Wandering in Exile

by Peter Murphy

  Patrick had found it all very disquieting at first until he realized that the bishop had been privately pondering and not as a layman. The bishop was well schooled in all the layers of theology, schooled enough to see the deeper mysteries that others passed over. He had written eloquently about Pantheism and called Monotheism ‘the poor influence of cults of self-justification.’

  After he had gotten over the shock, Patrick was able to absorb them for what they were—the secret thoughts of a man who was far more than the functionary he had become. A man who had once seen the result of the evil that came when his Church compromised with the ways of the wider world.

  Before, when he served without question, Patrick would have misunderstood, but now he was becoming wiser. Wise enough to understand that his uncle loved his God as he loved Benedetta, with the saddest, purest love of all—hopeless love. And Patrick was becoming wise enough to understand why his uncle had shared them with him. His uncle had known about Miriam all along but hadn’t wanted to embarrass Patrick by confronting it directly.

  “It is,” he had written in the days before he died, “the type of thing that makes an ordinary man a true priest. The best priests are not those without temptation. Instead, they are those who are tempered in its fire.” The scrawled letter was carefully folded and placed in an envelope along with all the others. Mrs. Mawhinney must have put it there but maintained her discretion until the end.

  Patrick understood. The bishop, who was always so direct and authoritative when it came to diocesan matters, was far more circumspect on personal matters. When Patrick had gone to tell him he had chosen the priesthood, his uncle seemed more concerned than happy. “Are you sure it is what you want?” he had asked from behind his desk. “Are you sure it is not what you think I, or your mother, want? It is a difficult life, Patrick, with nothing to guide you but your own faith in a God who will never speak to you directly.”

  “It is the life for me,” Patrick had tried to reassure him.

  “But that’s the point I’m trying to make. You won’t know that until afterwards and then what’ll you do if you find out . . .” He never finished his sentence and it hung over Patrick for years. He had always assumed that his uncle doubted his vocation—or his quality, but now he knew better. His uncle had been trying to offer him a bit of hard-learned wisdom.

  He prayed for him every time he went to the old temple. Not for the repose of his soul. If the bishop didn’t have it, what hope was there for the rest of them? No, Patrick prayed to thank the bishop for the great wisdom he had left behind.

  “Patricio,” Giovanni hailed as he crossed the piazza. He seemed more excited than usual and could hardly wait. “Come, come, there is something I want to ask.”

  *

  “I got a letter from Miriam,” Deirdre mentioned as they bundled the kids into their car seats. “She got married.”

  “That’s nice,” Danny answered after they had all gotten in. He hardly looked at her as he twisted around and backed out slowly. The neighborhood kids were always flying by on their bikes and he had almost hit a few already.

  “They got married in Thailand.”

  “Why there?”

  “His parents are dead and she didn’t want to do it in Ireland. Besides, she says that he has an affinity with the Orient.”

  “I thought he’d be sick of it, after the war and all.”

  “Who’s sick?” Little Martin called from the back. He was four years of age and strained against his car seat. Danny would have let him out of it but Deirdre wasn’t ready for that.

  “A friend of Mammy’s.”

  “Did getting married make him sick?”

  “Why would you say something like that?” Deirdre asked without taking her eyes off Danny.

  “Daddy said . . .”

  “Oh did he now? Well I’m sure he meant something else and he can explain it when he picks you up from school.”

  “Dee! I can’t today.”

  “You have to. I have a seminar and I won’t get out until after five.”

  “You could still make it.”

  “I can’t. The whole point of going to these things is to network afterwards. I told you all of this last week.”

  “But that means I have to leave early.”

  “Danny. You work for the government. Leaving fifteen minutes early won’t bring democracy crashing down.”

  “What’s democracy?”

  “It’s when people are fooled into thinking they have a say in how their lives are run.”

  “Danny. Don’t be cynical in front of the children.”

  “They may as well learn the truth somewhere. They’re certainly not going to learn it at school.”

  “Our teacher says we live in the best democracy in the world.”

  “Has she ever been anywhere else?”

  “Danny!”

  He wanted to smoke but he had to wait. He wasn’t allowed to smoke in the car or the house or when he was anywhere near the kids, but he’d have one after he dropped them off. If they ever got there. It took two lights to make the left turn.

  “I don’t know why you come this way.”

  “I like the view.”

  He took Pottery Road to Bayview every morning. Going down the hill let him feel like he was going somewhere else—like on holidays and not going to spend most of his day in an office. He’d have to spend the whole day trying to look busy and he hated that but there was a hold on all new projects. He was going to meet up with Frank later. There was a new bar opening in Ajax and they were going to check it out. McVeigh had barred them again; he’d caught Frank smoking a joint in the ‘gents.’

