Visit The world Of
Michael G Kimber
The - New - Nightwriter
DANCING AT THE CROSSROADS
Chapter Two
Scene One
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Later that day, her composure restored, Molly felt the time was right to clear the air. "I have no shopping to do, as far as I know you have no plans until the evening. I do not expect any callers, so I want to hear it all. Beginning to end, what you have done with yourself these forty odd years."
"Everything?"
"Everything."
There'll be parts you won't like."
"Everything."
There'll be parts that I am ashamed of."
"Everything."
Michael laughed; the little charade had certainly eased the tension. "OK, but to tell you everything will take another forty years, so I'll give you the cut down version."
"Providing you don't cut out any important bits. Start with the fight."
"You know that we were fighting over Connie?"
Molly nodded.
"Well here goes then; but no interruptions mind."
As Michael started to tell his story, he knew he had to tell it as it was. No glossing over; no half truths or attempting to lay the blame elsewhere. As his sister asked he started with the fight though he knew that the story started long before that. It started when he met and fell in love with Connie. He and Co'lin had been friends right from being children, but Connie came between them. Michael had sensed this and contrived to include Co'lin whenever he could, until they almost became a threesome. In no time at all Co'lin was also in love with Connie. But though Connie came to like Co'lin she didn't love him.
"She only loved me." Michael assured Molly.
"Get on with it."
At the beginning he told his story hesitantly, trying to find the right words; about the time when, after months of holding back their feelings they finally ignored catholic teaching - that bit about sex before marriage. Then, he told her, they ignored it again, and then quite a few times more - indeed, whenever they managed to give Co'lin the slip. But sadly they didn't ignore that other part of catholic teaching - the part that bans the use of contraception - so inevitably one day Connie told Michael that she was pregnant.
Despite his warning Michael stopped talking again expecting some comment, but all he got from Molly was an impatient wave of the hands. Continuing, he went on to tell of Co'lin's reaction when he found out, which at the time he found hard to understand. There had been no expressions of shock, or of pleasure. He just went very quiet. When he got the chance he cornered Michael and claimed that he too had ignored the teachings of the church with Connie and that the child was his.
I was shocked, I can tell you. Connie would never let you make love to her. I told him. But later Connie admitted that once, only once, Co'lin had come to her very upset and depressed, and while trying to comfort him she had given in to his urging, and they did finish up making love. Shortly after that came Connie's announcement, our big fight, Co'lin's death, and me running like a scared chicken.
Molly moved as if to speak, but Michael stopped her, having made a start in his quest to bare his soul, he did not want to break off.
The next three weeks were a nightmare, he recalled. Even after four decades he could still remember the fear. Keeping hidden; living rough; stealing food, moving only at night. He stole a boat when he reached Lock Derg, and spent two or three nights rowing, hiding in the day time until he found himself in Portumna. Every second was torture, listening for sounds that might mean that a search party was close; and when he was forced into the towns he would freeze if he saw the Garda. It took three weeks to reach Dublin, and another before he dared pluck up the courage to walk into the ticket office. There he bought a return ticket for the ferry to Liverpool.
Again he stopped Molly from interrupting.
“I bought a return so it wouldn't look suspicious,” he explained but I was shaking when I walked up the ramp and onto the ship.
Without waiting he continued his story, but with eyes closed and in a dream like state, almost as though he were reading from a book. When he reached Liverpool he left the docks area as fast as he could, but he had no idea where he was heading. It was little more than luck that he found himself in one of those cosmopolitan areas, with a local community made up from a mix of Scousers, Asian, Indian, and Chinese people, plus people from many other parts of England. But best of all he discovered that there was a lively Irish community there as well.
He found a job as a labourer on a building site. Despite working hard on the farm he was shocked at the toughness of the job, at least at the beginning. "Never worked so hard in my life," I told my new mates, but it was an income; no questions asked, and cash in hand. Six months it was before he thought of moving on. By then I was pretty much used to my new life, fit and lean. Thinking that by now interest in him would have lessoned, I decided to make a move. But where to go? London seemed to be the right choice, so one day I went to the docks to see what was what; maybe get on a coastal ship and work my passage to the capital, where he thought he would be able to lose himself.
“It’s strange it is how sometimes fate takes a hand, and this was to be one such a time.” He briefly opened his eyes before continuing. i found a dockside pub that was full and noisy, but through the sound of voices he could distinctly hear the familiar strains of an Irish band. Inside it was smoky and even more noisy than he had expected, but he felt safe amidst a multitude of Irish voices. After a little while he ventured some innocuous remark to the man next standing to him. He responded in a friendly way and, and in an accent similar to his own, and with each recognising a kindred spirit before long we were in polite but inconsequential conversation. Michael took a chance and asked this man if he knew of any ships heading for London.
"Sorry mate," he said - a half smile appeared on Michael's face as though, even in his dream like state he remembered - "don't know about that. Now if you wanted to go to New York I'd be your man."
The stranger laughed quietly, thinking that he had made an amusing remark, but the effect on Michael was electric. New York! he thought, why not? Such an idea had never occurred to him, but that man, a man he had never seen before, had pushed an unexpected door ajar. Dare he open it and walk through. More conversation and a few more beers was all it took for him to take that leap. Michael's new 'friend' - a year or two older than himself - knew the ropes; said he could help with the papers but that he'd need some cash. Before long Michael was signed on as a deck hand on his ship; due to sail two days later.
Michael stirred, sat back and looked at his sister. She had not said a word since he started his story, despite a couple of attempts. Now she didn't try but was looking at him with a curious gaze.
"Ten days later I was in America, at the beginning of a new life." he concluded. Michael could see that Molly's eyes were moist, and wondered what part of his story had moved her.
"And did you never think of us back home?" she asked in a whisper.
"All the time Sis; all the time."
After a while he continued his tale, almost dream like as though he was talking about someone else. The ocean sailing, he told her, had been mostly uneventful. Despite his new 'friend' being on board, in an important, if not quite senior, position, Michael was very apprehensive. There were thirty other crew members and a few passengers on the cargo ship, but he mostly managed to avoid them. He kept to his cabin whenever he could, and also found a number of places where he could remain out of the way even when on duty. His tasks as a deck hand were physical but undemanding, and by making every effort to keep his nose clean, and avoiding any kind of confrontation. He saw the days pass without incident and the crossing was completed in just over a week.
