Read Glass for Free Online

cried out, and said, O thou man of God, there is death in the pot. And they could not eat thereof.” 16 Unfortunately, Mathilda’s story is as old as stories themselves. So much has changed since the writing of the Bible, and yet, even in our technologically enhanced age, we still find ourselves afflicted in the most basic ways, and the same things continue to matter to us: our search for family, for friends, for work and for meaning in God. We may have every right to feel that Mathilda was taken from us before she should have been, but seeing you all here today, it’s clear that she made a lasting impact in this world.’
    The Dean kept indicating the coffin as if my mother might somehow have a right of reply, or as if she was some bottled genie who might at any moment jump out to verify any grand claims made on her behalf. 17
    â€˜And it may seem hard to tell whether the life she has lived was a good one,’ the Dean continued. ‘“There is a way which seemeth right unto a man, but the end thereof are the ways of death. Even in laughter the heart is sorrowful; and the end of that mirth is heaviness.”’ 18
    Even as I listened to her vintage wisdom, I felt that my mother’s funeral was being hijacked. I had to wonder if she’d have wanted to attend her own ceremony.
    â€˜Everybody will one day find that their time has come, and if one tries to bolt the door, one might just find that death is come up into their windows, 19 so to speak.’
    I looked away from the Dean and the coffin. Light filtered in through stained glass, transforming it from white-grey to ruby, like water to wine.
    â€˜â€œFor where a testament is, there must also of necessity be the death of the testator. For a testament is of force after men are dead: otherwise it is of no strength at all while the testator liveth.” 20 And we can take comfort from that.’
    I felt my shoulders sag. I glanced across at Max, who was biting a nail. Dad gave a defeated little huff, and stood, a handwritten page shaking in his hand as he made his way over to the lectern. He hated public speaking. He said hello to everyone, and glanced at Max, who gave him a tight nod.
    All I can hear is echoes , said Max.
    Can you lip-read? I signed.
    Too far away , Max replied.
    Okay, I’ll sign: ‘Mathilda was an amazing woman. I met her completely by chance when I was a door-to-door salesman. She answered the door and I started trying to sell her whatever I was flogging back then, but she’d just moved to England and barely spoke a word. Bloody hell, I thought—’ (now he’s apologising to the Dean for swearing) ‘—she’s a corker. So rather than bother with my swatches or whatever, I told her I was an English tutor.’ (Uncle Dave just did his dirty laugh.) ‘She really went for it, though, so I started giving her these lessons, and before I knew it she could speak English better than me. I expect everyone here knows that won’t have been because of my language skills. She was always looking things up in dictionaries, you know. She loved her weird words.’ (A couple of people are chuckling.) ‘She was clever and ambitious. But one thing or another clipped her wings. The move came at a bad time for her and she didn’t get the right qualifications to go to a university here. She moved in with me, and I always think I didn’t do enough to encourage her. Then we had the kids. When you’re young, you always think you’ll do everything, you’ll beat life, and then you wake up one day and realise life’s been beating you.’ (He’s stopped, he’s crying.)
    Max looked up. I had never seen Dad cry. It felt like stepping through my bedroom door as a child, and hearing it slam shut, and realising there was no handle on the other side.
    â€˜But she was a good person,’ he said vehemently. ‘She never did a bad deed in her life, and you all