  They crawled along through traffic, down Bayview and up the Rosedale valley. They dropped the kids off at Orde Street and Deirdre walked from there. It gave Danny a few minutes of peace as he dawdled along with the rest of rush hour, all the way down to Queen’s Quay. It wasn’t bad down there. He could see the lake, and the islands, and the rusty hulls of the lakers. Except in the winter. Then it was just cold and bleak.

  “Supper’s in the fridge. You just have to warm it up. And make sure Grainne eats her vegetables.”

  “You’re going to be late?”

  “I told you, but I’ll be back by nine. Have the kids in bed and then you can go out.”

  “Bollocks!” Danny muttered as they unclasped the kids and hauled them out.

  “Bollocks,” Grainne smiled up at him. “Bollocks.”

  “Are you happy now? She’ll be saying it all day.”

  “What’s bollocks, Daddy?”

  “It’s Irish for great.”

  “Great, now you’ll have the two of them saying it.”

  “Don’t you mean bollocks, Mommy?”

  Danny drove away but waited until he was around the corner before he lit up and rolled down the window.

  Bollocks, Anto laughed from the rearview mirror but was gone when Danny turned around.

  “That’s just what I need—on top of everything.”

  *

  “The example of Jesus,” was all Fr. Melchor chose to say. He wanted to say so much more but he had been warned. He could teach but he was not to inspire or incite. Everyone had been very clear about that. “Jesus is the role model of self-sacrifice for the greater good.”

  Philippe Ignatius Madrigal nodded but they both knew he shouldn’t have asked that type of question. Fr. Melchor had been very clear: Philippe would have to find his own way.

  Over the last two years, he had come to his teacher with many questions that all led up to this. His father was a wealthy landowner and his mother was a devout Catholic. They had managed to bridge their dichotomy but for their son—it was a chasm. He was a good boy and a good student.

  John Melchor couldn’t help but feel that he was cheating him. He could have said so much more about loyalty to the principle of the poor. He could have made it clear that he opposed those who used the shield of righteousness against what was right, but he couldn’t be explicit. None
of them could. The university was granted by the rich so that their children could achieve the status of being ‘educated’ but no one, especially those of tainted reputation, could twist that into anything that might evoke real change.

  It was why John was there. He could not walk through the world espousing change as a man but he could as a Jesuit, as long as he was cautious—and considerate. Philippe was almost apologetic. “My father insists. He says that it is the duty of the privileged.”

  **

  “And you don’t agree?”

  “I want to honor my father but I also want to honor all that I believe in.”

  Philippe was an earnest young man. He knew what was right, even if it would cost him everything his father, and his grandfather, had built. El Salvador had to change and it would fall to Philippe’s generation to pick the path the country would take.

  It had been so much easier for John. The Japanese had made his decision for him. His parents did not approve but understood. “Be careful of righteous rage,” his mother had warned him. His father had driven him to the recruitment office in the grand old Buick with the spotless white-walls. They sat for a moment as they watched the lines of indignant men shuffle forward, impatient but jovial—as if they were all going on a grand adventure. “I will give you my blessing, for what it’s worth, but I cannot claim to be happy about this.”

  His father, too, was always cautious about anger. He believed it was a sin against the love of God. He had wanted John to finish his education and join the family business. “You are going to join a war that might cost you your life—or worse, your soul.”

  ***

  “No one can tell you what to do, Philippe. One can only say what they think is right or wrong.”

  “Then I will do what is right by my father and maybe then I can then do what is right by me. We must change what we are from within. They say that many of the young officers feel as I do. Maybe we can bring about the change without suffering and death.”

  John smiled at his own thoughts. He, too, had gone to war to bring a swift end to evil.

  “Will you give me your blessing, Father?”

  *

  John Melchor gave his blessing, for what it was worth, but was troubled as he walked toward his lecture. He wanted to get there before his students. He had a message for them all. He carefully transcribed it on to the grease board and left so they could read it for themselves.

  1. The Dignity of the Human Person

  Human beings are created in the image of God and, therefore, are endowed with dignity. This inherent dignity carries with it certain basic rights and responsibilities which are exercised within a social framework.

  2. The Common Good

  While the dignity of the human person is affirmed, individuals live in common with others and the rights of individuals must be balanced with the wider common good of all. The rights and needs of others must be always respected.

  3. Solidarity

  Human beings are social by nature and do not exist merely as individuals. When considering the human community it must be remembered that it consists of individual and social elements.

  4. Subsidiarity

  This principle recognizes that society is based on organizations or communities of people ranging from small groups or families right through to national and international institutions. As a rule of social organization, subsidiarity affirms the right of individuals and social groups to make their own decisions and accomplish what they can by their own initiative and industry. A higher-level community should not interfere in the life of a community at a lower level of social organization unless it is to support and enable.

  5. The Purpose of the Social Order

  The social order must uphold the dignity of the human person.

  6. The Purpose of Government

  The purpose of government is the promotion of the common good. Governments are required to actively participate in society to promote and ensure social justice and equity.