Michael's farewell to his sailor acquaintance was conducted with mixed feelings. If he had thought otherwise he was soon to discover that theirs was not a friendship that would last beyond the sailing. Indeed. They would likely never see each other again once their business had been concluded. But in this matter events were to prove him wrong. They had spent a little time together on board, during which time he had told Michael all he could about New York, confining his comments to those parts which he thought might be useful to one who would not want to draw attention to himself. In particular the whereabouts of the main centre's of Irish immigrants. It was only when the crossing was over that Jack showed his true colours, and the real reason for his supposed friendship. Money. The only thing remaining to be settled was money. His friendship with Jack turned out to be no more than a marriage of convenience.
For Michael their alliance provided him with free passage, and the provision of documents that would allow him to blend into the lower strata's of American society.
For Jack it was simply money. For starters he had taken almost every penny that Michael had stolen from his parents and sister. "For the paperwork." he had said. Far worse however, Michael was to discover was that his friendship and understanding was nothing more than a ploy to find out all he could about the runaway. In particular who he was running from; crooks or coppers; what crime had he committed, and was he a habitual or casual criminal. He had managed to extract from Michael just about the whole story. Then, to add further pressure, he told Michael that he had heard whispers of questions being asked by the police.
Finally he dropped his bomb shell, letting it be known that Michael's story was all written down, and that there would be a price for his silence. That was to be the first of many dealings with the dark underbelly of New York society. An aspect of life he was destined to get to know very well.
In his agitated state Michael had little choice but to agree, and was even grateful to Jack for giving him time to get settled before making the first payment. Also he provided an address where Michael could find a place to live, and the name of another man - Irish of course - who could help him find work.
If his introduction to American 'hospitality' was unnerving, so was his first impressions of New York. Nothing seemed normal any more, not least the enormous city itself which seemed to reach into the very sky, with it's vast buildings, and constant flood of traffic. Most of all for a country boy people in unimaginable numbers. The shock of the run down tenement area Jack had directed him to, and overriding all that was the combined effect of the noise and the dirt. To one brought up in the quiet green Irish countryside it was like hell on earth, and Michael could not help but think of the 'paradise' he had left behind.
His 'welcome' at the address he had been given did little to ease his feeling of misgiving. The janitor-cum-manager of the dilapidated building did nothing to lessen the tension. Taking the piece of paper from Michael, he read, sniffed, read it again and nodded. "Jack." Michael heard him mutter, before looking directly at him.
"Fourth floor room 419. $50 a month - in advance - on the dot; no excuses." Nothing to indicate any interest in Michael, or concern for his plight. Not even the fact that he too was late of the Emerald Isle softened the cold reception he was giving the newcomer. At one point Michael thought he saw the makings of a smile on his new landlords face, but then decided that it was more likely to have been a sneer.
The apartment turned out to be two small rooms, one of which was blessed with a cheap, well worn, and distinctly musky carpet, while the floor in the other was covered with well worn lino. The carpeted room contained a double bed, which, when not required, up-ended to look like a wardrobe. When lifted the 'wardrobe' presented a folding table hinged at the top, which, as tables go, was just, though barely, adequate. A single hinged leg at its front edge was all there was to keep it upright, and any undue weight at either side, from weary elbows for example, produced a decided tilt. Only two hard upright chairs were provided so clearly it was not expected that many guests would be invited to share a meal. There was a built in chest of drawers at one side of the bed, and on the other side was a real, though small wardrobe. It was fixed to the wall which together used up the whole wall, and completed the bedroom furniture.
Two so called easy chairs and a folding card table standing before a two bar electric fire set in the wall completed the furnishings. One of the bars from the fire was missing. Such was the smallness of the room that when the bed was down the chairs had to be pushed into the corners and the card table folded. One small window, and one light bulb was all there was to relieve the gloom of the 'master' room, and oh', there was one other item provided in the so called ‘furnished’ apartment. A coat hook on the back of the door, complete with one wire hanger.
The other room, smaller, little more than a large cupboard, was the kitchen. A three ring electric hob set above a cupboard in which to store food. A pot sink, cracked and grimy with a drainer set above another cupboard, even smaller than the other, with two drawers where one might keep a couple of pans, some cutlery and a few tea towels. Finally an old, small, mildewed fridge. The floor covering was Lino, worn through in front of the sink.
As with the master room where the final luxury was the hook on the door just as it was in the kitchen, but here, praise be, there were three wire hangers.
Chapter Two
Scene Two
Those two little room became Michael's home for a year as he slowly emerged from the shadow of fear and discovery. It was a time of great difficulty; of a succession of low paid temporary jobs and hand outs. When they dried up it was a time of petty thieving, mostly food, and sometimes theft of a more serious nature, when lack of funds brought him perilously close to losing his 'appartment'. Inevitably he had been drawn to spend most of his time amongst the Irish community, where he felt he had something in common, and where he discovered a few surprising things. One was that most of the men he managed to engage in conversation were as reluctant to speak of their background and activities as he was. He had learned the lesson very well from Jack the sailor about being free with things that should be private. He soon came to realize that most of his new acquaintances had in one form or another, learned the same lesson, so conversations were often conducted in clichés and platitudes. None-the-less friendships were made, and gradually the circle of those he could trust widened. Another thing he discovered was that, despite the lives most of his new friends lived, with often a wafer thin separation between honesty and dishonesty, and a 'needs must' disregard of the law, most were as straight as circumstances allowed. A different kind of morality had, over many decades evolved through years of poverty and struggle. For many this meant survival by whatever means you could; or go under. The most surprising thing of all however, was to discover how many of them still regarded the church as central to their way of life.
The weeks and then the months went by; a job here and a job there. Never enough to take him to the top of the heap, but usually enough to prevent him sinking to the bottom. Then one day Michael realized he has passed the anniversary of his arrival in New York. Curiously he had lost track of time, and but for the arrival of Jack the sailor he might not have been aware. But on that day Jack had called to collect his dues, and, as luck - that is to say the absence of luck - would have it, he called at one of the lean times.
"Come on Jack." Michael had said, "You've got to give a little slack here - you know how tough things are."
"Four days. In a week I'll be at sea again, so you've got four days. after that you'll be out on the streets, and you'll be looking over your shoulder. Don't think I'll forget."
"Come on Jack. You know I haven't missed any payments since I arrived, but it's hard just now."
Jack took a little book from his pocket. "I'll give you that." he said. "One year, one week and a day. You've been a good payer - and that's how it's going to stay. Understand? Four days."
