by Peter Murphy
The bishop had no doubts about that. The rest of the world could be going mad, but Rome was eternal. He should never have left it and the gang he knew there. But they were getting fewer. Poor old Giovanni Montini had given up the ghost and gone to his heavenly reward. And Óscar Galdámez was shot dead while he was saying mass down in El Salvador. The world was spinning out of control again. And there was more than enough to worry about at home. An IRA hunger striker was elected to the House of Commons, while in Dublin they all mourned the young people burned to death in the ‘Stardust.’
“What is the world coming to?” he asked the crucifix on the wall and smiled as silence settled all around him.
“Keep your mysteries, then, but would you be good enough to keep an eye on young Patrick. You know fine well what can happen to a young priest in Rome.”
*
Miriam insisted on seeing him off to the airport and had cajoled her friend into driving them. She also called to say they were on their way and would be there in no time. So Fr. Patrick Reilly carried his case outside and waited in the concrete space that once was Dinny O’Leary’s garden, now the parking space for a shiny new car. There was nothing left for him here anymore. He’d be better off starting out again, somewhere new.
Fr. Dolan was out but had called, too, to wish him good luck—like what had happened had nothing to do with him. “Good luck to you, too, Father,” Patrick replied with just a small tinge in his voice. And good luck to the poor people of the parish, he added after he hung up. Tongues would be wagging for a while. “The bishop’s own nephew—packed off to Rome. You’d have to wonder what was going on.”
People were like that and there was no point in dwelling on it. Rome would be good for him; he’d get the chance to separate his lives there and find some time for himself, again. He hadn’t been able to do that since the seminary. It was all going to be so exciting.
He hoped he could get through saying goodbye to Miriam in front of her friend. He would have preferred if it was just her, but it was probably for the better. The last thing he needed was somebody seeing them alone at the airport. His uncle would find out and phone the pope and he’d probably end up being burnt at the stake, just like Joe had always predicted.
Joe was delighted he was going. He had been urging him to do it for years, insisting that Patrick should get out and see a bit of the world. He’d come over for a visit as soon as Patrick got settled. He was due a trip to ‘Head Office;’ it was the least they owed him.
It would be great to see him again and they could walk and talk like they once did. He’d have to learn as much as he could about the place so he could make an impression and not look like some lost paddy. He’d have to bring Joe out for dinner in one of the piazzas and he’d have to know all the best places.
That’s the first thing he would do when he got there—he’d explore every little street. If Miriam ever came over he could bring her to them, too, with her friend of course.
They pulled up in a shiny car and bundled him and his cases into the back and chatted so much that he hardly noticed that he was leaving behind all he had ever known.
*
“So this is it?” Miriam smiled when he finally got to the gate. She was unsure and didn’t know what to do with her hands. She wanted to hug him but she wasn’t sure how he’d feel about that. He looked so lost and far too young to be heading out on a journey like this.
Still, he was older than she was when she went away. Only she was always older than she was. “Are you forgetting anything?”
“I don’t know.” He looked more confused and afraid.
“You have your ticket and your passport? And your wallet? You can get by without all the rest of the stuff.”
“You don’t think that my luggage will get lost. I wrote the address as clearly as I could.”
“Don’t worry, Patrick. I’m sure you could borrow something from the pope if you get stuck.”
That seemed to calm him so she pecked his cheek and shook his hand and then walked away, leaving him at the gate and never looking back.
*
“Did he get off okay?” Karl politely inquired as they drove away, but Miriam didn’t answer and turned to look out the side window so he wouldn’t see her tears.
“He’ll be fine. I’m sure John Melchor will look after him.” Karl took a moment to touch the back of her hand before Miriam withdrew it.
“John has gone to El Salvador. He’s not there anymore.”
They drove in silence for a while, thinking about Jean Donovan, Maura Clarke and Ita Ford, beaten, raped, and murdered for trying to spread the word of God. Beaten, raped, and murdered by America’s friends. The world might have looked the other way but they both knew that John Melchor wouldn’t. They both knew why he had to go there.
“And what are you going to do?”
Miriam wasn’t sure. She felt left behind but she couldn’t go to Rome now. John was gone and it wouldn’t be fair to Patrick. He needed the time and space to find himself again. And he didn’t need her around. She was a little flattered that he had such an obvious crush on her but she couldn’t. It just wouldn’t have been right.
“I’m not sure,” she finally answered. “I should be finished with my degree by the summer. I just have no idea what to do with the rest of my life.”
“I don’t suppose you’d consider spending some of it with me?”
*
They cruised along the 401 in David’s Trans Am, long and sleek with a golden Firebird across the hood. David drove while Martin checked and re-checked his tickets and his papers. Danny sat in the back, pressed against the sides and the sloping back window.
“You’ve checked your stuff ten times already. Relax, man. You’re only going for two weeks.”
“It’s long enough,” Martin answered and checked himself in the mirror in the visor. “And I look like shit.”
“What’s the matter now, Toastie?”
