Obit (11 page)

“Yes, the night of the
ceilidh
at Quinn’s house. Declan left the
man’s house, drove by himself to the arms dump and deposited the rifles. Well, except for one he kept for himself. Two days later the arms dump was in the hands of the authorities, and your father was on the run. You’d know this better than I would, Brennan, but I understand he spirited your mother and you children out of Dublin so fast you didn’t have time to say a Hail Mary for the journey. He’d been holding a stash of money for the
IRA
, and he took it with him. That didn’t help his case any at
GHQ
.” Leo leaned forward and gripped Brennan’s hand with his own. “But there have been so many changes — to put it mildly — in Republican forces since then, it’s not the same organization at all. I honestly do not see a Republican hand in this. Didn’t I come over here to assure him of that?”

Brennan did not look reassured. “What measures did Headquarters take in response to my father’s actions?”

“Declan was court-martialled
in absentia.”

“And the sentence?”

“It was a sentence of death.”

Chapter 5

Come on along and listen to the lullaby of Broadway,
The hip-hooray and bally-hoo, the lullaby of Broadway.
The rumble of the subway train, the rattle of the taxi,
The Daffodils who entertain at Angelo’s and Maxi’s.
When a Broadway baby says good-night, it’s early in the morning.
Manhattan babies don’t sleep tight until the dawn.

— Al Dubin/Harry Warren, “Lullaby of Broadway”

March 11, 1991

We deposited Leo at his new headquarters, then went to the Burkes’ house. Brennan asked me to wait in the family room and said he’d join me shortly, after he had a word with his mother. A few minutes later they came downstairs together. Teresa Burke held a tattered manila envelope in her hand; she looked exhausted. “It’s all I have,” she said. “And I don’t know what it means. I have no idea how it could possibly be connected with your father.”

Brennan’s voice was gentle. “This is terrible for you, Mam, but we have to get to the bottom of it.”

“This, these papers, may not have anything to do with what’s going on now. The woman gave them to me, how many years ago? At the old Met.”

“Maria Callas, 1956.”

“Yes. A long time. Your father never read this — he couldn’t find it.” She smiled. “They say if you want to hide a book, hide it in a library.”

She went upstairs, and we heard her go out the front door.

“Visiting a neighbour,” Brennan explained.

He opened the envelope and drew out a few sheets of yellowed paper, pages that appeared to have been sliced from a small journal. Thumbing through them, he said: “The dates are all jumbled, so we must be dealing with more than one year.” He began to read out loud:

December 18. Christmas Concert. I was in the second row of the eighth grade choir. We were singing “Adeste Fideles.” The lights were in my eyes but I picked out Mom and Dad. Dad was slumped over on Mom and he made this big snoring sound. Everybody looked at him. Then it was time for my solo in “Gentle Mary.” I was really nervous! But I started to sing it and I was fine. Then — I couldn’t believe it. Dad jerked awake, looked at the stage and this big stupid grin came on his face. He started giggling, like a little kid. I was so embarrassed I wished he was dead. I still do. He’s nothing but an old drunk.

December 25. Christmas. Big deal. We had to go to Mass with the old drunk. He kept yelling out the responses ahead of everyone else. Once he said:
“et cum spiritu tuo,”
and the end of it came out like a burp. The people in front of us were snickering. And his breath stunk. I’m sure the whole church could smell it. I hate him. Jimmy says I’m lucky Mom doesn’t send me down to the pub. She sends Jimmy to drag him home in front of all the neighbours. Jim says as soon as he gets enough money saved up he’s moving away from us. Dad passed out before the turkey and Mom took a big screaming fit. How come? Because she’s stuck with an old alkie for a husband. For the rest of her life. I bet she wishes we were Protestant so she could get a divorce.

September 20: Tenth grade, big deal. They asked me to join the band but I don’t know. Maybe if Denise joins. Dad’s away, and I have my fingers crossed that he never
comes back. Mom sat me down all serious and tried to tell me where he was. I just said: “Who cares?” Jimmy found a job up in Boston and he never comes home. Lucky duck.

