Footnote
The Fenian Cycle, Oisín
The Fenian Cycle, Oisín pronounced uh-sheen, known by many cycle names including the Ossianic Cycle, is a body of prose and verse centering on the exploits of the mythical hero Fionn mac Cumhaill and his warriors the Fianna Éireann.
It is the third of four major cycles of Irish mythology:
the Mythological Cycle,
the Ulster Cycle,
the Ossianic Cycle,
and the Historical Cycle.
The Fenian cycle is often called the Ossianic cycle because Fionn's son, Oisín, was supposed to have written most of the poems in the cycle. The cycle also contains stories about other Fianna members, including Caílte, Diarmuid, Oisín's son Oscar, and Fionn's enemy, Goll mac Morna.
From Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia.
For my daughter Kate
From The Visions of Michael (4Q529)
"Michael Beholds the Glory of God. . . "
Dead Sea Scrolls
The O'Malley Family
Jones & Brigid O'Malley
Sons
Liam O'Malley
Gabriel O'Malley
George O'Malley
Luke O'Malley
Sean O'Malley
Daughters
Bridgette O'Malley Brown
Colleen O'Malley Joyce
Geraldine O'Malley Jameson
Polly Marie O'Malley Moynihan
Nellie Anne O'Malley Heaney
Parents of the Nine Irish Sons
Luke O'Malley
Born 1947
Disappeared in 1987
Quarryman
Married at 25 to Mary Elizabeth Moran
Father of Nine Irish Sons
Mary Elizabeth Moran O'Malley
Born 1954
Married at 18 to Luke O'Malley
Able to see the truth through her visions.
Disappeared in 1987
Rescued in 2007
Mother of Nine Irish Sons
The Nine Irish Sons
Luke Niall O'Malley, Jr.
First Born Son of Luke and Mary
Born 1973
Quarryman
Becomes the Mayor of Aghadoe
Widower with three young daughters.
Wife murdered with bad drugs during childbirth.
Had an affair with Julie McStanish Nash to uncover
the truth behind his parent's disappearance and wife's murder.
Dr. Peter Fionn O'Malley
Second Son of Luke and Mary
Born 1974
General Medicine Practice
Married to Sharon, an epidemiologist
Three children
Michael Quinn O'Malley
Third Son of Luke and Mary
Born 1975
The Rose Oisín
Poet & Quarryman
Worked undercover for Interpol
Matthew Colin O'Malley
Fourth Son of Luke and Mary
Born 1977
Artist & Designer & Quarryman
Married, Peg [Margaret Mary] Ferris,
an American Historian who takes over the family's
library of ancient literature housed in the new
headquarters.
Edward Moran [Teddy] O'Malley
Fifth Son of Luke and Mary
Born 1978
Latin School Teacher
Takes over the archive in the new headquarters.
Wants to work in the field.
Kathie Mickelson, girlfriend
Kevin Dermot O'Malley
Sixth Son of Luke and Mary
Born 1980
CEO and Owner of a Private Espionage Firm
Divorced
Believes his ex-wife had his daughter.
Brian [Brice] Conner O'Malley
Seventh Son of Luke and Mary
Born 1983
Twin brother of Joseph Patrick
Salesman for the Quarrymen
Joseph Patrick O'Malley
Eighth Son of Luke and Mary
Born 1983
Twin brother of Brian [Bryce]
Works with Kevin
Contracted with AT&F and covers as an FBI agent
Timothy Shane O'Malley
Ninth Son of Luke and Mary
Born 1985
Works with Kevin as a spy.
Contracted with the CIA.
Secretly learned Spanish dancing.
Micah and Joanna Nolan Frieze
Born in Ireland during the late 1800s
Migrated to Poland to work in textiles.
Reiley Frieze
Born 1890
Changes name to Reiley Freeze
Brother of Micah
Joins the British Secret Service March, 1914
Becomes the Ace of Spies – a.k.a. The Rose
Returns to find Micah and Joanna Nolan Frieze in
Cardiff, Wales in 1926
Father of bastard son, Micah [Mickey] Nolan Freeze
with his brother's wife Joanna Monahan Nolan
Mickey Freeze
Born 1927
Illegitimate son of Joanna & Reiley
Air Force Ace Flyer
and spy for the British during WW II
Dies 2007
Father of Marilyn who is poisoned by bad drugs during pregnancy
by the same doctor who killed Lucy O'Malley.
Secret Godfather of Aghadoe
Arch enemy of Jeremy McStanish.
Jake Sherman
Born 1945
Dies drunk at a train depot.
Ellie Edwards Sherman
Born 1959
Married in 1977
Has two sons and four daughters.
Eddy Sherman
Born 1978
a.k.a. Father Edwin Shaw
Dies at 29 of congestive heart failure.
Jimmy Sherman
Born 1979
Begins working for Mickey Freeze at age 8.
Jeremy McStanish
Born 1928
Arch enemy of Luke O'Malley &
Mickey Freeze
First Wife --- Mother of Chris Martin Unknown
Second Wife ---
The duchess, Claudia Van Ecklignberg
Chris Martin
a.k.a. Chris McStanish, Chris Mansfield
Born 1945
Son of Jeremy McStanish – Mother unknown.
Julie McStanish Nash
Born 1959
Daughter of Jeremy McStanish
& Claudia Van Ecklignberg.
Alexis Dering
Born 1802
Catholic missionary priest who deserts his mission,
and lives with the native Indians in South America.
