Finding Henri

Finding Henri

The pile of crushed stone and splintered wood blocked cobbled Sackville Street, preventing ambulances from reaching the post office. The soaring building was the pride of Dublin, but now it’s insides were gutted by British canons. It’s Grecian columns barely buttressed the marble façade. Sackville Street was unrecognizable.

On this Easter Day 1916, the fomenting rebellion finally exploded. It forced the British troops to roll through the street of the ancient city searching for rebels taking refuge in the old building. No one expected the medics to find life in that pile of rubble.

Tucking himself against the wall, Henri grabbed his brother, little Danny, by the collar dragging him down the darkening alley toward home. The bellowing of British cannons still shook the ground around them. Walls rained loosened plaster on their heads. Danny was crying.

“I gotcha,” Henri said. “Yer ok now. Watch for them rifles.”

Danny wiped his eyes with his sleeve, but the dusty jacket just made his eyes water more. Tears streaked the dirt on his round face.

“We canna go home. We dinna find Da. What will we tell mum?” sobbed Danny.

Grunting, Henri jerked the younger boy along. “I donna know.” He could smell the gunpowder, feel the heat of the burning fires, and hear the repeating fire of Irish and British guns in the distance. The closer they got to the flat, the slower Henri moved. He didn’t want to face his mum with the news. Even though he ran and played in these alleys and streets day after day, he realized he was lost. The sounds, smells and darkness assaulted him. He pulled hard on Danny, but the boy tripped and fell. Screaming, the boy jumped up and out of Henri’s grasp.

“What? What is it?” cried Henri.

Sobbing uncontrollably the boy pointed to the ground.

Henri realized it was a body, a man’s body, face down.

“Is it Da?” little Danny asked shaking.

“I donna know,” Henri answered. Gingerly he bent, pulling the stiff corpse face up. He grimaced in fear and disgust. He had only seen a body once, when his grandmother died. This was not like that, not all neat and prettied up. This body was bloody and bloated. He peered at the face through the twilight.

In a shadow, not ten steps away, a small man with a crumbled fedora and a frayed embroidered vest watched the boys.

Sitting down hard, Henri sighed. “No, it’s not da.” He buried his head in his hands, hiding his tears.

Little Danny sidled up to him and laid his head on Henri’s shoulder. Henri wrapped his arms around the sobbing boy.

“It’s not da,” he whispered into the boy’s ear. “It’s not da. Com’on. Let’s find our way home.”

Urging the younger boy forward, he gently lifted little Danny to his feet, but he stopped short. Stepping into the light the man approached them, hands up in the air.

“You boyos lost?” he asked.

Pushing little Danny behind him, Henri was not sure he should answer. The man was very short with a long ugly scar from temple to chin on one side. His forehead was too large and one eye bulged bigger than the other. Even without the scar the man would have been ugly, but with it, he was just frightening.

Gently the man asked again. “Are you lost? I can help you find the way.”

His voice was kind, concerned, it was the voice of an educated man, not a man of the streets.

Relaxing, Henri answered warily. “The buildings are fallin' down, I’m banjaxed. I donna know where we are. Our mum will be mad.”

“I am sure she needs you home. Just around this corner. I think you will recognize the street. Not much damage there.” The man waved him forward.

Peering around Henri, little Danny pushed the bigger boy forward. “It’ll be alright.”

“How do ya know?” Henri asked.

“I just do. Besides do ya know the way?”

Shrugging, Henri took little Danny’s hand and they followed. Turning the corner, Henri did indeed recognize every building, and could even see the light shining from his own flat. His mother moved about in the dull light of a single electric bulb. Noticing his stomach was very empty, it was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. Confused, he could not understand how they traveled so far is such a short time. He eyed the little man with suspicion.

“This it?” asked the man.

“This be it,” Henri answered.

Little Danny let go his hand, running home. He turned and waved at the little man. “Thank you!” he called.

Tipping the crumpled fedora, the little man went his way. Henri watched his receding back.

“Why’ve I’ve never seen him before?” he asked himself.

“Com’on,” called little Danny. “I’m starvin’.”

The smell of fresh bread met them as soon as they opened the door. When was the last time he ate? He couldn’t remember. It had to be that morning.

Grabbing them up, his mother trembled and began to cry. “I was gettin’ ready to go find ya. You’ve been off for a while. Did you find your da?”

