chapter thirty-six

An Easter Offering

The large glass sphere wobbled slightly as Frank opened the tap that allowed the vaporous product of two exotic and modified volatile liquids to rise into the condenser that fed it. Gentle heat would now promote an equilibrium reaction, the results of which could be harvested to provide the raw material of the bone gas. The addition of Sulphuric Acid to this in the presence of oxygen initiated the action of the gas; its rapid expansion into the atmosphere and penetration of the flesh of the victims. Frank had designed the gas so that breathing it resulted in a relatively quick “death”, if one could refer to the state of being without bones “death”. Actual death was caused by suffocation primarily, since the lungs had no rigid chamber within which to expand and contract. Breathing in gave the gas ready access to the capillaries in the mouth, and then the lungs and thus the effect was rapid. In order to give the user of the gas a measure of protection Frank had designed it so that it penetrated the epidermis more slowly. It was thus possible to use the gas as an offensive weapon in close combat as long as one could make a retreat before taking a breath.

He let his left first and second fingers rest against the large sphere for five seconds to gauge the temperature, a trick he had learnt from his mother in regard to cooking, and to Frank this chemical process, although more dangerous, was no less a matter of art and subjective judgement. The bubbles began to rise in the liquid, which was now attaining the required chrome green colour, so he began to run cold water through the Liebig condenser in preparation for the collection of the raw gas in a series of large and very thick glass cylinders. His attention was broken by the sound of the outer door to the laboratory being pushed open and Professor O’Connell’s rather tuneless and wordless singing.

“Good afternoon Mr Kørner. What a beautiful day: Good Friday, the tragic death of our Lord, but a temporary death that led to salvation for us all. I have just attended a splendid performance of sacred music by Handel in St. Patrick’s Cathedral, and I must say it has enabled me to put all this talk of spies and compromise behind me. With your gas we are assured of victory over the English oppressors, and so I am going to press Pearse and Connolly to go ahead. This is indeed the dark vigil before the rebirth; the rebirth of our Lord and the rebirth of our people!”

“I am glad that my contribution will be so decisive. I can assure you that, used correctly, the effects will be exactly as I described to the committee.”

“And we will owe you a debt of gratitude Mr Kørner,” and here the professor paused for a moment to remove his heavy tweed coat, “although it will have to be expressed tacitly, I have found that de Valera has made commitments to the bishops in regard to our constitution that may make your position.... difficult.”

“In what respect?” asked Frank, hardly noticing the words, but sensing the weight behind them, as he followed the progress of the tiny green drops into the collecting jar.

“The bishops, and of course the people, bear a great deal of resentment towards the English in regard to their suppression, some might go so far as to say, attempted destruction, of our faith and language. De Valera tells us that this resentment will help unify the people behind our cause, and no doubt it will, but the bishops have made certain demands.”

Frank slid a weighty glass disc over the first collecting cylinder and rapidly positioned the next. He wondered for a moment if the fact that the gas was a little heavier than air was an advantage or a disadvantage before turning to make a greater engagement with the professor.

“What kind of demands can the bishops make of a government that does not even exist?” he enquired. “They can hardly make attendance at church compulsory, that would be as bad as the controls on liberty that you are striving to remove!”

“Not in the view of the bishops, and neither in the view of de Valera, I am told.” The professor sat and withdrew his battered pipe. “State and church will be as one. This means that your particular affections will not be tolerated. The role of the male is to head the family and father children; Catholic, Irish-speaking children. Mr Kørner, I am sure you are aware of the distaste I have for the unnatural acts in which you indulge; but I feel that this proposed unity of church and state may not lead to the liberty of our people that most of the committee so strongly desire.”

Frank smiled gently, and considered the countless acts of debauchery he had witnessed in Paris. Catholic bishops had been amongst the most enthusiastic participants in these dazzling exhibitions. The hypocrisy had always been there, but to found a nation on such hypocrisy was more than he was prepared to countenance. He smiled again.