Joseph Alexis Dering a.k.a. Alejo Don Alexander
Born 1835
First Son of Alexis Dering and Indian wife.
Fathered Twins.
Rico Don Alexander
First son of Joseph Alexis Dering
a.k.a. Alejo Don Alexander
Born 1867
WWI War Profiteer
Fathered Twins.
José Santiago Alexander
Second son of Joseph Alexis Dering
a.k.a. Alejo Don Alexander
Born 1867
No Children.
Rico Don Alexander, Jr.
Son of Rico Don Alexander
Born 1907
Twin brother to José Santiago Alexander, Jr.
Fathered Twins.
José Santiago Alexander, Jr.
Son of Rico Don Alexander
Born 1907
Twin brother to Rico Don Alexander, Jr.
Don Alexander
Son of Rico Don Alexander, Jr.
Twin Brother to Santiago
Born 1945
Santiago Alexander
Son of Rico Don Alexander, Jr.
Twin Brother to Don Alexander
Born 1945
The Secrets of
Nine Irish
Sons II
The Rose Oisín
By
Laura Joyce Moriarty
©Copyright 2010 by Laura Joyce Moriarty
Registered U.S. Copyright Office
All rights reserved.
©Smashwords Edition
Permission for reproducing in any write-able format for any purposes must be sent to:
tsonis@thesecretsofnineirishsons.com
P r o l o g u e
Perú - 1993
He looked around his lovely, clean, and simple but luxurious room with the usual sense of total disbelief. How had he survived six years of terror and come to end up in a place completely idyllic? He was convinced that it was divine intervention---that possibly men didn't die and go to heaven, but lived through enough hell that God provided an ephemeral ecstasy to repay them for enduring massive excruciations on earth. But for what he had planned, no existence was necessary.
He would recount them occasionally---the memories---making sure that each would not emerge for longer than a few seconds. He would record them and then work on removing them from his daily consciousness.
It was her trial that caused him the greatest grief and had taken the longest to record, for every second had been agony. He noted everything in fragments that he wrote down in a cheap composition book from the drugstore. They were filled with pages that were hardly legible.
There was thumping and stomping---outbursts of laughter that went on over my head. I knew where I was. I could hear many people shuffling around right above me---in McStanish's library. I could hear conversations that seeped through one of the vents that emptied into the basement.
I heard the words of the people who built the makeshift cell for my wife. I knew what they were planning. They were laughing about it.
I heard the mock trial. I must have been the only person on earth who knew what was really going on. I could not speak.
I heard someone swear on a Bible and say, "Mary Elizabeth O'Malley is borderline delusional and she doesn't recognize the reality of her offense." I could not testify on her behalf. Where were my brothers?
I heard her right behind me in that cold cellar crying out to me---to God---to anyone who would listen. She asked it over and over---where are they? Where is Mickey Freeze? Where are my neighbors or Fr. Henry? Why doesn't anyone know where I am or what is happening to me?
I couldn't do a thing. I was taped to something large and metal and my face was nearly covered in tape. I could barely breathe. I struggled and then would be bound with even more tape.
The horrible doctor would come every morning and every night. Each time he would stick an ice pick into me and then watch the blood come out in a stream until I would pass out. Then he would cauterize the wound and wait for me to wake. He knew right where to stick it so I wouldn't die. His eyes were vicious. They were like black holes---no gleam or luster. He was indeed, a base and mean man of unparalleled depravity.
I would waken and he would pull out one of his syringes and fill it with some concoction that would make me nauseated, or make me hallucinate, or feel pains in my entire body. I would get one of those injections before the phony deliberations would begin and the sounds would be amplified as if I were in a metal tunnel.
They never let me speak. I could have said that I would willingly die if they would let my wife go. But they would not listen. I heard her over and over and yet, could not make a sound. "Where are my sons?"
If anyone was present who knew her, the crazy testimony would be contradicted. But there was no one. She was found guilty of murdering her husband---me---alive and living in hell. "Where were my brothers?"
She was supposed to be executed. And yet, she never was. I heard them come take her away. I heard Chris Martin say, "She's off to paradise, but then, so am I. But only for a little while until I can retrieve her for myself."
I vowed revenge. I swore to God that no existence even in ultimate death, even in paradise, would stop me from my ultimate revenge---even non-existence, if such a thing existed.
O n e
Luke's Journey Begins
When Luke finally regained consciousness, he found himself in the dark, and moving in a large truck. It took him a few moments to adjust and realize he was alone before he fully opened his eyes or moved a muscle. When he finally felt as if he could trust his instincts and see shadows, he slowly felt around the container, taking his time to carefully examine each item he touched. He found a few nearly empty bottles of water. He guessed he had been drinking them while half-conscious. There were a few cartons of unopened food, so he must have been in the truck at least two or three days. This was encouraging, he thought, because if he wasn't tortured for just a few more days, he would heal nicely. His nerves settled and he realized he was relieved to be alive.
He was used to scrapes and bruises---the many years of quarry work had seen to that. It was his worry that had weakened him. He had overheard every moment of the ridiculous trial---the one accusing his wife of murdering him. Every time he thought of it, he completely lost his sense of self-control. If he could have yelled, his anger would have been deafening. She had been so close by and yet, had never heard him struggling, as he had been gagged and tied to a steel beam.
