Barriers

                                                        BARRIERS

“Shit,” he muttered. “Not that wee bastard again.”

          Nineteen years old Joe Doherty sighed heavily as he hunched his back, pushed his hands deeper into pockets of his blue jeans and quickened his step as he headed towards the Police barrier in Spencer Road. The barrier was there to protect the Police Station from terrorist attacks. A Sanger jutted from the reinforced wall of the station like a monstrous gargoyle and between the two halves of the barrier was a wooden hut. On each side of the road two policemen carrying rifles were on duty.

          As Joe came to the first half of the barrier the hair on the back of his neck bristled and he almost tripped over an uneven flag-stone as he walked faster.       

  “Ah sir, excuse me!” a voice called.

          Pretending not to hear Joe walked on.         

  “I said, excuse me sir!” the voice repeated, louder this time.

          Joe stopped and turning slowly around he said, “Who me?”

          His heartbeat quickened as the constable came towards him. Holding his rifle against his chest with one forearm the policeman pulled a small black notebook that had an elastic loop holding a biro attached to it, from his pocket. Then he leaned his rifle carefully against the low window of the house they where standing outside.

          As he did, Joe lowered his head and moved back a bit. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the other policeman across the road watching them.

  “Now sir, would you mind telling me your name?” said the constable who was at least a foot shorter than Joe. His piercing blue eyes flitted over Joe's pale face.                                                                                                                                                                                     

  “Doherty. Joe Doherty,” said Joe looking away. But when the constable began writing down his name Joe stared at him.         

  “Address sir?” said the policeman looking at him.       

  “Eh?” said Joe looking away again.       

  “Where do you live?”         

  “Forty, Anderson's Crescent, Gobnascale,” said Joe quietly. Wee bastard, he thought as the constable wrote his address down.

          When the constable put his notebook and pen back in his pocket. Joe got ready to go. 

  “Have you any identification on you sir?” asked the constable.       

  “Naw, but I have me Bru card,” answered Joe.

          A nerve worked on the side of the constable's face as he snapped, “Well would you mind showing it to me sir?”

          With a disgusted sigh Joe patted the breast pocket of his denim jacket. Then he withdrew a small sports wallet and reached it to the policeman.         

  “Would you mind opening it yourself sir?”

          Tearing the wallet open from its Velcro closure Joe showed the policeman what was in the wallet by holding open the compartments.         

  “Let me have a look sir,” said the constable taking the wallet from him.

          Joe gritted his teeth as the policeman pulled a sealed condom from one of the compartments.         

  “What's this sir?” he asked, a half smile playing on his face.

  “What the fuck does it look like,” snapped Joe.                                                                                                                       

          The constable sniffed and replaced the condom. Now Joe stiffened as he saw him slip a small photograph from another compartment. Holding it between his forefinger and thumb as if it was contaminated the constable asked, “Who's this?”         

  “You know who it is,” snapped Joe. “Sure ye looked at it yesterday. I told ye then who it was.”

          The constable's eyes narrowed. “Sir I asked you who it was,” he said coldly.         

  “It's my brother,” muttered Joe looking down the road.       

  “Pardon sir?”       

  “It's a photo of my dead brother, Pius,” answered Joe.       

  “Pius?” said the constable. “That was a Pope's name wasn't it?”

          Joe said nothing still looking down the road.

  “The Pope wouldn't like you using condoms would he?” said the constable stepping back as two elderly women carrying shopping bags came walking past.

          Suddenly one of them stopped. “What's the point in all that, eh?” she shouted. “Stoppin' the young fellas? Sure yer only drivin' them intay the Provo's hands, that's what yees are doin'. Recruitin’ them fer the IRA.”

          The constable ignored her and handed Joe back his wallet.         

  “Come on, Lilly,” whispered the other woman.         

  “Can't they see what they're doin' is stupid?” Lilly went on. “What's the point in it anyway? Sure no young fella would be stupid enough tay be carryin' guns or anythin' walkin' past here. They're not stupid ye know!” she shouted glaring at the constable.         

  “Lilly, come on,” hissed her companion. “Fer God’s sake, come on.”                                                       

          Lilly gave Joe a sympathetic look then gave in to her friend's persistent tugging on her coat sleeve.         

  “Now sir,” said the constable as the women walked away, “would you mind turning around and raising your hands. I'm going to body search you.”

          Blowing out his breath and shaking his head from side to side Joe raised his arms and turned around until he was facing across the road. As he did he saw the other policeman approaching them. Joe gave a start as the constable roughly ran his hands under his jacket and across his shoulders. Then he felt the hands quickly pat his chest and stomach and stiffened as he felt the hunkered constable now run his hands up the insides of his legs. Seconds later the search was over.

          It was beginning to rain and as Joe put the wallet back in his pocket he waited to see what the constable wanted next.     

  “Where are you going sir?”         

  “The Bru,” snapped Joe glaring at him.         

  “The Labour Exchange you mean,” corrected the constable smiling at the other policeman.           

  “Aye,” snapped Joe glaring at them. “That’s what I mean.” Cunt, he whispered under his breath.         

  “Ok, sir you can go.”         

  “Thanks a bunch,” snapped Joe.

          As he turned to walk away...       

  “Doherty.”         

  “What?” snapped Joe swinging around.         

  “You know we'll be watching you, don’t you?” said the first constable.                                                     

  “Big deal, bastard,” Joe whispered under his breath then began to walk away. As he did he began a shaky nonchalant whistle. “Olay, olay olay olay, olay, olay olay...”

          The two policemen smiled as they looked after him.                                                               

          Suddenly a horn sounded and one of them ran to the hut to raise the barrier to allow two army Land rovers inside.



        “Which of them was it?” asked Johnny Murray as they walked up Asylum road to the Labour Exchange. “The wee fair haired bastard?”         

  “Aye,” growled Joe. “That's three times he's stopped me this week.”

          Murray stared at him. “Why don't ye go down Simpson's Brae? Ye don't have to go down Spencer Road past the barrier ye know.”       

  “Aye I know,” snapped Joe as they walked through the gate. “But I wouldn't give the wee shit the satisfaction.”

          The rain grew heavier as the two teenagers pushed through the rickety barrier that led onto the steps that would take them down to the Unemployment Office.



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