Wandering in Exile

by Peter Murphy

  “But at least I will be able to pay for a grand funeral,” he had laughed, “and I’ll leave lots of money for you too. You’ll be able to go off and get yourself some young fella to love you for your money.”

  “Me?” she laughed along with him. They did that a lot. They had spent far too much time crying. “What would I want a man for? I’ve had enough of men for one life.”

  “Admit it. Being with me has spoiled you for all the others.”

  She had looked away and sipped from her glass of sherry like she was dismissing him, but it was all in play. They had great fun together and, given how they had started out, that was far more than she could have hoped for.

  He’d even gotten a bit frisky when they went to bed. They hadn’t in years and she was about to make fun of him again when he clutched his chest. She thought he was kidding around until his breathing got strange.

  She didn’t panic though; she was very proud of that. She phoned for help and followed the instructions they gave her until they came. It was only when she was in the back of the ambulance that she began to shake. They gave her a blanket and, in the hospital, one of the nurses got her a nice cup of tea. Jacinta didn’t want to be a bother but the nurse was so nice, saying how brave she was and all.

  *

  “Do you think that work caused it?” Gina looked concerned and a little guilty. “I’ve been telling Donal to ease up a bit. I told him that Jerry wasn’t as young as him and to take it easy. But would he listen? He’s gone plain mad for money and nothing else matters anymore.”

  Jacinta thought about consoling her, but she was too tired. Now that she had gotten through all the excitement, she was worn out.

  “But this is going to cost him. Mark my words.” Gina looked very determined and a little mean. Things were not great between her and Donal.

  “It wasn’t his fault,” Jacinta said but her mind was wandering. They were well enough off that Jerry could quit working. But it would be better if he could get a retirement package—if Donal had any heart left. “Jerry’s just getting a bit too old for all of this. I think he should retire. Do you think Donal would let him?”

  “He better not try to stop him. Not after this.”

  “What I meant was,” Jacinta continued as calmly as she could. She didn’t want Gina to fly into a rage and get Donal’s back up. “Do you think he would see his way to giving Jerry something to retire on—buy him out like?”

  “It’s not up to him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s all in my name. He signed it over last year so he could fiddle the taxman. I decide things for him now and he’d do well to go along with it.”

  Jacinta said nothing. She was thinking about the day she took Gina to buy her wedding dress. She worried for her back then—about what she was getting herself into. Life with Donal was never going to be easy, but Gina was a great one for looking after herself. Linda and Brenda always said that she got too hard, but Jacinta understood. She had to. Things had changed between men and women. Women could stand up for themselves now and Gina had become more than a match for anybody. Jacinta could never see herself being like that but she didn’t have to. She and Jerry had become partners for life. That was how things were supposed to be.

  “Mrs. Boyle,” The nurse called from the hallway, “would you like to come and see your husband now?”

  Jacinta rose in a fluster with Gina attending. “Is he . . .”

  “He’s out of danger. The doctor will explain more to you later but for now you can go in and see him.” She might have meant just Jacinta but Gina took her sister’s arm and they both marched in to Jerry’s room.

  “Ah, Jaze, Jass. I’m sorry you have to see me like this.” He was pale and looked very worn out and had tubes and wires all over him. Jacinta didn’t mind. She leaned over and kissed his damp brow.

  “Sure amn’t I always happy to see you.”

  “And here was me thinking you’d be happy to see the back of me.” He tried to laugh but he wasn’t well enough.

  “Don’t be making a joke, Jerry Boyle. When I get you home it’ll be no laughing matter. Isn’t that right, Gina?”

  “You better listen to her, Jerry, if you know what’s good for you.”

  *

  Deirdre sat back as Eduardo read:

  Ms. Fallon epitomizes the type of candidate the Advancement Committee is seeking to promote. As a woman, and an immigrant, she has consistently achieved the highest ratings in her employee evaluations. She continues to demonstrate the leadership skills we are looking to promote and has a proven track record.

  Ms. Fallon is also a mother of two and is a role model for all young female employees. I have no hesitation in forwarding her name for consideration for the newly created position of Manager, Internal Career Development.

  “Wow! They really love you.” He handed back the memo and smiled.

  Deirdre smiled back. Eduardo could always find ways to insert words like ‘love’ and ‘passion’ into every conversation. They were having lunch in Ramboia, on College. He wasn’t concerned about being seen there. He told anyone who asked that she was his contact with the bank, and it was strictly business. Besides, he wasn’t the only businessman dining with someone who obviously wasn’t his wife.

  “I’m sure it’s no more than you deserve. You have such passion and commitment for everything you do.”

  It was so nice to hear someone say that. She had shown it to Danny, too, but he was not so enthusiastic. He congratulated her, of course, but with just a hint of condescension. She knew what he was thinking: that she was being promoted because she was a woman. It had happened again—he had been overlooked for another promotion. “You have to be a handicapped, black, or lesbian to get anywhere these days. It’s discrimination. Reverse discrimination and nobody can say shit about it. Misandry,” he smirked as he handed it back. “I’m a victim of rampant misandry.”

