Bang Bang Bang Page 8

I’ve received death threats – the odd brick though the door.

  It’s par for the course.

  After nearly eight years here – I felt I’d the measure of the Congolese. Obviously falsely so.

  RONAN. Can you tell me what happened? Is that okay, Sadhbh?

  Just tell me the story in your own time.

  SADHBH. 6 a.m. Tuesday – our compound came under attack by rebel combatants.

  RONAN. You’ve been ruffling the feathers of Jerome Mburame.

  SADHBH. They were not wearing identifiable uniforms.

  RONAN. It’s the most likely –

  SADHBH. There is no evidence, Ronan.

  Not a shred to say Tutsi, Hutu, Mai Mai. Mburame.

  It was violence. A way of life here.

  I could give your readers a lecture on violent practices introduced under colonialism, but I reckon you want something short and pithy.

  Pause.

  RONAN. Your security guard was killed.

  SADHBH. Janvier Nizaine – I’ve known him for –

  She stops for a moment unable to speak.

  And a young British journalist Vincent Holman.

  We think the attackers followed him on his return to the compound. They shot him in the arm when he didn’t have the $100 they were demanding.

  RONAN. His injuries are serious but not life threatening.

  SADHBH. That’s what I’ve heard too.

  He and another colleague who suffered a serious assault were flown to Joburg.

  I escaped with minor injuries.

  RONAN. A fractured rib – severe bruising?

  Not at / all minor.

  SADHBH. I’m okay. Really. I’m okay.

  RONAN. The serious assault.

  This happened to your colleague Mathilde Rolla.

  She suffered a sexual assault.

  SADHBH. What? Switch that thing off.

  RONAN. Sure. Are you okay?

  SADHBH. Jesus, Ronan. Come on. I can’t talk about that.

  We agreed.

  He stops recording.

  RONAN. Everyone knows about it, Sadhbh –

  SADHBH. No way.

  RONAN. People should know about the kind of danger you’re exposed to out here.

  SADHBH. It’s not my story to tell.

  Why would I tell / you about it?

  RONAN. But it is your story.

  Silence.

  I want to give you a chance to give your account of the attack. There are so many rumours.

  SADHBH shakes her head.

  SADHBH. There are always rumours in Congo.

  Radio trottoir. ‘Radio of the pavement.’

  SADHBH passes her hand across her forehead. She is feverish.

  RONAN. Do you want to stop for a minute?

  Take a break? You say.

  SADHBH. On the record. For the benefit of your readers.

  He resumes recording…

  Go to Google and look up ‘humanitarian worker, human rights defender’. You’ll find articles that include kidnapping, injury, robbery, rape, shooting, murder. The threat to safety and security is very real.

  Of course you want to make a difference but you don’t do this job for the recognition and you definitely don’t do it for the money.

  It’s serious stuff.

  Pause.

  I’m done.

  RONAN stops recording.

  RONAN. Are you okay? You’re very pale.

  SADHBH. The heat is something else.

  RONAN. Are you heading back to London this evening?

  SADHBH nods.

  SADHBH. I’ll be home in time for the ten o’clock news tomorrow night.

  RONAN. Can I get you another drink? A water?

  SADHBH. Not for me.

  RONAN. What are you going to do? Will you come back to Congo?

  SADHBH. I don’t know.

  Pause.

  Courage is a bit like a bank balance.

  Debit too much and you go in the red.

  I’m in the red.

  RONAN stretches out his hand to SADHBH.

  RONAN. Can I quote you on that?

  SADHBH. No.

  RONAN. I’m always afraid here.

  Can’t fucking wait to get back to Dublin.

  I’ve never really understood your attachment to Congo.

  Poor Sadhbh. You thought you were untouchable here.

  SADHBH. I’m not going to be your New York Times story and you’re pissed off, Ronan.

  RONAN. Not at all. I’m amazed at your reluctance to talk. This is a victim-based account of a crisis. / Surely it’s what you do day in and day out here?

  SADHBH. I’m not a victim.

  RONAN. You’ve become a victim of the very thing you’re investigating. But if you’re going to stand in the line of fire –

  SADHBH. Stop. Just stop there, Ronan.

