Wandering in Exile

by Peter Murphy

  “Then one day she came to me and asked me to bring it instead. She didn’t have to tell me why—I could see. And then when I brought out the coffee, your uncle could tell that I knew. I think that was when he realized that he was in love too.”

  He made it all sound so reasonable—like a Fellini story—but Patrick’s world was still spinning.

  “They never did anything they had to feel shame for. Your uncle stopped coming until my sister left, and then he asked if he was still welcome. He was a gentleman as well as a good priest. Don’t ever think anything else about him.” But Patrick couldn’t help it.

  He had found a photo of her on the top of a pile of handwritten letters that had never been posted. She was standing before the rotunda. She was very pretty but even Patrick could see she was shy. His uncle had written something on the back too. It read ‘Benedetta, summer of 1937.’

  The letters were all dated, too. Mostly from 1938 to 1965—a few years before Patrick was ordained. There were a few after that and the last one was written while he was ill. Patrick hadn’t read them yet. He was still in shock.

  “Patrick. Your uncle was a man, too, and every man has to fall in love at least once—even a priest.”

  Patrick said nothing lest he betray his own transgression, but he did nod his head.

  “Patrick, your uncle was a priest—a good one, too, and he did what was right and proper for everybody. There was no shame then and there should be no shame now.”

  He beckoned again for whiskey even though Patrick was still sipping his.

  “About ten years ago,” Giovanni continued, leaning closer to Patrick so no one else could hear, “he was here, on business in the Vatican, and he came by one afternoon. We got to talking and do you know what he told me? He told me all about you and said that you would be by someday. He said I was to look after you like family. Even though he stayed a priest he will always be a part of my family. And so are you.”

  He drained his glass and rose to leave. He stopped to put his hand on Patrick’s round shoulder. “There was no shame, Patrick. Always remember that.”

  Patrick nodded again and sipped the rest of his whiskey—the first one.

  “Can I ask you something?” He looked up into the old man’s kind face.

  “Anything.”

  “What happened to your sister?”

  “Benedetta? She went away to school for a few years after the war, but she never married.”

  “Is she still . . .?”

  “Yes, yes. She’s still alive. She comes to visit sometimes. Perhaps you would like to meet her?”

  “I’m not sure. Wouldn’t it be strange?”

  Giovanni just laughed and walked back inside. “Everything in life is strange,” he called back.

  *

  There was a single tall candle on the kitchen counter when Danny got home. Their bedroom door was slightly open and another candle flickered inside. He had put down his gear and was headed toward the fridge when she called out. “Danny?”

  He pushed the bedroom door a little wider but didn’t walk in. She didn’t like him to see her naked since the baby.

  “Oh, Danny?”

  She was lying back against the pillows. She was wearing black stockings and a garter belt. She was also wearing one of those bustiers, like Madonna wore—a leopard one. And she had all kinds of makeup on, far more than when she went out with her friends.

  She raised her leg so he could see the long black seam that went all the way back down.

  “Do you like what you see, Danny boy?”

  He was about to say ‘fucking-right,’ but thought better of it. He stripped to his waist and lay beside her, softly stroking her leg, right up to the garter belt. She looked like one of the women in Penthouse. He kept a copy in the bathroom, wedged between the wall and the toilet. He leaned forward and kissed her. “I love you.”

  He kept repeating it as she rolled him over and straddled him—just like the way he’d imagined the girls of Penthouse did. She even let her hair run along his chest as she pulled his pants down. She started running her mouth down the sides of his belly, but his erection kept getting in the way.

  She didn’t seem to mind so he lay back and hoped that she was going to do it.

  She did, a little, before she sat up and placed him up inside her. She let out a long gasp as he slid all the way in.

  “Oh, Danny! Yes, yes. Give it to me.” She even ran her hand through her hair and arched her back. Only when she turned toward him again—she looked more like Billie.

  “Oh, Danny. More, more, oh, E . . . Danny.”

  He might have commented but he was gritting his teeth and trying to hold on. She was going mad on him and he never wanted it to end.

  But it did. Loudly, too, and woke little Martin. Deirdre got up to get him, wrapping herself in her bathrobe as she went. The same bathrobe she had worn all the time when the baby was born.

  *

  She felt weird, cradling the baby while she still reeked of sex.

  Little Martin didn’t seem to mind and turned his head toward her breast. She moved him away and tightened her robe. She had a tough time weaning him. It was mostly her fault; she didn’t want to give up that bond.

  When she finally got back to her bed, Danny was fast asleep, but she didn’t really mind. She kissed the side of his sleeping face.

  She was a little ashamed of herself too. It just happened. One minute she was making her husband happy for the first time since . . . and then he popped into her mind.

  Only in her mind he sat forward and took her breasts between his big soft lips.

  She wondered what Danny would say if he knew. Not that she was going to tell him.

  And she couldn’t talk to Eduardo about it, though she did imagine that he would just smile if she did. He never actually tried to do anything when he was with her, except with his eyes. She could see the two of them in his reflections, in Portugal, standing on the edge of a cliff as the sun settled into the ocean.