  *

  “You don’t think it’s just because I’m a woman?”

  “That sounds like your husband speaking.”

  Deirdre felt a twinge of guilt, laughing about Danny with another man. She was always careful not to take sides when Eduardo complained about his wife.

  “Yes, he did have something to say about it.”

  “His problem is that he doesn’t appreciate you.”

  So many things dangled between them. Things that she could almost reach out and touch so easily. Delicious little intimations to be savored, even as they ate. He was always so attentive, holding her chair for her as she sat and holding her coat when she rose. He ordered the wine—just a half carafe, carefully selected to complement the food and the conversation. Danny always ordered by price. If it cost more, it had to be better. Eduardo was a lot more discerning about everything.

  “I am sorry,” he corrected himself. “It’s not my place to comment.”

  She smiled at that too. He liked to trespass a little, like he was testing her defenses. Some nights, as she lay alone in her bed, while Danny sat in front of the television drinking beer, she wished he would not hold back. She wished he would reach out for her and push himself on her, gently but persistently.

  But they had a pact and she shouldn’t encourage him. “Do men ever appreciate what they have or are they always fixated on what they don’t?”

  It was his turn to smile. She liked to test him too. To call him out for being the bold little boy that she could see inside his expensive suits. He poured their wine and raised his to his nose before he answered. “Women are not the only ones who mourn the death of love.”

  That always got to her, the Portuguese lugubriousness that he wore around his heart. He had told her of his race’s poets and had tried to explain Fado. He said sorrow was essential in the Portuguese spirit. He called it the “suppressed memory of all that had been lost in the Reconquista.” His skin was coffee-colored and his eyes were brown. His forefathers were Al-Andalusians.

  “Married people do not concern themselves
with love; they are too busy compromising.”

  Even as she said it, she realized how sad it sounded. They had a form of peace at home. Not harmony—more of a working truce. Danny complied with all she asked of him and in return, she let him be. It was workable for now, but she couldn’t help but feel she had lost control. Everything she had hoped for was put to one side. Danny said it was the same for him. He said that being married and having kids was a job in itself. They just had to get through the next few years until the kids were a bit older and then they could be a couple again.

  She didn’t argue with that; there was no point. It would only set the cat among the pigeons.

  They had patched things up enough to become a functional family again. Grainne had stopped hitting people and Martin and Danny had an entente. Martin’s stature had grown and his coach had recommended him to St. Mike’s. Danny was basking in the reflected glory.

  It should have been enough. Many women she knew would have been happy with what they had, but Deirdre wanted . . . not so much more, she wanted what they had to be real.

  “Yes. We have all become so busy.”

  Eduardo had been promoted too. His company was keen to lose its Anglo image and seem more diverse. He was a poster boy for the up and coming ethnic. He knew that, and he knew how to turn it to his advantage.

  “I will be traveling more,” he announced with just a hint of suggestion. “Across Canada mostly, but I am hoping to go further.”

  “I may have to travel, too. I might have to go to Montreal in a few months.”

  He just nodded as he drained the rest of the carafe into their glasses. “Maybe we might have the chance to have lunch there sometime.”

  *

  When she got back to her office, she closed the door and took a few moments for herself. They had crossed the line they had said they wouldn’t. It was only going to be a mutual support thing. Voices in her head warned her but they were the voices of her mother and Miriam. She loved them but she could never model her life on either of them. The world had changed far too much for that.

  Still, she and Eduardo were lying to themselves. Little white lies to rationalize what they were really doing—putting themselves into situations where things could ‘just happen.’

  She had heard so many people say it: they had left their husbands for someone else because ‘it just happened.’ Fate, kismet, love, anything but confronting the truth. She and Eduardo were flirting with the possibility of having an affair. She knew they shouldn’t tempt fate but, without those moments she shared with him, life would be far too bleak.

  As she sat back into her desk, she picked up the postcard he had once sent to the office. From Alfama, where he had been thinking of her. He said he wanted to bring her there and to Sintra, but when she thought about it, she couldn’t see herself there without her kids.

  *

  “Please excuse my entourage.” John Melchor laughed as he joined them. The two suits that had followed him since he came back found a table close by. Karl, who had risen to shake John’s hand, nodded toward them but they pretended they weren’t there.

  “FBI?”

  “Most likely.”

  “Why?” Miriam asked with a tone of displeasure that almost sounded maternal.

  “I presume it is for my own good,” John laughed aloud. “Why else?”

  “Why else, indeed. I’m just surprised that you don’t have a few cassocked Jesuits in tow too.”

  “We managed to give them the slip down in El Paso.”

  They decided to meet in San Antonio, in a restaurant by the Riverwalk. Karl had been working there for a few months. John had been closeted away with an old friend, his old pilot, out near Uvalde. The FBI stayed in a motel nearby.

  “So,” Karl drawled, “what have you been up to?”