  7. Participation

  Individuals and groups must be enabled to participate in society.

  8. The Universal Purpose of Goods

  The world’s goods are meant for all. Although the Church upholds the right to private property this is subordinate to the right to common use and the overall common good. There is a social mortgage on private property.

  9. The Option for the Poor

  This refers to seeing the world through the eyes of the poor and standing with the poor in solidarity. This should lead to action for justice with and on behalf of those who are poor and marginalized.

  10. The Care of Creation

  The Earth is God’s gift and all species have a rightful place in it. Humans share this habitat with other kind and have a special duty to be stewards and trustees of the Earth.

  Pope John Paul II, Sollicitudo Rei Socialis

  *

  *

  “Dee-dree? Dee-dree Fallon, is that you?”

  Eduardo had changed. He looked more like a man. He had grown into his moustache and his hair was combed back, almost blue-black in the evening light. His eyes were dark and his teeth were white, gleaming against his tanned, scented skin. He leaned forward and brushed each of her cheeks before standing back and looking at her. He had always looked at her that way—like he could instantly fall in love with her if she would just give him a reason.

  She’d heard the Portuguese were like that. And that they could fall in love even while they were already in it. But he was always polite and well behaved and she liked that. He made her feel like a lady.

  “Are you well, Eduardo?”

  “I am. And you? Are you well? It is so nice to see you again. Do you have time for a coffee?”

  She didn’t and she shouldn’t, but it was one of those days, in one of those weeks. Grainne was almost three and was becoming more and more demanding. She hardly got to spend any time with Martin anymore. She barely got to read a few pages to him before he fell asleep.

  Each night he waited with his books as she scurried and cleared away after dinner. It would go much faster if Danny helped but they decided it was better for him to deal with Grainne. He did that and very little else. The band wasn’t too busy anymore but he was playing a few folk clubs. Quieter, pottier places where he could sing his own songs, but he usually came home brooding like he had woken some ghost inside of himself. When he did come home, he’d sit up late drinking and wrestling with it.

  “I can’t. I really should get home. My husband has to go to work and I have to be there with the kids.”

  “Twenty minutes? You can spare twenty minutes.”

  “I can’t, Eduardo.”

  “Ten minutes, then. We can have espressos.”

  “Eduardo, I’m not sure I should be doing this. I am married and you are . . .?”

  “I am married, too, with two kids also, and I need a little break before I go back to face them.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  “Then it is settled. Ten minutes?”

  “Okay. But then I am gone.”

  *

  The weekend after Thanksgiving, Danny stood outside McDonald’s and smoked, even though it was a cold day. Bright and sunny, but cold. Most of the leaves were gone, shriveled up and piled for bagging—it wasn’t proper to burn them anymore. He had spent the morning in the garden, following orders and wrapping shrubs in burlap so the frost wouldn’t get to them. He told Martin they were putting on the winter underwear and they had a bit of a laugh about that for a while.

  It was one of the few things that made it all worthwhile. His son was growing up not knowing the shadows that had haunted his own childhood. He and Deirdre had made a conscious decision to spare them the burden of religious indoctrination even though it meant sending them to the public school system. The Catholic system was more select, and had a better reputation for discipline, but they had talked about it and, in the end, the good was outweighed by the bad.

  He watched his children through t
he window as he smoked, playing in the ball pit while Deirdre sat on the other side, looking over every once in a while. Martin played with the other kids but Grainne stayed on her own, insisting that her brother leave his new friends and play with her. Danny couldn’t hear them but he could read all that passed between them.

  It’s hard to believe that a fuck like you could even have children.

  Anto never missed his chance to catch Danny alone and to spoil his few moments of peace. He didn’t just haunt him when he was drunk or high anymore. Now he came to him regularly and always found a way to take the joy out of life.

  Danny knew what he was up to. Anto was always a vengeful bastard. Danny wished that he could talk with somebody about it, but who? Who could he tell that he was being haunted by a guy that was whacked for trying to whack him? He didn’t want to get into all of that again. And he couldn’t mention it to Deirdre. She’d just say that it was because of his drinking—or toking. She was always on him about it. She seemed to think that now that they were parents, they shouldn’t do things like that. Danny disagreed: being a parent made him do it. It was the only way he could keep his shit together.

  Besides, he wasn’t doing any harm to anyone.

  He didn’t really resent her for being the way she was; she was only trying to get him to improve himself. She said he was too smart not to. Danny was shy about hearing stuff like that but she kept at him. She said she was only chiseling away some of the scales that he had grown against the world.

  When she wanted him to change something big about himself, she’d wait until they were in bed. She’d stroke him and get him going and then she’d bring it up. Danny knew what was going on. He was like a dog and he didn’t mind admitting it. It was like he was some type of stray that she had taken in off the street. He had often thought far worse of himself.