“My mother’s boyfriend, Jeffrey, or the ‘old man’ as I had to call him, was a different kind of strange – wasn’t he? The man, God bless him, over his long life had accumulated a lot of unsavoury habits. One which involved beating me through the floor, his only boy, every Saturday night after he came back from playing cards.”
The speaking man, tall and kind’a handsome, stopped for a moment, laughed then said: “Oh my, look at me going in for the kill from the get go, eh. Look at me dishing out the harsh truths for you all on this strange and funny day. Like any of you would’ve really known what the cunt was actually like. Honestly.” he said. “I don’t really care if you do or if you don’t, but, believe me when I say it – the man was an absolute monster of the highest order. A pig. An undisputed piece of cancer on the back of my ageing ballsack and yes, that you can believe.”
The speaking man’s name was Pablo, and at this point of the day, shortly after 2pm on a Sunday, all eyes were on him. The fact that his mother’s long-time lover was about to be lowered into the ground for the first and last time was an almost secondary issue. The guy was such a good speaker that the people didn’t even notice it had started to rain.
And hard too.
“I hope it’s a fine and messy bog down there for you, Jeff.” said Pablo, spitting down into the grave while others threw in a few roses. “May the devil be with you forever and ever sir. And whenever I die, if I meet you in hell, if there is one at all, I’ll honour my duty by sending you to an even deeper place because that is all you deserve.”
Pablo took pause for a moment, blessed himself then said a quick “Amen.” into the heavens and everyone around him slowly followed suit in repeating the exact same half-willed gesture.
“AMEN.”
“And might I just say.” Pablo roared. “While I have you all here, that this is the finest, most pride-filled day of my clerical career. Please.” he said. “Do not be fooled. For it is as much in a priest’s interest to banish a soul to an unforgivable hell than it is to wish them into heaven, and today I stand by that logic.”
There was a stunned silence among the crowd. An odd cough here and there.
“Anyways.” he said, clapping his hands together. “There’ll be a lovely meal for you all in the hotel in about”…he checked his watch…”thirty minutes time. Come join us if you are not otherwise engaged as we would love to have you. All at the kind expense of our not so precious but dearly departed brother. Basically.” he said, half laughing. “Come and eat until you die.”
That’s when Fr. Pablo blessed himself, closed his Bible and made a quick dart for his car. At the side of that busy road, it’d take him no more than thirty seconds to de-robe, change into regular clothes and bundle whatever else he had into the back seat.
He was a sketchy priest today, Fr. Pablo – and everyone leaving the graveyard, at one point or another, had said the same thing, that they had noticed a certain erratic behaviour in the way he was handling himself. “On a normal day.” said one older man. “He’d hang around and talk to you for a while, have a laugh, but this day here, he seems to have no such interest, whatever the hell is wrong with him.”
“I’ll see you all in at the hotel.” Pablo roared from his car. “I skipped my breakfast this morning what with all the excitement of today and right now I’m so hungry I reckon I could eat a fully grown ape or a small child. Don’t tell the Pope. Anyways turrah.” and he drove away.
Thirty minutes later, shortly after 2:35pm, everyone from the village carefully descended upon the town’s only hotel for the ‘not so solemn’ afters of this man’s funeral. Pablo’s earlier promise, that of a big delicious meal, had stuck in people’s heads and now everyone was getting properly rizzed up at the thought of a nice dinner happening or something, God forbid, even more lavish.
“I wonder what it’ll be?” they all wondered. “The ways he’s talking it could be anything at all from a breast of succulent pheasant to steak and kidney pie. I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see won’t we.”
“Yes.” they all excitedly agreed. “I suppose we will.”
When the handicapped folks arrived, eleven people, and when they saw they were late, they jumped out of their vehicles with such aggression, and force, that you’d question if there was ever anything wrong with them in the first place. It begged the query: Was there ever anything actually wrong with Mrs. Reaney’s left hip? Or was she just being a local little spoofer, a little old git, who would try her arm at everything with hope of a good outcome? And that’s only the start of it.
“Either way.” said Fr.Pablo, welcoming them into the hotel. “Whatever your motive is here, as God is my witness, I do not care. You eat well today and you be happy for it is a blessed day. One full of joy and unexplainable glory. We must all endeavour to enjoy it. Together.”
A bold announcement like that, especially coming from the mouth of a local priest, was exactly what the party needed at the time. In a matter of minutes there were 360 people sat in the main dining hall of the hotel just waiting for food to arrive into the bubbling bain-marie stations which had now comfortably lined the whole length of one of the walls.
