A Village Voice

by Brian Martin

  He liked Dublin. It was kind of run down and bloody cold in the winter, but the people and the place had character, a great sense of humor and were by and large very welcoming to returned Yanks. God bless his Irish grandparents, he thought. He had no trouble getting an Irish passport and citizenship. He didn’t even have too much trouble finding a substitute teaching job. It was not a permanent position and he would be unemployed come the summer, but he was doing okay for now and he really didn’t want to look that far ahead. Being away from New York and focusing on his mission (to win back his wife) helped him to try and forget about the horrific side of what had happened. He still had the occasional nightmare and he still felt some anxiety occasionally, but time and distance were helping. He also had the new job to concentrate on. He really wanted to be the best teacher he could be; to try to help these kids the best he could and maybe make up in a small way for the sin he had committed.

  The school was an old redbrick building. If you have ever seen the movie, To Sir with Love, with Sidney Poitier, you will know the type of building it was. They had a small gym and no playing fields anywhere nearby. Nowhere for the kids to run around and burn off energy. He had only been there a week when he noticed that the building had a pretty decent sized internal court yard. It took a bit of persuading, but he convinced the headmaster to let him organize five-a-side soccer at lunch time for the kids. The winning team at the end of year would get to take on the teachers. He, of course, would be the referee, as he valued his shins (you can take the boy out of New York etc.). He had made a few friends down at his local pub and he thought the art teacher, a very attractive brunette, fancied him. He had not pursued her though or anyone else as it would complicate his plans to win back his wife.

  Noreen was still down at her family place in Tipperary. He let her know he was here and wanted to see her whenever she was ready. He was hoping she would come around before too long. It was hard to continue to beg forgiveness for something he did not do, but it would have been harder still to explain to her what had actually happened and why he was being asked to be a police informer by a corrupt cop and why his uncle had involved him in a murder that may or may not have saved his own father’s life.

  There are some things that are just too difficult to explain no matter how much you loved someone. His dad was upset when he told him what he had (supposedly) done; he was shocked that his son could be so stupid. He never figured his son to be one of those guys who let the little head make the decisions. His Uncle Jim said nothing for a long time after he told him what had happened. After a while, he smiled at Brian and said ‘shit happens’ and that what Brian was doing by going to Ireland was the right thing and very romantic. Jim even called Brian’s dad to try and put a good word in for him. His father listened patiently to Jim and when he hung up gave Brian a lecture about not turning out to be like his uncle, who had run around chasing every skirt in town and who could have been someone if he had the discipline to keep it in his pants. He then gave Brian a hug and asked him if he was okay for money. When he got to Ireland, Brian called his father every other week on a Sunday to keep in touch.

  As it happens, he had relatives in Tipperary as well. Ireland is a really small place, and the people are for the most part fond of gossip. Upon returning from running an errand in the town, people will often be met with the question ‘well, any sca?’ Sca being short for scandal. He was waiting for a particular bit of ‘sca’ from Tipperary and about two months after he had let his wife know he was in the country, the news came. A cousin of his let him know that his wife had been seen around the town of Roscrea with a certain Tim O’Connor. He had heard of the bold Tim before. He and Noreen had been something of an item when they were in high school.

  Tim was the eldest son of a prosperous farmer in the area. Noreen didn’t fancy the idea of farming life, so she broke off with him and headed for nursing school in Dublin (where she and Brian had met). Tim’s father had recently retired and he was now in charge of the farm which had grown over the years and now included a quite successful stud farm operation. Tim was quite the catch in his part of the world and could have his pick of the local young maidens. The fact that he was seen about with a married (although clearly separated) woman says a lot about the crush he must have had on her. Or perhaps it was his way of rebelling against a father who had keep him waiting for his inheritance just a bit too long. “I’m in charge now, Father, and if I want to keep company with a married lady or several of them, or keep a bloody harem, that is exactly what I will do.” Brian could imagine the big spud head facing down his old man. He had caught sight of Tim once on a summer trip they had made to visit his in laws. They met one day, by chance, when the family were in Roscrea getting groceries. His wife introduced them and they made small talk. Brian could tell from the way they looked at each other that there had been something between them. Noreen confirmed this after Tim had shuffled away.

  “Another poor broken heart you left pining away?”

  “Ah, sure, he was a nice fella but life with him would have meant life on the farm and sharing a place with his folks until he came into his own. Not the life for me, and besides, I prefer the tall dark types, don’t I?”

  Anyone who isn’t pale as a sheet of paper is considered to be dark in that part of the world. God, little did he know when they met that Tim would be the one. There had to be a one. His wife would have a fling to get even, to teach him how it felt. For a modern girl in many respects, his wife could be very Old Testament. She wanted him to know that she was going to have an affair with this guy. His hope was that she did not fall in love with him, his hope was that when she had gotten even, she would realize that despite what he had done she still loved him and that now that he had been punished they could get back together and try again. He could not say he was happy about what they were going to do or had already done. He consoled himself with the thought that the spud head probably wasn’t very good in bed. Like every native Irishman he had ever met, he would most likely step over ten naked women to get to the bar. Anyway, no point in worrying about it. If he turned out to be a real problem, he could always introduce him to a friend of his from Chicago. A joke, Jesus, just a joke.

