Postcards to America (8 page)

Bobby cut himself shaving. He also tripped on the bathroom mat and banged his knee off the side of the bath. So, he knew the omens were bad even before the day had properly begun. Those of a superstitious nature would say that bad luck always came in threes; so, what else awaited him today. He soon found out.

Five minutes after he opened the shed doors two unmarked police cars pulled up outside the door. With a screech of brakes another two police cars stopped and disgorged uniformed officers. Two plain-clothes officers alighted from the unmarked car and approached Bobby.

This is the third piece of bad look I didn’t need, Bobby thought.

The two plain-clothes officers approached and Bobby instantly christened them “High” and “Low”. “Low” came in at a full foot shorter than his partner in law and Bobby wondered how he passed the minimum requirements.

“Low” handed Bobby a sheet of paper. ‘We have a warrant to search these premises.’ The accent placed “Low” as an officer from out of town.

Bobby looked at the search warrant. He could see a judge’s signature. But what the hell did he know about search warrants? He supposed the signature verified that the search document would stand up to scrutiny.

“High” and “Low” pushed passed Bobby and entered the tiny office.

‘Your name is Bobby Byrnes?’ asked “High”. The accent originated in the North of the country.

Bobby nodded.

‘You need to answer our questions, Mr. Byrnes.’ This came from “Low”.

Bobby amazed at how calmly he felt, composed his face and looked at the officer. Of course he and his mechanic had gone over such an eventuality and knew their stories by heart.

‘My name is Bobby Byrnes.’

As one plain-clothes officer asked a question the other officer wrote the response.

‘What are your names?’ Bobby asked the two officers. Bobby really didn’t care but one question deserved another.

‘We are not required by law to give our names.’ “Low’s” countenance did not change as he delivered this gem. ‘I am Number ‘57’ and I deal with Social Services.’ Number ‘57’ pointed to his partner in law enforcement. ‘This is Number ‘24’ and he deals with Revenue matters. You may not be aware that recent legislation has given us wide-ranging powers.’

What the hell is going on here, Bobby reflected. Officials of the state can come into your home or place of business with a search warrant and remain anonymous. Where has the concept of accountability gone?

“Low” brought Bobby back to the present. ‘Mr. Byrnes, we need to look at the books of the company. We believe that you have traded without registering with Companies House and that you have not returned the proper VAT remittances on time as required by law. There are also the requirements of the various insurance regulations. The penalties for infringements are severe but can be reduced with co-operation...’

“Low” left the threat hang.

‘Are the books of the company kept in manual form or on computer?’ “Low” looked around the small office as he spoke. It should have been obvious that there were no books in the office and certainly no computer.

‘What company? What books?’ Bobby answered the question with a complete look of innocence on his face.

‘The company you are running. The trading that we know you are carrying out of these premises. This time “High” intervened.

‘There is no company. Did either of you see a sign over the door with my name on it? Can either of you see a car in this shed? Are there any cars in the lot?’ Bobby was enjoying himself now.

The two detectives looked at each other with arched eyebrows. Bobby caught the exchange.

‘Come on, Mr. Byrnes. Stop playing games with us. We know that you are buying and selling cars. You even have a business telephone.’ “Low” lifted the telephone and placed the receiver to his ear. No sound pervaded the silence in the small office.

Bobby turned away to hide his face from the two detectives. Little did they know that each evening before he went home he disconnected all the telephone connections and switched the power off. On opening the shed that morning he had switched the power on but did not get a chance to reconnect the telephone line before the raid commenced.

“Low” tried a different approach. ‘We need the name, account number and the branch where you bank, Mr. Byrnes.’ He readied a pen to write the reply.

‘I don’t have a bank account,’ answered Bobby telling the truth.

‘You cannot run a business without a bank account.’ “Low” jabbed the pen at Bobby as he spoke.

‘I don’t have a business,’ countered Bobby.

‘Then what are you doing with this shed,’ “Low” continued.

It only took Bobby a second to reply. ‘I repair my car here. It has a tendency to break down frequently.’

Just at that moment the baton-wielding sergeant placed his head around the door and shook his head.

“High” dismissed the search party with a wave of his hand.

Returning to Bobby, “High” asked, ‘How can you afford to run your car on the amount you receive in social benefits?’

Bobby knew this question would be asked from the moment the detectives walked in the door so he answered in a deadpan voice. ‘I believe in prudent management. That is the secret of living within your income.’

The detectives obviously didn’t like his answer because they went into a huddle.

“Low” took over the questioning from “High”. ‘How many brothers and sisters are there in your family, Bobby?’

Bobby could not see the relevance of the question but knew that sometimes investigators asked innocuous questions just to get a person to talk. Talk about the little things and then you may talk about the big things.