Henri shook his head.

“It’s alright now, it’s alright. He’ll be home soon. I know he will.”

Henri recognized she was talking to herself more than to him. “I’m sure, mum. I’m sure he will.”

“Sit and eat,” she said.

Gratefully, the boys sat and grabbed up the little food that was on the table. Food was hard to find in the city for awhile and what was left was too much for the families in their building. Henri knew some boys who has started stealing. He didn’t want to do that, but looking at his mother’s thin body, he might have to rethink it.

His mum smiled wanly, watching them eat, but didn’t eat with them. Henri handed her his bread.

“No, luv. That’s yours, eat now,” she said.

Her old print dress hung on her small shoulders like the deflated hot air balloon he saw at the fair. Her hair lay in strings about her shoulders, dirty. She never had dirty hair? Why now? he wondered. Her face way grey and sagging. He must find his father. He would go out and look for his da again after he ate. His mother sighed and got up to put the last of the wood in the stove, but the door rattled from a demanding knock. Jumping, Henri got up to open it. His mother stopped him. Sliding her hands down her dress to smooth it, she held up her head and answered the knock.

Two members of the Royal Irish Constabulary, hats in hand, stood mournfully outside, their uniforms dirty, as if they had been worn for days.

“No,” cried his mum. “No.” Clenching her stomach, she crumpled to the floor. Rocking back and forth she whimpered. “I told him not to go, I told him not to go.”

Pulling little Danny close to him, he raised his chin. “My da’s dead?”

“He is son, by the hands of some Brit defending the Empire from those damned rebels.” They looked at him accusingly.

“My da was a rebel?”

The two men nodded their heads in assent. Henri’s da never told Henri what he believed. Hardly talked to him at all. His da was one of those who started this mess, where there was no food, no wood to burn for heat, no safety? He finally understood why his mum was so frightened. Shocked and already exhausted, he was the man of the house now. He bent down to comfort his mother, but it was if she was a ghost with no substance. She looked right through him, oblivious to his words, numb to his touch. Mumbling meaningless sounds, she rocked back and forth on the cold floor. Little Danny wrapped his arms around her trembling shoulder, whispering comforting sounds. She moaned from the deepest part of her soul. Seeing her bared essence for the first time, Henri withered inside, and wept.

The constable gently put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Do you have any kin I can get?” Henri shook his head no.

“The body’s down at the morgue, will you come down to identify it? I don’t think your mum’s up for it.”

“Give me time, will ya? I’ll be along in bit. Let me take care of my mum first.” Nodding, the two constables discretely stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind them. Henri could still hear them mumbling beyond the door, waiting for him to go see the dead man that was his da. He shuddered.

“Help Mum to her bed,” he told little Danny.

Gently lifting her, they lay her on the bed, where little Danny gently covered her and lay next to her with his arm across her chest. Henri watched, tears running down his cheeks.

His mum continued to murmur and moan about guns, and freedom and men.

Finally, Henri said, “I’ll be back, I’ve got to go with the constables.

Resting his head against his mother’s neck, little Danny nodded. “I’ll take care of her.”

“Good… good. Thanks. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” With one last look, Henri turned and opened the door.

Nodding, the constables directed him down the stairs and to the morgue.

The sun was up by the time Henri returned, shaking from the sight of his father’s mangled body. His da had been close when the Brits blew the General Post Office. Burying his head in his hands, he slid down against the wall of his building. His da never had a chance, spilling all his blood onto the cobbled street. His face was whole though, untouched. That would be a comfort for his mum. Maybe he could have the mortician put his da right before his mum saw it.

“A funeral!” he said. How would he mange that? He knew there was no money for a funeral. His uncle went off to war, and no one had heard from him again. His mother’s sister left for America with her family. There was no one.

Opening the door, he saw that is mother was no better, in bed with little Danny’s arm still around her. Little Danny was asleep, but she was awake, quiet.

“Mum, ya alright?” Henri asked.

She just turned her head and stared at him with empty eyes. “Don’t go off to war,” she said, but not to him, to someone he couldn’t see.

Silent tears of grief stinging his eyes, he gently lay down beside her, resting his hand atop little Danny’s until he fell asleep.