He wondered about it constantly. Could it have been only a delusion? Something that was caused by the horrific injections he had been given---they were the worst imaginable. They had produced excessive hallucinations---not particularly fearful ones, for he had always been morally sound---a man with a very clear conscience. But bizarre ones like dreams of sending an endless line of people one at a time out onto a boat that sailed away on a still blue sea. He worried about his children and was relentlessly losing them in his dreams. The drugs eventually wore him down physically making his muscles feel very weak and his mind disoriented.
As he finally relaxed on his straw bed, he noticed the tiny grill at the top of the container letting in just enough light to see shapes. He sorted out his thoughts. He wondered about the expected effect of the drugs. He was feeling alert and strong. He had always been much stronger physically than the average man. Had they given him standard doses or stronger ones to make up for his size? Was there an expectation that he would lose control of his faculties or still be dazed? Best not to be too sharp when they finally stop this truck, he thought, as the effects were wearing off, and if he was found fully recuperated he might be given more.
He felt around for more clues. There was nothing except the area of straw. He groped around in it to make sure it was safe, and he found nothing. He smelled the hay and it was fresh and soft, so he felt lucky that his sores would probably heal without any infection. He was fortunate to have been able to keep all his clothes and his boots. I can walk halfway around the globe in these boots. And that is what I plan to do as soon as I free myself, he said out loud as if someone could hear him.
For all their cleverness, his tormentors had tied him securely but never bothered to check his pants or boots--After all, he's just a stone mason, old man McStanish had said. They had ripped off his cross and scapular and stole his wedding ring. McStanish laughed at his struggle to keep it. Serves you right for marrying that peasant instead of my daughter, he had said. They were sentimental things, but not helpful to him now, and while he felt somewhat insecure without them, they weren't necessary to his survival. It was what was in his boots that would help him eventually.
As the days passed, he was curiously intrigued by the long monotonous ride. He knew it was a big truck, probably a semi, from the sounds of the gears and brakes. He felt that it must be a much larger container, extending far beyond the space he occupied and wondered what else was being shipped---and who else was in the truck---for they wouldn't keep the whole container air temperature controlled just for him.
Twice a day, the little grid at the top of the container was removed and restaurant food was lowered down in a plastic bag. He used the empty cartons for his waste and filled the bag with straw and put it back on the hook. They had thrown in a package of sanitized wipes, toilet paper, and baby powder. These kidnappers had wanted to keep their truck very fresh and clean, he thought---or someone else was being transported with him---someone that they had to buy these items for, so they figured what the heck and threw some in for him too. And the food was more than adequate. This made him wonder even more about the reasons behind this trip and what he might expect.
After about ten days, he felt the container shift and wobble furiously. He slid across the slick floor and into its side and then seconds later was flung across to the other side. At first he heard chains and loud hammering noises. The container must have been hoisted into the air---to another transport, he thought. It remained slightly slanted for about three hours or at least long enough that the gravity pull had forced him to lie on his stomach with his feet against the side of a wall to keep from feeling woozy.
He could hear men screaming at each other, but not clearly. It wasn't as if he could hear what they were saying. But when they yelled, a slight trickle of their high-pitched anger seeped into the container. He then felt it moving again and slam down on what felt like ball bearings, for it shifted in very tiny quivers for another hour. It was lifted again and then it finally felt stable as he heard the chains being rolled up.
That was it. The container must have been picked up and hoisted onto a barge. They had crossed water somewhere, but where? What would be the place that would hold a truck container for less than an hour and then have it transferred back to its flat bed---and why? He thought of all the places he knew that could be about two weeks travel-time away from Ireland. And where would there exist a truck that was temperature controlled and kept clean? And the food and drugs---he never checked, but could it all have been American? He must be somewhere in the States. He must have been flown over.
That would explain what he thought was a hallucination of being confined in a cold area with animals looking at him in the dark. They must have been real. It was a cargo holding of a plane. He had been flown somewhere and if it was to the States, he had been on the road longer than it would have taken to go across the country.
If they had traveled cross-country towards the west, there were only two directions left to turn---north and south. But when the air conditioning had been off on a few occasions, the air that seeped in the grille had felt very warm. They must be heading south through Mexico and then Central America. He had just crossed the Canal, he thought as he imagined maps in his head.
He was finally feeling comfortable again as his thoughts and body stabilized with the rhythm of the truck's engines when it suddenly stopped and a huge sliding door opened. He was quickly pulled out of the truck by two large dark-skinned men who were speaking Spanish and as he turned around to look back at the truck he was aghast with shock, for also being pulled out of the truck was his nemesis and torturer, Chris Martin. Their eyes made contact for a few short seconds and then he was struck on the back of the head.
When he came to, he was in another vehicle but this one was definitely far less elegant than the large semi he had seen for a split second. It was a pickup truck with extended wooden rails built up on the side, as if it occasionally held livestock. His arms had been tied to the railing above his head. He tried to lift his head up but the pain in the back of his neck was severe. He was between two men, one of which he was sure was holding a gun barrel in his side.
The vehicle pulled into a level cemented area and stopped. Then he heard Martin speak.
"Awake are we then my old friend? You'll like this place. It's one of my father's favorites. I, of course, have an advantage. I've been here before. In fact, many times---so I know what to expect. I will be kept for a few weeks---possibly even a few months. But eventually, I will be let go and driven to the airport where I can take-off for any place my heart desires---for I am very rich you know.