‘I have four brothers and no sisters.’ They could easily find out this information anyway so no big secrets were being divulged. His brothers were well able to look after themselves. ‘There’s Patrick Joseph, the next eldest after me, then there’s Joseph Patrick after him and then there’s Michael John and the youngest, John Michael.’ Bobby’s father deliberately named his sons in this fashion to fool the social services when they grew up. His father thought ahead, far ahead.

“Low” and “High” did not bat an eyelid and continued writing. Bobby surmised that they were glad to be writing something even if the information did not amount to a pig’s whistle.

‘How much do you pay your worker per week?’

Bobby felt he could continue with this questioning all day. He wondered how much it cost to mount this operation.

‘I don’t have an employee.’

‘Then who is that sweeping the garage floor - a ghost?’ “Low” gathered his nearly blank clipboard to his chest.’

‘That is what his wife calls him; she sees him so infrequently. No. He is an old friend. He calls in most mornings and sweeps the floor. Then we have a nice cup of tea and a chat. Like a family member that man is.’

‘Mr. Byrnes, do you take us for fools? That man working here is obviously an employee and you should be deducting tax and insurance contributions from him. You should be passing those deductions on to the appropriate authorities.’ “Low” seemed to get smaller as the questioning continued.

‘Well I do pay him…I give him a packet of cigarettes every now and then.’

“High” and “Low” decided that at this particular point in time their options were limited. “Low” went and spoke to the “employee” and returned promptly to confer with “High”.

Then “High” spoke. ‘Because of your lack of co-operation with this investigation, Mr. Byrnes, we are impounding your car. Hand over the keys.’

Bobby shook his shoulders in pretended resignation. A car could be replaced in short order. Of course, he would have to move his operations base. He was damned if he would make it easy for them to take his vehicle. Wasn’t he lucky that no customers had called while the police were on the premises and that the fake tax discs were at home?

‘I don’t have the keys - must have lost them; that’s why we were sweeping. They must be around someplace. Do you want to give us a hand and search?’

With a “we’ll be back look”, the two intrepid investigators exited the premises. Before he opened the door of the police car “High” turned and looked back. His eyes focused and dwelt on the sign that read “A Hundred Cars Always in Stock”.

Then they were gone.

When “Corner” entered the charity shop, the elderly woman assistant, busy with a customer, failed to see him. “Corner” passed by the counter and entered the interior of the shop. Shelves lined the walls, filled with caps, hats, shoes and various items of bric-a-brac. In the centre of the shop, rails containing male and female clothing jostled for space. There seemed to be twice the number of rails containing women’s clothing compared to the number holding men’s clothing.

I need a radical disguise: something that will allow me to move freely without standing out from the crowd. “Corner” knew that the people following him were not fools. He would not be going back to Dan’s Diner any more. Too much time spent in the diner and eventually, those chasing him would come across him. Anyway, he now had the Internet…

Then an idea struck “Corner”. He remembered seeing a movie once in which two male musicians, on the run from “baddies”, travelled by train all the way down the Eastern seaboard of the United States as far as Florida without being discovered.

“Corner” also remembered scenes from an old movie he watched many times. In the movie, a masked hero rode around the Wild West with his partner dispensing justice to the evildoers. You could always pick out the baddies: they looked mean and were too busy doing evil to shave. In these movies, the hero wore a mask that just covered his eyes and he would be instantly picked out in a police lineup. At the end of each movie the hero rode into the west on another mission and those in the know whispered that if he didn’t stop riding westwards he would end up in the Pacific Ocean to the delight of all good acting buffs.

Searching among the rails “Corner” spotted a red polka-dotted dress. Removing his clothes, “Corner” donned the dress and looked at himself in the full-length mirror. A perfect fit, he thought. He failed to notice that the dress hung lower at the back than in the front.

Scanning another rail, he selected a pair of woman’s tights of a particular brown shade. Sitting on a stool, he donned the tights.

Now, all he needed were a pair of shoes and a hat.

Rummaging among the shelves, he selected a pair of high heels that were only a size too big.

After further searching and much moving of articles on the shelves, he discovered a moth eaten stole and a large hat containing more flowers than possessed by an average sized window box.

Putting his discarded clothes in a plastic bag, “Corner” looked in the mirror one last time. A perfect disguise, he thought. The large hat balanced on his head nearly covered his face.

Satisfied, “Corner” approached the counter.

At that moment, the elderly assistant with very bad eyesight looked up from underneath the counter where she believed her lost glasses to be.

Seeing the outline of a figure dressed in a polka-dotted dress, the assistant said, ‘Did you see anything you liked?’

‘No,’ replied “Corner”.

