Roman Song

by Brian Kennedy

  It rang and rang. Just when Fergal was about to give up, he heard a click and the old housekeeper, Mrs Mooney, said breathlessly, ‘Hello, St Bridget’s House?’

  ‘Mrs Mooney, is that you?’

  ‘Yes, it is. Who’s speaking, please?’

  ‘It’s me, Fergal - Fergal Flynn. Mrs Mooney, do you not recognise my voice?’

  Mrs Mooney went crimson with embarrassment. ‘Ah God, Fergal, I’m sorry! You sound completely different. Tell us now, is the Pope all right? I’ve heard he hasn’t been well. And if you remember, would you ever light a candle at the Vatican for my husband? His back’s plaguing him.’

  Fergal laughed. ‘I will, Mrs Mooney. And the Pope’s grand, as far as I know. Is Father Mac in?’

  ‘I don’t know where he is at all. He’s busier than ever, God love him. Oh Fergal, he’ll be so sorry to have missed your wee call. Will I get him to ring you back?’

  ‘Please, Mrs Mooney. That would be great.’

  ‘Oh, I nearly forgot - how was your birthday?’

  ‘Ah sure, it was great, really great. Thanks for the card, too.’ Fergal heard the front doorbell of St Bridget’s down the line. ‘I’ve to go, Fergal. Your accent is lovely now, do you know that? So much softer. It suits you.’

  It hadn’t even occurred to Fergal that his accent might have altered. He went upstairs to get ready. His suit was missing from where he’d left it on the chair, and for a second he almost panicked, but then he found it hanging in the wardrobe, next to the winter coat he hadn’t worn since the day he’d arrived. Arianna had been to the rescue - she’d had the suit dry cleaned. Fergal wished he could do the same thing to the whole previous day, to his whole past. He settled for allowing himself the fantasy that the previous day hadn’t happened at all, that he was starting afresh.

  As he was leaving for Alfredo’s that evening, Fergal made a point of showing himself to Arianna and thanking her for having the suit cleaned. She gave him some spare flowers left over from the delivery for that evening’s tables to take to Alfredo, and Fergal, feeling a little less shaky, headed for the tram.

  As the tram rattled across the river, its windows offered a perfectly framed, moving view of Rome by night. Fergal caught sight of his reflection in the window, and it occurred to him that he looked like he was going on a date, which made him laugh. He still hadn’t fully adjusted to how different the new suit made him look and feel, but he loved it more and more.

  Fergal felt that he owed Alfredo not only an apology but also a proper explanation. He wanted to tell him more about his childhood - how he worried about his mother, even after everything she’d done to him, how his father and brothers had treated him, how helpless he had always felt, how weighed down, how unlovable. But even the thought of telling Alfredo terrified him. He was sure that Alfredo would think he was mad ever to have taken him on.

  Daniela answered the front door and ushered Fergal into the study. As he laid the flowers on top of the piano, Alfredo made his entrance, choosing his moment perfectly, as he had so many times on stage. Fergal couldn’t move, but Alfredo went to him and they embraced each other tightly.

  Daniela reappeared with two glasses of chilled white wine and they took them to the red velvet chaise longue. Alfredo studied every inch of Fergal’s face, approved of his new haircut and then said, ‘Now, Fergal, you must tell me everything about last night. You understand, I’m responsible for your well-being, especially the well-being of your voice. What else has all this work been for?’

  ‘I know,’ was all Fergal could manage.

  ‘Fergal, how can I put this without sounding old-fashioned? You must be careful who you decide to associate with. I know Rocco and Antonio are close to you in age, but they don’t have their voices to consider. They’re free to carouse around town, smoking and drinking too much and kissing God only knows how many pairs of lips. I know I sound like some old...fuddy-duddy? Is that what you say?’

  Fergal shrugged uncomfortably.

  ‘You must be especially careful who you’re intimate with. The kind of things those boys get up to, the kind of girls they like...well, it’s the easiest way to pick up germs. And it could set your training back weeks, even months, if you came down with a serious throat infection, for example.’

  Before Alfredo could utter another word of his rehearsed lecture, Fergal blurted out, ‘Oh God, Alfredo, I’m so embarrassed! It was a nightmare. I didn’t realise how much I’d actually drunk. Everything was on fast-forward and then in slow motion...’

