Page 15 - Archangel

birth of an unlikely archangel

Pausing as his brothers scanned and confirmed that no one else
witnessed the graveyard drama and diatribe, the departing Rory spoke
over his shoulder in a voice so similar to Sean’s that Skye shuddered, “Go
bhfeicfidh me’ aris” [Until we meet again]. Staring toward the advancing
policemen, MacIain froze as, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a sliver of
paper float inexplicably from his own raincoat pocket to the ground and
perilously close to the grave.
Beyond comprehension, MacIain bent down and saw his own hand
reaching toward the message and into the future of an archangel from
which there may be no return. Standing, he read, “Highlander, what our
Sean called you, no? I beg you for your help, with my pledge of assistance
in any cause you choose until my death. In secrecy for as long as you live.
For Sean and his ‘do gooder’ friend to make a difference in the lives of
the poor you two would have made in his living – above and beyond my
brother’s grave. This cannot be my Sean’s end. Int cell 555010133453365.”
By the time MacIain looked up, the Collins’ path through the fog had
closed behind them like the Gates of Hell. They had vanished, and nothing
would ever be the same.
The bagpipes started playing ‘Flowers of the Forest’. Fitting, as this was
how both traditional Scots and Irish lamented, in their ancient tongue and
tune, the loss of those they loved ‘on both sides the Tweed.’
A pair of Gardai policemen suddenly came running past the gravesite,
and paused in earshot of the nearby procession of attendees of the funeral
party. Realizing his life may have changed forever, MacIain’s new reality
was foretold when the junior officer quipped, “I swear, but those three
looked like the Collins boys, with Rory the PIRA leader among them.”
“Nah,” said the senior Gardai. “What would bring that lot out into the
open in Belfast under a ‘shoot to kill’ warrant?”
Quietly taking his place in Sean’s advancing funeral procession,
Skye whispered, “The death of a saint.”

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