Читать книгу The Bartender - Michael McNichols - Страница 9

“‘Look, a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners!’ Yet wisdom is vindicated by her deeds.”

Matthew 11:19

As Emil poured the drinks he wondered once again about his place in the work of tending bar. No longer desiring the alcohol himself, he found it easy to distance himself from the effects it was having on the people he served. He always looked into their eyes as they sat at the bar. The people often acted happy and even relieved to be there, but Emil sensed things behind their eyes that belied their apparent contentment. There was even something in him that suffered in the pain that he knew dominated many of the lives that came to sit before him. Yet he continued to give them what they asked, knowing that a kind of leanness was being poured into their souls.

Angie brushed by Emil as she began getting drinks for a table of four. “Hey, Angie. You were sure in a hurry to get away from Paul’s table. Everything OK?”

Angie kept pouring and spoke so softly that Emil had to strain to hear her. “Yeah. They’re nice people but the God questions they always slip to me sort of bug me. It just hit me wrong today.”

“Sounds like something is eating at you.”

“No, I’m OK.” She arranged the drinks so they would balance on the tray. “I don’t know. I’ve just got some stuff going on. It’ll all work out.”

“You mean, it will all work out all by itself?”

“Yeah, all by itself. That’s the way my life works most of the time.” Angie picked up the tray and hurried off. It was evident that, at least for now, the conversation was over.

It had been twelve years since Emil got sober. Before that he had been medicating the pain in his own life so regularly that clarity of thought and vision was a rarity. After a two-day, alcohol-poisoned blackout he got scared. When his sister convinced him to attend his first AA meeting, he had little hope for any change in his life. But change did come, and the Anglican priest that led the group had helped Emil to start hoping again.

Having his mind clear in the early days of his recovery brought both relief and fear. He was relieved because he felt more in control of his life. But he was also afraid because this new clarity opened up the arena for him to wrestle with his own demons. And Father Tom had helped him with that. Tom had been a good friend to Emil over these difficult and yet healing years.

Emil often wondered how a priest could use the “higher power” language of AA when there would have to be a bias toward the idea of the more personal God of Christianity. He asked Father Tom about that in the early days of his recovery, but the answer was always, “If there really is a ‘higher power,’ then ask that power to give you the answer.” The priest was being cagey, but Emil suspected that this man would help him to find some answers in his life. Over the years, his suspicions proved to be right.

So now, twelve years later, Emil was clean and sober and making a living by serving up drinks to people who were probably just like him. At times Emil felt like he ought to quit and stop helping people to medicate their painful lives with booze, but something kept him desiring to stay close and connected with these people. He had come to believe that it was this “higher power”—which had indeed become quite personal for him—that compelled him to stay. And Emil daily looked for where this power might be at work in the lives of the suffering people he served.

Emil headed for the door of the pub’s office to pick up a fresh order pad. Angie caught him before he went in and stopped him.

“Emil, I’m sorry I was rude to you. I shouldn’t have just run off like that.”

He smiled at her. “Don’t worry about that, Angie. Hey, you’re at work! You’re supposed to be in a hurry!”

She smiled. “I’m just in a really rough place right now. I’ll try not to let it show so much here at work.”

The sadness in her eyes captured Emil and that familiar feeling that something important was going on hit him. “Angie, I don’t want to intrude on your life so it’s OK if you tell me to back off. But I want you to know that I’d really like to hear about what’s going on for you. I don’t want to tell you how to live your life, but sometimes it just helps to get someone to listen to you. I’m learning to be sort of good at that. I also need you to know that while I like you, I’m not trying to hit on you. I’m at least fifteen years older than you and I don’t want to come across like a dirty old man.”

Angie laughed and shook her head. “No, you’re not the dirty old man type.” She looked at the ground and became quiet. “I don’t know. Maybe. No, I . . . Well, let me think about it.”

“No problem, Angie. You know where to find me.”