“I WANT to read you some of these letters,” Nuala announced.
She had brought In Great Haste, the letters between Michael Collins and Catherine “Kit” Kiernan.
“I’m not illiterate,” I pleaded.
“You listen just the same.”
That settled that.
“This one is from October 1921. The poor man is dead tired.”
As she read the letters to me, she became Michael Collins and Kitty Kiernan. It was a remarkable performance as she brought back to life a young couple torn between war and love, a woman who could not understand the complexities of war and peace, and a man, increasingly enchanted by her, who could not find enough time to love her the way he wanted and she needed.
“October 12, 1921
“Kit dear,
“Have just returned from the Brompton Oratory. I was late for Mass a little, but the car hadn’t come and I didn’t know the way very well. Lit a candle for you, a very big one. I did the same yesterday morning.
“I was so glad you liked that note written in the Gresham. That was most spontaneous on my part and came from a very great longing. We must, I think, make that arrangement more binding, but just as you desire. I feel somehow that it will work out and work out well.
“Slan leat,
“M.”
“I think he’s in love,” I observed.
“You think he’s in love? But wasn’t he a religious nan now?”
“He was.”
“Kit, my dear Kit,
“Am hastily scribbling a note before going out to Mass. I know there will be no chance afterwards, for I already see ominous signs of work here. I wonder if you’re sleeping soundly at this moment or are just awake and thinking of me. It’s 7:50.
“How do you feel about it all this morning? Did you really enjoy yesterday? I do wish I had been nicer to you, but perhaps I wasn’t too bad after all.
“I’ve just said my rosary for you.
“Slan leat for the day;
“With my fondest love,
“Michael”
“So she went to London.”
“She did.”
“Were they lovers?”
“Not at all.” Nuala tossed her head scornfully. “This one makes me cry.”
“My dear Michael,
“With me nothing seems to matter except that love between the two of us. In my opinion what else matters? And there the tragedy lies. I must try and be more matter of fact and sensible in the future and I’ll see how it works with you. As you know by now, no matter what happens or what you could give me. I want your love more than anything else. . . . God gave us the biggest thing of all in life. . . . You are the first who made me believe in love.
“Yours with love,
“Kit”
Nuala was in tears when she finished, for a moment totally identified with Kitty.
“The poor man, doesn’t he love her? But he’s so tired and she doesn’t understand that. So tired.”
“Kitty dearest,
“Am back, but I’m so tired that I can scarcely remain awake. This is a line just to tell you so and to say I am thinking very much of you today, also to say that no matter how short my note is, I am writing it.
“May God bless you always and may I see you again soon.
“Your own.
“Michael”
“Isn’t that sweet?” she demanded.
“Yeah, but she doesn’t understand what’s at issue.”
“Not at all, poor woman. How could she? Doesn’t this letter show that?”
And she was Kitty Kiernan again.
“They’re sleeping together by now,” I insisted.
“You keep your dirty male thoughts to yourself,” she reprimanded me. “They are not . . . not that I’d blame her if they were. But, sure, isn’t he happy and proud in this one?”
“I am as happy a man as there is in Ireland today. My thoughts just now are all with you and you have every kind wish and feeling of mine. Have just taken over Dublin Castle, and am writing this note while awaiting a meeting of my Provisional Government. What do you think of that? Otherwise I see all sorts of difficulties ahead, but never mind. Please come up tomorrow night—send a wire. Failing that, Wednesday. There is nobody like you, I find, and I wish I’d been nicer to you. ’Twas my fault.
“Fondest love, dear Kit,
“Your own,
“Michael”
Nuala wept in my arms, a position in which I was delighted to find her despite my resolutions to protect her. With the simple and poignant love letters of the couple now long dead rushing through my head, how could I possibly feel desire for her?
Alas, it was easy.