  ‘My boy, it’s all right. It’s over now. Tell me what happened.’

  ‘One minute we were in the club with you and Arianna, and the next thing I was dancing with this girl, Sofia, and Antonio and Rocco were dancing with her mates. Then they ordered a taxi, and before I knew it we were in some strange house in the hills somewhere, I’ve no idea where. The fellas went off with the girls and left me and Sofia in the front room.’

  Fergal’s face had gone bright red and he took another sip of the wine. Alfredo nodded for him to continue.

  ‘Then, well, things started to happen.’

  ‘What things?’

  ‘You know...sex. In the other rooms. Sofia wanted me to do the same thing to her, but - ah, Jesus, it was a disaster. We ended up on the floor, and she was trying to get me to, you know, do it, but I...I...I had other things on my mind. She got really angry and upset, and she wanted to go home. I went home too. Antonio and Rocco weren’t very happy, I can tell you. Alfredo, I never meant to upset her, but it just wasn’t me. I couldn’t go through with it, I just couldn’t...’

  Fergal’s voice trailed off. He said, almost in a whisper, ‘It would’ve been a lie.’

  Alfredo’s kind eyes scrutinised him for a moment. ‘Oh Fergal, poor Fergal. What do you mean when you say it would have been a lie?’

  Fergal took a deep breath. ‘I’m gay, Alfredo. Jesus. There, I’ve said it.’ He looked away.

  ‘Fergal Flynn, you brave, brave man.’ Alfredo stood up and motioned for Fergal to do the same, and he hugged him even more tightly than before.

  ‘I’ve never told anyone else, except Der— I mean Father MacManus.’

  ‘He knows, does he? How did he react, seeing as the Catholic Church disapproves so deeply?’

  Fergal hadn’t meant to let that slip. ‘I - I mean, he was.. .he was great about it...he was very understanding. Very supportive. But Alfredo, I’m really worried. Sofia kind of guessed, and I don’t really want anyone else to know.’

  ‘My goodness, Fergal, what a birthday you’ve had! It’s not a good idea to broadcast this - you must know that. The world has a long way to come on that score.’

  ‘I know, but it just sort of happened.’

  ‘You’ve been very honest with me, so what would you say if I told you I was gay too?’

  Fergal tried to look surprised. ‘Really? God, Alfredo - thank you for telling me. When did you know?’

  ‘For as long as I can remember. What about you? When did you first know?’

  ‘Always. I don’t remember feeling any other way. But in Belfast... well, it’s not something you want to admit, even to yourself.’

  ‘Does your family know? Is that why things are bad at home?’

  ‘No - Jesus, no! I mean, they always slagged me about it, but I don’t think they know, not really.. .Oh God, Alfredo, what if Sofia tells her mates and they tell Antonio and Rocco? It’ll be all over the restaurant.’

  ‘Fergal, calm down. I can’t imagine that she would tell anybody. She’s probably very embarrassed herself. You’re both young. It’s natural to make mistakes and misjudge situations that start out as fun, especially after so much alcohol. I had a bad feeling when I had to leave you there. Rocco and Antonio should have known better, though. They must have had at least some of that evening planned. How else would they know that the house would be free? Just wait till I see them...’

  ‘Please, don’t. I don’t want them to get into any trouble with Arianna, or with you
. You said it yourself - I’m a man now. I have to take more responsibility. I was thinking about that all the way over here on the tram. That’s why I decided to tell you about me.’ ‘And I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it,’ Alfredo said gently. ‘I know only too well how hard it is to reveal one’s true self. Tell me something, if you don’t mind me asking?’

  ‘What? Anything.’

  ‘Did you have a lover, a boyfriend, in Belfast?’

  Fergal swallowed hard and absent-mindedly put his hand to his throat; it still felt raw. ‘Well, ah...not really. In Belfast, it’s pretty hard to do anything in secret.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure it is.’

  ‘What about you? Do you have someone?’

  Alfredo smiled. ‘Goodness, no. I wish I did. No, it’s been a very long time since I was in love with anyone - too long, in fact. Sometimes I think...’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That it’s too late. I’m not far off fifty. I envy you, Fergal.’

  Fergal was taken aback. ‘You envy me? You must be joking!’