Michael was at a loss. Four times a year he was visited by Jack, and each time he was reminded that his freedom was in his hands, and that it would stay that way until he had paid him ten thousand dollars. Only then would hand over all the notes he had made during the crossing from Liverpool, notes which would, if they came into the 'wrong' hands, cost him not only his freedom, but possibly his life.
"Where am I going to get money like that from?" he pleaded.
"I hear you are a dab hand with cars." Jack said. "There are plenty of nice cars round and about. Bring me something nice and I'll settle for that. But no rubbish mind you - no bangers. Four days - got it?"
Jack turned and left leaving Michael speechless. There was not a hope in hell that he could get hold of 'Jack's' money in four days; but to steal a car? He had never done that before. So far his stealing had been simply to keep alive. Bread, potatoes from the market; a purse or a wallet if someone had been careless enough to leave it lying about. But a car?
Yes, he knew about cars. All his young life he had tinkered with farm machinery, and often a car would appear with some fault to be fixed. His father regularly would barter Michael's motor skills for animal feed or sometimes a cow or a goat. Not that he saw any direct benefit from it. His reward was that he became very proficient in the running and maintenance of vehicles of all kinds. But he had never stolen a car in his life.
It was a 'needs must' moment as Michael walked slowly down a side street in the Bronx. Then back again. There were just two days to go, and he had steeled himself to do it. Again he walked the street. There were few people about, and as the evening wore on it was getting darker. He had picked out his quarry, and made one last reconnaissance, checking out possible weaknesses in his plan. There had to be as few overlooking windows as possible, and away from doorways. It had to be a car that he knew would allow easy access, and one that he could start with the minimum delay without a key once he was inside. Most of all it had to be one which could raise, illegally of course, at least $1000. There was only one car in the street that met with that varied criteria.
There came that critical point when it was dark enough the pounce, but still just light enough for him to see what he was doing. Time to go! Feeling sick and nervous Michael walked quickly to his selected target, and with a deft insertion of a long thin blade had the door unlocked. Quick as a flash he was inside and under the dashboard, feeling with expert fingers what he needed to find. In a moment the engine roared and he was up, ready to make a swift but unhurried exit from the neighbourhood.
That was the end of Michael's first attempt at car theft, for standing in front of the car was a large bearded angry looking man looking directly at Michael, and Michael was looking directly at the gun he was holding. Then the doors at the drivers side was opened and Michael was pulled roughly out of the car by a younger man, who pushed him round the front of the car, past the man with the gun. Then another man grabbed him, and between they they carried him up a few steps and into a nearby house. The man with the gun followed. Not a word had been said, but Michael knew the message they were sending. He was heading for a hard time.
In the cellar of the house the younger men released their grip. Not to let Michael go, but simply because now their hands were put to another use. They used him as a punch bag striking him on the head, the face, in his stomach. One of them holding him up while the other scored hit after hit, before changing places. After a while it was over. Michael had realized that resistance was futile and made no attempt to do so. A final knee in his groin was the last straw, and this time Michael was allowed to fall. At last the ordeal was over - at least the beating - but he had no illusions that this nightmare had come to an end.
At last someone spoke. It was the man with the gun, but now it was not in evidence. No longer considered to be needed. "Who are you then? Who sent you? Why were you trying to steel my car?"
Michael never knew if it was Divine intervention, and just good fortune that made him do do it, but he started to laugh. Quietly at first but then louder, and then he couldn't stop. It became almost hysterical as the three men looked on. Puzzled at first but then bemused. They shouted at Michael, threatened more beating, and the older man took his gun from his pocket and waved it in Michael's direction. But he did not stop laughing. Not then, but when gradually his laugher turned to sobs and tears, he stopped. And waited.
"Well I've seen some things, but I've never seen anything like that before. Mind telling me what was so funny?"
Michael was surprised that, despite the violence of the past half an hour, the man spoke quite softly. But with an aching body, and finding it difficult to breathe, he was in no state to ponder too long on that. But he had decided that if the truth sounded like a lie, why tell a lie.
"I owed a guy some money. Thousand dollars. I couldn't pay, and he told me to steal a car instead. But he warned me that if I failed he would send his men to beat me up. Well I got beat up anyway. Don't you think that's funny?"
He started to laugh again, but the pain in his badly bruised ribs didn't allow the laughter to linger. Instead there was a distinct moan.
"Well you see, I believe in rough justice." the older man was saying. "Don't hold with them court rooms." He was laughing softly. "Deal with it straight away I say." he looked at Michael, who was still on the floor. "And I bet you'll not try to steal my car again in a hurry, or anyone else's I wouldn't wonder."
There was a softness in his voice, even a kindliness that Michael found hard to come to terms with. After all, had he not just sanctioned his own form of very rough justice? Nevertheless, he did his best to answer, though the pain in his ribs was now severe, and talking was as difficult as breathing.
"I didn't want to do it, but I was desperate. Apart from this beating I am now going to be thrown out of my flat, and Jack will still want his money; and," Michael paused ."I expect he'll insist on another beating just to make sure I behave myself next time."
"It's a tough world sure enough. Are you going to stay down there all night? Time to get up on your feet I think."
"Don't think I can. Maybe I've a cracked rib or two."
In all this time the two younger men had uttered not a word, but they both moved forward to help Michael to his feet. The older man spoke again. "I think we understand each other now. You transgressed; you've been punished; the matter is closed. That's my justice, but if you want to take me on that's up to you. Just know what you're up against if you do." He held out his hand.
"I accept, though I will say that your punishment doesn't allow for mitigating circumstances." Michael had made his comment with a smile, though because of the pain he was suffering it might have appeared more like a grimace. He took the hand that had been offered, and the older man smiled.
"As I said, it's a tough world out there. No be off with you; you'll need to rest up a while."
"No; I'll not be going back to my place. There could well be another reception committee and I don't think I can face another beating just yet."
"Where will you go?"
"Oh, I'll find some hole to crawl into. It's not a problem, I've done it many times before." Michael replied, but he was puzzled by the apparent absence of malice.
"Just a minute; I might be able to help you." The old man said, as he turned and left the cellar. The two younger men remained, as though on guard, but Michael sensed a less hostile mood, which if not quite friendly, at least removed the fear of a further beating. But there was an eerie silence for neither of them spoke a word. Indeed not a single word had passed either lips since the had dragged Michael from the car and into the cellar. It was therefore something of a relief when the sound of footsteps could be heard descending the steps.