“Look at me. I look like something that has been left in the fridge too long.”
“You look fine, doesn’t he Danny?”
“What?” Danny was sitting between the two bass speakers and couldn’t hear a thing. David always drove with his music blaring, causing the car to reverberate.
“I said,” David repeated as he lowered the volume, “that Martin looks great. He is worried about that.”
“Why? He’s only going to Dublin. Everybody looks like shite there.”
“Oh, come on. I bet you wish you were going with him.”
“Are you kidding, I wouldn’t be caught dead in the kip.”
David laughed. “Still got all those bad men wanting a piece of you?”
“Fuck them. I’m not afraid of them. It’s the cops I worry about.”
“Such a bad ass,” David laughed as they veered off on the 409, past industrial yards of dirty trucks and assorted rusting cranes as Martin fussed again.
“What’s the matter now?”
“I don’t know. I just don’t feel well. I feel like I might be coming down with something.”
“You’ll feel better when you get on the plane and have a few drinks. Right, Danny?”
“What?”
Martin was going home for a few weeks. He didn’t consider it a holiday; it was more of an obligation. He hadn’t been over in a few years and his parents were getting old; otherwise, he would have put it off. He wasn’t feeling well and hadn’t been for a few weeks.
“You’ll keep an eye on Danny while I’m away?” Martin asked as he checked his pockets again. He had checked his luggage and was lingering by the gate. He wanted to go inside and find somewhere to sit until he felt better but he didn’t want to be rude.
“Don’t worry, we’ll be fine.” David took him in his arms and hugged him while Danny shuffled and waited.
“Bye, Danny, and behave yourself.”
“I’ll be fine. You’re the one who is going back.”
“Yeah,” Martin forced a smiled and walked away.
>
*
“So, Danny,” David asked as they drove from the airport, “what’s new?”
“Ah, sure you know yourself.”
“I don’t. That’s why I was asking. You still seeing Billie?”
“Ah, no.”
“What happened? I thought you guys were good together.”
“So did I, but you know women.”
“You fucked it up, didn’t you?”
“A little. I got a call from Deirdre and she said she wanted to come over this summer so I told Billie and she got all mad at me.”
“How did you break it to her?”
“Over breakfast. I thought I’d come clean and tell her.”
“And what did you tell her.”
“I just said that Deirdre was thinking of coming over. I also told her that I loved her and that Deirdre was just a friend from before, but she got all mad and stormed out. I mean, I used to love Deirdre but I love Billie now.”
“Did you tell Deirdre about Billie?”
“No. I wanted to, but she was all excited and stuff. I figured that she could just come over and, after she’d gone back, Billie and I could just go on.”
“And Billie didn’t go for that? Oh, sweetie. It doesn’t work like that!” David was laughing so much he nearly lost control of the car.
“Why am I talking to you about this? What would you know?”
“Oh Danny boy, you crack me up.”
“What? I was just trying to be honest with her.”
“Danny, that’s not the type of honesty that people want when they are in love. Billie doesn’t want to know you are being fair to another woman. What’s she supposed to do—sit around while you make up your mind? She isn’t going to want that.”
“Then why is she always telling me to talk about my feelings?”
“Because she wants you to tell her that you feel the way she wants you to feel.”
“Is everybody like that?”
“Not everybody, Danny, just those who are really honest with themselves.”
“Life was a lot easier when I didn’t worry about being honest.”
“Yeah, it was great. Look at the mess you got yourself into.”
Danny fell silent and watched the passing cars for a while.
“Danny, do you think Martin is okay?”
“I don’t know—should I be honest?”
“Why, what’s he said?”
“Nothing.”
“You bastard. I just get the feeling that things aren’t right with him.”
“What do you expect? He’s going back to Dublin. He’s probably just de-gaying himself.”
“Do you miss it?”
“Fuck no!”
But Danny was lying. Deep down his heart was bleeding. He couldn’t go home. The ruddy-faced man had let Jerry know that Danny shouldn’t be showing his face around Dublin. Not for a while yet. Not until all the fuss died down.
*
Martin wished he hadn’t come. It was raining and no matter what he did, he couldn’t feel warm.
“I thought you’d be used to the cold,” his sisters jeered as he shivered and sniffled around the house.
“Are you not well?” his mother asked. “Would you like a nice hot cup of tea?”
“Not right now, thanks, Mam.”
His mother was showing her age, totally grayed and bent-over as she shuffled. He didn’t want her doing for him but she was insistent. He would always be her little boy. His father said she was failing, but that she wouldn’t hear a word of it. He wondered if Martin could have a word with her and talk a bit of sense into her. But his mother said the same thing about his father so Martin gave up and went over to see Jacinta.
*
“She’s out with Mrs. Flanagan,” Jerry explained, “but we could go down and meet them. They’re just down in The Yellow House.”
Martin nodded wearily and waited while Jerry got his coat. “So is that Anto Flanagan’s mother?”
“The one and only. They became friends in the church and have been meeting there a few times a week.”
“What’s that about?”