  She certainly wouldn’t be telling Jean either. At the university, all of her friends had had sex with more than one person. It was one of the things they talked about when they went for drinks—and stayed too long. A lot of times they went wherever Danny was playing and she always found it weird to be having conversations like that while he was in the same room even though he couldn’t hear.

  And, as the evening went on, some of the women would fall ‘in love’ with him and some of them were bad at hiding it. It was his accent; they told her they all found it so erotic. And that Danny was really cute, in an artsy way.

  That always made her smile. It reminded her of the day in the Dandelion—when she had gone to say she was sorry. She didn’t fall in love with him then, but she did get to see him as he might be.

  Sometimes, she wondered if she wasn’t taking some of that from him. He was doing his best to keep the promises he made when little Martin was born, but she could tell—it was getting harder and harder.

  She didn’t help, sometimes, when she made suggestions about what he should do. Danny Boyle was never really cut out to be a family man. Her father used to say that he had ‘too much alley cat in him,’ but she was going to change all of that. After she graduated, she’d get a good job and he could just work on his music all the time. She could even let him build a recording studio in the basement after they got a nice house somewhere. He could even have Frank and Jimmy over as long as they didn’t toke up. At least not inside—it wouldn’t be right with little Martin.

  They would get there. They just had to make a point of making time for themselves as a couple. She didn’t need anybody else. She had someone to love—someone who would give up so much for her.

  She would make it all up to him. She’d be the best wife he could hope for, even if she noticed other people. There was no real harm in that. He probably did it too.

  She kissed him again and turned over to fall asleep, almost face to face with an image of Eduardo.

  *r />
  “Ah, son, it’s great to hear your voice. Tell me, what time is it over there?”

  “It’s five hours earlier than it is there.”

  “Well that doesn’t help. I was just having a lie-down on the couch when you phoned. I can’t find my glasses and I can’t read the clock. It’s one of those with the numbers on them. At least with the old ones, you could always tell where the hands were.”

  “It’s almost midday.”

  “There or here?”

  “Are you pissed or what?”

  “Pissed? Me? No. Who can afford to be getting pissed these days? Did you see the thing that y’er man Geldof did over in Hyde Park. It was brilliant, though some of the music was shite. They’re saying that Ireland gave more per capita than anybody else. It makes you proud, eh son?”

  “As a feckin’ peacock.”

  “And did you hear about the Virgin Mary? They’re saying you can see her in a grotto down in Ballinspittle. I bet you don’t have that yet in Canada?”

  “Listen. How’s Ma? Has she gotten over us not coming?”

  “You know your mother, but I told her it was for the better. After what happened that Indian jet—you can’t be too safe. They’re still finding bits of it.

  “Did you see, too, that they found the Titanic? You’re better off staying at home until the baby is born.”

  Danny waited for him to finish but he was glad he answered; his mother was still pissed about them cancelling their plans. They had to. It was a shock to them too. Deirdre said she was sure it couldn’t happen but she didn’t seem that upset by it.

  “Why don’t you and Ma come over here next year—when we have a house.”

  “I’m game for it, but I’m not sure about your mother. She’s not great on airplanes.”

  “How was your trip to the Costa Del Sol?”

  “It was brilliant, son. Just brilliant. Sitting in the sun, drinking good cheap brandies and eating like kings.”

  “You liked the food there?”

  “Of course we did. We found a nice little English pub and they did the best fish and chips. Only everybody was still talking about what happened in Heysel. It was a sad day for Liverpool.”

  “I thought it was the Italians who were killed.”

  “It was, but it was still a sad day for Liverpool.”

  10

  1986

  “If we get ten thousand from your parents, five thousand from mine, plus the two we have in savings, we can do it.” They were sitting by the kitchen counter as little Martin sat in front of the Saturday morning cartoons. It was the only way they could have a chance to talk in peace.

  “I don’t know. My parents don’t have that kind of money.”

  “They do now. Your mother told me that your father just sold the houses they had in Rathgar.”

  “I know, but that money is tied up in the business. I wouldn’t feel right asking for it.”

  “Danny. You signed over the house when they needed it. Now we are just asking them to return the favor. They won’t mind.”

  “I don’t know. Couldn’t we just ask your parents for more?”

  “My parents don’t have any more.” Deirdre looked exasperated but it might have been the baby. She was much bigger than she was with Martin and her face was almost round.

  “But even if we get it, we still can’t afford a mortgage. I just don’t make enough.”

  Deirdre rechecked the figures she had scribbled on the pad. “Of course we can. It will be tight for a year or so but we’ll manage. I’ll be finished studying by the end of the summer if this one,” she patted her huge belly, “lets me; then I’ll get a job too.”

  Danny sipped his coffee but he couldn’t see it. “But what about daycare? Having both of them in will kill us.”

  “Martin will be starting school soon so we’ll save on that. You’ll see.”