"Here," Michael's 'host' said, handing him a card. "Go and see this man. He is the local priest, Father Mullighan - a friend of mine - he will help you. Look, I've put my name on the back so he'll know you've come from me."
Michael took the card, but his head was swimming with conflicting thoughts. How could this man, some kind of hoodlum or even a godfather, be friends with the local priest? He turned the card and saw the scribbled name - Benny something - in a spidery hand that was hardly discernible.
"Thanks." was all he could say.
"Turn left at the end of the road, about a quarter of a mile, he will help you. Off you go now."
Michael made his way out of the cellar, up the stairs and out of the house, only Benny O'Doyle following. Once out side the older man offered his hand again. "This has been a tough time for you," he sad, "but I hope you'll learn from it and come out stronger."
"Let's hope so." Michael replied, somewhat lost for words.
"Oh', and one more thing, Benny said, Father Mullighan will only expect one thing from you in return for his help."
Michael waited a moment before he inquired. "Yes? What's that then?"
"He'll want to hear your confession."
Michael was sure he saw a smile appear through Benny's beard as he turned and skipped up the steps into his house.
Chapter Two
Scene Three
In the year or so since he ran away from home Michael had endured many scary moments, but few if any had been more daunting than the one which now faced him. Standing before him, far above the rising steps and the arched entrance to St Paul’s Cathedral Church, was it's tower, broad based, square and solid, rising, Michael guessed, a hundred feet into the sky. On top of that was a spire, broad at the bottom but reducing to exquisite slenderness until it reached the top, where, at least so it seemed from the bottom, a hand held aloft a sword pointing majestically to heaven.
It was a large church and Michael felt it's power as he scanned the towering spire, as he climbed those steps; and as he pushed open the heavy door. It's power magnified many times as he entered the building.
At first it seemed dingy inside, and such noises that he heard through the reverential quietness, produced a muffled but distinct hollow echo. Michael stood for a while trying to decide what his next move should be. He had pondered that same thought through the night uncertain, no, more than that, with absolutely no idea, where recent events were leading him.
He had, just as he said he would, found a place to spend the night; a greenhouse behind a rather large house, and as always he had left no trace of his presence. This was something he had learned from fellow travellers, for he, like them, would never know when he might need that hospitality again.
He was certain that in defaulting Jack the sailor he would now be a wanted man twice over, and that without funds to pay for his flat he was now homeless. He would certainly need to find and nurture other such places where he might be able to spend the night, for regardless of the reason, nature treats the homeless with scant regard.
It was mid morning. Time he thought for everyone to be about their business, and for Father Mullighan to be more receptive to an unexpected visitor. Then he saw him. A tall upright man, walking with a companion, and talking to him quite loudly and with great authority. Michael stepped forward as they were about to pass him.
"Father Mullighan?" Michael spoke in a quiet voice, somewhat intimidated by the man, and the strange atmosphere within the church.
The man stopped, while his companion continued on a few more steps before he too stopped, looking back to see what was happening.
"Father Mullighan?" Michael asked again.
"What is it?" the asked firmly, though not unkindly.
"I have an introduction from someone who says he knows you well. He says you will talk to me, maybe even help me."
After what seemed an age the man spoke. "I am not Father Mullighan. This is Father Mullighan." He gestured to his companion who had now retreated a couple of paces to rejoin the other two. "But you'll have to speak up. Father Mullighan is a little on the deaf side."
Michael did not know weather he was pleased or disappointed. What he needed now was a strong man to be guided by, and Father Mullighan certainly did not seem to be that. Not that is, by comparison with 'his' companion. Small in stature, with an almost gaunt bespectacled face, and what little hair he had was thin and wispy. On the other hand Michael hoped, he might be a better listener. As it turned out he was both, for while he turned out to be both a sympathetic and perceptive listener, the description of him as being 'a little on the deaf side' was at best optimistic.
When Michael handed him the card that Benny had given him, Father Mullighan had taken him to a private room where could talk; that is to say where Michael could shout without his words echoing around the nave.
"I was expecting you."Father Mullighan opened. I received a phone call telling me about your eventful evening, but to tell you the truth I didn't think you would come."
"Perhaps, if I had any better options I might not have, but to tell you the truth I think I have sunk as low as it gets."
"Tell me." the priest asked, not at all abashed at the suggestion the he was the last of possible options. He well knew that 'often as not', that was par for the course. “Tell me, how do you think I can help you.”
"Tell you? I don't think I can,” Michael muttered. “in any case I wouldn't know where to start."
"You’ll have to speak up; I’m a little on the deaf side, but ah yes I think I got the gist." The priest smiled. "Knowing where to start is always the hard part."
"What do you want to know?" Michael asked.
"You said that you might want me to help you, so to begin with, how can I help you?"
"I don't know if you can."
"Let me try."
"I don't know where to start."
"Oh yes, I think we did that bit. Just give me a brief summary."
"Well; I have no money, I have no job; and I have no place to live. The police are looking for me, and now a loan shark is after me for a rather large unpaid bill. Is that brief enough?"
"Not a bad opening gambit I guess. at least it gives me an idea of the size of the problem, and I suspect, the first immediate priority."
"It does?"
"Had anything to eat today?"
"No."
"Just as I thought. Come with me."
With that he was up and walking in a sprightly manner towards the Alter end of the church, into the vestry, and through another door into a large kitchen. A number of men were busying themselves and some looked up.
"We have something of a community here. Mostly people like you who need a helping hand before they move on." Father Mullighan said quietly.
He called to one of them. "See what you can find for my hungry friend." he said, before returning his attention to Michael. "I'll be back shortly. When you have eaten we will have another chat. We have some serious talking to do. In the mean time there are some things I must attend to."
With that he was gone, leaving Michael to wonder where this was leading. Was this to be just another in a long line of twists and turns, or was this the start of a new chapter?
He was still thinking along those lines when a large plate was put in front of him, and a steaming mug of tea by it's side. It was good. He didn't know what everything was, but it didn't matter. Everything was hot, some of it crispy, some of it was soft, and some was almost too hard to eat. But it didn't matter; it all tasted good, and eat it he did. Every last bit.
He was still drinking his tea when the priest returned, smiling.
"You'll be feeling somewhat better for that I'll be thinking."
"Very much," Michael replied, "If you do nothing more for me I'll be grateful to you for that."
"Well let's see about that, but first things first. And the first thing I must ask is why are to police looking for you?"
"Do I have to tell you?"
"Well no, at least not know - but you'll be telling me a little later anyhow, so no matter."