  ‘No, not in the least. You have such an exciting journey ahead of you, if you’d only.. .Oh, never mind.’ Alfredo exhaled in frustration and refilled their glasses.

  ‘What? If I’d only what?’

  ‘If you’d only get out of your own way, Fergal!’

  Fergal shook his head. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘In a way, I’m glad this little crisis has happened. You have always seemed so impenetrable, and for the sake of your voice and your career, you must break past this barrier. Technically, you’re gaining so much ground, but you must go deeper into yourself.’ Fergal felt as if he had been slapped in the face. ‘Do you mean I’m not ready for the exam? Is that it?’

  Alfredo sighed. ‘No, I’m not saying that. I wouldn’t let you take the exam if I didn’t think you were ready. My reputation is on the line every bit as much as yours - more so, in fact, because I’m the one with a reputation. You don’t have one - yet.’

  Fergal’s head began to hurt again and his eyes filled up before he could stop them.

  ‘Fergal, I’m not saying any of this to hurt you. It needs to be said. At least you’re starting to open up. I can’t tell you how touched I am that you’ve told me you’re gay. Certainly this can be a burden, but...’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t think that is all of your burden. Certainly it has been hard for you to be different, especially where you grew up, but I get the feeling there’s something else much deeper. You need to dig, you need to uproot it. Only then will you be free to be who you really are - and what a singer you will be!’

  For an instant, Fergal thought he understood, but in the next moment he felt more confused than ever. ‘Alfredo, I can’t.. . I don’t ...Look, I’m sorry for all this mess, I’m sorry I went off with Antonio and Rocco. I won’t do it again. And I’ll work even harder for the exam, I promise. It’s just that sometimes I feel like...like I’m not good enough.’

  ‘Fergal, everyone has feelings of insecurity. For tonight, just concentrate on having a better time than you did last night! I won’t ask you to sing - you sound a little hoarse, but it’s nothing that sleep and plenty of water won’t remedy, so you must not worry. I have to tell you, I expected you to look and sound much worse; this is why I was so upset. And that haircut makes you look even younger and more handsome, if that’s possible!’

  The laughter in his voice made Fergal feel better. When Alfredo asked if he wanted anything, he remembered - he needed to call Father Mac.

  The phone was answered on the second ring.

  ‘Hello, St Bridget’s Parish House, Father MacManus here. How can I help?’

  ‘Dermot? It’s me, Fergal.’

  Father Mac nearly dropped the phone. ‘Fergal! I tried to call you on your birthday, but I couldn’t get through for some reason. Happy birthday, fella. Did you get your cards and the money?’

  ‘I did, yesterday. You’re great to remember.’

  ‘Sure, how could I forget? Eighteen, eh? How do you feel?’ Fergal lowered his voice. ‘Ah, I’ve felt better. I won’t lie to you -I was rotten drunk last night, and I made a complete eejit of myself.’

  ‘Good man. Sure, that’s what you’re supposed to do on your birthday.’

  ‘I suppose.’ Fergal wanted to tell him everything, but the words wouldn’t come.

  ‘Fergal, are you okay?’

  ‘I am, I am...Sorry, I’m just a bit, I don’t know, disconnected today. Look, I’m at Alfredo’s and I just told him.. .you know.. .that I’m gay.’

  The line went very quiet. Finally Father Mac exhaled. ‘I see. Well, that was very brave of you.’

  ‘That’s what he said. Dermot, I didn’t say a word about - about us. I never would.’

  ‘I know you wouldn’t, Fergal.’

  ‘But look, Dermot, how are you? It’s been ages since I heard your voice. I’ve phoned you, but you’re always out. Don’t worry, I know how busy you get, but I’d love to see you. You know it’s nearly a whole year now?’

  ‘I was only thinking that myself. I can hardly believe you’re gone a year.’

  ‘Hey, Dermot,’ Fergal said softly, ‘do you remember where we were on my last birthday?’

  There was a pause. The line crackled. In the Belfast distance, an ambulance siren wailed. Father Mac sighed heavily. ‘Ah, Fergal, what do you think? That kind of night is like an eclipse - rare and completely unforgettable, but almost unreal at the same time.’

  ‘I know. I dream about it sometimes. Do you?’