You will probably be sent to one of Melanqué's holes. It's not the brutal heat that you will feel instantly, for they are ovens to be sure. It's not even the lack of food. You'll be dead long before starvation will set in. It may be a lost snake or tarantula that might find you. But the odds of that happening are" . . . he hesitated thinking, as if it were a hard thing to pinpoint--- "slim," he said.
And then all of a sudden he broke out in laughter almost buckled over.
"You won't last longer than a few hours, once they drop a few of their vicious bullet ants into the hole. The Indians say they can clean off the flesh of a man in hours ---a bucketful of them that is, but you old friend---they want you to live through the torment for longer than that. Be ready my friend. Throwing you to the ants will be like throwing them a loaf of jellied bread."
Again, Chris Martin bowled over in laughter at his own metaphor.
"How lucky for you," Luke said. "You must feel like a bad child at his own birthday party---the one who is punished but doesn't feel bad because dear ol' da is going to make the rest of the party-goers suffer so much more. How lucky for me that Jeremy McStanish was your father and not mine," said Luke with a smile on his face.
Chris was immediately enraged. He tried to pull away from the guard and attack Luke. He heard a man yell at Chris and at the same time felt the butt of a gun strike his face. It didn't hit him hard enough to cause him to pass out, but it stung like hell and rather than risk another strike that could do much more damage, he pretended to pass out as he hit the ground. He had plans to make. Chris continued to rant on until one of the men must have knocked him out, for he suddenly stopped in the middle of a sentence.
T w o
My Excruciating Survival
The men were speaking Spanish. I had studied it during the fifth year of my secondary education. I could pick up a few bits and pieces of what they were saying. They had obviously removed Chris from the pickup, as I caught su lugar habitual, which I knew meant his usual place. My mind quickly thought back to my insistence on taking Spanish over Latin my last year of school, but that decision must have been out of my control---so many things about life are not understood for years and years.
They turned their attention to me. Lo único que sé es que el viejo no quiere que lo mate todavía, the man said.
I didn't understand all of it, but remembered no quiere and le muerto and now was thinking that he said something about an old man not wanting me dead yet. That confirmed what Chris must have known. I continued to pretend I was unconscious, but after trying to drag me a while, they let me drop and someone threw a bucket of water on my face. I was then kicked so rose bent over, but still waited for help before lifting my feet to walk. The two large guards argued about my physical condition and repeated the phrase about keeping me alive.
"El jefe enfadado, se muere en el agujero," said the first.
"Vamos a echarlo de nuevo en el hoyo. Allí es más seguro," said his companion.
I picked up enough to know that my untimely death would make someone angry and that I was going into a hole.
"Mejor tirarle algo de comida y agua," said the first again.
They are going to feed me. This is an unusual imprisonment, as I have had more than enough food, and the lack of exercise is causing me to gain so much weight that my pants are tight now.
"Sí, yo no quiero morir por este tonto." They laughed.
They think I am a fool and not worth dying for. Interesting. They seem nervous and now I'm sure I'll be kept alive until they are given the order to let me die. If I hadn't been hit, I might have been more clear-headed, but am thinking that they sound a little uneasy about having me here. I wonder why my life is to be saved, if only temporarily and how long that will be. These guys must be far less worried about killing someone than trying to keep someone alive.
They dragged me as I struggled to walk. It seemed like it took forever to cross the compound in the blistering sun. But I had stayed alert on my way over to the hole, counting steps and estimating the time it took to walk across the cemented grounds. I was sure I was passing a huge mansion and could smell pool water and hear a water fountain. I tripped once on purpose so I could see the building. I squinted, trying not to be obviously interested in the view. I couldn't see through most of the landscaping. Great large showy flowers and large dark green bushes surrounded the building in the back. I could see from the stretch of the roof that it must have covered a full acre of land. When one of them clubbed me in the back, I moaned profusely.
Finally, they came to a very deep hole with cement walls that had a bamboo lid. With the lid opened back, I could see straight into it down to the bottom. It was the only hole that was in the shade---setting only about twenty paces from the wall of what looked like a deep jungle.
"Oye señor---no hay hormigas para hoy. Tal vez mañana, sí." said one of the guards to me. I knew what he was saying---no ants today, but maybe tomorrow.
"Yes, maybe I will meet my fate tomorrow. Then again, maybe you won't see me tomorrow," I said with a grin.
The men couldn't understand me. They lifted the lid and just pushed me down into the hole with only a rope to hold onto. I concentrated on what could be seen down from the edge of the hole and it was dark as night in the shade once I hit bottom. They probably couldn't even see me once dusk set in but I couldn't take any chances, not knowing how it would look once the sun changed positions.
The view was very clear looking up. They pulled a gun, warning me to let go of the rope quickly with a gesture, and I did. They pulled it up, threw the lid down, and laughed as they walked away.
I could tell the men thought it was impossible to escape from the hot cement hollow that was more than twelve feet deep. It was empty except for some scattered stones and bones on the bottom along with several dead bugs---probably poisoned, as I smelled chlorine again. The other holes I had glimpsed at looked like they were nothing more than dirt trenches. I knew what a prisoner thrown in one of those pits could expect---an excruciating death.
I had my one night to figure out how to save my own life. The right plan would make the difference for if I did not think through every aspect of my prison, I would be dead in a day or two.