“That’s a lot of potential food.” said one hungry customer to another. “I just hope none of it is spicy. I wouldn’t be able to handle it. I’ll get the shits and we can’t be having that happen twice in the one day. Anyways.” she said, propping herself up in her chair. “I suppose people only die once, don’t they? When you’re out, you’re out. I say fuck it – bring on the feast.”
Not long after that, the food was finally delivered into the dining hall by a militant looking group of tiny Hispanic chefs who wore nothing but dark red shoes and black clothes. Like a carefully crafted troupe of ballerinas they swept gracefully through the space, eyes front and centre, with large silver trays propped up onto the rigid fingers of their right hand while the left, in keeping with tradition, stayed perfectly coiled around their lower backs.
“Oooh.” said one man with a lisp upon sight of the food. “It all looksss very fancy and deliciousss.”
Upon further inspection, the fare was standard at best. It consisted of red meat, steamed vegetables, potatoes, chicken and gravy with a sign above the main door as you came in that said “Eat like it’s your last meal.”
The crowd of hungry pensioners sat in awe for a while watching this parade, this long line of men as they gracefully set their trays down into each of the bubbling bain-marie stations. A real pleasing sight should one be hungry enough. In fact, one old woman, Margery, found it so tantalising that she’d end up having the fixings of a heart attack right then and there and have to be seen to immediately.
“Not a pleasant sight.” according to one eye-witness. “All that fuss over a few boiled potatoes. Give over.”
The local medics would eventually be called in, three big men, and after a few minutes of talking they decided to do a quick test on her lungs to see if she was ok, but she wasn’t, so they took her by the ankles and dragged her out of there, in front of everyone, like she were a dead dog or something and guess what “They didn’t even say goodbye.”
Now, it would be an unfair thing to say that this woman’s abrupt departure didn’t cause some degree of consternation among those already in attendance – because it did. In the space of only a few seconds, people were getting up out of their seats, in huge groups, grabbing their things and making for the door like they were on a sinking ship.
Fr.Pablo, amid the turmoil, would have to address the issue from the stage with hope of regaining some of the order.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” he roared, arms splayed out before him like a pleading God. “Let us not get distracted for a moment by the absence of that selfish woman, whoever she was. The medics have taken her away and yes they are very good indeed at their job. Please, for me.” he said. “Go back down to your seats. Let us be calm and have a nice little afternoon…together.”
It took a few goes but once they listened, and were convinced, each guest slowly muddled their way back through the space, found their seat (or something that looked like it) and sat back down. A few seconds later, and voilà, there was chatter again in the air, laughter too – so much of it this time you’d almost swear nothing grim had happened at all.
“Phew.” said Pablo, under his breath, wiping sweat off his brow. “That was close. Screw that bitch anyway for causing a fuss and almost ruining my day. Typical women. On the plus side though, my plan is almost in place.” Looking around the room full of dothery old folk, and biting his lip, he said “I just need to get them eating. QUICK.”
All it took was a quick ring of his bell, DING. DING. DING, and the people were up again out of their seats, grabbing at plates and all kinds of wonderful looking cutlery. The great big buffet, what with the sudden influx of all these people, had started to fill up quick, in roughly the same amount of time it’d take the average man to peel an orange. There would be quarrelling too at various points, and plenty of it, with people skipping turns, butting in, calling each other cunts and throwing elbows.
Fr.Pablo didn’t eat anything at this stage. When asked why, he would say quite confidently that he had eaten something small in the car on his way in, a protein bar or something, maybe too much of it, and that in turn seemed to have given him a weak stomach just now.
“The last thing I want is more sickness in my life.” he said, forcing a laugh. “Lord knows I’m sick enough. I’ll get something for myself when all my guests have been fully satisfied first. That matters more to me than anything else.”…and with her plate stacked high the woman asked no further questions. She went on her merry way, happy as Larry talking to herself and complaining that something in the room had a strange burnt smell.
“Whatever the heck it is.”
Fast forward to midnight at the police station. Here it was, like any other Sunday night, packed full of hoodlums, drunks and bums with Fr.Pablo plonked right in the middle wearing a rusted pair of handcuffs and a black eye.
When the detective finally asked him why he did it, why he chose to poison all those innocent people with all that food, his answer was all too frank and honest.
“Because.” he said. “I am he…
You are looking at the devil.”