It was almost noon when Henri woke to a demanding knock at the door. Unsteady, he pulled himself off the bed. Little Danny was up already and making his way to answer the door. He looked down at his mother, sleeping peacefully. Saying a quick prayer of thanks, he went to see what was happening in the other room. Little Danny stood before Mr. Brawley, the English landlord.

“Mr. Brawley,” acknowledged Henri. “How do?”

Mr. Brawley pulled off his hat, wringing it in his calloused hands. “How’s your mum?”

“Finally sleepin’. Losing Da it’s…” he couldn’t find any words to explain the gutting pain.

“I know, Son. I know. It’s a hard thing, that’s sure. The thing is, and I hate bringin’ it up, but your Ma and Da are behind, I mean they haven’t, well they owe three months’ rent, and I just can’t be lettin’ the flat for free. Do ya have any family?”

Stunned, Henri stuttered. “We’ve no one, not one. Auntie went to America, and my uncle is gone to the war.”

Mr. Brawley shook his head in sadness. “Do you have food?”

Henri looked to little Danny who shook his head no.

Without warning, Henri’s mother sat straight up, “I don’t have money for the rent,” she half cried. She saw Brawley and lunged out of bed straight toward him. He stumbled backward and fell into the hall. “Don’t be taking my boys,”

Henri shrank back, pulling little Danny behind him, shielding him from his mother’s insanity. Her beautiful auburn hair hung in tangled mats, her face gaunt and tight around her protruding cheek bones. The old flower print dress swallowed her thin body. She babbled incoherent, sing-song words while slinging her arms around her like a deranged ballerina.

Brawley gained his legs and ran as fast as he could down the hall. Shaking his head in disbelief, Henri slammed the door after him and locked it.

“Mum, mum,” he whispered to her, trying to gather his into his arms.

She fought at first, but her cries tapered off.

“It’ll be ok. I am here, I will take care of ya. Everything will be alright,” he cooed into her ear, having no idea how he could make things alright.

She collapsed into his arms, sobbing thick heavy sobs. She was shaking, shivering. Henri realized the room was very cold and there was no wood left to burn. Little Danny, to his credit, wrapped his small arms around his mother’s waist, whispering sweet things to his mother.

“Let’s wrap her in the blankets and get her back to bed. Is there any tea?” Henri asked.

“We’ve no wood or coal for the old stove, but we’ve got tea.”

Henri gently laid his mother into the bed as she sobbed. He had to think. He had to find something to burn. Then he remembered the pile of rubble on Sacksville Street.

“I’ll be back in wee bit. I know where to get some wood. Keep mum quiet if you can.” Little Danny, nodded. “I’m really hungry, Henri.”

“I know. I’ll try to find somethin’.”

Other boys had the same idea. The fighting had moved away from the post office, the guns and cannons sounding in the distance. When Henri got to Sacksville Street, the wood was quickly disappearing. He climbed the loose rubble, slipping as the wreckage spread in a fan around the pile. Pulling against the broken brick and stone, he gathered as much wood as he could hold in his shaking arms. The debris was sharp, cutting his hands, digging into his legs through his woolen pants. By the time he finished, blood droplets stained the splintered wood.

“Need some help, son?”

Henri looked up to see the small ugly man from the night before. The little man carried a bag with him, but he held up his hands to show that he was not carrying a weapon or that he meant no harm. He didn’t seem so frightening in the daylight. Despite his small stature, he carried himself like a man of authority and confidence.

Swallowing his pride, he nodded. The little man took some of the wood from him.

“Home then,” said the man.

It seemed like very short minutes when Henri found himself once again standing in the street outside his building.

“Will you come in and see me mum?” Henri asked.

“For a wee bit, I must be getting home,” the man answered.

“Can you read, boy?” the little man asked, climbing the stairs to Henri’s flat.

“I can,” Henri lied. He always wanted to learn, but there was no money for school.

“I might have a job for you.”

“Really? I could use a job right now,” answered Henri excitedly.

“It’s not here though.”

"It’s not in Dublin?” Henry asked.

“It’s far away from here. Hard to get to.”

Henri thought for a moment. “I can’t leave me mum or little Danny. They need me. I’m the man of the house now.”

The small man grunted.

The apartment was colder than Henri remembered. Little Danny was shivering in the bed with his arms around his mother. His eyes grew wide when he saw the ugly little man, but he didn’t say anything. His mother was staring away into the distance and didn’t respond to Henri when he bent down to kiss her pale forehead.

