Wandering in Exile (8 page)

“He’ll do just fine. And besides, it’ll do him good to see a bit of the world for a while. Then he can come back and go to university. You know if I had done that, then I would have been ready for life and not always be trying catch up after everything that happened.”

“Jerry? You don’t feel like you wasted your life with me?”

He paused and thought about it. Sometimes he did, particularly when he was younger and lost his patience with her and all that being married meant. That’s what he smoldered over in so many bars in London during his banishment. That and guilt, and that only made things worse and drove him deeper and deeper into that downward spiral. And in the morning as he downed a cure, remorse would settle on his shoulders. He was a piss-poor father and a total fucking failure as a husband, and he had his mother’s voice worming through his head and heart.

“No, I don’t Jess. I think what I wasted was the time it took me to get to where we are today.”

“You know, Jerry, I think that’s the most romantic thing you have ever said to me.” She looked happier than he had seen her since . . . the day he asked her out.

“I still got it then?” He shouldn’t have said that. She deserved a bit more honesty from him. That was one of the things he wasted a lot of time trying to deal with. He shouldn’t have been afraid to show his true feelings. He was no better or worse than any of them. Even his parents. Even Jacinta. “I’m sorry for spoiling the mood and all. What I really wanted to say was I’m not good at that yet—you know—sharing my feelings and all.”

“You know one of the things it took me a long time to get?”

“What’s that?”

“That we share our feelings in a lot of different ways.”

“I know what you mean.”

“I wasn’t talking about you, Jerry. I was talking about myself. You know, sometimes when I look back, I can’t understand why I spent so much time in hiding.”

“Ah now, Jass. Don’t be getting all serious on me now.”

“Let me just say this and then I’ll drop it. Okay?”

“Okay then. Let’s hear it.” He didn’t want to be rude but sometimes, when she had a few glasses too many, she could go very dark on him, almost pulling him back down there with her.

“I want to tell you that I’m sorry that I wasted so much of our time too.” She raised her glass for a toast. “To you and me, Jerry, for making it this far.”

“To you and me,” he agreed as the warm summer sky looked more and more burnished. All of their hard edges were getting dulled and now they could get close without pricking each other. She was right to look at it that way. They had made it this far and things were only going to get better.

“Jerry? What’ll we do now that Danny is out on his own?”

“We’ll try to mind our own business for one thing. We’ll let him fall flat on his face a few times.”

“But we’ll always be there to pick him up again?”

“Of course we will. We weren’t the worst parents, you know? I know we made a few mistakes, here and there . . .”

“Here and there?”

“C’mon, Jass? What the hell did we know and now look at us. Sitting out in the back garden drinking wine and discussing our son. Who, by the way, is heading out to find his place in the world with a good Leaving Cert in his back pocket. There was many before him with less. Some of them didn’t even know how to read or write and they did okay for themselves.”

“But he must get awful cold there, in the winter.”

“He’ll be fine. He’ll figure it out—after wasting some time, of course. But he’ll be all right. And besides, it’s not what it was. We can jump on an airplane and be over to see him anytime you want.”

“Could we really?”

“Sure. We can go wherever you like.” He sipped his drink and measured the moment. “Did you talk to him about the business yet?”

“I wasn’t the one who was supposed to ask him.”

They had argued about it for weeks until they could both see that it was a chance they would be mad to miss out on. Donal was looking for a few shrewd partners. And Gina vouched for it. All they had to do was to borrow some money against the house.

Danny and Billie stopped at Harvey’s, just like they did every other Saturday night, coming home from the Windsor or wherever he was playing. He had started to do regular gigs with Frank and Jimmy. They played mostly the old shite, but they were good at it and the crowds were starting to like them.

And Danny was getting better all the time. He even sang a few of his own songs, early in the night before the crowd got going. After that it was
The Wild Rover
,
Whiskey in the Jar
,
The Black Velvet Band
and
The Unicorn
. It made her smile when Danny looked over at her and pretended to cringe.

She went to all of his gigs before heading back to his place where they’d eat, drink, talk and make love. She’d even started leaving a few things there. He was pretty cool about that, even when he found her pads in the bathroom.

