off. In short, there’s fuck all. Even a mainland bombing’s not going to shift things. They’re going on with shooting the screws and that’s it.’
Sean was on the mattress, knees up by his chin.
‘He’s asking for names.’
‘For the hunger strike?’
‘No, for the coach trip down to Bangor. Fancy coming? The screws are going to buy us all a bag of chips each.’
‘What are you going to do? You’ve got a family.’
Gerard closed the end of his smoke between his fingers. ‘I’ll tell you, I’m scared, Seany. Who isn’t though? Everyone who puts their name down is going to be scared.’
‘How many’s going on it?’
‘He said he’d be going on it.’
‘Starting when?’
‘They’ll hold off a wee while. Nails has got something coming. But O’Malley wants us to get started the moment he has word it hasn’t worked. What’s it going to do to all the mothers and wives?’
They could hear their neighbours talking in quiet tones. Gerard pulled the blanket up under his nose. ‘Sean?’
‘Aye.’
‘I know this sounds a bit strange, but in a way I’ll be sorry when it’s all over. One way or another it’s going to come to an end. Sooner or later.’
‘Thank fuck.’
‘But Seany, in some ways it’s been a, what d’ye say, a privilege to be with each other.’
‘Ach shut up, Gerry. We’re not dead yet. Save your best words for then.’
‘The sharing. Like with the tobacco. Would anyone think of taking more than his due?’
‘You’re always more cheerful after you’ve had your smoke.’
‘It makes you wonder whether socialism only works with men who are oppressed.’
‘Right.’
Sean was cold right through and found it hard to go to sleep until he was absolutely exhausted. Gerard had the desired effect on him, night after night, and he wouldn’t have swapped him. Gerard would thank him for listening in the mornings and Sean would feel guilty about it because he only heard the half of it; after a while his mind hopped up on to the window ledge, took a trip into West Belfast, looked through his mother’s kitchen window then headed out to play in the fields below the mountains.
‘The thing is Seany, will it ever be like this again . . .’
Sean slipped down, propping himself on one elbow. ‘I know what you’re saying, Gerry, but I’m not a socialist or a communist. This is a war and I’m a soldier and I can say hand on heart that it’s best it be me here, a single fella with no family. You in your position, you’ve to think about it another way, I can see that. The hardest thing for me up till now has been thinking about my mother. But I’ve stopped myself doing that and it’s like she’s dead.’ His mouth was dry with the tobacco. ‘See, I buy what O’Malley says, that the only way we can ever win this war is by doing something they don’t understand. A criminal wouldn’t go on hunger strike. I think he’s right, so I’ll put my name down. But if I were you, with a family, and with only that stuff about socialism to go on, I’m not sure I would. And no one will blame you if you don’t.’
‘The worst thing in the world for a man, Seany, do you know what it is? I’ll tell you. I didn’t come in here because I was an IRA boy. I kept out of it but it came for me anyway. The reason I stay on the protest, is because I couldn’t face the shame of not being on it. Of sitting with the prison-issue uniform, the criminal’s begs, round my ankles while I take a shit on a proper toilet.’
Sean lay curled up like an animal, his heart beating, thinking that it was possibly better being on the boards because his piece of sponge foam was so damp now.
‘How many do you think will put their names down?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Aye. Well, it’s just the next step on from this.’
Sean closed his eyes. There was Nancy and there was no Nancy. He saw hands relinquished across a space, after a dance, the feeling of being pulled backwards to his own side of the dance hall. And in the palm of his hand still the feeling of her, the cool skin of her bare arms, without rings or bracelets, just honest, and soft.
Sean was drifting into a dream; his cellmate’s small voice came through like the beam of a pocket torch in the dark.
‘Seany?’
‘Aye?’
‘I’ll be putting my name down for it.’ He sounded as if he was making an admission, nervous as if what he said would ruin things between them.
Sean felt for Gerard’s hand, grasped it and shook it, then he let it go, and his head fell back further even than the ground it lay on, way, way back.