"What do you mean?"
Father Mullighan gave Michael a long hard look. "Now let's understand each other. You came hear needing help, and I'll help you all I can, but you see, what you're asking for is practical physical help. Very important of course, but as you well know what I am most interested in is your spiritual help. Well, this is the deal - you can't have one without the other. So it's the confessional for you my lad." He stopped and laughed. "But I'll make it as easy as I can, and anything you tell me in there remains in there."
"It'll be hard."
"I know, but you have to start with a clean plate. As clean as the one in front of you now. He chuckled, and Michael smiled, though he was not quite able to raise a chuckle himself.
"OK, what next?" the priest asked. And then, almost answering his own question, "What can you do?"
"I'm pretty handy; good with engines and mechanical thing; specially cars. I usually manage to get things working."
"Boilers?"
"Yes."
"Good."
"You need a boiler fixing?"
"This is how it works. You can stay here until you feel ready to move on, but you've got to earn your keep. There’s no clocking on machine, no foreman. It will be up to you and your conscience. You will do whatever you can for this community, both inside and outside of these walls, and remember, you will be doing God's work. And yes; I do need a boiler fixing. But first let's find you a bed.
Father Mullighan called the same man who had brought the meal. "Thomas," he said this is Michael; he will be staying with us for a while. See that he is settled in will you."
Michael followed Thomas as they left the kitchen, but before they were out of site the priest called. "Don't forget Michael; four O'clock; in the church; confession."
Chapter Two
Scene Four
The confessional became Michael's pass from a harsh environment to a place of calm and relative contentment. Not that it was an immediate transformation, or that the dormitory in St Pauls hostel for men, was particularly comfortable. Neither was true, but above all it was a place where, with each passing day, its inmates felt an increasing sense of security. A house of safety.
None more so than Michael, though he shuddered at the things he had to tell the priest when it was his turn to enter the confessional box. literally a box, large enough for one person to sit, with a 'window' to one side. On the other side of the window another identical box provided similar accommodation for the priest. On his side of the window however was a sliding door, which prevented the confessor from seeing the priest until he was ready, and then with the very dim light, only just. Usually the sliding door would be pushed open with enough force to startle the occupant on the other side who would doubtless be going over his lines desperately trying to find away to tell of his, or her, misdeeds without them seaming so heinous. The loud scraping noise and the thud when the door came to the end of its run signalled the end of thinking time for the confessor, and would tell those waiting in line that someone had reached the point that they too were dreading.
For Michael his confession covered two main subjects. There was of course a mention of the lying and stealing since his arrival on this side of the Atlantic, and of the hurt he had inflicted to family and friends on the other. But his main submissions of guilt were based on him having had sex before marriage, though in mitigation he had assured the priest that he had not used contraception.
Oh and there was another thing; he had killed a man. This was spoken in a somewhat hushed fashion hoping that his words would not be quite clear and that the priest might think he had miss-heard. But Father Mullighan was not so gullible as to fall for that, and those who thought that his deafness might come to their aid were to be disappointed, for the confessional was one of the few places where he wore his hearing aid. He wanted details.
Given the nature of the structure and its purpose the confessional box was well soundproofed, but it was still inhibiting to speak of ones misdeeds, especially if they might be of a personal nature, in case there was even the remotest chance of being overheard. Nevertheless Michael had to tell Father Mulighan the whole story of his three cornered love affair, and of his fight to the death with his best friend.
At the end, after a long silence the penance was announced. Five 'Our Fathers' and five 'Hail Marys'
"Is that all?" Michael asked.
There was another, somewhat longer pause before the priest replied. "That's just a token, a gesture of your intent. I am not God. I do not forgive you for your sins. I merely provide the means by which you can be forgiven. But you must atone by whatever means you can. And if that means giving yourself up to the police, then that is what you must do. If you confess a sin to me, but do not mean it, then you will not receive forgiveness from God. You must decide. Now go in peace and say your penance."
It was a black day for Michael. Far from being let off lightly he had been given a life sentence. He knew he lacked the courage to hand himself in, and without that there could be no atonement. It was a weight he would have to carry throughout his life, for without the benefit of this, or further confessions, he must also forfeit the right to communion at mass.
It was a bitter blow, but as ever time healed the wound, at least superficially, for the subject was never raised again, and gradually life at St Paul’s resumed its previous degree of satisfaction.
Michael stayed at the sanctuary for seven months, during which time many of the men whose paths he crossed while he and they were on their separate journeys became friends. All, for many and varied reasons, had fallen on hard times, and most were grateful that in St Paul’s they had found a haven which did indeed keep body and soul alive. Some had left, able, after a period of respite, to continue on their journey. New ones replaced them, many dazed and frightened, some simply lost, while others were defiant and angry. But all needing a place of safety; somewhere to hide from the world or somewhere to hide from themselves.
In that time Michael checked, fixed and maintained every piece of machinery in the building. He turned his practical hands to anything and everything, and his chirpy nature did much to lift him, and those around him out of their gloom. While there was no seniority structure, no pecking order, it soon became apparent that amongst his fellow travellers he was the one that most of them looked to, and whose council was sought. And it was he more than the others whose company was required when one of their number simply wanted someone to talk to for he it was who knew how to do things, say things. Now, instead of being helped he found himself helping others. Without meaning to do so, and without searching, he had found something within himself that others responded to. He was, for the first time since he had left home, a happy man.
There was in existence a work scheme, for those who wished to make use of it. Over time St Paul’s had established contacts with many local businesses - almost entirely the inspiration of Father Mullighan - who would provide work opportunities for those in the church's care.This might be a few days work or a couple of weeks, depending on the circumstances, where one might use existing skills, or perhaps try something new. It wasn't a perfect scheme, and there were occasional failures when one side, employer or employee, tried to take advantage of the other. But such was Father Mullighan's reputation that rare failures of this kind did no damage to the scheme. It's benefit was to avoid people becoming institutionalised, and to provide them with a little money; something that the church was unable to do.
Michael had seen the benefit of the scheme early on and took advantage of it whenever possible, gradually earning for himself a reputation as a good worker, particularly within the second hand car trade.
One day Michael was called into Father Mullighan’s office.
"Sit down Michael, we need to have a talk."
Michael was immediately apprehensive, fearing that something had displeased the priest or one of his many colleagues. Had he outstayed his welcome? Was he being sent away?
"What is it Father Mullighan?" Michael asked, a worried expression replacing his usual happy demeanour.
