All Roads

by Peter Murphy

  Everybody did crazy things when they were drinking but other people could choose to avoid it—even if they chose not to. Alcoholics couldn’t. As well as having a psychological dependency, they also developed a physical addiction that in time became an allergy. Then, to try to hide that, they had to learn to lie so convincingly that even the people who didn’t believe them weren’t sure.

  It was a vicious cycle that made little sense to anyone around them, and even when they were trying to lie low and keep out of trouble, the shame of all of that would set them off again—that and the unmanageable compulsion. They’d start nitpicking about things at first, to release all the tension that was building inside them. Then, as it grew, they’d have bouts of bitching and complaining, chafing against restraints while sounding like spoiled brats.

  Until they crossed that line. After that, it all became the thrashings of another soul in pain.

  That was Danny to a tee, and even though he’d heard all of that a thousand times, he’d still gone back out, over and over, and that’s what really scared him. After his coma, he couldn’t risk it again.

  He just couldn’t see how he was going to manage. He still had all those terrible feelings deep down inside. He’d tried all the stuff in the steps about resentments and making amends, but no matter how hard he tried to believe he really meant it, he knew he was just kidding himself. His stuff was branded right into him.

  A lot of it was from when he was a kid. He’d never felt good about himself. Especially with his granny. It wasn’t her fault. That’s the way people were back then. Once you started to screw up, you were done for. For all everybody went on about Jesus and the lepers and all, nobody really did stuff like that.

  The kids at school were always picking on him, too, because his father was gone and his mother was in the loony bin. Even their parents spoke about him as if he was a bit soft in the head or something. His granny told him to ignore them—that they were nothing but gossips—but it got inside him and stayed with him all his life, gnawing away at him. And he’d never found a way to make it stop.

  By the time he’d gotten involved with Anto he’d already given up. He was never going to be a part of all that was supposed to be right and proper in the world. How could he? They were never going to accept him.

  He’d really tried again with Deirdre, but in the end all it brought was pain and sorrow—for her, the kids, and himself. He wished he could have done it differently but he was a lost cause and always had been. And now that he’d been well and truly beaten down, his only option was to do whatever it took to crawl out from under it all.

  The old-timers—the ones who’d been all the way to the bottom—talked about the day they knelt down and really asked for help. They all said that was the day everything changed for them; and it wasn’t about God and all—it was about admitting to themselves that they were powerless.

  He shook his head and smirked as he stared up at heaven. He wasn’t sure if it even existed, but he was certain about hell. He knelt down, resisting the urge to bless himself—but he couldn’t help it, being in Rome and all.

  “Dear God, if you’re there I need help. And I’m not just asking for myself. I’m asking for my family. They’ve suffered enough.”

  They’d also said that the real power in prayer came when they put others first.

  *

  “You know you’re praying to a heretic?” Patrick Reilly offered as casually as he could. He’d been watching Danny from the shadows and his heart was almost breaking. In the low light he could almost see Danny as he had been long ago.

  “Well.” Danny smirked as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “I’ve tried everyone else.”

  “Can I be of any help?”

  For a moment Danny looked like he was about to say yes, but then his face clouded over again. “I doubt it, Father. I think it’s a bit too late for me.”

  “Ah now, Danny, don’t be thinking like that. Where there’s life there’s always hope.” It was a platitude but it was from the heart, and Patrick could see what Danny needed most was for someone to believe in him again.

  “There is, but you know me, Father. It’s only a matter of time before something flips a switch inside of me and I’ll pick up another drink. And the next time . . .”

  Patrick could see beyond his fatalism. Danny was frightened. “Not if you were to avoid the things that get to you.”

  “But it’s everything.” Danny sighed. “The whole world is lying and cheating and everybody else goes along with it—except when I do it.”

  Danny looked pained so Patrick tried to smile. Maybe John was right. Maybe it would have been easier to pretend there was some magic in the world that could help. But the bishop would have reminded him that, at the end of the day, they had abused that—and a lot of it was nothing more than superstition to begin with.

  He’d do it his own way. He’d show Danny some of the love and kindness he’d been taught. Danny had always been too sensitive for his own good. He was never really cut out for the way things were. Not unlike Patrick, himself.

  “Danny, did you ever consider that your granny might have been right about you? Maybe you were a born saint only you haven’t come to realize that yet.”

  That seemed to make him stop and think, but only for a moment. “Well, I’m not like any saint I ever heard of.”

  Patrick smiled to himself. He could almost hear his uncle wanting to weigh in and have his say.

  “Well, I think the difference between devils and saints is that no matter how bad a saint is behaving, they always keep their conscience. The devils throw theirs away the first time they become inconvenient. And some of those saints were right devils in their day—and I’ve read enough about them to know. Paul and Augustine, to name a couple. But they found a way to go on and become something better.”