November 28: Guess who’s back? Dad. He’s different. I hope. He took me out for a walk. I tried to say no but he kept asking me. At least he didn’t look embarrassing. He was clean, his hair was cut and he had on a nice sweater and tie. And a new coat. He said he had been away at some kind of drunk’s hospital. (Thank God none of my friends were around when he said that!) He turned my face towards him with his hand and said he loved me, that he loved Mom and us kids more than anything in the world. That he was sorry for all the bad things he had done, that he had given up drinking (!) forever, that these monks or priests or doctors, whatever they were, had helped him stop. He promised he would be like a new father for all of us. Maybe he’s serious because he didn’t wink or give me a stupid grin, or any of the other dumb things he used to do.

December 12: Dad took Mom and me to a play. We got a babysitter for Beth and Kevin. It was this Irish play called
The Shadow of a Gunman
. I didn’t get some of it, but Dad explained it at intermission. He told me all about this Sean O’Casey, how he lived in poverty in Dublin, and grew up to be a dock worker and write plays. Whoever would have guessed Dad knew about all these old writers?

March 17. Saint Patrick’s Day, but Dad stayed home. Mom got a night out with some of the ladies. The Fitzes had a party for the little kids and ours went. Good riddance. It was just me and Dad home and he asked me if I wanted to learn to play poker. Said I could win money for college next year! You’re supposed to have a “poker face,” not letting on if you have great cards or lousy ones. Dad has a really good poker face; I just kept giggling. He was making me laugh. I never knew he was so funny. I would die if he
ever started drinking booze and being an idiot again like he used to. But he won’t.

June 28. Graduation was beautiful! I had a white dress and won an award in history. Shane kept smiling at me but I noticed Gianni Sodano was looking at me too. Sometimes I like Gianni better than Shane. The prom was great. The school wanted Mom and Dad to chaperone the dance but Mom couldn’t go because Kevin was sick. Dad came anyway. It wasn’t that bad. I actually danced with Dad and he was really sweet. He said: “Mary, I will love and protect you for the rest of my life.” I started crying, I don’t know why. But I was really happy. After the song was over, Gianni came up and was really polite. He said: “Mr. Desmond, may I dance with your daughter?” Dad said: “That depends. Are you light on your feet?” “Yes, sir.” “Are you a good Catholic?” “Yes, sir.” It went on and on. When I finally got to dance with G., he said: “Your father is a neat guy.” “He’s the best father in the world, so what?” I told him. I’m glad he likes Dad because I think things could become serious between me and Gianni.

July 3. I’ll soon be Mrs. Gianni Sodano. I’m finally getting married! Mom says twenty-two is not old but it seemed to take forever for Gianni to finish college and me to finish biz school. Gianni fits right in with my family — what a relief! He even thinks the Irish are charming! A couple of weeks ago me and Gianni stayed up with Dad listening to him read from that book by the well-known author James Joyce. That was on “Bloomsday.” I never laughed so hard in my life the way Dad imitated all those accents. He wanted us to stay up with him and have cocoa in the middle of the night like they do in the book but I couldn’t stay awake. When I got up next morning, there was Gianni and Dad, asleep at the kitchen table with their cocoa mugs and a big puddle of cocoa spilt in the book! The wedding is going to be beautiful.

July 26. The wedding was beautiful, or so I see from the pictures. One good thing, my name isn’t Desmond anymore. I hope Gianni and I can change apartments after a couple of years, to get farther away from — my ex-father! Where do I begin? How about when he got to the church just in time to walk me down the aisle? He didn’t even come home the night before the wedding. Mom was frantic. Why even care? I couldn’t believe it was the same person I’d come to respect and love over the past six years, fool that I was. Yes, it’s him — the same person I hated all the years before that! I practically had to hold him up on the way to the altar. He had his chin kind of stuck down in his collar and he had on this fake solemn look as if he was trying to keep from giggling. When Mamma and Papa Sodano turned and looked at us I could hardly keep from crying. The expression on their faces was so kind, I wanted to throw myself in their arms. I hope they don’t think our kids will be like that. I’ll keep my fingers crossed for a girl first, to relieve everyone’s mind. Who ever heard of a lady alcoholic? There is not enough space in this book to describe all the hideous things he did at my reception. But why bother? After your father jumps up from the head table, stumbles out into the hall, throws up and slips in it, and lies there giggling and sobbing, is there anything more to say? Is he still your father?
NO
! He’s dead as far as I’m concerned. I’ll have to ask Ruth about the thing the Jews have for someone who’s disgraced the family way beyond the point of embarrassment. Chivas or Shiva or something. Now, for the good things.
SEE
the wedding album. Pictures carefully selected!