  “I don’t know, Deirdre. Frank was just telling me that it’s getting harder and harder to get gigs. No one is going to bars anymore.”

  “Danny, it’s almost March; it’s the annual dress-in-green-and-get-foolish-and-tell-everybody-you’re-Irish time. You guys always make lots of money around St. Patrick’s Day.”

  “Yeah, but what will we do when it’s gone? We’ll have nothing left over for going out or anything.”

  “Danny. We have a toddler and another on the way—how often did you think we would be able to go out? And, if you were to go to night school you could learn about computers. Everybody says there will be a shortage of computer people. You could even start applying for promotions.”

  “What do I know about computers? I need to take my socks off to count to twenty.”

  “Danny, don’t run yourself down. You’re a lot smarter than you give yourself credit for. Besides, you’d be doing it for the kids.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “And that’s why you need to go back to school—so you can learn.”

  He didn’t like it when she did that even though it was the only way things were getting done. He had kind of let her take over their finances after he had hidden a bit for himself—to do his own stuff. He felt bad about it but he still had to be a guy—for a while yet.

  *

  “Are you gonna buy it or not?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Fuck’s sake, Danny.” Frank looked exasperated. “I’ve already told him you’d let him know today. He won’t hold it forever.”

  Danny wanted it. It was a great car and the price was right. It was a ’76 Chevy Bel Air station wagon with the 400 four-barrel V8. Danny wasn’t really sure what that meant but it would be perfect. It was big, just what he wanted for when his parents came over. “It’s important to show them how well you’re doing over here. Otherwise there was no point to any of it,” Frank had advised him as soon as he heard. And it would be perfect for driving the family around. He’d pull Deirdre close to him on the front bench as they wheeled along with the kids in the back seats going to the zoo and places like that.

  It would be great for the band’s gear too. They had been using Frank’s van but it only had two seats and that always caused problems.

  “Fuck it. Tell him I’ll take it.” Danny had stashed almost a grand, and Frank was loaning him the rest without Deirdre knowing. He needed that car. Only how was he going to explain it?

  “But if Deirdre asks, tell her that I’m getting it cheaper.”

  “I will in my bollocks. I’m not getting into the middle of your domestic problems.”

  “I don’t have domestic problems.”

  “Course you do. Everybody who gets married and has kids gets them.”

  *

  “It’s very big. Are you sure we can afford it?”

  “But I got it for next to nothing.”

  “I hope you didn’t dip into the house money.”

  “Of course I didn’t. Besides, he’s going to take it in payments.”

  “Danny? Don’t you think we should have talked about it first?”

  “I would have but I had to snap it up. There were a bunch of people who wanted it.” Danny lied, but ‘talking about things’ just meant Deirdre telling him what they were going to do. They never got to do the stuff he wanted. “Besides,” he continued, “it will be great when my parents come over.”

  “But it isn’t in the budget.”

  “I know, but you’re always talking about elasticity. We can make it work. You always know how. C’mon, let’s take Martin for a spin.”

  “Not until you get a child-seat.”

  “Oh, yeah. Where do you get those?”

  “Canadian Tire.”

  So Danny spent the first of many Saturdays in Canadian Tire, with all the other married men, walking down every isle. Some of them even pushed carts while they browsed the tools and things that turned ordinary guys into fathers.

  *

  “Are you sure you know how to drive this thing?” Jerry lit a smoke and looked doubtful. “It’s as big as a boat.”

&nb
sp; Jacinta lowered her sun glasses. “It’s very shiny.” She fanned herself as Danny climbed in, unlocked the doors and opened the windows.

  “It’s a bit hot but I’ll turn on the A/C as soon as we’re in.” Danny beamed as he got back out and loaded their luggage in the rear. He settled his mother in the backseat as his father got into the passenger seat and fumbled with his seat belt. He had been drinking the whole flight over and his breath was whiskey sour. And tobacco-y.

  “All right?” Danny sat in beside him and smiled broadly as he cranked and cranked once more.

  “Does it not work properly?” Jerry asked with just a whisper of a sneer.

  “Of course it does; it’s just a bit hot.” Danny cranked a few more times until the engine caught and began rumbling all the way through the car. “That’s the problem with the 400, four-barrel V8, it’s a bit sluggish but she’s great after that.” He wiped his sweat on his sleeve as he turned and backed out carefully. It was the one thing he still hadn’t gotten the hang of. He could handle it out on the road but getting in and out of parking spaces was a bitch. He’d already had a few dings and Deirdre was getting pissed. “We could have gotten something smaller but you just had to get something ridiculous.” But it was all very well for her to complain—she had no intention of getting her license. She didn’t have the time.

  When he was as close as he dared to the cars behind, he began to roll forward, almost straight to the cars in front.

  “I think you need to pull on the wheel a bit,” his father offered when they had gone directly back and forth a few times.

  “Maybe your Daddy could get out and give you some help. It must be so hard with a car like this.” She watched him as his face fell and added: “Go on, Jerry. Help him.”