I stretched my arms across the expanse between the walls. There was no way I could shimmy up using my arms or legs. So I cleared a space to sit and started rummaging through the stones. These were things I knew---their inner strength and resilience to pressure. Some could be shaped but not hold any weight and crumble quickly. Others could hold all of my weight but not be shaped even with days of work. I walked back and forth picking up debris. I found one long rusted piece of iron, probably a tool used by workers to manage bobbed-wire, or a file, possibly used to sharpen knives. Yes, that's probably what it was, and if so, it would be more than strong enough to be useful.
I examined the most valuable of my findings and tried to estimate how much time it would take to dig out two slivers of concrete in the walls and hammer in some stones I could use as steps so I could scale partway up the wall. I would have to wait until they fed me and then make sure I could work in the dark. I wasn't worried about noise as I listened very carefully as the guards retreated, again counting steps and sounds. I was more than far enough away to hack into the night without being heard. But seeing was the problem. I didn't dare remove my switchblade from my boots until I was sure the men would not be returning for the night. My only hope was to rub some sandstone against the concrete and hope that the moon's glow would be bright enough for part of the evening to catch the reflection of the white scratches.
My plan was to use my blade to gouge slivers into the concrete and then wedge some larger stones into the walls. I only needed two and only needed them to be strong enough to hold part of my weight for if I could hoist myself high enough, I could hold onto one of the bamboo bars above me while cutting the others. I was hoping that my extremely sharp switchblade, a strange gift Mickey Freeze had given me, and some possible rotting, along with my weight, would make quick work of the bamboo. If it all worked out, I would be able to cut away half of the poles very quickly and use the others to pull myself up over the edge. The problem was the dark.
But that wasn't my only problem. I worked furiously as soon as the guards had dropped my food into the hole and I could hear them walk away. Everything was going as planned for my stones had stuck in the walls perfectly. But as soon as I started cutting the bamboo, I heard Chris. He must have been kept in someplace close by. He started yelling, but it was in English. I heard the guards but they were far away---Cállate, o bien vamos a volve y hasta que cierre.
They were laughing and telling him to shut up. They didn't sound interested in his ranting. I was safe if I hurried. As I cut away, and as the shoots began to crack, I pulled them down very quickly. Chris was yelling hysterically at first, and then when I heard the guards yell back again and then laugh, I could hear Chris crying in his hut. He was out of control. He couldn't stand the thought that I might be able to free myself. He could never accomplish such a feat himself and if he did, his father would have him tortured and imprisoned five times as long as usual. He could be stuck there for a year if he made any trouble.
When I pulled myself out over the edge, it couldn't have been a luckier moment. The winds were picking up and just as I fell into the dirt, torrential rains nearly knocked me over. But as soon as I started to run towards the jungle, my hands and legs began stinging so badly that I could barely keep from screaming. I had had my boots on the whole time and couldn't imagine how the fire ants got into my pants but they must have come in through the holes I had made in the concrete and gotten inside my boots as I was leveraging myself against the walls. I ran far enough to get just inside the jungle. I stripped and hoped the rain would wash off the ants but didn't stop long enough to figure it out. It was too dark. I started running again. I ran until I dropped completely unconscious.
When I woke, I knew I hadn't died. My pain was too great. Several little men were poking me with little plant shoots and yelling at me. I looked down at my body and was shocked. I had been badly bitten and white pustules covered my legs and arms. My hands were blown up like balloons and throbbing beyond pain. The little men prodded me to get up and they were so terrifying that I tried so I could run away, but couldn't move very far before falling again. Two ran off and came back with some long bamboo shoots. They tied my pants and shirt around them and pushed me onto the makeshift stretcher. Then they ran very quickly. I was hanging on with all my strength and now screeching from the pain. I passed out again, but suddenly was awoken when I was thrown into a river. The water was cool and my pain subsided. I was pulled onto the bank and the people around me worked quickly to cover my body in some kind of crud and then they wrapped me up in giant leaves. I saw leeches on my legs and hands and passed out again.
When I woke, it was sunny and I saw little people with dark brown faces smiling at me. I was still in severe pain, and now, was itching as well. I might be healing, I thought and put my head back. Naked ladies who were covered with large beaded halters worked on me. They were massaging my legs with very strange feeling granules and shaking containers with brown powder all over me. None of it felt good. I could see one wrap up my wounded hand with spider webs. They were singing very soothingly.
A man ran to a cabbage-like palm and ripped off a leaf. He cupped it and dipped it into a container and brought back some water. They lifted my head. Then the scariest man I had ever seen leaned over me and squeezed some white stuff out of a giant bug and dropped it into my mouth. I drifted off feeling incredibly soothed from head to toe. Relief from the insufferable pain was my last conscious thought. I dreamt of my sons. I was reaching out to them, but they were laughing and playing. They were fine. I wanted to tell them that I was sure I was going to live.
T h r e e
Mickey Freeze's Ancestry
In 1904, the Friezes left Ireland for central Europe. They risked all that they knew for the unknown along with endless thousands of Irish who had emigrated to the States, Australia, Europe, or any place where work was possible. They owned no land or any valuables worth carrying with them and had no hope of a future, except that they might earn enough to eat. Economic insecurity was rampant everywhere, but in Ireland endless poverty was practically guaranteed for most of the population.
Micah Frieze, a somewhat gangling young man, along with his young wife, Joanna Nolan Frieze, and Micah's younger brother Reiley took off for a foreign land, hoping that their extraordinary tailoring skills might help them find work. All three, though under normal circumstances would have been healthy, were on the brink of starvation.