  RONAN. I’m sorry, Sadhbh. I’m really desperately sorry for what has happened to you.

  SADHBH. I know your angle.

  I guess a raped humanitarian will get many more inches than a raped eight-year-old Congolese girl. Where were you when fifty-three women and girls were raped in Masisi?

  Or is that too much of a norm to appear in the New York Times?

  RONAN. We’re locked into a relationship whether you like it or not.

  You give me a story. I bring it to the public.

  You get focus on Congo.

  Your organisation gets more recognition.

  Mutual responsibility, Sadhbh.

  SADHBH. Screw you.

  I want to see a copy of this article before it goes to print.

  SADHBH stands up.

  RONAN. You’ve been through a hell of an ordeal.

  I knew that little chancer who was shot too.

  It’s a shock – you know – Jesus – it’s a shock. I’m just saying –

  For all of us –

  They look at one another.

  There but for the grace of –

  What’s that?

  SADHBH. What?

  There is a small pool of blood on the chair.

  RONAN. The blood.

  SADHBH. That’s me. That’s me, isn’t it?

  Eight

  Ireland.

  Brennan’s Bar. Donegal.

  Five months later.

  A flight landing which leads into a long note from a fiddle which develops into a traditional air. A banner is hung.

  ‘HAPPY 30TH BIRTHDAY SADHBH’

  We’re at a party. A group dance (a Siege of Ennis or some such) with SADHBH in the middle. They clap her and whirl her and then dance off – taking the banner.

  The sound in the background is that of the party – on stage is of the street.

  A lorry rumbles near by. SADHBH is at the back of Brennan’s Bar and has been followed by BIBI and MATHILDE. A neon sign of Brennan’s illuminates the small scene.

  MATHILDE. Hey!

  BIBI. What’s he doing here?

  SADHBH. This is kind of overwhelming.

  Look – he called the day before yesterday – said he wanted – needed – to see me. /

  I didn’t think he’d come straight away.

  MATHILDE. He was shocked to see us. Did you see that?

  BIBI. Are you surprised? I love the guy but / he’s acted like a jerk.

  SADHBH. Please just be yourself with him.

  I didn’t tell him you guys were coming over for my birthday.

  He thought – I was going to be alone.

  You know – we’ve been calling, / emailing. It’s okay.

  BIBI. If I ‘be myself’ with him I’ll kick his ass – but under the circumstances –

  MATHILDE. We will be so cool.

  SADHBH. Thank you.

  She puts her arms around MATHILDE.

  MATHILDE. I mean – we’ll get drunk tonight? You’re not too old for that.

  SADHBH. Never.

  MATHILDE. Okay. He’s coming.

  STEPHEN stands away a little.

  BIBI. I love Kinca
sslagh. It’s like the twenty-first century hasn’t got this far north.

  People say things like ‘Enjoy the power of the Atlantic’.

  Beautiful.

  SADHBH. They just might be putting it on.

  BIBI. No. Because I’m American?

  SADHBH. Because you’re a tourist.

  BIBI. No way! Don’t spoil it.

  SADHBH. What can I say? You guys paid for a sea view – on Cruit Island. You’re surrounded by the ‘power of the Atlantic’.

  MATHILDE. I’m afraid we did.

  BIBI. Okay, total suckers for the ‘blarney’.

  SADHBH. Have you walked along the Tra Dearg?

  Roughly translates as the Red Strand.

  BIBI. Take us tomorrow.

  SADHBH. There’s a beautiful walk from your cottage.

  On a clear day you might see the outline of Tory Island. The last outpost of Gaelic civilisation.

  BIBI. Oh my God! You’re doing it too. That blarney stuff.

  SADHBH. Underneath it all – we’re actually Leprechauns.

  STEPHEN. Hi!

  Can we talk?

  MATHILDE. Hey. Sure, Stephen.

  BIBI. We’ll see you inside?

  Pause.

  SADHBH. Brilliant. See you in a minute.

  MATHILDE. Hurry. I want to learn the jig.

  MATHILDE turns back and kisses SADHBH four times.

  The women exit. SADHBH and STEPHEN are alone together.

  SADHBH. I haven’t seen Mathilde since Congo.

  Her second HIV test was clear, thank God.

