The Wake (And What Jeremiah Did Next) Read Online Free PDF Page B

on the dead woman’s two piece suit. After praying in a loud whisper May her soul and the souls of all the faithful departed etcetera he turned to see who else was in the room.
    Jim, James and Willie Henry acknowledged him with dumb hostility and Bill looked disapprovingly back at them, having noted the drinks in their hands. Margie was smiling glassily, keeping her own counsel.
    “Very sad,” Bill said and sat on a chair opposite the others. “All things must pass.”
    It was at this point that somebody let off, a prolonged squelchy one partly muffled I’d say by a pair of clenched cheeks. The smell came a little later, as it does, and there was no way of knowing for certain who it emanated from, Margie, Seamus, Jim and Willie Henry being seated inscrutably close together, unless you could have had some way of finding out who had had cabbage and baked beans and spiced meatballs too if I’m not mistaken for dinner that day. (My money for what it’s worth would have gone on Willie Henry, known to some in Derry by the sobriquet McGillycuddy of the reeks, not to be confused in any shape or form of course with Donough McGillycuddy, direct descendant of Mogh Nuaghad King of Munster and current chieftain of the McGillycuddy of the Reeks clan, educated at Eton and Neuchâtel and now living in Himeville, KwaZulu-Natal, South Africa, according to an article in the Irish Times I have here in front of me.)
    Neither was there any way of ascertaining whether this rearward breaking of wind was involuntary or carried a message, what I mean is some kind of gesture directed at Bill. Whichever was the case the stink was so bad that it would have made a skunk throw up had one been present. The three male suspects were perfectly unreadable while Margie was staring pointedly at the coffin, lips tight together with controlled I’m not sure what. The thing she was implying by her knowing look was awful of course though not necessarily unthinkable. I suppose Charlie Bradley and Denis McLaughlin would be the ones to ask. I’ve heard for example that undertakers have to block up all the orifices to stop leaks. It’s disgusting when you think about it but I suppose that’s the way we’re made. If God really exists, and sometimes you have to wonder, you’d think at least He’d have given us a bit of dignity. Temples of the Holy Ghost, isn’t that what we’re supposed to be? Well, if the Holy Ghost stopped doing whatever it is He does nowadays and thought about it all for a second He might just decide He didn’t want His name associated with us.

    The air still hadn’t cleared when I sat down beside Bill. I had good reason for choosing that particular place to sit because on top of the lingering redolence there was a mood of defiance about and I guessed that one or more of the mourners present had experienced the weight of Bill’s authority back in their schooldays. My motives had nothing to do with solidarity I assure you. I simply wanted to keep the proceedings civil. There’s nothing as unseemly as a row at a wake, especially if it’s reported in the Derry Journal, and I felt a certain responsibility seeing this was my house. So there we sat, Bill and I, facing Jim, Seamus, Margie and Willie Henry. The men had the look, and Margie wasn’t far behind, of people that couldn’t wait to get started. A growing aggravation was the fact that the four of them were in need of alcoholic replenishment, as I myself was, but there was no way I was going to produce the bottle while Bill was there. The bitter irony about what looked like my support for him was the fact that I too harbored painful memories of his heavy hand, especially in the matter of the Derry Catechism. Who created you and placed you in this world Coffey? God. Why did God create you? To know Him and love Him and serve Him and by that means to gain everlasting life. Now give me the first Commandment. First I am the Lord thy God, Thou … Thou … Thou … Out on the floor