"There is nothing to worry about Michael," the priest said, but I think it's time to think about your future.
"Are you sending me away?" Michael asked, concern still apparent.
"Not at all; I told you when you came that you could stay as long as you wish. And so you may."
"What is it then?"
"You are happy here." It was a statement rather than a question, though it prompted the same response.
"I am."
"And we have been happy to have you. My word; the work you've done. We will certainly miss you - one day."
"One day?"
"You are a young man, with a future; despite certain unresolved problems, and one day you must take the next step. Leave us Michael, we have done all we can for you. Don't forget us but leave us. Take the next step Michael; rejoin the world out there and make your peace with God, and yourself.
Michael slumped, not knowing how to respond. He had known for a long time that a moment like this would come, and now it was here it was frightening.
"Do I have to go then?"
"Not until you are ready, but one day, for your own good, yes."
"I don't think I will ever be ready." Michael said quietly, but the priest, despite his deafness knew what he had said.
"Well there we must disagree. I think you are ready now." He saw the young man stiffen, and the alarm in his eyes. "But you must decide Michael. I'll not make that final decision. You must. Now go in peach and think about what I have said."
The next few days were like a return to darkness. His smile was gone, as were his cheery comments and cheeky banter. What's more his mood seemed to spread amongst his friends. The word had got out, and no one wanted him to go. When he was summoned again by Father Mullighan, he was sure that this time it would be the end.
"Come in and sit down; and take that worried look off your face." Michael was a little relieved to to see the priest smiling. "I've got a proposition to put to you."
Michael sat down and waited.
"We've had many good reports about you from the firms you have worked for in our scheme. Not one bad one in fact." He look up from the sheet of paper he was holding. "Well, I've been having a word with a second hand car dealer who knows about you, and he is prepared to give you a trial, with a view to a permanent post."
"Which one is that then?"
"Benniz Carz."
"I don't remember that one."
"No, I don't think you went to that one, but they talk; he's heard about you."
"What about somewhere to live?"
"Well, let's see if this suits you. If you go for it you can live here, but since you will be earning a wage we will have to charge for lodgings and food. Then, when you feel settled I expect you will want to find your own place."
Michael took some time before he spoke "It's a big step."
"It will seem like that now, but later, when you look back it won't seem so big."
"I'm scared. What if I fail?"
"If you have half the confidence in yourself that I have in you, you will not fail. Go for it Michael. Get a life. Get a job. Get a place of your own, and who knows, a wife and a family."
"But what if I fail?"
"Our door will always be open."
Father Mullighan's enthusiasm had built up a head of steam, which Michael felt hard to resist and despite some misgivings, he agreed. They sat in silence for a little while before the priest stood up and placed his arm on the young man's shoulder. "I know that this is the right thing to do, and I know that you will not disappoint me. Together they left the office, and together they took the first steps into the next phase of Michael's life.
Chapter Two
Scene Five
Michael stood a long time looking at Benniz Carz, strangely certain that his courage had deserted him. He was on the other side of the road and with people coming and going, and with a constant stream of traffic he felt he could take his time observing, unobserved.
He knew of course that soon he would have to make a move, but for now he was content just to look. In fact he was quite surprised and more than a little impressed, for Benniz Carz was far from being a typical second hand car saleroom. Indeed it would give many top new car showrooms a run for their money, and of the cars he could see not one of them had a 'second hand' look. So absorbed did he become that he didn't notice an elderly man leave the building, and cross the road. Not until he spoke did Michael realize that someone was standing by his side.
"Hello Michael." the man said. "Remember me?"
Michael turned to look at the man standing by his side, who did appear to have a familiar face. especially the full, but well trimmed beard. He was spared embarrassing floundering however when the man held out his hand. "Benny O'Doyle, remember, you once tried to borrow my car."
Michael reached for the hand being offered with some trepidation. Was this some kind of a trick, a belated form of retribution. "Yes I remember you very well. I don't think I will ever forget; your men taught me quite a lesson."
"Yes, they were a touch enthusiastic, I hope you will forgive them, and me."
Michael was astonished. "Me forgive you! But I was trying to steel your car."
"Well then, maybe will be able to forgive each other."
"I guess if you hadn't caught me; if I had got away with it I would have become a full time car thief, and perhaps more than that. You probably did me a favour by dishing out your - what did you call it? - instant justice I think. In the long run it was probably worth a couple of broken ribs."
"Ouch." Benny smiled. "Let's hope we can put that behind us. Father Mullighan will have told you of my proposition; are you up for it?"
"But why? Why do you put yourself out for someone like me, a would be car thief, a toe rag, a ki....?" Michael stopped just in time.
"Let's say I saw something good in you. Oh I know you tried to steel my car. So what, it's just a car. But I saw how you took your punishment like a man. Didn't squeal or try to make excuses. You know what, you reminded me of myself when was young. My father brought the family across to New York when I was a child. I remembered how I struggled to make the break that he never made, to crawl out of the barrier of grime and ignorance. I did plenty of things that I am not proud of; wasn't then and I'm not now; things I would like to forget. So when I come across someone who is basically a good guy being pulled down into the gutter, I like to lend a hand."
"I don't know what to say."
"Just prove me right and you'll have said enough. And there is something else; but I will not tell that until I know you better. Now, how about putting you to work. Father Mullighan tells me you are a dab hand with cars. Let's hope you can prove him right."
Michael's job in Benny's second hand car repair and sales firm was the breaking up trade-ins for which there was no prospect of resale. Taking off components to sell in the second hand shop was a lucrative part of the business, for which there was a great demand, particularly from other traders. It was a physical but otherwise undemanding job, tucked away behind the workshops, and out of sight. Michael felt safe there, away from the prying eyes of the succession of people who called, unrealistically hoping for a generous trade in for their old banger, against a newer vehicle at an unbelievably low price. Very few realized that ideal, and most went away after grudgingly accepting a much less advantageous, but basically fair, deal.
As Michael's got to know his new boss Benny O'doyle, he gradually discovered him to be a complex character. His tough exterior was a shield, a cloak he had designed and created himself to fend of those who would take advantage of a young fresh faced son of an immigrant, eager to find for himself despite his father's failure to do so, if the promise of the American dream was really true.