She could tell he liked having her around, and not just for sex. He liked waking up beside her and always got up to get her a coffee, walking all the way to Church Street to get it. And he brought back pastries.

She loved spending Sundays with him, too, wandering through the neighborhood, more and more renovated each week, passing the ‘Gardens’ on their way to the Eaton Centre. She had once answered his if-you-could-only-have-the-same-meal-question with crepes. She could eat them all the time so Danny brought her to the Magic Pan every Sunday before she took the subway home.

“Did you ever want to try something else?”

“Like what? I like Harvey’s.”

“But it’s every Saturday night. Why don’t we order a pizza next week instead?”

“Why is it that women can never be satisfied? You’re always trying to change things.”

“Like what?”

“Like me.”

“You weren’t that much of a catch.”

“Oh. Am I not good enough for you now?”

“You are now, after I changed you.”

When they finally had sex for the first time, he had fumbled so much—and squeezed too hard—she just had to roll him on his side so she could talk to him.

“What’s the matter? Am I doin’ it wrong?”

“You’re in such a hurry. Slow down and let me enjoy it.”

He looked so hurt she regretted it immediately. It was obviously his first time.

“I’m sorry,” she mewled and trailed her fingers along the side of his chest and across his stomach. “I just want it to be special between you and me.”

“Trust me,” he gasped as her fingers trilled along his soft stomach and onto something hard, “it’s getting more special all the time.”

“Really?” She smiled and reached forward to kiss him while her hand stroked him. She slowly changed her rhythm until he rolled on top of her and poked at her until she guided him inside. He plunged into her and took her breath away. She wanted him to start slowly but he was getting carried away.

“Danny, oh Danny, slow down,” but he didn’t seem to hear and ground into her faster and faster. The bed groaned and thumped against the wall but it didn’t slow. And then she didn’t want him to, urging him deeper and faster but he came too fast.

But he got better.

“What is it that you want to change about me now?”

“Well, when we get home I want us have sex that is not all about climaxing.”

“What?”

“Trust me, you’ll like it.” She moved ahead and walked backwards in front of him.

“I like the sound of that.” He stepped beside her and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her around until she was back by his side. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well. What do say we get naked first?”

She paused to look up into his eyes, to see if she could trust him to understand. “Then we’ll both put on blindfolds and explore each other all over.”

“How will we know if we’re not peeking?”

“Danny.”

“What?”

“Don’t ruin the mood.”

“Okay, so we get naked and blindfolded. Why couldn’t we just turn the lights out?”

“What I want is for both of us to totally trust each other—at the same time. I want tonight to be a journey of trust.”

“Will we get to eat first, before the journey?”

She flipped his arm away and stood on the sidewalk and glared at him. “Forget it.” She crossed her arms and ignored his pleas. “I’m going to get a cab and go home.”

She waited a few moments until a passing car slowed and the driver asked if she was available.

“Very well,” she compromised. “I’ll call a cab from your place.”

“Billie! C’mon. You know I was only messing.”

“Don’t,” she snapped and pulled away when he tried to take her shoulder.

“Okay. We’ll just walk along together and not say anything. Will that make you happy?”

“What would make me happy is if you’d grow up.”

“Just don’t give him any, honey,” a passing hooker encouraged her before turning to glare at Danny. “Make him beg.”

“Thanks,” Danny called after her. “Thanks for making things worse.”

“You’re welcome, Danny,” the hooker said as she waved and climbed into the curbed car.

“How the hell does she know your name?”

“Sugar? I’ve known Sugar since I first moved down here. Sometimes she asks for a smoke or something.”

“Something?”

“It’s not what you’re thinking.” He looked like he really wanted her to believe him and led her toward his apartment. “I never . . . ya know . . . hired her or anything like that. I know I come across all cool and suave but,” he held the front door open for her. “I’m dead shy inside. That’s why I was all joking before. I just don’t feel right talking about what we are going to do.”

“What we were going to do.”

He unlocked the second door and followed her up the stairs. “Fair enough, I deserved that.”

They ate in silence for a while but the food helped them relax.

