O'Malley has
Risen from the Grave
by Tony Owens
Paedric wiped
the sweat from his brow. The mourners had gone;
the priest was back in the rectory. Time for work.
One shovelful of dirt on the coffin lid –
the dull thud of finality, though Paedric was not
in a philosophical frame of mind this morning.
The high ambient temperature and a heroic intake
of whisky the night before had put paid to any
attempts at higher thinking.
Was that a
knocking? Surely not. John Francis O’Malley
had been dead for two days. A perforated ulcer
finally did what any number of bookies, debt
collection agents, loan sharks and jilted lovers
had desired to do these past twenty or so years.
He turned to
grab his water bottle (though water in name only)
and was startled to see the aforementioned
O’Malley sitting atop the casket, brushing
dirt off the lapels of his burial suit.
"Paedric,
you old soak. Close your mouth. It’s open
like the tomb of our Lord on Easter Sunday."
The
gravedigger glared at him. "Death certainly
has failed to put a civil tongue in your head.
You startled me."
O’Malley
tried to stand up. "Me back is killing me.
It’s a bit cramped in there."
"Be
thankful they didn’t cremate ye. Anyway,
what are you doing, showing up like you’re
cock of the walk? Have you no sense of decorum?"
"Unfinished
business. I think I might have left the gas on at
home."
Paedric raised
an eyebrow. "Be off with you. You’re
more irritating dead than you were alive."
"Where’s
your sense of humour, man? I’m just pulling
your leg. But it is unfinished business I’m
about. I need a favour."
"Mmmm?"
Paedric said suspiciously.
"Tell me,
do you have any ciggies on you. I’m gasping."
Paedric took a
near empty packet out of his overall pockets and
handed it to the late John O’Malley. The
latter smiled ruefully. "The doc told me to
give up smoking ten years ago and I did. What a
waste of time that was."
"OK lad,
out with it. What’s the favour you be asking?"
"Could
you apologise to my darling wife for me. I
suspect she knew about me and Maureen from the
bakery."
"You think
she knew. Don’t be daft man. I have a second
cousin three counties away who knew about you and
Maureen."
"I’m
sure that’s true. And while you’re at
it, could you have a word to Maureen too. She
didn’t know I was married."
"Maybe I
should whisper in St. Peter’s ear too.
You’ll need all the help you can get where
you’re going."
He leaned over
to take a swig from his bottle and when he looked
back, he was alone again. He peered into the open
grave. Not a soul, literally. He sighed and
reached for his cigarettes. Gone!
"Damn and
blast you John Francis O’Malley. If you
weren’t dead already
I’d…I’d…" He sighed. It
was getting dark. He started shovelling again.
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