“Do not concern yourself, professor. The important thing is that the rising is both swift and decisive, is it not?”

“Yes, yes; of course. The rest is politics.”

“In God, we trust,” said Frank, as he removed the Sulphuric Acid from the bench. His bone gas would take no part in the establishment of such a state; besides, by tomorrow O’Connell would be dead and he would be on his way to the Arctic Circle with the Irishman’s cerebral foam safely packed for the transfer.

chapter thirty-five

William Hill

It had been at some stage after leaving the gallery and before turning the corner from the Convent Road into Ashfield that Kay had sensed Frank’s presence. She felt it as an infection in the air that penetrated her lungs and the lymph system. She stopped for a moment and placed both palms, crossed, over her heart and then let her second fingers run forward to her eyebrows from each temple. There was no point in turning back: since Frank was here already there was nowhere to go. It was odd, because although she knew she had killed him, she still felt terrified at the prospect of meeting him. This was not irrational of course. He could, and probably would try to harm her, but it was the legacy of the decade and more of psychological control and chemical abuse that really fed her terror. She looked up into the night sky, now clear of the heavy clouds that had dulled the day, and heard the freezing moisture crack underfoot.

Reality echoed that rupture as she crunched the new-born ice all the way to Trisha’s front door. By the time she stood before the door she was empty of self and so ready for Frank. She pushed the door into the caesura between the streetlight and the icy radiance from the garden that crept into the kitchen and studio. She waited to smell Frank, lurking with some antique weapon; his sweat, his American aftershave, his corrupt cells, but that presence, the quick and the dead of Frank, was absent. She closed her eyes and the after image of the studio remained and began to take shape, and at the same time there was a scent of Frank too, a strange, almost gluey scent. She identified the scent as his come at the same time as her retina made out the body surrounded by the one hundred and forty four plaster cast elves.

She squatted down in the dark beside the ritual circle and considered the black hole in the chest that was the origin, here still encrusted with the plastic crimson of her friend’s blood. Frank had always held himself aloof from her father’s cannibalistic perversions, so he had done this simply to communicate something. She picked up one of the cast models of Douglas. Why the circle? Why on earth had Frank bothered to carefully make this circle of sightless figures face towards the site of his mutilation?

She heard something as if in reply to her thoughts: the thumping of bare feet on colder earth, and an unintelligible incantation in vowel rich words. She sensed a distance and a place in Northern latitudes, and an equivalent distance in time. God, she was getting too close to Frank. This was nonsense.

She stood abruptly and hit the light switch, turning away from the body. She shut out the connection to Frank and squeezed the little model in her hand to confirm herself in the present. This was her business now, selling pictures to tourists and models to children. She let the words cross: “pictures to children and models to tourists”. And then she had it. Frank wanted her to find him, and this was the reason for the circle. She had sold one model to a tourist a couple of weeks ago, and that had been to a German sculptor, living in Dublin, who had left her card at the gallery.

Ten minutes later she had the card from the desk in the Blue Gamp Gallery and made the call. She described Frank to the sculptor.

“He came down here looking for more elves, but I missed him,” she said.

“I know him to see,” replied the sculptor, and then to those around her “Did any of you see Frank recently?” Kay could make out a buzz of conversation and the thump of salsa music, then the German voice returned.

“Pat spoke to him a couple of days ago. Here, I’ll put him on the line.”

“Howya? That Frank, he is a crazy character alright. He told me he’s going to visit a brother in London, Forest Hills I think he said, but I don’t have an address exactly.”

“Thanks, you’re a star,” said Kay. “If you are talking to him, tell him Kay is looking for him; here’s my number...”

After disconnecting, Kay searched Forest Hills on the internet, and quickly discovered the area was actually called Forest Hill. But how to find Frank? She had to be careful; he was leading her in some way, and his murderous intent was clear. Frank needed to be in control; he never gambled.

Twenty four hours later she had a job organised for herself in the safest place in Forest Hill; a bookmakers called William Hill on Devonshire Road.