“Why is she called Sugar?” Billie decided to break the ice. He was right. He was shy. That was one of the things she first liked about him. And the way he smiled—it always melted the frost from her heart.

“Who?”

“The . . . prostitute.”

He held up a joint until she nodded and lit it. He took a few deep drags and handed it to her. “They prefer to be called hookers. That way nobody will confuse them with politicians.” He had tried to say it without exhaling and ended up coughing and spluttering.

“So why Sugar?” Billie asked as she inhaled.

“Cos she lets guys snort coke off her body.”

“How do you know that?” she handed him back the joint.

“She told me,” he hissed but he had to cough it out again.

“You can talk to her about sex, but not me?”

“We were just talking one night. She was on break and I was coming home from the Duke.”

She believed him. He was so easy to see through. “Maybe we should try that some time?”

She rose and headed for the bedroom where she picked out two of his ties.

“Does this mean I’m getting another chance?”

She didn’t answer but tied his tie around his eyes and unbuttoned his shirt.

She was nervous too. Despite her reputation, she really only had three lovers before. Two of them in university and both of them were always in such a hurry. She came with them—their determined pounding forced it out of her. It was easy; she was drunk enough but it was never really satisfying and she felt a little ashamed afterwards. Particularly when the boys talked to other boys and within weeks she was known as ‘easy’ and invited to every party.

When she found out why, she stopped seeing anybody but, in her last year, she let herself be seduced by one of her visiting professors. He was fourteen years older than her and promised to teach her so much more. She didn’t mind; sex was complicated and she enjoyed that he took control of everything.

They always had good wine after dinner, listening to Leonard Cohen while he talked about all the brilliance in the world—all the things that others overlooked. In time he’d produce a joint and they would get closer. He never made the first move but responded when she did, touching her and tempting her to open, like a flower.

He talked about it, too, afterwards, as they shared the rest of the joint. He told her all kinds of wonderful things—stolen from poets and dreamers. She knew that, but she didn’t mind. She knew the end of term was coming.

But with Danny, it was different. She would have to guide him and, in doing so, she realized that she cared for him and she loved that feeling.

“What would you think?” Billie asked from the bed. The two ties were twisted in the corner and the sheets and blankets were draped across the side of the bed. She was wrapped in his robe—a white one from some hotel in the Caribbean; his uncle brought it back for him. “Of me staying over more often?”

He was about to answer when his phone rang.

Patrick Reilly was packed and ready to leave. He wasn’t taking too much as he had his books sent over by ship. He had packed each one lovingly in an old trunk he had dragged everywhere with him. It made it feel more like an adventure.

His uncle was good to his word and had arranged a position for him, teaching, just like he said. He phoned to wish Patrick well too. “All roads . . . you know?”

Patrick couldn’t be sure but he thought he heard a quiver in the bishop’s voice. It might have been doubt or remorse, but it was quickly covered up. “I envy you—a young fella going off to Rome. You have the best part of your life in front of you.”

Or perhaps it was envy?

Notwithstanding, he thanked him for all he had done and meant it. He didn’t blame his uncle. His life was probably just unfolding according to a bigger plan and all that fell to him was to accept it with enthusiasm. The pope had come and gone and filled the whole country with pious renewal, but Patrick Reilly was not going to be a part of it.

“I could send the car to take you out to the airport?”

“No thanks, Uncle, I have arranged for a lift, but let me thank you again and I hope you’ll come out and see me before too long.”

“I will, indeed, Patrick. Now take care of yourself until then. And don’t forget to drop into the café I told you about—the one in the Piazza Della Rotunda. Tell them I said ‘ciao.’ And, if you ever get to the Campo De’ Fiori, say hello to Bruno too.”

“Who?”

“You’ll know when you get there. Take care now, Patrick. God speed.”

After the bishop hung up he poured himself a ball of malt. It was a tough business but he had done the right thing. Parish work wasn’t for the likes of Patrick. It was more suited to the likes of Fr. Dolan, a more mercantile-minded individual. Patrick was a good man who would rekindle his relationship with the Lord in the center of it all.

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.”