‘Pity,’ said the assistant. ‘Never have you minded. We get clothes in here all the time. I can tell by your dress that you have good taste. I used to have a dress like yours at one time…’ The assistant paused as if trying to dredge up a long buried memory. It was so long ago that she could not recall… ‘And the hat sets your whole outfit off.’

‘Thanks,’ “Corner” said, as he tried to manoeuvre the mobile garden through the door.

The room where Danny now sat occupied the upper floor of the Pastoral Centre and faced west to catch the rays of the setting sun. The furnishings were restful to reflect the theme of the room. A selection of pastoral scenes lined the walls and a large bookcase housed books on meditation. A small tabletop water fountain emitted a restful pattern of sound. This room was designated the meditation room and used as a drop - in sanctuary for shoppers who wanted a period of quiet reflection away from the hustle and bustle of the world. Lately Danny spent hours alone in this room.

Opposite Danny sat an elderly priest. The elderly clergyman had mentored him in the early days of his ministry. A friend Danny now wished to hear his confession. The priest placed a stole over his head and Danny began.

‘Bless me, Father for I have sinned.’ Danny decided to start at the beginning. ‘Ordinary is a word I would use to describe my childhood. I did the usual things and got into the usual scrapes. My father gave me a few clips around the ear and I can’t say it did me any harm. My grades at school were nothing out of the ordinary. I have to say that I spent hours playing sports and became proficient at several codes.

Up to then I never thought of religion. Religion was a thing you did by rote without thinking. Religion impeded on your life for half an hour every week and on one or two other prescribed occasions throughout the year. It did not encompass your very being and transform you as the “Christ” intended’.

The elderly priest shifted in his seat but continued to listen intently.

‘My journey into the teen years passed without crisis. I got the usual childhood diseases and received a few injuries on the sporting fields. My arm bears testimony to two breaks that I received playing for my school at rugby.

Then I discovered girls. At first my friends and I taunted and teased the girls who came to watch the matches we participated in. Then we started pairing off. Nothing serious occurred. We engaged in heavy petting in various locations; mostly fields.

Around this time, I began to feel the stirrings of a calling. I have always been interested in physics. The infinitely large and the basic blocks of matter fascinate me. I have no great knowledge of complicated theories or explanations but I realised that there is symmetry about all matter in the universe. What I am trying to say is that I believe in a “prime mover” or God.

My parents discovered my new interest in religion and encouraged me. Our local parish priest likewise. He told me to take my time until I was sure that God was calling me, before committing myself to years of training. He said, and I quote, “
Many are called but few are chosen
”.

An incident occurred about this time that had a profound effect on the future direction of my life. A neighbour, an elderly woman, became seriously ill and housebound. The local priest visited her every day. Not only did he come to pray with her; he came to talk with her and to cheer her up. I believed he prolonged her life by several months. He practised what I later came to understand by the term “
To serve”.

So, I told my parents and my parish priest that I wanted to become a priest. My parents were beside themselves with joy. In those days and I suppose it still is a matter of great pride to have a son or daughter devoted to the service of God. They knew it would impose an additional burden on their finances but they were prepared to endure all for my sake. They worked longer hours despite my protestations.

At the seminary, I did reasonably well. Theology is not my strong point and hours spent praying seemed a waste of God’s time. Not to say I don’t pray, but I usually pray when I am doing something such as painting, sweeping or doing the dishes. As you know yourself, participation in sports activities is strongly encouraged at the seminary and I excelled at Rugby. The coach said I was good enough to make a paying career out of the game. I also enjoyed the buzz from the crowd many of whom were female. My muscles developed as a result of all the physical activity and I noticed certain seminarians casting unwholesome glances in my direction though none made a direct approach.

Then came one of the best days of my life: the day I took my final vows and became a priest. The local cathedral bedecked with flowers, an organist, what seemed like every priest in the diocese and the bishop in attendance. My body vibrated with excitement. I was in tune with the cosmos. As I lay on the altar and took my vows before my family, friends, priests and bishop, I believed that the path of my life stretched in a straight line before me.

But nothing prepared me for the reality of parish life. The Hierarchy threw me into a parish with no training whatsoever as to what to expect. I served alone in my parish. Funerals, marriages, communions, the local school and several committees looked on me to provide answers to intractable problems. Decades of experience would have been needed to cope. Still, the days were filled with activities of one sort or another and ran into one another. The nights were a different matter. The long nights that seemed without end. The seemingly eternal silence broken only occasionally by the squeaking of a mattress as I turned back and forth. The Old Testament passage from “Genesis” came into my mind; “
It is not good that man should be alone”.

Then that once in a million chance happened. A young woman named Diana moved into the parish. I did not recognise her. She approached me one Sunday as I bid farewell to the congregation after mass. She said she remembered me from my days playing rugby at the seminary. We talked at length, reworking the old games. I knew I interested her. “
The eyes are a mirror to the soul
” came to mind. I made a mental note to avoid future contact.