  STEPHEN. I guessed as much. But that’s good news. Great.

  Great. She’s getting on with it.

  SADHBH. We all are. It’s not something can be fixed.

  STEPHEN nods.

  STEPHEN. Bibi’s a little cool with me.

  SADHBH. It’s your imagination.

  STEPHEN. You think?

  Pause.

  I hired a van from London so I brought all your stuff with me.

  SADHBH. It would have fit in a rucksack but that’s really kind.

  STEPHEN. It is and it isn’t.

  Pause.

  I’m leasing the flat – or hoping I can.

  SADHBH. That was quick.

  STEPHEN. I’ve taken another contract in China. Twelve months.

  SADHBH. Have you moved your Chinese translator into our flat?

  STEPHEN. Course not.

  Pause.

  No. Susie is still in Beijing.

  SADHBH. Is she a fuck-up too?

  STEPHEN. She leaves that to me.

  Pause.

  How are you doing?

  SADHBH. My mother is driving me crazy. She doesn’t understand the concept ‘leave of absence’.

  I’m trying to write up the report from Masisi.

  She’s telling everyone I’ve moved home.

  STEPHEN. You didn’t have to come back to Ireland.

  You could have stayed in the flat until you found a place.

  SADHBH. Of course I had to fucking come back.

  I didn’t want to be a lodger in my own home.

  Could you not have waited for me to come out to Beijing?

  STEPHEN. It was clear you didn’t want to come.

  SADHBH. Horseshit. I took a leave of absence, didn’t I?

  You knew I had to tie things up in London.

  It took you all of five minutes to meet someone.

  STEPHEN. It was clear you thought nothing about me or us.

  SADHBH. How can you say that? I was recovering –

  STEPHEN. I’m talking about our baby. You didn’t tell me.

  SADHBH. I was six weeks pregnant, Stephen. That’s not a baby!

  STEPHEN. You didn’t want it.

  SADHBH. You don’t know that!

  How can you say that?

  The truth is we moved so far from each other –

  You just didn’t have the balls to say it before you left for Beijing.

  STEPHEN. Why didn’t you have the balls to say it? Sadhbh, we have always wanted different things –

  SADHBH. You just want ordinary, Stephen.

  STEPHEN. I want peace. I don’t want to be part of your appetite for chaos.

  SADHBH. So you’ve punished me,

  I’m punished, Stephen.

  I’m up to fucking here with guilt.

  What are you here for anyway?

  Who asked you?

  We’ve screamed what we had to scream at one another.

  STEPHEN. Over the phone.

  SADHBH. I don’t want to go through it again.

  Enough. Enough. Enough.

  Pause.

  STEPHEN. This is awful. I’m so sorry.

  SADHBH. I thought I could do it.

  It’s just – stupid – isn’t it?

  She shakes her head.

  STEPHEN. I’m leaving tomorrow.

  Sorry. I really wanted to see you before I go back to Beijing.

  SADHBH. You’ve seen me.

  Pause.

  I know. I wanted to see you too.

  It’s my fault. I should have said no.

  STEPHEN. But we’re not ready –

  And

  I’ve really missed you.

  Badly. Badly.

  SADHBH. I’m fine.

  Let’s just try and cope with this evening.

  STEPHEN. Sorry. Of course.

  SADHBH. You should go in. Mum will only be scourging me about you tomorrow. She thinks tonight is the big reconciliation. Don’t want to give her the wrong idea.

  STEPHEN. No.

  SADHBH. You go on – I’m gonna –

  I’ll just be a few minutes.

  STEPHEN. Okay.

  He takes a page of folded magazine from his back pocket.

  I thought this might interest you.

  She looks at the page.

  Vincent Holman. He’s the photographer who –

  SADHBH. I know who he is.

  STEPHEN. He won the Ian Parry award –

  SADHBH. For ‘The Gun, The Gun, The Gun’.

  The little shit.

  Don’t mention Vin to Mathilde.

  STEPHEN. Course.

  SADHBH. Can I keep this?

  STEPHEN. I brought it for you.

  Beat.

  Do you think you’ll go back? To Congo?

  SADHBH. What does it matter to you?