“You get the fire started, put on a pot,” said the little man. He set his bag on the table, unpacking its contents: bread, ham, butter and two apples.

Henri stomach clenched in reaction to the food. In a short time, the three of them sipped tea and ate butter and ham sandwiches and sliced apple. Wrapped in her grief, Henri’s mother again refused to eat. He managed to get her to sip the warm tea, but soon she fell back into a troubled sleep.

“You sure you don’t have work here?’ asked Henri hopefully as he chewed an apple slice. “I could be your representative here.”

The little man laughed. It wasn’t a harsh laughter, but almost melodic, which surprised Henri greatly. “I live very far away, and you are not ready to be my representative. That takes a bit of training.”

“I’m a fast learner,” ventured Henri. He knew he had to find work right away. He was too young and no one was hiring during a rebellion, but right now, he couldn’t leave his family. The small man shook his head.

Pounding the door, Brawley yelled, “Open the door, Henri. I’ve brought the men from the hospital. Your mum needs help.”

Henri jumped up. “No” he cried. “You can’t take her! She is our mother.”

“Open the door,” commanded the little man.

Hesitating, Henri gave in and opened the old wooden door before they broke it in.

“I’m sorry, boyo,” said Mr. Brawley. “I have no choice.” the medics pushed past him, surveying the sparce room. Brawly looked menacingly at the little man. “Who are you,” he demanded.

“A family friend,” the little man answered.

“Is that right?” asked Mr. Brawley.

Henri looked at little Danny.

“He is,” said little Danny.

“Well, I hope you’ve got someplace for this family to go,” said Brawly .

“Not at this time,” answered the little man.

“Look,” said Mr. Brawley. “I can’t afford to keep ya. Yer mum is in a bad way. She can’t take care of ya.” He turned to Henri. “Your mum’s not been well for a long time. The boyos from St. Brendan’s will be takin’ good care of her now that your da is gone. Mrs. Garetty down the hall says she can take little Danny, but she canna’ be takin’ you, but all of ya’ve gotta leave now. I got a new renter comin’ tomorrow.” Two men in white came in ready to take Henri’s mother.

“Ya can’t have ‘er,” cried little Danny pounding their brawny chests. The orderlies easily pushed little Danny down. He kicked them in the shins and screamed. Brawly grabbed him, holding his arms. The boy screamed louder struggling to get to his mother.

The men wrapped Henri’s mum in her blanket and lifted her from the bed.

“No,” cried Henri. “I can take care of her. I am the man of the house. Let me sort this. Leave her alone!”

His mother reached her shaking hand out to him. “My boys, don’t take my boys,” she moaned. The men ignored them both and carried the woman down the stairs. Her struggles were weak and her tears fell in silence.

Mrs. Garretty stepped into the room. She was tall and weary with her baby in her arms.“I’m sorry, Henri,” she wept while reaching for little Danny's hand. She pulled him to her and he cried into her breasts. “I wish I could keep ya, Henri, but we’re stretched as is. Can ya please get me his things?”

Little Danny cried out, “Henri, Henri, don’t leave me. Don’t let them take me.”

Henri watched his family falling apart and he was helpless to stop it. He looked to the little man for help, but he sat in the corner, his head bent in sorrow, offering no solutions.

“If I get a job, can I come back and get him?” Henri cried.

Mr. Brawley sighed. “If ya can,” he said doubtfully.“You’ll probably end up at the poor house.”

The little man winced.

Henry took little Danny into his arms, whispering in his ear. “I have to go. I have to find work. I’ll come back, I promise. Be a big boy now. Help Mrs. Garretty with her wee ones ok?”

Danny nodded and let go.

Henri packed his mother’s clothes and hairbrush into a small bag, and all of Danny’s things in another. He swore under his breath that he would be back. He would be the man of the family. Bags packed, Mr. Brawley ushered them out of the little flat.

Out on the street, Henri stood with the small man watching the ambulance drive away. He wiped his nose on his sleeve and tried to swallow the sobs that wouldn’t be swallowed.

“So, you think you’ll be taking my job?” asked the little man

“I have to bury my da first,” Henri answered.

“Let the dead bury the dead. Follow me.”

“What’s the job?”

“To learn more than you could ever imagine,” answered the little man.

Henri turned and followed him.