Unfortunately, my determination to avoid contact came to naught. Diana turned out to be a replacement teacher taking up a post at the local school. Naturally, I encountered her almost daily in the course of my visits to the school. She possessed an infectious laugh and no boy friend. I do not know why this pleased me but it did. This platonic relationship lasted for months and I should have seen the danger signs and asked the bishop for a transfer to another parish or even overseas. I did not.

The local rugby club has great support in my former parish. Every year one of the teams wins some silverware. This particular year proved exceptional. They won two cups. So, the club mentors organised a big celebration. As a former player, I thought it a good excuse to talk to the players and mix with my parishioners in a relaxed environment. As anticipated, the evening passed in splendid fashion and I did a circuit of the hall, mixing with both young and old. Glasses of wine were placed in my hand and I deemed it impolite to refuse their generosity. I saw Diana several times during the evening and once she turned and caught me looking at her. With a smile, she acknowledged my attention.

As the evening ended and the crowd thinned out, I stayed behind talking tactics with a team coach. I probably uttered a load of nonsense because the wine was now coursing through my system and I felt light-headed. With a good night to the coach and a wave to the remaining revellers, I headed for the door. In the entrance hall, I bumped into Diana as she struggled to don her coat. The touch, fleeting though it may have been, left me with the smell of her perfume. She let out a giggle and I knew that we were both equally intoxicated.

‘Great night,’ I remember her saying in a slurred voice.

Then Diana moved closer and whispered in my ear. ‘I was going to ask you for a dance but I did not want to cause any scandal.’

I believe I said that I understood.

We exited the clubhouse together.

Outside, the night pushed in on the land. Above, the Milky Way painted a trail at the apex of the sky and cast a magical light on the rugby pitch.

‘Tell me about the game of rugby,’ Diana asked, meanwhile pulling me on to the field near the goal posts.

I wish I could say that I resisted as she linked her arm in mine.

She leaned against the goal posts as I tried to explain about scrums, line outs, tries and conversions. The starlight shone on her face and suddenly I was a man; a man of God, but still a man. I moved closer and kissed her on the cheek. She did not resist. I kissed her on the lips and she responded with a soft groan. Then she placed her arm around my neck and kissed me passionately. We clung to each other for what seemed like an eternity. Then she took my hand and pulled me to the ground under the crossbar.

As we made love my senses expanded. I was she. I was one with the stars shining down that night. Time stopped. My body vibrated like a tuning fork. Diane twisted under me adding to the union of our bodies. I felt close to God. In a second, I realised what we priests are missing in our lives, the total commitment to and the total love from another human person.

Afterward Diana wanted to blame herself. I would not hear of it. There are many paths to that final destination. You leave one path and you are lost for a while until you find another path and continue on your way.

We stopped seeing each other by mutual agreement. I kept going out with a group of friends as usual. Absence made no difference. We were in love.

I went to my bishop. He suggested I take a cooling off period to decide my future. I told him that my mind was made up. He wished me luck and suggested I could continue to help the church in other ways.

Diana and I set up home and have been blissfully happy. We have talked about marriage.

The diocese has been good to me and gave me employment here in the Pastoral Centre where I can teach, instruct and pass on God’s message.’

The elderly priest rubbed his leg to relieve an ache and Danny continued.

‘As I said earlier, there are many paths to that final destination. A few weeks ago, I began to feel ill. I went to my doctor who could find nothing wrong but as a precaution sent me to a hospital for further checks. This time they did discover something. To cut the story short, they told me that I have two months to live, three at the most.

I am not afraid to die. I am just meeting my God earlier than I expected. I do regret having to leave Diana behind. We could have had years of love in front of us and perhaps been blessed with children. In time she will get over her grief and probably fall in love again. I will encourage her to do so. I also regret my failure to live up to the expectations people placed in me and I will take that to my deathbed.’

Danny finished speaking.

The venerable priest looked at Danny and said, ‘We do not know God’s plan for each one of us. All we know is that when we see Him all will be revealed. There will be pain and suffering along the way and there is no guarantee that we will enter heaven. Your faith will keep you strong in the weeks ahead and you will be in our prayers. I am not going to give you penance but I would like if you read the New Testament for at least one hour per day. This will give you strength. Now say your Act of Contrition.’

Danny spoke. ‘Oh my God I am heartily sorry for all my sins because they offend You Who art infinitely good and I firmly resolve with the help of Your grace never to offend You again.’

The elderly priest stood and said the words of absolution over Danny. Then he removed the stole and placed the garment in a small case.

‘Thanks again for coming’. Danny extended a hand to his old friend. ‘Stay and have some tea and biscuits, courtesy of the Pastoral Centre.

‘Make it cream biscuits.’