Neither of us spoke after Brennan finished reading. Who was Desmond? Why did someone — his wife? — storm up to Declan and Teresa and thrust this envelope into Teresa’s hands? I finally said: “We have our first real names. Mary Desmond Sodano, sister of Jimmy, Beth and Kevin. Do you know them?”

“Doesn’t strike a chord. And Mam says she didn’t know the woman.”

“Maybe this Desmond was a drinking buddy of your father’s, and the wife blamed your dad instead of blaming her husband. Though it seems a bit extreme to go operatic about it. Wouldn’t you think?”

“Maybe not. If this girl’s diary is any indication, drink destroyed their family life, and the love that had blossomed between the father and his little girl. Must have been like a disease coming back after years of good reports.”

“What are the chances your dad will sit down with us and reminisce about Mr. Desmond?”

“What are the chances Vatican City will win a year’s supply of nappies for having the highest birth rate in the Western world? And is this diary even related to his current troubles?”

“Assume for now it is. So we’re talking about a family named Desmond with a daughter named Mary, who married Gianni Sodano sometime before 1956.”

“Morceau de gâteau.”

“And the icing of course — we dare not overlook it — is another ruined wedding. So, Brennan, who do you have in mind to search the parish records?”

“I’ll call in the services of my nieces and nephews. One of them will track it down for us.”

“Oh? Your word is law with these kids?”

Burke raised one eyebrow as he picked up the phone, and assured me his word was “infallible.”

†

That evening Brennan and I were still at the House of Burke, making small talk with his mother and debating where to go for a night out. The answer came to us soon enough. We watched from the living room as Declan made his way along the hall to the door, making every effort to walk like a man who had never required so much as a glance from a medical professional. He was pale but scrubbed, and his stocky frame was arrayed in a beautifully tailored dark blue sports jacket over a white shirt and silver tie. Teresa started to get up from her chair but Brennan put a restraining hand on her arm. “Where are you going, Da?” he demanded.

“Who will rid me of this meddlesome priest?” Declan snapped. “I am going out on the town with some old, old friends.”

Brennan got up and loomed over his father. “Monty and I would be delighted to join the party. Let’s go, gentlemen,” he declared, holding the door open for us and neatly filching his father’s car keys from his pocket. “Don’t wait up, Ma.”

There was no conversation in the car, other than Declan’s terse directions.

We pulled up before a nondescript building on a commercial street in Long Island City. There was no sign on the door. To my surprise, a parking valet materialized to deal with the car. We were met inside by a maitre d’, with whom Declan exchanged a rapid whispered conversation. He led us inside. A platoon of hulking doormen broke formation and allowed us to pass. The White Gardenia was a spacious club with a stage taking up one end of the room. Murals along the two side walls depicted elegant couples from the 1930s and 1940s dancing, sipping cocktails or strolling the boulevards of New York. Eye-catching young women glided between the white-clothed tables bearing trays of drinks. They were attired in men’s black dinner jackets, and starched white shirts, their tiny waists cinched by brightly coloured cummerbunds. We were taken to a table at the far left of the stage.

Two men stood to greet us. One was of Declan’s height and stocky build. He was expensively dressed in a charcoal suit, a black shirt and no tie. His hair was iron grey, brushed back from his forehead. He had large, deep-set brown eyes that were locked on Declan’s blue ones. The other man was taller, younger, and bulky within the confines of a shiny black suit.

“Paddy,” Declan said, extending his hand to the more senior of our two hosts.

“I could say the same to you,” the man replied.

Declan gave a little laugh, and made the introductions. “Mr. Corialli, my son Brennan and our friend Montague.”

“Call me Patrizio. Please,” Corialli answered. We shook hands. “Sit. Will you have dinner? I have ordered a bottle of Irish for you, Declan. If your guests would prefer something else . . .” We shook our heads. Patrizio “Paddy” Corialli’s voice was outer boroughs with
a trace of southern Italy. I sat on his right facing the stage; the other man, who was not introduced, sat on the left. Declan and Brennan were across from us. In the background, we heard the voice of Luciano Pavarotti.