They had been forewarned. Their only chance for survival was in manufacturing and while there was no way to be sure of work, it was their last hope. They had heard that many European workers had lost their jobs, but there was nothing for them in Ireland.
There was constant strife among the various populations in middle Europe and no love for any immigrant who might come take a valuable job away from a local resident.
Peasants fought among themselves and often broke into factions that stayed in conflict continually. Despite all this, the Friezes believed that there was at least some hope that one of them could find employment so they could eat and save a few coins, for they refused to buy anything but bare necessities and even those were often from other immigrants who could no longer use them. They headed for £ódz, an area of central Poland that had earned a reputation for rapid growth in the textile industry.
There, they were luckier than they ever dreamed, and far more fortunate than most. They always found work as a team often displacing Polish workers and other immigrants. But they paid a dear price for the privilege of working. They lived in a constant state of stress and fear of being attacked by roving gangs.
The Friezes gained a reputation for being valued employees. Joanna was adept at following any pattern of needlework. She could recreate Chinese frog buttons, braids, or any ornate decoration typically used on military uniforms. Micah was a master tailor and while Reiley was only as good as the average textile worker, he was unusually strong and could move large bolts of fabric and set up endless rows of sewing machines. And his good nature proved to be invaluable.
Reiley took to the work well enough but had high ambitions once he got a job. He would finish piece work faster than anyone and then help the older or pregnant women. After he would pick up his own basket of piece work and move it down the line, he then moved quickly to pick up each of the other worker's baskets and move them around the floor, increasing overall production to new levels. That extra effort impressed the manager and pleased the women who would be exhausted with the massive amounts of sewing they would be given.
After the first few years of decent food, Reiley blossomed into an extremely good looking and strong young man. He was charming as well, and was able to persuade people to do what the worst taskmasters couldn't accomplish. The overall improvement in the production units of the Frieze floor was noticed. Management promoted him to supervisor and things improved for the Friezes even more.
The most astonishing of Reiley's talents was just emerging---one he didn't even realize he had. It was his ability to pick up and speak various languages quickly and fluently. No matter whom he met, Russian or German, Pole or Czech, he could converse with him or her within weeks. It was strange---just as some people can sit down and play the piano by ear, Reiley could hear a word, its accent, its tone, everything about it and know it for life. And it interested him, so when he spoke with someone, he always asked him where he grew up and his national origin. He bought a cheap map of Europe and would put a number by the locale of the person. He then would write all the corresponding details he had learned in a small notepad. As a consequence, he couldn't help but learn huge amounts of history, social customs, and geography.
With the rate of foreign influx into £ódz, this became the most advantageous break for the Friezes. Reiley was the inimitable supervisor. Mill managers began to compete for him and he rose to the challenge, always negotiating better jobs for his brother and his sister-in-law, and for more money.
Micah was not a shortsighted person, nor unaware that the money they were collecting was a rare privilege but also making them somewhat vulnerable. He was always thinking ahead and wondering what next move might be most advantageous for them. He kept track of the money carefully, making sure that small amounts were converted to larger coins and then finally into gold pieces or small valuable jewels and each was sewn into their underclothing very carefully.
The family found a deserted shack in the middle of some woods outside the city limits, and decided they would stay there until someone came along and kicked them out. They needed nothing and had been used to living outdoors, for they had no home except a small dirt hollow in Ireland. The forests were filled with thieves and many of the peasants had preferred £ódz, even if it meant sleeping in a barn. But the Friezes were very private and used to long walks. At first they all walked and then the men built a small cart and took turns pulling Joanna the few miles into the city. They wanted to be seen using it in case they decided to escape the area and didn't want to be unusually obvious. Every day for ten years, the men would drag the cart into the city with Joanna sitting on top a heap of useless trash. Everyone assumed them equivalently poor.
So far all their earnings had been saved and if they were not robbed, they could return to Ireland with enough money to start a real life of their own with a cottage and a few cows.
Reiley, however, was tempted to move on to another life. He rarely shared his thoughts, but had come across a notion at work that had made him think of something completely new.
"Reiley, you are such a natural linguist," said Willem. "I'm sure you would be the perfect spy. If you want some leads, I can give you a few. I'm not a very political person myself, but recruitment into various groups is now rampant."
"Is there good pay for it?"
"Excellent pay if you can collect it. Many people do favors for various groups and then are put to the loyalty test. Without realizing it, they're donned with this nationality or that sect. But you are from out of the country. They might have to stick to a contract with you or risk being found out."
"How dangerous is it?" asked Reiley.
"Would they kill you at the drop of a hat?" replied Willem with a grin.
"I guess that's what I'm asking."
"I would be prepared. You'd have to be slick---ready to move on constantly. But if you like adventure, you could make a bundle. Are you good at stumping people? Two things I always noticed with good informants. One is their ability to befuddle their targets with smooth talk."
"The blarney part I know intuitively," said Reiley smiling.
"The other is all nerves. You have to have nerves of steel. If something doesn't work out the way you planned, you have to be very casual---act as if you expected it or don't care. You can't react."
"My nerves are good," said Reiley. "But I think a little practice might be in order. Do you spy?" asked Reiley.
"I tried it once. I ran into a real wrinkle with my assignment, but lucked out. If I hadn't, I would be dead for sure."
"What happened?"