  ‘I don’t, Fergal. You know how I feel. I don’t regret what happened between us for a moment, but I’m glad you’re in Rome, where you should be, and I’m here, where I should be.’

  Fergal’s heart sank. Part of him still held onto the notion that Father Mac would change his mind and announce he was coming to Rome, to be with him.

  ‘The thing about an eclipse, Fergal,’ Father Mac said softly, ‘is that sometimes it’s never repeated in a lifetime. You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Don’t say that, Dermot. Look, I know you meant the best for me when you sent that letter, and I know what you’re saying, but—’

  ‘Fergal, don’t—’

  ‘I’m just saying, never say never.’

  ‘You’re young, free and single. You must have met someone in that gorgeous city.’

  ‘What? Well, not really.’ There was no way Fergal was going to tell him about his one-off with married Riccardo. ‘Look, when are you coming for a visit? You have to see Alfredo’s house.’

  Father Mac laughed down the line, and the tension that had been building between them evaporated. ‘You know I can’t make any promises, but I might have some time coming up.’

  ‘Seriously? Oh Dermot, that would be great! I bet you could stay here at Alfredo’s - that would save money on a hotel. I’ll ask him for you, will I?’

  ‘No, don’t do that. I haven’t made up my mind, and even if I’m able to come I don’t expect Alfredo to put me up. I’m sure he has enough on his plate. I might even bring my sister. She was asking for you, by the way.’

  ‘But Dermot, this house is huge - it’s about three times the size of St Bridget’s! But I won’t say anything if you don’t want me to.’ ‘Look, let’s see what happens. I do talk to Alfredo once a month or so, just to get updates, so I might mention it to him. It would be so good to see you too, fella. And a wee bit of sun wouldn’t go amiss either, not to mention peace and quiet. There’s been loads more riots, and the anniversaries are getting worse every year. If it’s not internment, it’s Bloody Sunday, and then the hunger strikes...Did you see anything about it on the news over there?’

  ‘I did once. I even saw the bottom of the Falls Road - you know, where the massive Bobby Sands murals are - but when I turned up the sound it was gone. It was so weird to be here and see the Falls Road on the news. It made me think of you, and of my ma, too. Thanks for forwarding her card. Did you talk to her again?’<
br />
  ‘No, it was on the hallway floor one day. I’ve only seen her once. I haven’t talked to anyone else in your family since you left. I’ve seen them from the altar a few times, but they never hang about after mass.’

  ‘Oh, right.’

  Father Mac hated to hear the subdued tone in Fergal’s voice whenever his family came up in conversation. ‘I do go and read your letters to Noreen, though, in the graveyard. Her grave looks very well kept - I think your mum goes there often - so don’t worry about a thing.’

  Alfredo’s doorbell rang, and Fergal and Father Mac said their hasty goodbyes as Giovanni’s and Luigi’s laughter filled the hallway.

  The rejuvenated atmosphere lifted everyone’s spirits. Over dinner, Giovanni and Luigi admired Fergal’s new suit and his new haircut. Giovanni said he had some potentially interesting news about the theatre where he worked, and Luigi told them all how the director of the coming production at the theatre had refused his suggestions of flower arrangements and opted for false ones. In the candlelight, Fergal couldn’t help drifting back to his conversation with Father Mac. The sound of his voice had been like a love letter, like a thousand warm kisses. It would be so good to see him again, in Rome this time, but Fergal knew he would have to be careful or Father Mac wouldn’t come. Alfredo spotted his far-off look and nudged him back to the conversation.

  During dessert, Giovanni winked at Alfredo and announced, ‘I have an interesting offer for Fergal to consider.’

  Luigi nearly choked on his mouthful of ice cream in his efforts to make some arch comment, but Giovanni threw him a look that said, Not now. ‘There’s a job coming up at the theatre,’ he said. ‘As soon as I heard about it, I thought it might be perfect for a certain fledgling opera singer.’ This time he winked at Fergal.

  ‘Go on,’ said Alfredo, leaning in earnestly.

  ‘One of the dressers is leaving to work in London,’ Giovanni said.

  ‘At first, the job would be mainly helping with the costumes before and after the performances, and possibly running an errand or two if one of the visiting stars needs something. It would build up from there. The money’s good enough, and Fergal could watch the performances every night. If he doesn’t mind giving up his evenings, I can arrange an interview.’