The Charity of Silence

Chapter 8: Requiem

"At five minutes until four o'clock, precisely the time that he had been waiting for, Michael once again checked his pocket watch. He strode to the unloading platform, arriving just as an empty postal tram was pulling out; any second now, to be followed by yet another in the unending line of trams. The other workers watched in horror as Michael took a deep breath, stepped off the platform, and stood straddled across the tracks of the postal tram. Staring unblinking down the length of the black tunnel, he was certain that one of two things would happen. He would either stop the unstoppable, or he would be run down and killed.

From a distance, Michael saw headlights swiftly approaching. Closer, he saw the disbelief register on the engineer's face. Still closer, he heard the terrified cries of his fellow workers; but he stubbornly held his ground, refusing to budge a single inch. In the last seconds he stretched out his arms in a submissive pose, looking like a man crucified upright in the center of the train tracks. At the last moment, Michael thought that his courage might waver, so he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth; defiant till the very end!

The horrified engineer braced himself and pulled back hard on the brake line, bringing the mail tram to a screeching halt, scattering dozens of mailbags in every direction. Michael felt the hot breath of the steel beast as it lurched to a standstill just inches from his blanched face.

The entire post office heard the commotion; workers left their positions to clamber down the stairs to see what was going on. Hannie, knowing that if the disturbance was coming from the pit below, feared that Michael was probably responsible. Frantically running down the crowded stairs, she was pulled aside by Susan who pointed out Michael to her. Her heart leaped. As big as life, standing in the middle of the tracks trying to stare down a steam locomotive, his arms still outstretched, stood Michael Collins! Both girls smiled, their eyes filling with tears as they realized the enormity of what this stubborn Irish madman had done. He had stopped the unstoppable!

Michael lowered his arms, once again looking at his pocket watch. At the very same time that an obscure widow was being lowered into her grave in far away Ireland, a small part of the British Empire had been stilled, muted, and made humble.

The fat manager, beside himself with anger, finally made his way down the crowded stairway accompanied by two security guards at his side. "Escort this blackguard off the premises!" he screeched in a high thin voice, his beady eyes bulging in his red face. He pointed a pudgy finger at Michael. "You're sacked! Do you hear me? Sacked!"

The workers cheered as Michael, ignoring the blubbering man, was forcefully escorted out by the guards. As they passed by Hannie, Michael lowered his head, ashamed that he had let her down and lost his job. Suddenly, she shouted to her brother who turned his head, expecting to incur the wrath of his sister for pulling such a reckless stunt.

"Michael John Collins!" she exclaimed, giving him a proud wink and an approving nod of her head.

Michael had performed his requiem, his Mass for the dead.