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Of course, true insanity is in the works here as well, but it Of course, true insanity is in the works here as well, but it is relatively isolated. Lyons observes that among the competing terrorist groups, the Protestants seem to draw more genuine psychopaths—like the dread Butcher Gang, one of whose leaders was a real butcher, which raided Catholic areas and mutilated its victims—because the Protestant terrorists tend to operate more randomly. By comparison, the murderous insanity of the I.R.A. seems almost normal because of its putative purpose. In such an atmosphere, Lyons is far more impressed by the resilience of the children than by their fears or rampages. A girl who had three limbs blown off by a bomb managed to hold on to her mind and eventually marry. But Lyons stresses that resilience is a short-term effect. "In the long run [his voice is calm and certain] we are raising a generation of bigots."
If that is so, it is hard to see now.
Bigotry is not something that people generally boast about; still, you catch almost none of it in the conversations of these children. A Catholic girl in Stella Maris expressed the deepest sorrow for the pregnant widow of a murdered Protestant policeman. "His baby will never know him." Protestant children display the same feelings. Keith Fletcher is still stunned by the story of his Catholic friend whose father, like Paul's, was murdered in his own hallway. "They walked in, very polite. The mother didn't know what they wanted. She gave them tea. They drank it. When the father came home, they shot him."
Keith and Heather Douglas are both 18, in their final year at Methodist College, one of the largest secondary schools in Belfast, and a life removed from Stella Maris and the Cross and Passion. For one thing, "Methody," as the students know it, is mainly financed by the state and almost wholly Protestant. For another, it is pretty. The front gate opens on a semicircular drive; neat stone urns are filled with flowers; the archways whisper Church of England; and symmetry is mandatory. Across the road sits the great Queen's University, a mere expectation away.
At a long, dark wood table in the headmaster's office, Keith and Heather sit attentively like Ph.D. candidates, each in a navy blue blazer and a blue-and-white tie. Keith's jacket is decorated with three small badges for leadership and achievement. His face seems a work of pure logic. Heather seems a bit less organized, with her huge tinted glasses and infinite black curls.
"You have to really struggle to find the differences between the children," she says. "You can tell by the schools, of course, and by the names—Seamus vs. Oliver and all that, and Long Kesh instead of the Maze. Then there's the H test. Have you heard of that one? I was playin' with some fellas in the park one day, and suddenly one of them stops me and makes me say the alphabet. So I go A, B, C, till I get to H, which I pronounce aich.