  STEPHEN. Because I’ll be worried? I’ll always be worried.

  He turns to exit.

  I think a lot about us and what could have been and the baby… It’s not like I don’t think about it.

  I think about you.

  SADHBH nods. STEPHEN exits.

  SADHBH lights up a cigarette. The wind picks up. She pulls her jacket tightly around herself.

  After some moments a man about the same age joins her.

  MICHAEL. How are ya?

  SADHBH. Michael Pender. Howya yerself?

  MICHAEL. Brass monkey weather wha?

  SADHBH. I’m willing the east wind away.

  MICHAEL. Gis one.

  She hands him a cigarette and he lights it from her lit cigarette.

  Welcome to the leper colony.

  There’s only a few of us left.

  They stand about – dragging hard on cigarettes.

  Haven’t seen you for years.

  SADHBH shrugs.

  SADHBH. About five years, is it?

  MICHAEL. Naw. More like ten.

  SADHBH. Is it?

  MICHAEL. It is.

  Yer ma knows how to throw a do.

  SADHBH. Ah, ya know Cait Kavanagh. Was she looking for me?

  MICHAEL. Yer grand. She’s forcing ham sandwiches on your vegetarian friends at the moment. Really good to see ya, Sadhbh.

  You haven’t changed a bit.

  SADHBH. Ya think?

  MICHAEL. Ya look exactly the same as when you’d stride up main street to meet me. The hair flyin’ and yer Stetson pulled nearly over yer eyes.

  They used
to call you the cowboy of Kincasslagh.

  Did you know that?

  SADHBH. No, I didn’t.

  She laughs.

  The cowboy of Kincasslagh.

  Pause.

  You’ve not changed.

  MICHAEL. Go on outta that. I’m the same apart from the paunch and a thin spot the baby calls ‘a hole in yer head, Daddy’.

  SADHBH. How old’s the baby?

  MICHAEL. Ciara is four, nearly five. Well, not so much a baby any more but sure Fintan is nearly nine.

  SADHBH. Wow.

  MICHAEL. And we’re expecting our third in a couple of weeks.

  That’s why Karen didn’t come.

  SADHBH. How is she?

  MICHAEL. Big as a house.

  Asking after ya.

  SADHBH. I’m surprised.

  MICHAEL. I think she realises after marriage, three kids and a Mitsubishi Shogun – I ain’t going anywhere.

  SADHBH. We only went out at school.

  MICHAEL. Ah, but ya see – you were my first love.

  SADHBH. Was I?

  MICHAEL. Broke my heart. Yep.

  You lost your accent!

  SADHBH. Sorry about that.

  MICHAEL. Ya did well to get out of this town.

  I still see the old crowd.

  I’m still working for the da.

  Still drinkin’ at The Railway bar.

  You know, same old, same old.

  Do you keep in touch with any of the girls?

  SADHBH. No. No, I don’t.

  MICHAEL. Ah well. They’re all about anyhow.

  SADHBH. How’s your da’s business? Did the recession bite?

  MICHAEL. Ah – but we’ll manage. We always do.

  SADHBH. Glad to hear it.

  MICHAEL. So, eh – Africa hah?

  We saw ya on a news programme about Darfur.

  SADHBH. I was in Congo.

  MICHAEL. Yeah, no. Good stuff. You were working with all those refugees.

  SADHBH. Internally displaced people. I was.

  MICHAEL. You don’t hear so much about the Congo now.

  Has the situation improved at all?

  SADHBH. It’s a catastrophe.

  MICHAEL. Jesus. Pardon my ignorance.

  SADHBH. Don’t worry about it.

  It doesn’t make the news much.

  MICHAEL. Even at school it was clear you were going to cannonball your way there.

  SADHBH. I had a notion I could save the continent.

  MICHAEL. And we believed ya.

  Remember ten pee for the black babies at school.

  SADHBH. There was a felt board.

  And for every pound collected we built up a picture of an African village. A pound for a hut –

  RONAN. A pound for a palm tree,

  you were forever scourgin’ us to hand over our pocket money.

  SADHBH. Ten pee for the black babies sounds a bit dubious now.

  MICHAEL. Ah, yeah. The nuns wouldn’t get away with that now.