"I was supposed to go to a meeting and find out when a small shipment of guns was going to be picked up by an opposing faction, so my group could surprise them and steal the weapons. I was ready with my alibi for coming upon the group. Every detail had been worked out. I had perfect credentials for them to look at if they wanted to inspect or question me, but I was petrified. I realized my nerves would give me away the second they started asking questions. So I hesitated. I hid on the docks for hours past my designated time to arrive. Really I almost wet my pants."
At this they both laughed and had a couple of swigs of ale.
"I can imagine that a shipment of weapons is no laughing matter though. I'd be scared I'm sure," Reiley said to make sure that he didn't sound like he was laughing at Willem.
"Well I don't think anyone would be as miserably shook up as I was. Right as my nerves finally settled and I was moving towards the tavern to join the meeting, a small militia stormed out of the woods. I guessed that they weren't my men and let them attack the Lithuanians. I was about to sneak off the pier but noticed a small boat with a very big cargo. It looked like it couldn't hold more than one man. I didn't know whose it was or what was in it, so slid into it and hid under the tarp until the shooting ended. They must have killed everyone in the cabin and when they left, they set it on fire. When I heard the horses take off, I pushed the small boat away from the dock and started paddling with my arm on the dark side of the river bank. I heard some of the local people who must have come out to see if they could put out the fire, but it was completely engulfing the ale house and they quickly retreated to their rooms. Then it was perfectly quiet. I waited a while longer to see if the men I had been promised showed up and never heard a thing.
The entire episode was very frightening. Finally, I moved the boat along the shore very slowly and when the moon finally reappeared, I realized I had made it down past the village and was floating right next to the woods.
I didn't wait to be found. I jumped into the water at the bank at its most hidden spot. I then began to move the cargo into the woods a little at a time. By the time I finished it had to be four in the morning and I had worked myself into pure exhaustion. If the water hadn't continued into the small inlet, I never could have accomplished it. But I moved frantically. Once the crates were on land, I broke off branches to hide the cargo. I put branches under the tarp in the boat and shoved it off back into the river. Then I ran to my contact. I told him that I thought I found the weapons that they were looking for and boxes of ammunition for sure, but that I didn't break the crates or inspect anything. It was too dark."
"Did you tell your contact what really happened?"
"No, of course not. I was counting my blessings and thanking God that I had enough sense to avoid any future foolishness."
"Was he satisfied? Didn't he want you to do something else? Did he explain what happened to the men who were supposed to help you?"
"He didn't say a word about the other men. Shockingly, instead he was very pushy about wanting me to go on another mission---threatening me and my family. But as you know I do have this position here at the factory and many of the men in his crowd depend on me for their jobs. Killing me would not be to their advantage, and I was not about to live in fear. So I threatened him back, telling him that if I ever experienced even the slightest disloyalty from him or any of the others, especially after servicing them so well---they could count on severe retaliation. I also told him that he should have noticed that I was very influential and had other contacts and that that was the reason I was able to capture the haul without any help from him. I blasted him for not sending the promised help and called it a betrayal, and said his group couldn't be trusted. That was the end of it. It was four years ago and all has been well since. The problem now is that there is almost daily violence and the factions are increasingly antagonistic."
"I get the idea. If you don't have an ace in the hole like you had, you can expect to be pushed hard and often, even if you don't get paid . . . I am assuming you didn't get paid a thing for helping them?"
"Nothing."
"And I suppose a spy would have to be on the move a lot?"
"Otherwise you'd be watching your back constantly. That's no way to live. Don't you want to go back to Ireland with your brother and his wife?"
"I think not. They are my family well enough, but there are others in Ireland---my father for one----that I would never want to see again. He would be happy to see my brother and his wife but not me."
"Do you want a family?"
"Not necessarily. I think I like women too much to stay married to one forever. If I was to marry, it would have to be a woman with a passion deep enough to allow me my indiscretions. Not an Irish Catholic wife I expect. Or maybe not for a long time. I'm still young and I'm sure I won't be participating in espionage once I pass thirty. Maybe then I'll think differently."
"I would suppose that's true. Would you be happy on the road?"
"Actually I think it would suit me."
"Could you live without contacting people you knew, for example, not speaking with your family or friends for years at a time?"
"That wouldn't bother me. Once my brother has enough money to return home I will come back to see you."
When Reiley went to bed that night he tossed and turned thinking how strange he felt---as if he committed himself to something mysterious without any spoken contract. He tried to recall the details of what he had said, but he couldn't remember them.
F o u r
Leaving Poland
Reiley spent the next several months thinking about his ambitions before mentioning anything to his brother. He was about to start a conversation on the topic right after supper when the three of them heard gunshots. Micah jumped up, put the fire out, and doused the kerosene lamps. They were well hidden in their little hut but didn't want to take any chances. It was freezing cold outside and snowing hard. If a gang was looking for temporary shelter and fell upon their hut, they would be killed for sure.
"I think we should head back to town now," he said.
"Where will we stay?" asked Joanna. "Tonight is too cold to sleep outside. We'll freeze to death."
"We'll get a room at the tavern. We have more than enough money," said Reiley.
"It's snowing so hard. Is it safe to start out now?" asked Micah.
"Actually, I think it's the safest time we'll have to take off. The snow will cover over our tracks," said Reiley. "Pack quickly. Scatter anything that shows we were here out in the back and the snow will blanket over everything before our midnight marauders show up. Micah, make sure the hot coals are dug out of the pit and buried near the stream. If they are thrown in the snow they may leave cinder stains. We'll leave the door and windows up and the freezing cold will engulf the place. It will look like no one has been here since fall."
