Read The Wake (And What Jeremiah Did Next) for Free Online

Coffey. Out! Next man, give me the first Commandment. First I am the Lord thy God, sir, Thou shalt have no other gods before Me. Good man. Now come over here, Coffey, and give me your hand. Out straight!
    If Seamus was well-dressed, which he was, he was put in the shade by the man facing him. Bill’s nickname in the school is Waistcoat Willy for he is never seen out of doors without his three-piece on. Come winter wind or summer sun it’s always the same, the only difference being in extremely sub zero times when he partly covers it with his three-quarter length sheepskin.
    “I heard the sound of more trouble when I was on my way here,” he said shaking his head. “It’s disgraceful what’s happening.”
    “Terrible,” I said. Silence from those opposite.
    “I blame the parents,” he went on. “They ought to know what their children are up to. It’s a dereliction of responsibility Jeremiah.”
    “What do you mean?” said Seamus. “Sure some of the parents are down there pegging stones as well.”
    Big Bill stared at him wondering if he was serious and then turned to speak to me. “Well if that’s the case then all I can say is there’s not much hope left for this town.”
    “What’s this Martin Luther King said Master?” Jim said addressing me. “Do you remember what Martin Luther King said? About rioting I’m talking about.”
    “Rioting is the voice of the unheard,” said Margie. “Is that what you’re thinking of?”
    “That’s it,” said Jim. “Rioting is the voice of the unheard.”
    “More like the voice of the unrared,” boomed Bill puffing out his waistcoat.
    Jim’s nostrils flared. “You trying to say the boys out fighting for us weren’t rared proper?”
    “I’m saying,” said Bill exaggerating weary patience, “that far too many mothers in this town are out playing Bingo at night when they should be at home watching their families. That’s what I’m saying. And by the way, they’re not fighting for me. ”
    “And what about the fathers?” demanded Margie.
    “The fathers?” said Bill. “I don’t know. You’d need to ask them. Although maybe I can guess.”
    A line of dilated pupils eyeballed Bill. Count me out here. My eyes were on the floor.
    Dangerous silence fell and you had the feeling then that the only thing saving Waistcoat Willy from serious insult was a sense of Catholic decorum. Although some kind of retribution seemed to be at hand wake or no wake. And then, out of the blue, Jim with his fondness for quoting moved the discussion along and so threw Bill an unintended lifeline.
    “There’s nobody as dangerous,” he said, “as the man that has nothing to lose.”
    Which Bill immediately tossed back into the boat, countering “What about the people who have everything to lose? Or think they have? The ones we’re backing into a corner?”
    “What are you talking about?” demanded Margie.
    I was trying to remember three things at the one time. Where was my whiskey glass, when had I left it out of my hand and was there any in it the time I put it down? In the middle of the frozen silence that followed Margie’s question I went out to the scullery and spied my glass with the bottle sitting beside it. I poured a generous glug on top of the thumbnail of whiskey I’d left and put the glass to my head. The heat filled my chest and made up my mind that this was the way to be. I don’t know how long I spent out there but whatever length of time it was I still had enough wits about me to leave bottle and glass behind when I went back to the kitchen where Bill was in the middle of advocating a return of the anti-treating league in Ireland as a means of stopping people standing rounds.
    “You see,” he said, “if there are three in the company then each person ends up taking three, maybe even six, drinks. And let’s say you have four people together.”
    “Got you,” said Jim. “Two threes is six and two fours is eight.”
    “And two fives is ten,”