He was, Michael judged, well into his fifties; though his ample beard made that estimation less certain. He was a hard talking man and would drive a hard bargain, typical of his genre and born to be a used car salesman. Not a crook, Michael was to discover, as earlier he might have suspected, or overly dishonest. But neither was not averse to bending the unwritten rules if he could, taking advantage of any weakness in his adversary's ability to bargain. He always looked for, and usually got, the best possible deal for himself. Indeed, on the wall above his desk in his small cluttered office was a framed 'certificate', which he had acquired at a fairground years earlier. Central in the document, and written bold was the phrase 'Caveat Emptor' - Let the Buyer Beware. That was his motto, the way he saw it. Every man for himself, and if you don't like the deal walk away. But when a deal is done it is done. He had his own sense of values and would not welch on a deal, but it took a rare talent or a rock solid case, if later someone thought he had been given a raw deal and wanted redress. Michael also discovered that he wasn't just the nice guy. He was capable when crossed of cursing and swearing like most of the working class people in his neighbourhood. And, though for the most part he kept it out of sight, he had something of a temper.
He was a man of curious contradictions, for though Benny was as honest as a man could be given the nature of his environment, and although he was not given to deliberately ripping people off, his attitude to honesty and fair play was somewhat ambivalent. He would always strive for the best end of a deal - and he usually got it - and worried not the slightest how it might affect his adversary, who were seldom equipped with his tenacity or verve. Business is business he would say; and walk away with a clear conscience. And yet, when saw a man in genuine difficulty, beyond those which beset everyone, he would find a way to help, often without the recipient being aware of it.
As they got to know each other Michael had confided in him about his past. He knew he was putting his life in the hands of a man who he had known for only a short time. And yet he knew, without any doubt, that he could trust him. He also told of his involvement with Sailer Jack, including the fact that he had not seen him since he went into St Paul’s hostel. and was surprised when Benny said he might know him.
"There are many Sailor Jacks I'm afraid," he told Michael, "so I'm not certain if the one I know is yours. Funny thing, they all call themselves Jack; safety in numbers I suppose, makes them harder to trace. So which one is yours? I may not know but I do know something about their methods. Most of them make helpful arrangements with vulnerable immigrants, and then bleed them dry."
He made no attempt to help in the matter, but said a curious thing. "He'll be back don't worry. Most of their victims try to escape their clutches but they seem to have a way of finding them." He shrugged his shoulders, "But don't forget, a deal is a deal."
Was that a warning to Michael that it would not be a good idea to consider welshing on the deal. Benny's sense of priorities were sometimes hard to fathom.
So it was with his workers. There were no contracts other than a shake of the hand, and he expected everyone to toe the line and earn their keep, including now his latest arrival, Michael. That said, he was fair with his staff, and to his new recruit, who, like his new colleagues, soon began to respect his employer, and they gradually developed a kind of friendship. Perhaps he had a soft spot for Michael for in him he had seen something of what he might have become himself. His own father was a young when he left Ireland under a cloud; though he never disclosed the nature of its precipitation.
Michael wondered just how much he knew about himself, and whether Father Mullighan might have, albeit unintentionally, breached the confidentiality of the confessional. Whatever the reason he took a softer, almost fatherly, line with him than to most of his other employees.
Michael was a quick learner and soon had his assigned section running smoothly, and as each car came in for dismantling he would take notes of every components he removed, cataloguing and learning, studying and memorising. He had a good memory and within a year not only could he could tell both his work colleagues and potential customers, which part they needed for most cars, he had assimilated much about the second hand car market in general. As his expertise and understanding grew, and his competence to deal with other people developed, he had gradually emerged from the shadows. He found too that he could usefully help his work colleagues. Not only was he capable of doing the actual repairs, he was content to help by passing tools; providing an extra pair of hands when needed; and indeed, sometimes doing minor jobs if time, or the customer, was pressing. Thus his knowledge and awareness of the business grew until he became as important behind the showroom as all the other employees, a fact that Benny was quick to notice.
The months and then another year had passed with no apparent interest in him by the police, and he began to feel safer. Many had been the times he had frozen at the sight of a uniform, when he would hide in a doorway, or even abandoned his intended destination. But as his confidence grew he felt less on the run, and the turning point came one day when he actually asked a policeman for directions. He remembered the heady feeling as he walked away, heart thumping, but with new found confidence.
More time passed and with it Michael's assured position in the firm, with a growing recognition by his workmates of his quiet, but ever growing authority. Even Benny had started to see him, and to treat him, as the natural leader within his workforce, and had left him 'in charge' on a number of occasions during his absence.
That year proved to be pivotal for Michael in a number of ways. First of all he had found himself a small apartment to replace the rented room he had been using soon after leaving the hostel. Then he had managed to put together enough money to pay off his debt to Jack the Sailor, should he ever turn up. On this point Benny proved to be a major asset, for he assured him that he would see to it that there would be no further demands. "A deal is a deal." he had said, and Michael knew that he could rely on Benny to make it so.
Their relationship had grown by this time to something approaching father and son. Benny had three daughters; grown up now of course; and Michael seemed to fill a gap in his life. While there was never a formal declaration of his growing liking for the young man, and certainly never a suggestion that he saw Michael in that way, fate was to take a hand when one day he introduced him to two of his daughters. The younger, Benn's baby, was Jean, twenty two years old, still unmarried and as pretty as a picture. Michael was smitten at once, and Jean, it seemed, suffered the same affliction. There were however two possible problems. Would Benny allow his daughter to associate with a murderer, or at least a man of dubious background on the run.
Then there was Connie.
Connie! Michael's conscience weighed heavy. He had not forgotten her; nor would he ever; but he had long ago given up any hope that their relationship would, or could, ever be renewed.
The first problem was dissolved when Benny raised no objections to their friendship, thinking perhaps that Michael was simply the latest in a long list of boy-friends, and that, like all the others, he would one day be replaced.
Whatever the whys and wherefores the young couple hit it off until a casual friendship turned to something more serious, and Michael, fearing a possible backlash decided to take the matter into his own hands. He confronted Benny, whose response was direct and to the point.
"From what I heard it was a fair fight. It could just as easily been you lying dead in that ditch."
"But it wasn't me; it was my best ... friend." Michael said, unable to stop a break in his voice.
"Yes!" Benny replied, "Funny how friends can hate each other as well as loving each other."
"So you don't mind - me seeing your daughter."
"Just as long as you don't start messing about with her - know what I mean?" Benny said, earnestly and unsmiling. Michael was shocked at such a remark, but then he noticed through the greying beard the corner of his mouth twitch. "But I can't say much about it if she starts messing about with you though."
Michael was happy. He liked Jean, and was hopeful that their friendship would develop into something more serious. Likewise Jean seemed to like him, and Benny seemed happy to let their friendship develop.
