John the Revelator by Peter Murphy Read Free Book Online Page A

another pained sound. Miss Ross consulted the roll, still too new to have gotten the hang of our names.
    â€˜Gabriel Mahon,’ she said, ‘would you stand up and read the first eight lines aloud please?’
    Gabby stood, in a hoop with the blueballs, squinted at the blackboard and tried to speak. His face went pale and his eyes rolled up until you could see only whites and he took faint and had to be helped out into the bright sunlight of the yard.
    And we all envied him something rotten.
    Â 
    The Junior Cert should have kept Jamey out of action for at least a couple of weeks, but he was one of those people who get away without doing a thing, who just cram at the last minute and sail through the papers with an ease that makes the rest of us spit nails.
    A couple of days after the exams had started I was passing the café with the sign on the door advertising cut-rate long-distance calls. I saw him sitting at a table by the window. He was hunched over a Moleskine notebook, the
Ballo Valley Sentinel
and a mug of coffee set to one side, schoolbag at his feet. His granny glasses were perched on the end of his beaky nose and he was writing furiously, filling the page with reams of tiny spidery writing. Plus, he was wearing—get this—a suit. No secondhand double-breasted job with shabby cuffs and flared trousers either, but a proper three-piece, tailored to fit. He looked good. Jamey had a relationship with clothes I could never hope to emulate, seemed to apply the same set of aesthetics to them as he did to books or music. Me, I just wore whatever my mother picked up in the sales.
    He spotted me watching and beckoned me inside. The coffee machine behind the counter hissed.
    â€˜How’s the worm-boy,’ he said, almost shouting over the din.
    To be honest, the worm-boy stuff was getting a bit old. He must’ve sensed my irritation because that was the last time I heard it.
    â€˜You want something to drink?’
    I shook my head and took a seat. He spread the
Sentinel
on the table, tapped the bottom of the front page.
    â€˜Have a look at this,’ he said as he rose from his chair.
    I read the article while he ordered a refill.
    Â 
Local Asylum Seeker Disappears
After Attack
by Jason Davin, Staff Reporter
    Â 
Concerns were expressed at the sudden disappearance last week of Jude Udechukwu, a 20-year-old non-national whose last known address was at 14 Rafferty Street. Mr Udechukwu,
The Sentinel
understands, was retained in an ‘off the books’ capacity at a local garage. It is believed that the night before his disappearance, he was involved in an altercation with a number of locals and failed to report for work the next morning. The following day, a work colleague contacted Mr Udechukwu’s landlord, Mr Thos Rackard. On gaining entry to his flat, they found that many of his personal effects were missing. ‘It was odd,’ Mr Rackard told
The Sentinel.
‘If he was planning on doing a runner, you’d think he would’ve wanted his deposit back. It’s not like I was planning to keep it.’
At the time of going to press, local Gardai said they were awaiting further developments before considering mounting a search for the missing man.
    â€˜Funny how they call ’em non-nationals,’ Jamey said, placing the fresh cup beside the old one. ‘Like they were all born out of thin air. You ask me, he probably got fed up and buggered off back to Africa.’
    Seconds later he said, ‘Have you seen the new shop beside Fernie’s?’
    I hadn’t.
    â€˜Aw, man. You should check it out. It’s full of mad African stuff. Weird food and ornaments.’
    He looked out the window of the café and said, almost to himself: ‘This is one weirdo little village. I tell you, when I get out of this place, I’m gonna write a book about it that’ll turn your hair white.’
    â€˜
I am only escaped to tell thee,
’ I