  “I’ve tried, you know?” Danny answered after staring at the moon for a while, perched as it was just above Bruno’s shoulder. “Probably harder than most people—and a lot harder than anyone gives me credit for—but I can’t. Keep coming back, they kept telling me. It will get better. But it didn’t, and the longer I went to meetings, and did all the things you’re supposed to do, the worse I felt.”

  He was wringing his hands and his knuckles were white. “You know,” he continued, looking Patrick in the eye, “in the program they make us do a moral inventory? Well, the only good I could find was that I’d die and it would all be over—only I can’t even do that properly.”

  Patrick took a moment and thought about what his uncle might say. He’d said it often enough in his writings. Patrick just had to put it all in a way that Danny might understand. And he didn’t want to be condescending either. He’d read up on alcoholics and everyone said they could be a bit prickly. No, if he was going to be of any help, he’d have to try offering a bit of humanity.

  “Danny, sometimes the world can seem very dark.”

  “It’s all lies and bullshit, isn’t it?”

  Danny wasn’t being defiant—he was just at the end of his rope. “Well, there is that, Danny, but you have to understand: most people are just afraid and cling to whatever they need to get by.”

  “Then why doesn’t everybody just come out and admit it?”

  Patrick smiled at that—it was a bit rich coming from someone who’d spent so much of his life denying the obvious, but it wasn’t for Patrick to judge. It was for him to bring a bit of comfort to those who were suffering and Danny was as much a victim of his environment as a product of his own choices. The bishop had been adamant about things like that.

  “Do you remember my uncle, the bishop? He once said that we create the truths we need—and we go on doing that until we’re so lost that the middle becomes the edge. He used to say it was one of our fundamental flaws—an original sin if you like. He also said that even after we’re exposed to the truth, we go scur
rying back to the like-minded and huddle in congregations to celebrate the great emptiness inside of us.”

  “You’re not asking me to believe in all that stuff again?”

  “No, I’m not, Danny. All I’m saying is that we’ve made this beautiful life into a hell on earth and instead of becoming the mindless followers of cults and creeds, we’re supposed to be trying to be a bit nicer to each other.”

  “Then I’m fucked on that score too.”

  “In a way.” Patrick nodded and ignored the profanity. “And in another way you’ve done most harm to yourself.”

  “I don’t think my family would agree with you.”

  “They’re still here for you, Danny, even after everything. How are you going to reward that? That’s all that really matters now.”

  “Do you not think it’s too late?”

  “Danny, I’m sure you’ve often heard it said that there’s more joy in heaven over one lost sinner who repents.” Patrick was getting a bit religious so he switched tack—that was the last thing someone like Danny needed to hear.

  “Have you ever heard the words of Yehuda Berg? He was the one who said ‘hurt people hurt people.’ He was asking us to stop making more pain in the world. We can stop causing pain, Danny, to ourselves and others. We may not find forgiveness in this world but we can know that we stopped causing pain, and sometimes that’s the best we can hope for.”

  Danny seemed to be considering that and sat at the foot of the statue. He still looked scared, as though there were demons waiting for him in the little streets around the piazza.

  “Do you know who Giordano was?” Patrick asked as if he hadn’t noticed and sat down beside him. “He was burned to death on this spot for his heresy, but I don’t think he was a heretic. I think he was more like a playwright or a novelist. He said things that frightened people, and those who ruled saw him as a threat. If Bruno could speak his mind then others would follow and the whole system of rule would come tumbling down.

  “And the reason I mention it, Danny, is that you’ve survived the fires of hell, so to speak, and I think you could still go out and do a bit of good in the world.”

  “Like what?”

  “You already know. You could start by bringing a bit of happiness to those that love you.”

  “Until I fuck-up again?”

  “Don’t be talking like that, Danny. You’ve been given another chance and I don’t believe it’s for you to fail again. I really don’t. I think it might be Fate finally balancing out—or God’s mercy. It really doesn’t matter. What does matter is what you’re going to do with it.”

  Danny hesitated, trying to decide. “I’d like to believe you. I really would, but how?”

  Patrick wasn’t sure what to say to that. He’d never been through what Danny had suffered. He’d read about people who had but, while that gave him empathy, he had little insight except to offer a bit of hope.

  For the love of God, Patrick, the bishop’s voice boomed down from above. Tell him that I’ve been dead for decades and I’m still here trying to talk sense into you. That should tell him all he needs to know.

  “Danny,” Patrick continued as he tried to shut out his uncle’s interruption, “you know there are people who never gave up on you?”

  “Like who?”

  “Well, there’s your mother. And I’m sure that Deirdre and the children haven’t either—deep down inside.

  “And I always like to think that those who’ve gone before are still there when we need them. We all have a few dead relatives that we like to keep in our thoughts and our prayers. We like to think of them up in heaven, advocating on our behalf. What decent human being could ignore that?”

  “My father and my granny didn’t seem to have any problem moving on.”