The second problem however was less easy to deal with, and Michael realized that his sense of guilt over Connie was be a cross he would have to bare for the rest of his life.
Nearly five years had passed since Michael had fled his native shore, and now he not only had a good job, at least good enough to pay his way with a bit to spare, but he had a girl friend, and, for the first time since he had fled, the makings of a future. When eventually he proposed, and Jean accepted, Michael thought that life could not get any better - but he was wrong.
It did.
Upon the engagement, Benny took Michael under his wing. "You're twenty seven now, time to settle down, and its time that Jean was off my hands." He smiled as he shook Michael's hand. "I hope your not thinking of a long engagement. Sooner the better I say."
"Not too soon dad," Jean blurted out, "people will think we've got to get married."
"Aye well, perhaps it would be no bad thing if it were so. It's about time I had a grandchild. But just the same, no hanky panky until you tie the knot, or you'll have me to answer to."
"Dad."
"You know what I mean. Get on with the wedding quick as you like, and don't keep me waiting for ever like your sisters."
Jeans sisters were both married - one of them six years - but remarkably, neither of them had produced a child, and Benny was impatient. "I hate to think what father Mullighan thinks about it. He'll not be pleased if he finds out that they're not sticking to natures ways."
"It's no business of his anyway." Jean defended her sisters.
"You know what the church says about the subject; natures way. None of this rubbers and creams and stuff. If you're mum and me had done what we liked you might not be here now."
Michael kept quiet during this exchange, but once more he was surprised that Benny; always his own man, should feel beholden to church teachings, especially as - as far as he knew - he hardly ever went to Mass on a Sunday.
Whether it was Benny's warning of dire consequences if he got up to any shenanigans before the wedding, or the desire to engage in loves ballet with Jean with his father-in-laws blessing, Michael did not know. What ever the reason arrangements were made without delay, and three months later, with Christmas just around the corner Michael and Jean were married. A new apartment was found; larger that his present accommodation, but not grand. It was certainly upmarket compared to the place he had just vacated, though little different to Jeans home. Jean however was delighted, and had spent many happy hours doing it up ready for them to move in after their honeymoon in Florida.
A new life was opening up to Michael and thoughts of the trauma he had left behind were becoming fewer and less troubling. Increasingly they seemed to come from another world, and a battle was taking place in his head between the old and the new. Mostly the new had the upper hand for his position in the firm had strengthened, and without the benefit of a formal announcement, everyone accepted his authority during Benny's ever increasing absences. A replacement had long ago been found for Michael in the second hand spares department, and Michael found himself spending more and more time in the office. The only place in the business which still gave him a sense of unease was the front sales room. Despite the years which had elapsed since he had fled Ireland, and the years since he arrived in New York, he still had moments of uncertainties when his earlier fears; mostly subdued, mostly hidden behind a facade of respectability, would return.
More and more Benny was hampered by a troubling heart condition. It went back a few years and though his doctor had told him it was not too serious, his state of health was now a visible reality. He was not quite the same man he had been even a few years earlier. Some of his verve was missing, and his cut and thrust lacked something of the edge it previously had. Tests had disclosed acute Angina and hardening of arteries with the distinct possibility that heart surgery might be on the cards.
During the next six months Michael's workload increased significantly in proportion to Benny's absences, but so did his sense of responsibility. He was determined not to add to his father-in-law's worries by letting the business slip, and his enthusiasm rubbed off on all the work force. No matter the differences in style, deals were done and profits made. Michael was very content, and, but for one thing, life was as near to perfect as he could imagine. The one thing? Despite his valiant and frequent efforts Jean had not yet conceived, and mindful of Benny's deep desire for a grandchild they had not ignored his warnings of dire peril should they behave with impropriety, and had followed the wedding in enthusiastic love making devoid of public scorn and contraceptive devices.
Then came the time when the three cherries lined up. The gods seemed to be on his side and he won the jackpot when the last of those spinning fruits stopped in the right place. At last Jean was pregnant. Now his life was complete; now he had everything. He could hardly believe that everything could be so good after such a short time?
"How did it turn out like this when things had been so bad?" he had often asked himself.
"It can't stay like this," had been his usual reply. Or, "Something is bound to go wrong."
Not for the first time since he found himself heading toward a new and better life, Michael felt the return of his old fears, irrational no doubt, for this time at least he had nothing to fear. Perhaps Benny sensed dark clouds looming, but when, about a year and a half after they were married Jean placed her son in his grandfathers arms his joy was unbounded. He had by now virtually retired, having relinquished all control of the motor pool and workshops to Michael. But holding the child in his arms; his grandson; was all the reward he needed. It was a small price to pay for his loss of power and influence. He was no longer feared by business competitors; no longer the tough man whose promise of retribution to those who tried to cheat him was not to be taken lightly. No longer was he the one whose threat of a physical response to those who insulted him, or his family, or his church, something to be ignored at their peril. Declining health had brought about many changes, but now he had a grandson. He was content.
It was however a short lived contentment. He saw his grandson Christened, and could not hide his pride when the priest said "I baptise thee Benjamin." knowing full well that in time he too would be 'Benny'. In that there was some conflict, but eventually Jean compromised with 'Ben'.
He then helped to celebrate Ben's first birthday, and despite the continued deterioration of his health was eagerly awaiting the arrival his second grandchild. With her second pregnancy Jean had tried to cajole her father into hanging on. "I'm sure it's a girl this time." she told him, "It feels quite different."
Benny never knew his second grandchild but was spared the gloom of sadness that befell the family when it was born, for he died just one month before the birth. Jean was despondent with utter grief. How much did that grief affect her health, and that of the child within her is hard to say, but what is certain is that she was far from her best when the time came for her to deliver. It was a long and painful ordeal, and few were surprised that the child; a little girl just as Jean had predicted; was stillborn.
Michael and Jean were distraught, and it felt like the lowest point of Michael's 'new' life in New York. Not only were they still mourning the loss of Benny, but now this. But neither of them could know at the time, that their heartbreak and trauma marked the beginning of the end for them.
For Michael, thankful that fate had treated him kindly - far more than he knew, far more than he deserved - this turn of events would be pivotal. Life had been good; until now his star had been climbing ever higher, and, mother of all miracles, he had a son.
But something had changed. No one saw it coming or knew quite what it was, yet somehow, without him having noticed, the summit was behind him. He was on his way down and it was going to be a long fall.