  Months went by and as a part time teacher he knew that they would stop paying him when the term was over. He managed to line up a summer job teaching English to foreign students spending the summer in Ireland. It wasn’t bad, the kids were mostly Spanish, and they were pretty well behaved, all in all. The course was expensive, and their parents expected them to make some progress. When they found out he was from New York, that was all they wanted to talk about. They were fascinated to hear that people from New York have different accents, ‘say something in Bronx, sir’ was a popular refrain. He pointed out that New York was a very big city and Spanish speaking people had different accents as well; a person from Madrid had a different accent than a person from Buenos Aires. They did not agree that it was a matter of accents, but more related to the fact that people from Buenos Aires did not know how to speak the language properly. Brian made a note to try out that theory on the folks from the Bronx, if he ever got back home.

  He was glad to be in Dublin for the summer. He thought Noreen would probably come up to the city at some point and maybe they could meet for coffee. As it turned out, he actually met her one day walking down Grafton Street. When he caught sight of her, he was thrilled and then a bit disappointed that she had not called him to say that she was coming up to the city. They said an awkward hello (no hug) and she explained that she was on her way back to the train. He persuaded her to stop for a quick cup of coffee. They went into Bewley’s, a place they had frequented when they first met. It was crowded with afternoon shoppers taking a break and their table was right in between two others, not exactly the best place for intimate conversation. He told her how happy he was to see her and how much he missed her. She told him that she was still very mad at him and that she still had not figured out what she wanted to do and that she needed
more time. He said that he would be around. He told her about his job and she said that she had heard about it. He was reminded again, what a ridiculously small country Ireland was. But he was really encouraged by the fact that she was keeping up with what he was doing. He was further encouraged by the fact that she told him that he was looking well. Before she got on her bus to the train station, she agreed to let him know next time she was coming up to town and that they might have lunch. Well, at least, he took the response of ‘ah sure, you never know, maybe we will’ as agreement.

  One Sunday afternoon a couple of weeks later, while he was just sitting around drinking tea and reading the Sunday papers, the phone rang. Not many people called him and even fewer would call on a Sunday afternoon. When his dad called, it was usually in the evening, late afternoon U.S. time. His heart was racing as he reached for the phone. He was really disappointed to hear his father’s voice. Disappointment quickly turned to worry; the tone of his father’s voice was not good.

  “Listen, I have some bad news, your Uncle Jim has passed away. He was at home in bed, woke up with chest pains and had a massive heart attack. He was dead before the ambulance got there.”

  “I’m very sorry to hear that. How are Aunt Jeannie and the kids?”

  “They are pretty cut up, you know how Jeannie and Jim were, they fought all the time, but she was really crazy about him and he was very close with his kids. I know you didn’t spend much time with them but your cousin Mike asked me if there was any way you could make it to the funeral, that it would mean a lot to him. I was surprised, but he really seemed sincere about it. We would all like to see you. It’s on Wednesday. You could stay here for a few days. Do you think there is any way you could make it?”

  Brian didn’t know what to say. This was really unexpected. Jim was not that old and he had never heard of him or any of his uncles being in bad health. He thought that given his line of work, Jim might not live to see a conventional retirement, but to die of a heart attack just like that was a surprise. He didn’t know what to think. It would be good to see his family and he did want to know why Mike had asked for him to go. What if the cop showed up? What could he do now? Jim was dead, so fuck him. He told his dad that he would go and that he would phone him the next day with his travel plans. It did occur to him that with Jim’s death he would never find out the truth of things. Was his dad really in the kind of trouble that Jim said he had been or did Jim use him as part of some plan of his own to save himself or advance his position? Now he would never know, and then he realized that had Jim lived to be one hundred he would probably never have found out anyway.

  Brian managed to get a couple of days off (unpaid) and got a seat on an Aer Lingus flight to JFK, no problem. The Irish are very sympathetic when it comes to bereavement and people were always going back and forth across the Atlantic for funerals. When he arrived at JFK, it was the usual pandemonium. He got a bit turned around and had to ask a security guard if he was going in the right direction. She asked if he was a US citizen and he showed her his passport. She said he didn’t need to stand in the long lines and that he could go on through, he was home now. He could feel tears forming in his eyes but he fought them back. His dad was waiting at arrivals with his brother Paul. He felt that it was truly great to see them. After a couple of minutes catching up, his dad started to complain about the traffic and the state of the airport, the city, and the country in general. Then he knew that he was truly home and he had to fight back the tears for a second time.

