Episode 14: A Drink to Numb the Pain
As they unloaded the wood from the wagon, there was a silence between them. Neil hadn’t yet found out where Thomas was or exactly what had happened. He had already learned that information in the family was shared strictly on a need-to-know basis, so there was little point in asking, at least not yet.
Uncle Robert was dressed in black, wearing a cap to keep his bald head warm. His frown reminded Neil of his own mother’s. They both possessed the same direct stare that warned against misbehavior. It was controlling, yet somehow fair.
Just then, another Scottish neighbour appeared. Neil recognized him from the Church they attended. Ironically last week’s sermon was about the evils of alcohol.
“Here’s some whisky for you, Robert. My daughter brought it back from Edinburgh last week. And here’s some for you as well, Neil.” With an outstretched hand he offered them each a glass. “It’s none of this bourbon nonsense.”
Neil instinctively reached out, but immediately felt that familiar stare. Uncle Robert’s eyes were fixed firmly on him, his frown almost like a warning. Neil knew exactly what he had to do.
“Eh… thanks, but I’ll have it some other time.”
The man shrugged, poured Neil’s measure into the other glass and laughed.
“Well, that’s more for you, Robert.”
Robert looked slightly sheepish.
“That’s grand. Keep it for me and I’ll collect it when I’m finished here.”
The two men exchanged a knowing glance before looking back at Neil. It seemed the perfect opportunity to ask about Thomas, since drink was clearly at the heart of his latest escapade.
“So… what happened with Thomas?” Neil asked, sensing he had caught his uncle in an unusually unguarded moment.
“He got into a fight with the piano player in the inn last night. A few chairs were smashed, and so was the piano. That’s about all I know. He’s sleeping it off in the stable behind the inn. He’ll be worried about coming home in case your aunt sees his face.”
“Should we go and see him?”
“No. Leave him. He’ll come out of his own stupor soon enough.”
At that moment a shiny black motor car appeared, its horn giving a cheerful squeak. Within twenty seconds children surrounded it, staring, laughing and jumping to catch a glimpse of the latest marvel to arrive in the town.
“Aye… times are changing…” Robert muttered as he rested a hand on Neil’s shoulder.
Neil understood the gesture immediately.
It was Robert’s way of saying, I remember your father. I remember how he was struck by a motor car back home.
Those words would never be spoken aloud, but Neil knew they were there. The hand on his shoulder was as close to affection as the men in his family ever came.
A familiar ache rose inside him. His body stiffened as he fought back a tear. He wanted to be held. To feel his mother’s arms around him. To be a small child again, safe in someone’s embrace.
For a fleeting moment he even wondered if that glass of whisky might have been the best medicine after all.
He turned and saw Uncle Robert standing across the road with the neighbour, a whisky glass now in his hand.
That, Neil realised, was Robert’s own form of intimacy.
A drink to numb the pain.
The pain of exile.
The worry over Thomas.
The burden of family.
The struggle of making a living.
Neil could hardly blame him for wanting, if only for a little while, to stop feeling.
A few minutes later Robert returned to the wagon. His cheeks glowed red and a broad smile had replaced the frown.
“Well then, Neil,” he said cheerfully, “let’s go and sell some timber.”
The change was impossible to miss.
As they set up their place in the market, Neil found himself thinking about the darkness people carried within them, and about his cousin lying asleep behind the wooden sheds near the inn. He could even read the sign now that said “stables” in the far corner.
Life here was not so different from back home after all.
The same secrets.
The same drinking.
The same inability to tell the people you loved how much they meant in your life. He looked up and said to himself “thank God our generation is different”.