“Jacinta says Mrs. Flanagan was going mad with grief.”
“Over Anto?”
“The very same. Jacinta says that having Danny away helps her understand. I wasn’t too crazy about it at first but I think it’s good for Jacinta. She says Fr. Reilly brought them together because he thought Jacinta would be the best to counsel the poor woman in her grief.
“I’ve been doing my bit, too. Me and Dermot Fallon. We go around talking to parents about what they should do when they think their kids are taking drugs.”
“You and Dermot Fallon?”
“He’s not the worst, only we don’t really agree on things. He’s all for having the parents grass on their kids.”
“And you agree with that?”
“No. And I told him, too, only he says to me: ‘we don’t all have IRA hit squads to call on.’ I don’t pay him too much mind though. He’s just doing it because he’s going to run for the council. I think he wants to become the Lord Mayor or something.”
“The more things change . . . eh?”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
Jerry looked at him like he was trying to see if he was okay. “Do you know what I wanted to ask you? I was wondering if you could do me a favor. I need you to ask Danny to sign the house over to his mother and me.”
“Why?” Martin didn’t mean to sound so leery.
“Well, it’s just that I’m going into business with Donal and I need to raise some cash. I even have the papers all drawn up. You just need to take them over and have Danny sign them. We need to do it quickly too. Donal has found a place that we just have to snap up before some other fuckers get their hands on it.”
“Are you sure you can trust Donal?”
“Why wouldn’t I? Isn’t he married to your own sister? C’mon,” he held the bar door open. “We can have a drink and discuss it.”
“Holy mother of God,” Jacinta laughed as she saw them enter. “The Canadian has come home to us.”
She rose and hugged him tight, warm and quivering and sobbing. “Ah Martin, it’s so good to see you. Do you know,” she asked as she released him, “Mrs. Flanagan?”
Martin greeted her as he sat.
“Hello, Martin. Welcome home.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Flanagan and I’m very sorry for your troubles.”
“That’s nice of you to say.”
“Well,” Jerry shuffled from foot to foot, “what’s everybody having.”
“I’ll be heading off home,” Mrs. Flanagan decided as she finished her drink, “so you can have a proper home coming. It’s nice to meet you, Martin, and please ask Danny to remember my Anthony in his prayers.”
“You’ll have to excuse her,” Jacinta said after Mrs. Flanagan had left. “She’s still grieving. Did Jerry get a chance to ask you?”
“He did. He just told me on the way over.”
“You’ll get Danny to do it?”
“Are you both sure about this?”
“We are,” Jerry insisted when he returned with their drinks. “We have talked it through.”
Martin waited until Jacinta nodded in agreement. “I’ll ask him but I’m not sure.”
“Not sure about what? It’s a sure thing. Donal has found a house on the other side of Terenure on Ashdale Road. We can get it at a good price and fix it up. All the yuppies are dying to live there.”
Martin was tired; he had jet lag on top of the flu and was in little mood to argue. “How much is Donal putting in?”
Neither of them answered so Martin asked again.
“Well,” Jerry hesitated, “he is the one who finds the houses. He has all the connections, ya know?”
Martin sipped his beer. He was in no mood to discuss it further and shivered a little in the damp.
*
Deirdre had come back from her vacation in Canada with a sparkle in her eye. B
ut she was careful to keep it hidden from her father. Her mother had convinced him that it was all above board; that Deirdre and Danny had been carefully chaperoned by his uncle—all of the time. She politely inquired if Deirdre had enjoyed her visit but avoided making eye contact.
She had. Danny’s time in Canada had changed him. It almost seemed like he had grown up. He dressed much better, too, and took more care with his appearance. It was like being with someone new and someone familiar at the same time. He had a day job with the government and was getting steady gigs with the band. Deirdre had gone to hear them a few times and enjoyed the show, and stopping for Harvey’s on the way home where he slept alone on the couch.
He brought her to the museum, and the art gallery, and of course, the CN Tower. He was proud of his new life and he made it very obvious that he wanted her to become a part of it. He even said it: “You should think about moving over, after you get your degree of course.”
“I might,” was all that she could bring herself to say, at least until she thought about it some more. They could be good together, in a brand new city with hot lazy days and warm evenings when he would touch her bare arms as he guided her from place to place. After the first week it was obvious; in Toronto she could become the type of person she wanted to become.
They went to Niagara Falls on her last weekend and spent the night in the King Edward, in Niagara-by-the-Lake. He took her to a charming little restaurant and behaved like a gentleman all night. It was all very, very romantic, strolling back to the hotel on a warm night, scented with flowers hung in baskets along the way.
She kissed him again as they got to their room, large, Victorian, but with one enormous bed.
“We don’t have to, you know? If you don’t want to, I could sleep on the floor.”
She did want to. She was ready. She wasn’t giving herself to him; she was stepping out of everything she had been and joining him in the new world. She was ready to fall in love with him again, only she didn’t say any of that. She just smiled and went to the bathroom to change into the long dark satin slip she had brought—just in case.
