For the Love of a Beautiful World

For the Love of a Beautiful World

1

Martin sat back and closed his eyes. Days like this were frustrating and happened all too often but he didn’t complain. Bad stuff happens and it was days like this that made Martin realise that his approach to life was unique and ‘right’.

Martin had hated his childhood; his father was a brutal man with odd values. He named his only son after Martin Scorsese (against the wishes of his wife), a man his father looked up to but obviously didn’t know very well and he revelled in the fantasy of many of his films and others of that genre.

He tried to teach his son the sort of values and honour present in gangster films but it was two dimensional and lacked any genuine concern or sense of belonging in him. He would slap him around when he did wrong, often with brutal hostility and then, later when he’d calmed down, he’d justify it with stereotypical phrases stolen from Hollywood.

On one such occasion after a particularly hard beating as Martin cowered on the floor in the corner, tears running down his face, his mother had come in sobbing and pleading with him to stop. His father had pushed her out and slammed the door, yelling “Don’t ever ask me about my business!” When Martin grew up and realised that this phrase was taken directly from the film “The Godfather,” it renewed feelings of fear in him as he contemplated the depths of his father’s delusional behaviour.

Looking back, it was clear that the man had demons to deal with that went deep into his core but when you’re twelve years old and cowering under a table it’s hard to be objective and Martin spent years in fear, blaming himself and trying to make some sense out of his life.

It didn’t help that Martin was gay. Although it was never spoken of, it was clear what he was and it was also clear that his father saw this as a betrayal. The beatings became harsher and his father became more distant. On one occasion, yelling at him, “Get out of my sight you fucking poof!”

For the early part of his childhood he hid his dreams and likes, terrified that they would be subject to derision, and worse, from his father. His mother over-compensated by loving everything Martin did; each accomplishment was exaggerated; each achievement rewarded, albeit in small ways and away from his father’s ears.

She’d make excuses for his father’s behaviour, talking about stress and pressure and other things that seemed to be acceptable and understood only in his father.

As he grew through his teenage years and into early adulthood it became clear to Martin that he wasn’t completely to blame; he came to understand that his lifestyle was his and not one to be ashamed of, although he pretty much kept it to himself, just in case.

When he looked back more objectively at what his father would tell him, Martin would realise that the words of honour, family and brutal ethics were empty phrases that would probably have had his father killed if he’d actually lived in the environment he aspired to.

He also noticed that his father was never a happy man. Often drunk, seldom satisfied and constantly blaming others for his lot in life, he was certainly not living the life of an aspiring ‘self-made man.’ Martin had come to the conclusion that living a happy life would entail being the complete opposite of his father.

When Martin was twenty-two his father died in a ridiculous way when he’d fallen out of an upstairs window and landed on his head. The coroner had reported that he’d died instantly when his neck had broken and that he’d been intoxicated. He declared his death an accident but Martin didn’t agree; he believed his father had been orchestrating his own demise for years and the snapping of his neck was just the culmination of a life lived in hatred and bitterness.

At his father’s funeral Martin knew he should have felt grief; should have felt a loss for the empty void presented by the death of his only father. Instead he only felt relief, as if some heavy blanket had been lifted from him. Even his mother, although upset and besot by grief, seemed to lighten in her mood as the months drifted on, which gave rise to Martin feeling that his decision to live his life in the completely opposite direction to his father was right.

Put enough heat and pressure on a lump of worthless coal for long enough and eventually it will become a diamond. Martin was determined to become a diamond.

His mother lived another three years and she certainly seemed to be much happier than she had for all of the time he’d known her before, until she contracted blood poisoning and died after a short illness. Martin grieved for his mother deeply but held fast to the same belief that salvation lay in being the absolute opposite of his father.



2

The next few years had been important to Martin and, true to his belief, he did all he could to become the diamond he aspired to be.

He’d managed to get a job as a Supported Living Assistant, helping those who had learning difficulties live independent lives. The pay was terrible but he loved the work and due to the commitment and enthusiasm he showed, everyone loved him.

