The Given Day (80 page)

"You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Here." Connor stooped and Joe wrapped his arms around his shoulders and Connor lifted him off the street.

"Fire at will!"

Connor spun, saw the State Guard troops coming off the bridge, their rifles extended. Rifles from the crowd pointed back. A collection of volunteer policemen, one with a black eye and broken nose, leveled their weapons as well. Everyone was pointing at everyone else, as if there were no sides, just targets.

"Close your eyes, Joe. Close your eyes."

He pressed Joe's head to his shoulder and all the rifles seemed to go off at once. The air exploded with white puffs from the muzzles. A sudden, high-pitched shriek. A member of the State Guard grabbing his neck. A bloody hand raised in the air. Connor ran for a car overturned at the base of the bridge with Joe in his arms as the crack of rifl e fire erupted anew. Bullets sparked off the side of the car, the clang of them like the sound of heavy coins thrown into a metal bowl, and Connor pressed Joe's face harder to his shoulder. A bullet hissed by on his right and hit a guy in the knee. The guy fell. Connor turned his head away. He'd almost reached the front of the car when the bullets hit the window. The glass slid through the night air like sleet or hail, translucent, a shower of silver rushing out of all that blackness.

Connor found himself on his back. He didn't remember slipping. He was just suddenly on the ground. He could hear the ping of bullets grow less insistent, could hear the yells and moans and people shouting out names. He smelled cordite and smoke in the air and the faint odor of roasted meat for some reason. He heard Joe call his name and then 664DENNIS LEHANE shriek it, his voice wracked with horror and sadness. He reached out his hand and felt Joe's close over it, but Joe still wouldn't stop screaming.

Then his father's voice, shushing Joe, cooing to him. "Joseph, Joseph, I'm here. Ssssh."

"Dad?" Connor said.

"Connor," his father said.

"Who turned out the lights?"

"Jesus," his father whispered.

"I can't see, Dad."

"I know, son."

"Why can't I see?"

"We're going to get you to a hospital, son. Immediately. I swear." "Dad?"

He felt his father's hand on his chest. "Just lie still, son. Just lie still." chapter thirty-nine The next morning, the State Guard placed a machine gun on a tripod at the northern end of West Broadway in South Boston. They placed another at the intersection of West Broadway and G Street and a third at the intersection of Broadway and Dorchester Street. The Tenth Regiment patrolled the streets. The Eleventh Regiment manned the rooftops.

They repeated the procedure in Scollay Square and along Atlantic Avenue in the North End. General Cole blocked off access to any streets entering Scollay Square and set up a checkpoint on the Broadway Bridge. Anyone caught on the streets in question without a viable reason for being there was subject to immediate arrest.

The city remained quiet throughout the day, the streets empty.

Governor Coolidge held a press conference. While he expressed sympathy for the nine confirmed dead and the hundreds injured, he stated that it was the mob itself that was to blame. The mob and the policemen who had left their posts. The governor went on to state that while the mayor had attempted to shore up the city during the terrible crisis, it was clear he had been wholly unprepared for such an 666DENNIS LEHANE emergency. Therefore control from this point on would be assumed by the state and the governor himself. In that capacity, his first order of business was to reinstate Edwin Upton Curtis to his rightful place as police commissioner.

Curtis appeared by his side at the rostrum and announced that the police department of the great city of Boston, acting in concert with the State Guard, would brook no further rioting. "The rule of law will be respected or the consequences will be dire. This is not Russia. We will use every measure of force at our disposal to ensure democracy for our citizens. Anarchy ends today."

A reporter from the Transcript stood and raised his hand. "Governor Coolidge, am I clear that it is your opinion that Mayor Peters is at fault for the past two nights' chaos?"

Coolidge shook his head. "The mob is at fault. The policemen who committed gross dereliction of their sworn duties are at fault. Mayor Peters is not at fault. He was merely caught unawares and was thus, in the early stages of the riots, a bit ineffectual."

"But, Governor," the reporter said, "we've heard several reports that it was Mayor Peters who wished to call out the State Guard within an hour of the police walkout, and that you, sir, and Commissioner Curtis vetoed the idea."

"Your information is incorrect," Coolidge said.

