The Young Wan Read Online Free PDF Page A

the raven-black hair from his face. She took off one glove and felt his neck for a pulse. It was there, but only just. She saw the rip in the right leg of the boy’s pants and could see that this was where the blood was coming from. Laying the boy down, she tore open the pants leg, exposing the wound. Constance then removed her headscarf and made a tourniquet, pulling it tight around the leg. She now went back to trying to revive the boy.
     
    “Boy, wake up, boy.” She slapped his face. His eyelids began to move. “Come on, son, wake up.” Slowly the boy began to come to. Constance heard men’s voices at the end of the street. She drew a deep breath to call out.
     
    “Help,” she screamed.
     
    There were four of them, all workers from the foundry. They stopped in their tracks.
     
    “You there,” Constance cried out, “help me here.”
     
    “Miss Parker-Willis? Is that you, ma’am?” one of the men called.
     
    “Yes, Thomas.” She recognized him too. The men came toward her. She looked down at the boy. He was awake, his dark eyes were looking into her face. She was so relieved to see him show signs of life.
     
    “It’s all right, boy, help is here.” She smiled at the boy. His lips began to move.
     
    “What the fuck have you got in your mouth, missus?” the boy asked before passing out again. The men had now arrived. They immediately recognized the boy as “Hoppy” Reddin’s son. They also knew a gunshot wound when they saw one; this boy needed a safe house.
     
    Constance began ordering them: “You take his head. You there, cover him with your coat. I’ll go for a doctor.”
     
    One of the men—Thomas, the man she had first recognized—held her arm. “Hold it, miss. We’ll take him to a doctor, don’t you worry about that,” he said calmly.
     
    “But he’s been attacked. We should get the police,” Constance insisted.
     
    “You don’t want to do that now, miss. You leave it to us.” By now two of the men had lifted the boy and were walking away with him. Constance went to follow them. Again she was restrained by Thomas.
     
    “Listen, miss, you done good. Probably saved the boy’s life. Leave the rest to us. You go on home.” Thomas smiled at her. He relaxed his grip and made after the other men, who were now rounding the corner at the top of the lane. Thomas turned.
     
    “Miss. It would probably be best for everybody, including your good self, if you forget you ever seen this.” He winked. In seconds Thomas was gone. Constance stood for a few moments, more than a bit confused. She never told anyone about that night, but she could not forget it. Ever.
     

CHAPTER THREE
     
    The “safe house” the men had taken Bosco to was actually a two-room flat owned by Pascal Sheehy. Pascal had been a quartermaster in the old Irish Republican Brotherhood before they merged with Sinn Féin. Pascal had not been happy about the merger with Sinn Féin, but, a good solider, he had followed his leader, Michael Collins. Pascal had been enchanted by Collins since the big Cork man first arrived up in Dublin in 1916, and if Collins said it was good for the Brotherhood to merge with Sinn Féin, then he would follow. By the time Bosco had arrived in Pascal’s flat, the young boy had lost a lot of blood and was very weak. His feverish temperature lasted for days, and Pascal spent many nights just dabbing the boy’s forehead and upper body with a cool, damp cloth. Pascal did not know the boy at all, although he did have a passing knowledge of the boy’s father, Sean “Hoppy” Reddin. He had never met Sean but had heard the many stories told about his wild exploits on behalf of the organization, as Collins’ movement was known. Sean Reddin, Pascal had heard, after the 1896 Rising had escaped to Spain, where he spent some time fighting with some Spanish rebels. He had been injured, ironically, shot in the leg, in one of the skirmishes in the Catalan mountains. The injury had turned