  “Your granny was just doing what she thought was best, and your father walked many of the same paths you did, Danny. Would you begrudge them a little peace and quiet now or would you want them suffering along beside you?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t. And if they were all here with you, I’m sure they’d tell you to put all the other stuff behind you and enjoy a bit of life before it’s too late.”

  “But what if I drink again? After the coma . . . it’ll kill me.”

  “Then you’ll just have to choose not to.”

  “You know me and choices.”

  “I do, Danny, and I’m sure that this time you’ll only make the right ones.”

  “I wish I could be so sure.”

  “Would it help if I told you that you might have been right all along? Life is one lie stacked on top another. It begins at the mother’s breast because what woman could look into her baby’s eyes and tell them the truth? Only you’re not supposed to say that. What would happen if all our priests and politicians were to tell us the real truth?”

  “So how am I supposed to tell what’s true and what isn’t?”

  “There was something my uncle said: that if they’re trying to get you to believe it, it’s probably a lie. And if they try to keep you from knowing about it, it’s probably true. He also said that in this age of lies, only the sinner is truly honest.”

  Chapter 20 – Christmas 2013

  Hi, my name is Danny . . .” He paused and looked around the room, trying to make eye contact with as many people as possible. “And I’m definitely an alcoholic.”

  “Hi, Danny,” they all called back with a touch of festive cheer in their voices. It was Christmas Eve and, right after the meeting, he was going over to Martin and Rachael’s to watch his grandkids open their presents.

  “And I’m here tonight to tell you about how, after years of drinking and bouncing in and out of this program, I have finally found a bit of contented sobriety.” Since he got back from Rome a new hope had grown inside him, and it had been two years since he picked up a drink. And, even more important, he hadn’t wanted to either.

  “I was one of those guys that had to keep going back out until I reached the bottom and then some. I once stayed sober for a few years and still went back out.” This time it was different. He could have tried to explain it but who would believe him? It wasn’t so much what Patrick Reilly had said to him—it was the effect it had on him. It was almost like Patrick was speaking directly to his soul.

  “Keep coming back,” someone shouted from the back row where Joel sat. He was waiting to drive Danny and he liked sitting in on meetings. He said he liked the positivity—and the black humor.

  “You said a mouthful there, my friend. Keep coming back because it does get better—but only after it gets worse. A lot worse. And let me tell you something else. I was one of those guys that had to have proof, so I did a bit more research than most of you.”

  Most of them laughed at that, particularly those who had been in and out a few times; and especially those that were done with all that. He could see it in their faces and they could see it in his.

  “I can see now that each time I went back out it was because deep down I never really accepted that I can’t manage my own life—even when I’m not drinking. I used to think it was pride—that I could beat this on my own—but it was just stupidity.

  “Now, I know that it means I can’t trust myself. In trying to cover up all the totally insane things I did when I was drinking I had to lie and cheat and do all kinds of things that I wish I hadn’t. And then, when I sobered up, I used to be ashamed, and that would get me drunk, over and over.

  “Now, I know that if don’t pick up the next drink, and I follow this program, and try to practice the steps, and admit when I’m wrong now and then, I just might have the chance of becoming a normal human being again. It sounds like a lot, but when you look at the way the rest of the world behaves—the standard isn’t very high.”

  The whole meeting laughed at that and Joel beamed at him like a proud papa.
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  “But I have to have a bit of hope, too, and faith in something better—like being a part of this program and being around you people.” He paused to look around and smiled. They were all damaged but were quietly rebuilding their lives.

  “When I was a little kid, my granny used to tell me that there would always be guardian angels in my life. She was right. You people have been like guardian angels to me, and now I’m beginning to believe in a higher power.

  “Please keep an open mind because my higher power might be different to yours.” He wouldn’t say it aloud, but Danny still wasn’t ready to accept the god that so many at meetings evangelized for with their reformed zeal. It was the same god that the rest of the world fought over—or used as a rubber stamp for their inhumanities. It was one of the things that still bothered him, but he wasn’t going to let it drive him out again. The old-timers always said that it was a spiritual program and to think of a higher power as anything that might inspire him to be a better person. “The rest of it,” they had said about churches and the Bible, “are outside issues and we have no opinions on them.”

  “Mine is very simple. I just want to be a better human being. It’s tough but the more I work on it—the easier it gets. I’m still not sure about what other people mean by god because throughout my life everyone who talked about stuff like that was usually trying to screw somebody out of something. That was one of the things that kept driving me back—that, and I could never get rid of the compulsion to drink.” But since that night in Rome, whenever he thought about picking up a drink his next thought was about the following morning, when he’d be back to sweating and shivering. It might not be the next morning but it would happen sooner or later.

  “And even when my drinking got to the point where I knew it was killing me, I couldn’t stop. Part of it was addiction—my body couldn’t function without it—and part of it was denial.