  “Yes,” Miriam joined in, “please give a detailed account of yourself.”

  “You would have made a great Mother Superior.”

  She didn’t respond to that and an awkward silence settled.

  “I’m sorry,” John Melchor finally said in Karl’s direction. “I forget that things have changed.”

  “Don’t worry about me, padre.”

  “Ah. Another military man?”

  “He was a Marine,” Miriam answered for him. Karl was often taciturn about his past and his present.

  “A Teufel Hunden? I was a flyboy, but I’m sure you know that.”

  “Well?” Miriam tapped her finger in mock impatience. “How long is it going to take for you boys to go through your rituals?”

  “Military formalities—you wouldn’t understand.”

  “Careful, there, Jar-head. Nuns are always trumps.”

  “Anyway,” John continued after sipping his beer. He hadn’t had one in so long. “After what happened, I was a guest of some friends who risked everything for me. I won’t reveal any more detail, other than to say that without them, I would now be answering to the Boss, himself. They kept me until I was well enough to travel, and by travel I mean being smuggled out.

  “Anyway, I got to Panama City, where a reception committee waited. Old friends of yours, I presume?”

  Karl nodded but said nothing. He was watching the two suits trying to seem nonchalant as they strained to hear what was being said.

  “They were very welcoming and all that, but they were far too interested in my hosts. Sadly, I couldn’t tell them anything.”

  “Well, that explains your entourage,” Karl muttered without moving his lips.

  “Yes,” John Melchor sighed like it saddened him. “That and my priors, but I couldn’t risk it. Friends put their lives on the line and not all of our people down there can be trusted. Nothing sinister, I just think we get far too cozy with the wrong people.”

  Their food arrived and changed the topic. John Melchor hadn’t had a good burger in years and even stopped to say grace. Miriam had a salad and Karl had chicken wraps but John ordered the works: a cheeseburger with fries and onion rings, and a large Coke. He had finished his beer and slurped a few mouthfuls before he slathered his food with ketchup, relish and mustard.

  “Death wish?” Miriam smiled at him.

  “Not really. I am being sent back to Rome in a few weeks and I have every reason to believe they will lock me in a cellar somewhere, with only bread and water. I’m just indulging myself—a last supper, if you wish.”

  By the time they had finished eating, they were all caught up but were not ready to part. John decided to finish things off with a scotch and Miriam joined him. Karl decided to stick with coffee and excused himself.

  *

  “He seems like a good man,” John ventured when he was gone.

  “One of the best. I have been so . . .” She was going to say blessed but it didn’t seem appropriate. Sitting with John brought all the old habits back. “Fortunate.”

  “Karma.”

  “It hasn’t been so kind to you.”

  “It is not the end yet. I will reserve comment until then so as not to tempt fate.”

  Miriam couldn’t help herself and reached forward to touch his hand. “It must have been so horrible.”

  *

  John tried to shrug. It had been. It haunted every night he slept in the Madrigal house, waking at every noise and never sure where the world ended and his frightened mind began. “I will deny ever saying this, but I can tell you: it terrified me. Not just for my own sake. Watching them die like that—it was like seeing the devil face-to-face.”

  “You never believed in the devil before.”

  “I do now and he is man. We were not born in God’s image. No God could be so vile.”

  *

  Karl stopped at the other table on his way back and returned with the two FBI men in tow.

  “I decided that if we are going to sit around for a while that we should all get to know each other.”

  The FBI men seemed unsure but John was very gracious. “Yes, come and sit. We are all friends here.”

  They i
ntroduced themselves and sat, close together like they were joined at the hip. One was older and more care-bitten. The other took his lead from him.

  “May I ask why you are following me?” John asked in a kindly manner.

  The older one weighed his answer for a moment. “Protection.”

  “That is so considerate. I suppose you are aware of my criminal past?”

  The older one looked at his hands while the younger one seemed to blush.

  “Padre,” Karl implored, “don’t give them a hard time. They are only following orders.” He almost made it sound Germanic.

  “Forgive me,” John bowed to them. “Perhaps you would join us in a drink. We are celebrating old friendships and I have begun to consider you my friends.”

  The older one looked a little pissed but was considering it. “And then you would report us?”

  “No. I have nothing against you. I was just trying to be civil.”

  The older one looked at Karl for a moment and then the younger one. “A beer. Thank you.”

  Karl ordered the beers and had another coffee. He winked at Miriam to let her know he was enjoying himself. When the beers arrived, the younger waited until the older one drank. “Go on,” Miriam encouraged. “No one is going to find out—unless we are all under surveillance.”

  John and Karl both laughed but the FBI men just looked pained.

  “She’s just kidding, man. Take it easy.” Karl sat back and lit a cigarette. He didn’t smoke too often but it suited him.

  In time they got to disagreeing even though the FBI men were affable enough. They saw the world through the limited view that such men had—a world of terror that would reach out to take away all they held dear. They pointed to the bombing in the basement of the World Trade Center as proof that there were those who would attack the American way of life.