Free The Deportees by Roddy Doyle Page A

abomination. He'd known it since he'd seen the light ten years ago, and quickly realised that his loud embrace of Christianity was very good for business. It bored most people, and frightened quite a few, but, even so, Gandhi's weird faith had made him suddenly respectable. Here was a man who could be trusted, a man who took the world seriously. So, he took it for what it was: golf without the exercise.
    Agnes wasn't shaking too badly now. She loved the words, how they broke and reassembled. SOME–WHERE. Her eyes were still shut, but she knew they were all looking as she told them there was a place for them, somewhere a place for them.
    Gandhi hadn't really looked at a man since. But here he was, in love again. It had happened once before, when he was seventeen. The love of his life, he'd thought ever since, a student from Lyons, a tall lad who'd played table tennis like a gorgeous maniac and never leaked sweat that didn't suit him. And here, out of nowhere, it was back. The feeling, the longing. The happiness and misery.
    Gilbert was drawing whispers from the drum. They surrounded Agnes as she stood there and, finally, opened her eyes.
    —SOME—
    WHERRRR–E.
    She stopped. It was over.
    There was silence. Gilbert straightened the silver wig.
    Gandhi was the first to clap; he had to do something – he brought his hands together with slaps that made his teeth, and everyone else's, rattle. The tent was full of whoops and applause. Gilbert and Leo thumped their drums, forced a rhythm on the crowd. And Paddy stepped up to the mic.
    —LOTS OF FOLKS BACK EAST THEY SAY—
    Gandhi knew: a Christian couldn't just walk away from his family.
    —IS LEAVIN' HOME EVERY DAY—
    And take off with a man, any man, let alone that particular man there in the silver wig.
    —BEATIN' THE HARD AND DUSTY WAY—
    He was stuck.
    —TO THE 'PUBLIC OF IRELAND LIY–INE—
    But not for long.
    Gandhi was the big embodiment of the spirit of the new Ireland. Easy come, easy go. That was then and this is fuckin' now. Right then and there, Fat Gandhi abandoned his religion.
    But he didn't tell anyone.
    Which was probably just as well because the birthday girl, his daughter, had decided that Gilbert was the second-best-looking man in the tent.
    King Robert took it from Paddy.
    —ACROSS THE DES–ERT SANDS THEY ROLL—
    Big Dan gave them a quick blast of Lawrence of Arabia, on the accordion.
    —GET–TING OUT OF THAT OLD–DD DUST BOWL—
    Gilbert let go of a scream.
    —THEY THINK THEY ARE GO–ING–GG TO THE SUG–AR BOWL—
    Fat Gandhi and the birthday girl screamed back.
    —BUT HERE IS WHAT THEY FIND—
    Paddy took the floor behind the mic again. Kenny came out of his hair and saw the birthday girl's little sister staring at him.
    —NOW THE GARDA AT THE POINT OF EN–TRY SAY–YYY—
    YOU'RE NUMBER FOUR–TEEN THOUS–AND FOR THE—
    DAY–YY–YY—
    Jimmy watched eyes meeting other eyes, but he couldn't keep up. Paddy, Agnes and King Robert sang huge.
    —OHHH—
    IF YOU AIN'T GOT THE DOH–RAY–MEEE – FOLKS—
    IF YOU AIN'T GOT THE DOH-RAY—
    MEEEEE—
    And Kenny roared over Agnes's shoulder.
    —That's fuckin' euros, boy!
    The little sister blinked for Kenny; she'd never been called Boy before.
    —WHY – YOU'D BETTER GO BACK TO BEAUTIFUL GHAN–A—
    OKLAHOMA, POLAND, GEORGIA, AFRIC–EEEE—
    Jimmy was sent flying; a dancing auntie followed, and landed on his chest.
    —BALLYFERMOT'S A GARDEN OF EEEE–DEN—
    And she wouldn't get off him.
    —A PARA–DISE TO LIVE IN OR—
    SEE–EEEEEE—
    Gilbert screamed again.
    —BUT – BELIEVE IT OR – NOT—
    The birthday girl was wearing Gilbert's wig. Jimmy rescued his phone; it was buzzing and biting his arse.
    —YOU WON'T FIND IT SO – HOT—
    He got the phone to his ear, just before the auntie's tongue got there.
    —Jesus! Hello!
    —Nigger lover.
    Jimmy laughed, and held the phone in the air.
    —IF YOU AIN'T GOT THE DOH – RAY—
    MEEE-EEEE—
    He was still laughing as he stood and