  The funeral was a big one. Jim was buried out on Long Island. All the family were there and many old friends from the neighborhood, people Brian hadn’t seen in years. There were plenty of people he didn’t know. Some of whom, he gathered, were Jim’s associates from ‘work.’ Like the Irish, they were also big on funerals and paying their respects. He had skipped the wake, much to his dad’s disappointment, but he was jet lagged and couldn’t keep his eyes open. The first time he caught sight of Mike was after the funeral mass. Mike leaned over towards Brian and said that he needed to talk to him and that to come see him right after the burial. Mike seemed much older than when he had last seen him, more mature. He was clearly upset at the funeral but not overly emotional, like a guy who was conscious of being watched. A guy that wanted to show respect but not weakness. Brian wondered if he had inherited the family business from his father. After the burial, Mike caught his eye, excused himself from his mother’s side, and came over to Brian. They hugged, Mike thanked him for coming, and then motioned Brian away from the crowd.

  “Let’s walk over here, I need to tell you something. My dad said that if anything ever happened to him to send a letter to your wife. He said he would do his best to set things straight for you. She should have the letter by now. I don’t have any idea what this is about, but it was important to him and he made me promise to let you know about it personally. He also said to tell you that a guy you knew, a guy with an Irish grandmother, hurt his back, took early retirement and moved to Florida and that a good looking gal you used to know is also retired; she met a very wealthy man, got married and moved back to Chicago.”

  Brian said that he wasn’t sure how exactly how all that could help his marriage, but he appreciated it and he appreciated Mike letting him know.

  Mike replied, “Fathers, what are you going to do, you just don’t want to let them down, right?”

  Brian agreed, they hugged again and he let Mike go back to his mother’s side. He spent that day and the next at his dad’s house, just hanging out with his dad and his brother. He thought about asking his dad if he had ever been involved in smuggling weapons, but thought the better of it. He would have resented the question and he would not have told him if he had been. Brian spent most of the time trying to figure out what Jim might have said in this letter. He would never spell things out as they had actually happened. If he was too vague, “Brian didn’t do anything wrong. On the night in question he had to see a man about a thing,” his wife would not understand and it would not help at all. He supposed he would have to wait until he got back to Ireland to find out.

  The flight back was bumpy, lots of turbulence. He was tired and his stomach was upset when he landed in Dublin. When he came out of the arrivals gate, he was genuinely surprised to see Noreen standing there. He hoped that she had been waiting for him. She smiled and shook her head. Good sign, bad sign? He wondered if he should make a joke, ask her if she knew where he could get a bus to the city center. She was wearing a belted raincoat, jeans and sneakers, her hair was pulled back into a pony tail. Very practical, no nonsense; she had clearly not come here to seduce him. Assuming, again, that she had come to meet him and that it wasn’t just a coincidence. He gave her his best smile and she just raised her eyebrows; no joke, don’t go with the joke.

  “Hey, it’s really great to see you. Um, did you come to meet me?”

  After a pause and a deep breath, Noreen replied, “Yes, I got a letter from your Uncle Jim. Someone must have posted it for him. I thought we should talk about it. I phoned your dad and he said you were already on your way back. I thought I would meet you and we could have a coffee in town.”

  Coffee in town, that was okay. At least, she wasn’t there meeting someone else. Brian told her that would be great and told her again how good it was to see her. She didn’t mention if she was glad to see him or if he was looking well. He was sure that he was looking pale and tired and he hadn’t exactly dressed up for the flight, old sweatshirt (one that she didn’t like, damn it), old jeans, old sneakers. God, he didn’t even have a packet of mints. On their way to exit beside the taxi rank, he asked her to hang on a second while he used the bathroom. He managed to wash up, comb his hair and brush his teeth. He even managed to buy a packet of mints on his way back to her.

  They got into one of the waiting taxis and he asked the driver to drop them off at Grafton Street. He figured Bewley’s would be the best place to go, an old familiar place, a place they went when they were young and in lov
e. He offered her a mint and she accepted with a half-smile. Yes, so far so good, a half smile was good progress. Could he get that full beautiful smile before they got to town, he wondered? Any amusing anecdotes for her? He had just come from a funeral, would that be appropriate? He began to get nervous, what should he say? He need not have worried. Anyone who has been to Dublin and taken a taxi will understand; about a second after she had accepted the mint, the taxi driver started talking and didn’t stop until they hit Grafton Street. Where were they from? When the taxi driver heard that Brian was from New York, he gave them a complete run down on the summer he spent working construction with his cousins in Queens. He liked the States well enough, great craic out in Sunnyside, but his cousins were mad, everyone was illegal (working for cash) and the summer weather in New York was brutal. Which got him on to Irish weather, which he proceeded to explain to them although Noreen had mentioned that she was Irish and Brian had said that ‘they’ were living here now. Well, ‘they’ were both of them living in Ireland. Anyway, the driver rattled on about Irish weather like they were both tourists newly arrived. Brian supposed it was like a prepared speech that the taxi driver enjoyed giving. The taxi took them to the corner of Grafton Street and St. Stephen’s Green. They walked in silence to the café and managed to get a quiet table. It was late afternoon and the shoppers were heading home. They settled down with two coffees and Brian had a sticky bun to try and settle his stomach.