"But, Governor--"

"Your information is incorrect," Coolidge repeated. "This press conference is completed."

Thomas Coughlin held his son's hand while he wept. Connor didn't make a sound, but the tears slid freely from the thick white bandages covering his eyes and rolled off his chin to dampen the collar of his hospital gown.

His mother stared out the window of Mass General, trembling, her eyes dry.

Joe sat in a chair on the other side of the bed. He hadn't spoken a word since they'd lifted Connor into the ambulance last night.

THE GIVEN DAYThomas touched Connor's cheek. "It's okay," he whispered. "How's it okay?" Connor said. "I'm blind."

"I know, I know, son. But we'll get through this."

Connor turned his head away and tried to remove his hand, but Thomas held fast to it.

"Con'," Thomas said, hearing the helplessness in his own voice, "it's a terrible blow. Of that there can be little doubt. But don't give in to the sin of despair, son. It's the worst sin of all. God will help you through this. He just asks for strength."

"Strength?" Connor coughed a wet laugh. "I'm blind."

At the window, Ellen blessed herself.

"Blind," Connor whispered.

Thomas could think of nothing to say. Maybe this, of all things, was the true price of family--being unable to stop the pains of those you loved. Unable to suck it out of the blood, the heart, the head. You held them and named them and fed them and made your plans for them, never fully realizing that the world was always out there, waiting to apply its teeth.

Danny walked into the room and froze.

Thomas hadn't thought it through, but he realized immediately what Danny saw in their eyes: They blamed him.

Well, of course they did. Who else was to blame?

Even Joe, who'd idolized Danny for so long, stared up at him with confusion and spite.

Thomas kept it simple. "Your brother was blinded last night." He raised Connor's hand to his lips and kissed it. "In the riots."

"Dan?" Connor said. "That you?"

"It's me, Con'."

"I'm blind, Dan."

"I know."

"I don't blame you, Dan. I don't."

Danny lowered his head and his shoulders shook. Joe looked away. "I don't," Connor said again.

Ellen left the window and crossed the room to Danny. She placed a 668DENNIS LEHANE hand on his shoulder. Danny raised his head. Ellen looked in his eyes as Danny dropped his hands by his side and turned up the palms. Ellen slapped him in the face.

Danny's face crumpled and Ellen slapped him again.

"Get out," she whispered. "Get out, you . . . you Bolshevik." She pointed at Connor. "You did that. You. Get out."

Danny looked toward Joe, but Joe looked away.

He looked at Thomas. Thomas met his eyes and then shook his head and turned his face from him.

That night, the State Guard shot four men in Jamaica Plain. One died. The Tenth Regiment cleared the dice players from the Boston Common, marching them up Tremont Street at bayonet point. A crowd gathered. Warning shots were fired. A man was shot through the chest trying to rescue a dice player. He succumbed to his wounds later that eve ning.

The rest of the city was quiet.

Danny spent the next two days marshaling support. He was as
sured in person that the Telephone & Telegraph Union was ready to walk off the job at a moment's notice. The Bartenders Union assured him of the same, as did the United Hebrew Trade Unions, and the Carmen and Electrical Workers Unions. The firemen, however, would not agree to meet with him or return his calls.

Icame here to say good-bye," Luther said. Nora stepped back from the door. "Come in, come in." Luther entered. "Danny around?"

"No. He's at a meeting in Roxbury."

Luther noticed she had her coat on. "You're going there?" "I am. I expect it might not go well."

"Let me walk you then."

Nora smiled. "I'd like that."

On their way to the el, they got plenty of stares, this white woman THE GIVEN DAYand this black man strolling through the North End. Luther considered staying a step behind her, so he'd appear to be her valet or something similar, but then he remembered why he was going back to Tulsa in the first place, what he'd seen in that mob, and he kept abreast of her, his head high, his eyes clear and looking straight ahead.

"So you're going back," Nora said.

"Yeah. Got to. Miss my wife. Want to see my child."

"It'll be dangerous, though."

"What isn't these days?" Luther said.

She gave that a small smile. "You've a point."