The staff loved him because he was always looking for the good in those he worked with and was always straight and honest. The clients loved him because he genuinely cared. He’d remember everything about them, remember their birthdays, suggest activities that he knew they’d enjoy and, although it was frowned upon by the company, would often visit them outside of work or buy them little gifts if he saw something that he knew would mean something to them. As a result, the company turned a blind eye; the families were happy and that was all that really mattered.

It wasn’t just in his job that Martin practiced his life philosophy, everywhere he went he lived the same way. He always showed courtesy when he was driving, always stopped to talk to people, tipped every waitress if they smiled and offered a good service, smiled at everyone, always said ‘hello’ to passers-by and would help anyone if he saw a need.

Martin was well known and well liked. He spent much of his spare time sitting in the town centre watching the small community go about their business. People who knew him would stop and sit with him to chat, some brought him coffee or a sandwich and he’d often do the same for others.

The result was that Martin was genuinely happy. He wasn’t naïve enough to think that he wasn’t affected by his childhood, but he knew that he’d used the negative experience to define himself as something more.

He’d come to believe that everything we do affects those around us; that the smallest act of kindness could gather momentum as it passed from person to person and grow; that every kindness had the potential to make the world a better place and that every harsh word or intolerant action made the world a little worse.

World wars could be encouraged or diminished by every person showing kindness or harshness to their neighbour and we were all responsible for everything that happens in the world around us.

He preferred to believe that, instead of being named after a film producer, he’d been named after Saint Martin, a Roman solider turned Christian who, after becoming baptised, strived to live a quiet, kind life. According to the legend, Saint Martin once cut his cloak in half to share it with a beggar in a snow storm and Martin realised that this simple action sat at the very core of his own belief system.

So Martin smiled, helped, carried, waved, supported, cared and gave.



3

Of course, there were always times when things wouldn’t work out this way. There were plenty of people who chose to be rude, unhelpful, unfair, cruel and harsh.

Some would choose to laugh or shout at some of the people in his care and this would upset them. He’d do what he could to mitigate the damage but the behaviour created in him a righteous anger.

He’d once read about Jesus overturning tables and casting everyone out of the temple because they were behaving offensively, so he didn’t feel guilty about feeling angry towards those who damaged the world but it did make him feel sad and cross.

Just like today.

He’d taken Roy out for an outing. Roy was a forty-nine year old man with Down’s syndrome. He was quite a heavy guy and had difficulty walking so Martin liked to pop him into a wheelchair and walk him down into the small town centre to look through some of the charity shops.

The staff in most of the shops knew Roy well and he loved the attention. Today Roy was feeling particularly pleased as he’d bought himself a new book that had caught his eye in the British Heart Foundation shop.

However, as they were walking back towards Roy’s shared house they had been confronted by a man in his twenties coming the other way, “Do you want to get out of the fucking way, mate?”

The pavement was quite narrow and, with Roy in his chair, they were taking up pretty much the whole width.

Martin smiled at him, “I’m sorry for us getting in your way, but would you be willing to maybe step to the side?”

“You want me to walk in the road?”

“It’s a quiet road and it wouldn’t cause you too much trouble.”

“Go fuck yourself. I pay taxes that keep spastics like this in the lap of luxury and now I’m not allowed on the same pavement? Shift!”

Martin decided that this was upsetting Roy and so prepared to back the chair up.

The guy spotted the book that Roy was carrying, “What you got there mate? New book is it?”

Roy gripped the book hard against himself, “My book.”

Mocking his voice, the guy said, “Your book! Yeah, of course mate, but I only want to take a look. Come on, hand it over. Let me see.” He grabbed the book and wrestled it out of Roy’s hands.

“What’s this shit? Ships? Do you like ships mate? Fancy yourself as a submarine do you? Got anything long and hard down there? Want to be full of semen, eh?”

