A man buzzes into a
set of flats above a main street office, climbs the stairs, enters
one of the flats, separates a woman and a man in bed together, shoots
the man dead, then walks back out into the early morning to-and-fro
of a busy day coming alive.
Speculation runs
riot in the city as to the motive for the killing. Paramilitary
revenge? Drug trade sorting out? Anti-state violence? A paucity of
policing? A contract killing? A domestic?
The police put a
photograph on the front pages of the newspapers of a man they want to
question. Sightings are made of this man in locations in the city and
across the border. Armed police with soldiers raid a house on a
country lane, following reports that the man is hiding there. Nothing
is found. The man is still on the run.
The man has been on
the run for a long time. He is a political ex-prisoner, with lengthy
bouts of incarceration behind him.
I am one of the
incarcerated,
Brought before
you by the police this day
And all through
the days of our history.
He has been running
since his war started. And, though for many of his former comrades
that particular manifestation of war has ceased, it runs on for him –
and some others – even as it runs into the brick wall of this
killing.
A man grows cold in
a coffin. His family bury him. His nine year old son stands
on the steps of the city's main civic building with his grandparents
and local politicians. The condemnations echo around him. The clock
on the tower above his head sounds mournfully. The deafening silence
of the absence from his life of his father's voice booms inside him.
The man is running
by.
Who is this man running?
Before you stands
a local, wanted man.
But not by you.
Not wanted. Feared? Abhorred?
As dog turds on a
peace bridge are abhorred.
Avoided. 'Yuk'.
Walked round. Scraped off your shoe.
Do not bring me
into your cosy home.
I am the pariah
part of yourself.
Police mount a
man-hunt. They tell the public to keep clear of the man on the run.
He is dangerous. He is the running demon of that much-used public
phrase, 'the legacy of the conflict.' Public figures condemn the
killing and call for an end to violence. The Prime Minister visits
and speaks to workers at an aerospace factory, which, in part, relies
on defence contracts. The Prime Minister bigs up the prospects of
inward investment by multi-national corporations.
The man runs on.
The war continues,
in many forms. A man begins to rot in a grave. Another man keeps
running.
Running.
DENIZEN
: Dave Duggan; verse drama (draft); manuscript; Derry; 2013
www.facebook.com/DaveDugganWriter