On the el, Luther felt his legs stiffen involuntarily when they crossed the trestle that had been hit during the molasses flood. It had long since been repaired and reinforced, but he doubted he'd ever feel safe crossing it.

What a year! If he lived a dozen lives, would he ever see another twelve months like these? He'd come to Boston for safety, but the thought of it now made him suppress a laugh--from Eddie McKenna to the May Day riots to the whole police force walking off the job, Boston had to be the least safe city he'd ever come across in his life. The Athens of America, my ass. Way these crazy Yankees had been acting since Luther arrived, he'd change the name to the Asylum of America.

He caught Nora smiling at him from the white section of the car and he tipped his hat to her and she gave him a mock salute in return. What a find she was. If Danny didn't find a way to fuck it up, he'd grow old a very happy man with this woman by his side. Not that Danny seemed intent on fucking it up, just that he was a man after all, and no one knew better than Luther himself how completely a man could step on his own dick when what he thought he wanted contradicted what he knew he needed.

The el car rolled through a shell of a city, a ghost town of ash and glass pebbles. No one on the streets but the State Guard. All that rage of the last two days gone corked up and bottled. Machine guns could have that effect, Luther didn't doubt it, but he wondered if there were more to it than just the show of power. Maybe in the end the need to 670DENNIS LEHANE postpone the truth--we are the mob--was stronger than the ecstasy of giving in to it. Maybe everyone just woke up this morning ashamed, tired, unable to face another pointless night. Maybe they looked at those machine guns and a sigh of relief left their hearts. Daddy was home now. They no longer had to fear he'd left them alone, left them for good.

They got off the el at Roxbury Crossing and walked toward Fay Hall.

Nora said, "How are the Giddreauxs taking your departure?"

Luther shrugged. "They understand. I think Yvette had taken a bit more of a shine to me than she'd counted on, so it's hard, but they understand."

"You're leaving today?"

"Tomorrow," Luther said.

"You'll write."

"Yes, ma'am. Ya'll should think of coming for a visit."

"I'll mention it to himself. I don't know what we're going to do, Luther. I surely don't."

Luther looked over at her, at the minute quiver in her chin. "You don't think they'll get their jobs back?"

"I don't know. I don't know."

At Fay Hall, they held a vote on whether to remain with the Amer-ican Federation of Labor. The result was in favor, 1388 to 14. They held a second vote on whether to continue the strike. This was a bit more contentious. Men called out from the floor, asking Danny if the Central Labor Union would make right on their promise of a sympathy strike. Another cop mentioned he'd heard the firemen were waffl ing. They were pissed about all the false alarms during the riots, and the BFD had made a great show of advertising for volunteers to replace them. The turnout had been twice as large as expected.

Danny had left two messages with Ralph Raphelson's offi ce, asking him to come to Fay Hall, but he hadn't heard back yet. He took the podium. "The Central Labor Union is still trying to pull together all THE GIVEN DAYtheir delegates. As soon as they do, they'll vote. I've had no indication that they'll vote any other way but than how they told us they expect to. Look, they're killing us in the press. I understand. The riots hurt us."

"They're killing us from the pulpits, too," Francis Leonard shouted. "You should hear what they're saying about us in morning mass."

Danny held up a hand. "I've heard, I've heard. But we can still win the day. We just have to hold together, stay strong in our resolve. The governor and the mayor still fear a sympathy strike, and we still have the power of the AFL behind us. We can still win."

Danny wasn't sure how much of his own words he believed, but he felt a sudden glow of hope when he noticed Nora and Luther enter the back of the hall. Nora gave him a wave and a bright smile and he smiled back.

Then as they moved to their right, Ralph Raphelson stepped into the space they'd vacated. He removed his hat and his eyes met Danny's.

He shook his head.

Danny felt as if he'd been hit in the spine with a pipe and stabbed in the stomach with an ice- cold knife.

Raphelson put his hat back on and turned to go, but Danny wasn't letting him off the hook, not now, not tonight.

"Gentlemen, please give a warm hand to Ralph Raphelson of the Boston Central Labor Union!"

Raphelson turned with a grimace on his face as the men turned, saw him, and broke into applause.

"Ralph," Danny called with a wave of his arm, "come on up here and tell the men what the BCLU has planned."