He laughed at his own joke and then stopped and scowled at Roy, “Fucking retard,” he snarled, ripped the book down its spine, threw it into the road and then barged past Martin and carried off down the street, walking in the road.

Martin watched him go. Sad for Roy, sad for the world and sad for the guy.



4

The rest of the day Roy had been upset and difficult. Martin did all he could to help him to feel better but sometimes things are out of your control.

That was something else people needed to understand; some things are not in your control and so, when a situation arises out of your control it’s best not to worry about what you can’t change and focus on what you could do. How did that saying go? "God, give me grace to accept with serenity the things that cannot be changed, Courage to change the things which should be changed, and the Wisdom to distinguish the one from the other". Martin took this advice to heart and sought this wisdom.

So here he sat, with his eyes closed thinking back over the day.

He opened his eyes and saw what he was waiting for. Walking along the road towards the bridge was that same guy, walking in and out of the orange light of the streetlights. He stumbled slightly.

Martin had assumed that he’d been heading for the pub as that was the direction he’d walked earlier and so he’d sat here patiently for the past few hours hoping that he’d manage to catch the guy to put things right between them and set the universe straight.

Martin climbed out of his car and sighed. He walked towards the guy and they came eye-to-eye when they were about twenty metres apart. Martin was a bit nervous; it was late and there was no one else around.

The guy recognised him and started laughing, “You again! Where’s your fat friend?”

“Look, I’m sorry,” said Martin, “I didn’t want any trouble.”

Recognising the apology and leveraging the upper hand, the guy’s intoxicated smile widened, “You’re sorry? Yeah, you’re a right fucking sorry individual, eh?”

He was now face-to-face and Martin could smell alcohol on the guy’s breath.

Martin repeated, “I’m sorry.”

A frown appeared on the guy’s face as genuine concern and a sympathetic smile spread across Martin’s, “It’s for the best.”

The man’s gazed moved downwards and he saw the hilt of a knife against his abdomen, wrapped in Martin’s gloved hand, the blade buried deep. Martin wrapped an arm around the guy’s neck and turned him around.

He whispered into his ear, “I’m sorry but this is important for the future of the world. Just try to relax and know that I love you for your sacrifice. Your sin is paid for by your death.”

The guy tried to struggle but the strength was already leaving him. He gurgled something incomprehensible and Martin felt him sagging against him.

Carefully manoeuvring the guy to the side he used the relatively low rail of the bridge to lever him up. As he let the body fall into the water he pulled the blade out and, holding it over the water, placed it into a plastic bag. He’d dispose of it later. He pulled a pack of wipes out of his pocket and wiped the smears of blood from the rail and looked up.

The first few drops of rain struck his face and offered the promise of assistance to this unfortunate but necessary work.

Martin smiled a bitter sweet smile. He didn’t like the killing but it was necessary; part of his vocation.

He crossed the road and watched the river as the rain started to dance on its surface. Barely visible in the centre of the flow, a black shape rolled in the turbulence on its short journey to the mouth of the river and out to sea.

The world just became a little bit better, just as it did when he’d pushed his father out of the bedroom window. He’d not felt regret over his father. He knew it was a sin that he felt no regret over killing him but he recognised that he’d done the right thing and that his only sin was relishing in the fact that he was dead. He often prayed for forgiveness and trusted in God’s love.

In the years which followed his father’s death, Martin performed many more similar acts of kindness and for each one he remembered to light a candle when he visited the church as a symbol of the sacrifice they’d made. He mentally totted up; twenty-seven; twenty-seven more improvements to the world.

Only two were not equal to him; his father who he still struggled to forgive and, of course, his mother. He deeply regretted having to kill his mother but he couldn’t show favour. By letting his father live the way he lived she participated in his evil. He did miss her so.

No time to dawdle though, so he hurried back towards his car. It was late and he’d promised Roy that he’d take him out for ice-cream tomorrow. It really wouldn’t do if he didn’t get a good night’s sleep and was a big grumpy-Gus in the morning.