Harold and Maude Read Online Free

or philosophy include a life after death? Oh, yes, indeed. That’s absolutely. Do you have ups and downs without obvious reasons? You do, don’t you, dear? Mark ‘A.’”
    Harold watched and listened. Slowly he turned the gun around until he was looking straight down the barrel.
    â€œDo you remember jokes and take pleasure relating them to others? You don’t, do you, dear? Mark ‘E.’”
    Gradually he tightened his finger around the trigger.
    â€œDo you think the sexual revolution has gone too far? It certainly seems to have. Should evolution—”
    With a loud blast the gun fired, knocking him backwards out of the chair onto the floor. He lay there lifelessly as blood trickled from the neat round hole in his forehead.
    Mrs. Chasen looked up.
    â€œHarold,” she said impatiently. “Harold, please! Did you hear me? Should evolution be taught in our public schools?”
    â€œI don’t think I’m getting through to Mother like I used to,” Harold confided to Dr. Harley later that day.
    â€œOh?” said the doctor.
    Harold brooded briefly. “I think I’m losing my touch.”
    D ARK GRAY CLOUDS ROLLED IN from the coast and the wind rustled the trees at the cemetery. Father Finnegan glanced up from the burial service and decided that it looked like rain. He skipped the holy water and began the final prayers.
    Harold looked about the small group of mourners. Some put up their umbrellas and huddled beneath them. Others stood silently, their hats in their hands.
    â€œPsst!”
    Harold turned.
    Across the grave, Maude, outfitted in a yellow raincoat and matching sou’wester, waved her hand to catch his attention.
    Embarrassed, he quickly gazed down at the coffin, pretending he hadn’t seen her.
    â€œPsst!”
    He didn’t move.
    â€œPSSSST!”
    He looked up.
    She gave him a big smile and winked.
    He nodded slightly.
    Father Finnegan closed his book and, mumbling the last blessing, noticed Maude. For a moment he thought he recognized her, but before he was certain she seemed to be overcome by grief and disappeared behind some people.
    He looked over at Harold. Harold looked down at the coffin. Father Finnegan concluded the prayer.
    The mourners responded “Amen,” blessed themselves, and hurried to their cars.
    â€œA moment, please,” said Father Finnegan, catching up to Harold. “You’re the Chasen boy, aren’t you?”
    â€œUh, yes,” answered Harold.
    â€œTell me, who was that old lady you were waving at earlier?”
    â€œI wasn’t waving at her. She was waving at me.”
    Just then Maude drove by in Harold’s hearse and stopped. She leaned out the window.
    â€œCan I give you a lift, Harold?” she asked.
    Harold was struck dumb. Father Finnegan walked around to the window.
    â€œExcuse me, madam,” he said, “but are you not the lady who drove my car off yesterday?”
    â€œWas that the one with the St. Christopher medal on the dashboard?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThen I suppose it was me. Hop in, Harold.”
    Harold decided not to ask for explanations. He opened the door and got in.
    â€œBut where is it?” asked Father Finnegan, becoming a little perturbed.
    â€œWhere’s what?” asked Maude.
    â€œMy car. Where did you leave it?”
    â€œOh, that. I think perhaps at the orphanage. No, it’s not, because I still had it at the African Arts Center. Ever been there, Father? Oh, you’ll enjoy it. They have the most colorful carvings. Primitive, of course, but some quite erotic.”
    Realization hit Father Finnegan. “You painted the statues,” he said.
    â€œOh, yes,” said Maude brightly. “How did you like them?”
    â€œWell, that’s the point. I didn’t.”
    â€œDon’t be too discouraged,” she said, releasing the brake. “Aesthetic appreciation always takes a little time.