Micah packed the small cart with blankets and a few items needed for traveling. Reiley packed their kitchen knives, put the coins they would need for food in his boots, and packed their few personal items in the bottom of their cart.
Joanna threw out the few household items that were useless to them on the road. They had moved so many times before; she was used to living with the most basic essentials. Others in need would find them quickly enough. She knew of a spot where several trees had fallen over and crossed each other in the woods. She gathered everything in a blanket and dumped the pile into the holes between two of the largest trunks. She put an old brown blanket over the pile of goods and threw a few handfuls of snow on top. From a few feet away, it could have been a rock or heap of mud. The pile was covered in minutes. She backed away from her trail covering over her tracks with more snow. By the time she returned to the shack, the men had started off and had so completely changed the surroundings, there was no evidence of human inhabitants.
As they walked northwest towards £ódz, they covered their tracks behind them, moving very slowly at first so that there was absolutely no sign of a trail. The snowstorm had turned into a blizzard, but they had taken the same route for years and knew every tree along the way. Once the gunfire seemed further off, they moved at a more reasonable pace and were in town by ten in the evening.
Next door to the factory where they all worked, a large barn housed the company's teams of horses and wagons. A friend that ran the barn invited them in to get warm by his fire. It was probably one of the least crowded and most comfortable places to stay as everyone was indoors and the public houses were packed.
"I'm glad for the company," the stableman said. "You probably don't remember me, but I remember you Mr. Frieze. When my wife was expecting, she had fainted several times and you allowed her to come home and have some stew so she could regain her strength. No other supervisor would have allowed that---she would have been fired on the spot. She told me she wanted to marry you---that is if she wasn't already married to me and expecting."
They all laughed.
"I owe you Mr. Frieze," he said to Reiley.
"Have you heard any news then?" asked Reiley.
"All I know is that there have been a lot of attacks made by various parties. We don't know what to expect. Everyone is petrified. Are we to be Germans, Russians, or Poles? Who can say? Most of us just want to eat. We don't care which one of the czars runs the show. They are all the same to us. We despise them all."
"So you think the skirmishes will increase then?"
"I believe there will be war. Everyone believes there will be war. It's just a matter of time. Are you leaving now?"
"We are not exactly sure what our plans are. We have been here since 1904, ten years already. Ireland is poor, but a lot safer and I think we would be better off there now," said Micah.
Reiley was making plans of his own but had to keep it to himself in case they were captured by someone who thought them an enemy---though they were no one's enemy and on no one's side.
"Do you know where Willem Hanson lives?" he asked.
"He's about ten blocks straight down the road outside the mill. Normally, you could see his house easily as he keeps a light on over an iron cowbell that hangs on his porch. But I doubt that you can see it in this storm."
"I have to go see him tonight before we leave. I owe him some money," Reiley lied. "I can't leave without paying him and telling him that we are leaving. It wouldn't be right."
Micah and Joanna were stunned. They knew he was lying but didn't say anything. "You won't be gone long then?" asked Joanna.
"I don't know exactly, so go to sleep and be ready to leave in the morning." He got up and went out before they could ask him questions he didn't want to answer.
Reiley used all his strength to run up the street through the snow as quickly as possible. He was lucky because the snow had let up a little and he could easily spot the light on the porch. He knocked and it took a while for someone to unlock the door.
"It's Reiley Frieze. I'm leaving in the morning. I have to talk to you."
"Sure, sure," said Willem. "You gave us a scare. There have been people attacked all over the city for no good reason. If we didn't have this house to protect, we would be gone ourselves weeks ago. What should I tell Mr. Kruger? He's sure to ask."
"Say I have to escort my brother and his wife over to the coast, but will be back soon. In fact, say it might only take me a few weeks. I'm sure the weather is going to break soon and I might be back even sooner than that."
"That should keep him happy then."
"While I'm gone, I want you to do something for me."
"I'll try---as long as it's not . . ."
"No. It's not about getting personally involved. But I would like you to find out whatever you can about the espionage tricks that go on here. I want more information on how they operate and what risks are involved. I'm sure some of them would be willing to brag about their prowess. I want you to figure out as much as you can about the routines. If you do, there will be money in it for you. In fact, you may be able to leave this house and get one somewhere else that is twice as good," said Reiley.
"Don't worry about it. I don't want to stay if there is war, but I won't need your money. I have other reasons to keep this house safe. Give me your estimate again. How far are you traveling with your family?"
"Just to the coast---it's about 200 kilometers, so not more than two weeks the way we travel. I'll put them on a steamer over to Denmark and then they can make their way back to Ireland safely. It's a longer route but I'll buy them decent passage. I'll then hop a transport back and should be here about a week later."
"I'll be waiting," said Willem.
They shook and he left.
When Reiley returned to his family, he found them asleep and didn't want to wake them, but his cold iced-over body brought a chill into the stall and Micah woke.
"I suppose I may as well tell you now," whispered Reiley. "I'm going to travel with you up to the coast and get you safely onboard a steamer, but after that, I am returning here. I have some temporary work I have to do."
"What kind of work could keep you here? This place is about to explode."
"It's just temporary. I will be here briefly, but then have to go abroad to South America."
He had made that up and wasn't sure why, but he had always been curious about the countries there. He had often thought that if he could become an adventurer of some sort, he would like it there more than the Far East or other places in Europe. But deep down he knew he would have no choice for he felt destined to follow some strange impulse that wouldn't let go of him.