Read Online The Wake (And What Jeremiah Did Next) by Colm Herron - Free Book Online

and dabbed myself dry with the hand towel which I then returned carefully to the side of the bath. Next up was what to wear. I scanned the bathroom and could see nothing but a flowered apron of Mammy’s drying on the convector heater.
    “Jeremiah!”
    Mammy. Say nothing. If I don’t answer she won’t know I’m here.
    “Jeremiah, are you all right?”
    Don’t weaken.
    “Jeremiah, it’s you in there, isn’t it?”
    On the other hand if I don’t answer she might think I’m lying unconscious and then she’ll get someone to force the door and then what? What will all those women think when they see the bottom half of me?
    “I’ll be out in a minute,” I called as matter of factly as I could. “Tell me, is Father Hourigan still there? In the wakeroom?” I tried to make these last two questions sound airy as if I wouldn’t have minded having a chat with him though it didn’t really matter that much but I don’t think Mammy bought it.
    “What do you want to know that for?” she shouted. “What does he want to know that for?” She could only have been directing the second question to the other women in the scullery. Two responses came, the first of which was: “What does he want to know what for?” and the other: “Here, I’ll go and see if I can get him.” Stupid woman whoever she was. Did she think I needed the last rites or what?
    A brainscalding pause that went on for anything up to five minutes, and then: “He’s away out the door. He left there a minute ago.”
    Blessed be God. Blessed be His Holy name. Blessed be Jesus Christ true God and true man.
    To add to the relief I remembered that weeks ago I’d stuffed a Woolworth’s bag containing a pajama bottom with dried in dreams on it into a next to inaccessible space between the bath and the wall. I’ll really have to buy a washing machine, I thought as I reached my hand in and dragged out the dusty bag slightly skinning my knuckles in the process. Least of my worries. The pajamas were quite stiff in places but apart from that, perfect. I replaced them with my trousers, underpants and socks and returned the bag to its hiding place. My coordination wasn’t the best because when I withdrew my hand this time the knuckles were bleeding. But no pain so that was all right.
    I did my best to sail breezily past the women in the scullery with a civil Hi, ladies. I’m not sure if it came off but nobody passed any remarks. This gave me the confidence I needed for my entrance into the wake room. What the hell, I reckoned, the worst that people can say is that I’m dropping a heavy hint about the late hour without actually telling them to get out.
    “And where is Charles De Gaulle now?” demanded Bill.
    “In the easy palace,” answered Willie Henry.
    “Exactly,” nodded Bill without turning a hair. “He’s sitting pretty in the Élysée Palace. So what exactly,” he continued, “did the student revolt, th-th-th-the streetmongering achieve? Exactly what did it achieve?”
    “Sweet damn all,” shouted Willie Henry.
    “Exactly,” said Bill. “It achieved nothing. But mind your language sir. The deceased is lying next to you. Sorry, what’s her name?”
    “Maud Abeline,” spluttered Margie. “Maud Abeline Harrigan.”
    Bill nodded gratefully. “An unusual name. And by the way, don’t expect any help from Europe when it comes to achieving human rights in this part of Ireland. Europe hasn’t exactly rushed to help the people of Czechoslovakia and Yugoslavia in their hour of need.”
    Margie was giving my pajama bottoms the once-over and I wasn’t happy about the expression on her face. Undisguised glee I think would cover it. I remembered then that I hadn’t any underpants on and heart in mouth I sneaked a look down to see if I was decent. Nothing in sight. I decided I’d be all right as long as I didn’t move. What the future held was something else. Truth to tell, I was in God’s hands.
    “Too right,” said Seamus. “But can