The Wake - Table of contents

The Wake - afters (11)

Aisling stared at him, mouth open, beautiful, bemused. “And you know why they’ve no border between them and the Palestinians?” he said half shouting. “Because there’s no limit to what they intend to take. Like all the land they stole in the six day war they organised. Sure their whole bloody rule comes from grubby deals.” He was holding his glass so tight you’d have thought it was going to break. “Tell us this and tell us no more. How many Palestinians did you see working in that kibbutz? How many?”

Her face was even paler now and she looked as if she was raring to go the second he took a breath which he didn’t look as if he was going to do. “You know why you saw none? Cause the Israelis wouldn’t have one about the place. Like who was it, what do you call him, Brookeborough, the last prime minister in this place before O’Neill, that’s what Brookeborough said about us. I wouldn’t have one about the place.”

“It’s not the same kind of thing!” These words from the dyke. Funny voice, squeaky wee voice, like a boy’s voice breaking, not what you’d have expected to look at her. Big ugly Adam’s apple on her, up and down as she spoke. Could be a man trapped in a woman’s body. I’ve heard of that, genitals tucked away inside.

Pearse turned his head sharply to take her in. “Aw aye it is, dear, it’s exactly the same kind of thing. It’s the same as the Brits did here with their penal laws and their plantations. I’d say from the look of the two of you you’re out marching for Catholic rights. Am I right? Am I?”

The last two words were so loud some heads turned.

“Take it easy Pearse,” I said laying my hand on his arm. “Keep your voice down.”

He pulled his arm violently away. “What the fuck are you talking about? What the fuck has it got to do with you?”

“I happen to know one of them and there’s no call for you —”

“We’re not out for Catholic rights. We’re not sectarian. How dare you!”

This was Aisling. There was a haze around her. Maybe it was my eyes that did it but there was a haze around her. The thought of her touch settled on my heart. We lay together embraced laughing the morning after the night I took her to casualty, the morning she rang the school pretending to be my mother.

“Crowd of crooked landgrabbers, racist government, and yous can’t even see. Typical City Hotel socialists sipping your vodka and whites. Take your hand away from me Jerry boy. You can go and fuck the two of them if that’s what you want. As long as you know they can’t see past their noses.”

I hadn’t realised I was holding his arm again. He stood up and my hand fell away. “Best of luck citizens,” he said picking up his glass and emptying what was in it down his throat. He knocked against me as he went to go and then he was away, weaving between the tables.

“I’m sorry about that,” I said.

“Is he a friend of yours?” said squareface.

“Well he works with me. He’d given up the drink but he’s obviously back on it again.”

“Obviously,” said squareface needlessly, implying by her tone that I was some kind of accessory.

“He’s a good fella when he’s sober but he was way out of order there. I’m sorry he insulted you.”

“Why should you be sorry?” Aisling pointed out. “It wasn’t your fault.” Paused. “Why don’t you sit here.”

Mutely I did just that, lifting my chair over and putting it down beside Aisling and away from her companion. Mutely because I was trembling and didn’t trust myself to speak. The dyke didn’t look too pleased.

“When did you hear about Audrey?” Aisling said hoarsely.

I swallowed, coughed and swallowed again. “Just tonight there. Vinny told me when I came in. What an awful thing to happen.”

“She was taking a group of children up for some activities in Saint Thomas’s school in the Whiterock when a wall started to collapse. She pushed them out of the way and those two seconds were what ...”

She tailed off and put her hand to her forehead. When she was ready to speak again she said: “She was the most generous person I ever met. Oh sorry, this is Frances, this is Jeremiah.” Frances with an e or Francis with an i? Our eyes met, gooseberries eyeballing each other.

“What will you have to drink?” I asked. “Aisling? Frances?”

Aisling waved a hand over her glass shaking her head and her friend seeing this did the same.

“We were actually thinking of going,” Aisling said. “We just came in for the one.” She started to get up. Her black leather skirt rose from behind the table, tight, pleated, hugging her. Frances stood and so did I. Body all aglow now I said: “I was just about to go myself. Sure I’ll walk up with yous.”