He has to go to the Confraternity on Friday nights.

Never mind the Confraternity. Thereas nothina in the catechism about confraternities.

I meet Uncle Pat at the Limerick Leader on Friday evening at five.

The man handing out the papers says my arms are that skinny Iad be lucky to carry two stamps but Uncle Pat sticks eight papers under each arm.He tells me, Iall kill you if you drop aem for atis raining abroad, pelting out of the heavens. He tells me hug the walls going up OaConnell Street to keep the papers dry. Iam to run in where thereas a delivery, climb the outside steps, in the door, up the stairs, yell Paper, get the money they owe him for the week,down the stairs, give him the money and on to the next stop. Customers give him tips for his troubles and he keeps them for himself.

We make our way up OaConnell Avenue, out Ballinacurra, in by the South Circular Road, down Henry Street and back to the office for more papers. Uncle Pat wears a cap and a thing like a cowboy poncho to keep his papers dry but he complains his feet are killing him and we stop in a pub for a pint for his poor feet. Uncle Pa Keating is there all black and having a pint and he says to Uncle Pat,Ab, are you going 173.

to let that boy stand there with his face hanging out for the want of a lemonade?

Uncle Pat says,Wha? and Uncle Pa Keating gets impatient. Christ, heas dragging your f.e.c.kina papers all over Limerick and you canata"Oh, never mind.Timmy, give the child a lemonade. Frankie, donat you have a raincoat at home?

No, Uncle Pa.

Youare not supposed to be out in this weather.Youare drenched entirely.Who sent you out in this muck?

Grandma said I had to help Uncle Pat because of his bad leg.

Course she did, the oula b.i.t.c.h, but donat tell them I said that.

Uncle Pat is struggling off the seat and gathering up his papers.

Come on, atis gettina dark.

He hobbles along the streets calling, Anna Lie Sweets Lie, which doesnat sound a bit like Limerick Leader and it doesnat matter because everyone knows this is Ab Sheehan that was dropped on his head. Here, Ab, give us a Leader, howas your poor leg, keep the change ana get yourself a f.a.g for atis an awful f.e.c.kina night to be out sellina the f.e.c.kina papers.

Tanks, says Ab,my uncle.Tanks, tanks, tanks, and itas hard to keep up with him on the streets bad as his leg is. He says,How many Leaders have you under your oxter?

One, Uncle Pat.

Take that Leader in to Mr. Timoney. He owes me for a fortnight now. Get that money ana thereas a tip. Heas a good man for the tip ana donat be shovina it in your pocket like your cousin Gerry. Shoved it in his pocket, the little b.u.g.g.e.r.

I bang on the door with the knocker and thereas a great howl from a dog so big he makes the door shake.A manas voice says, Macushla, quit the b.l.o.o.d.y racket or Iall give you a good fong in the a.r.s.e for yourself.

The racket stops, the door opens and the man is there, white hair, thick gla.s.ses, white sweater, a stick in his hand. He says,Who is it? Who do we have?

The paper,Mr.Timoney.

We donat have Ab Sheehan here, do we?

Iam his nephew, sir.

Is it Gerry Sheehan we have here?

No, sir. Iam Frank McCourt.

Another nephew? Does he make them? Is there a little nephew fac- 174.

tory in the backyard? Hereas the money for the fortnight and give me the paper or keep it. Whatas the use? I canat read anymore and Mrs.

Minihan thatas supposed to read to me didnat come. Legless with the sherry, thatas what she is.Whatas your name?

Frank, sir.

Can you read?

I can, sir.

Do you want to earn a sixpence?

I do, sir.

Come here tomorrow.Your name is Francis, isnat it?

Frank, sir.

Your name is Francis. There was never a St. Frank. Thatas a name for gangsters and politicians. Come here tomorrow at eleven and read to me.

I will, sir.

Are you sure you can read?

I am, sir.

You can call me Mr.Timoney.

I will, Mr.Timoney.

Uncle Pat is mumbling at the gate, rubbing his leg. Whereas me money ana youare not supposed to be chattina with the customers aname here with the leg destroyed be the rain. He has to stop at the pub at Punchas Cross to have a pint for the destroyed leg.After the pint he says he canat walk another inch and we get on a bus. The conductor says, Fares, please, fares, but Uncle Pat says, Go away ana donat be botherina me, canat you see the state oa me leg?

Oh, all right,Ab, all right.

The bus stops at the OaConnell Monument and Uncle Pat goes to the Monument Fish and Chip Caf where the smells are so delicious my stomach beats with the hunger. He gets a shillingas worth of fish and chips and my mouth is watering but when we get to Grandmaas door he gives me a threepenny bit, tells me meet him again next Friday and go home now to my mother.

The dog Macushla is lying outside Mr. Timoneyas door and when I open the little garden gate to go up the path she rushes at me and knocks me back out on the pavement and shead eat my face if Mr.Tim- 175.

oney didnat come out and flail at her with his stick and yell, Come in out of it, ye hoor, ye overgrown man-eatina b.i.t.c.h. Didnat you have your breakfast, you hoor? Are you all right, Francis? Come in. That dog is a right Hindu, so she is, and thatas where I found her mother wandering around Bangalore. If ever youare getting a dog, Francis, make sure itas a Buddhist. Good-natured dogs, the Buddhists. Never, never get a Mahommedan.Theyall eat you sleeping. Never a Catholic dog. Theyall eat you every day including Fridays. Sit down and read to me.

The Limerick Leader, Mr.Timoney?

No, not the b.l.o.o.d.y Limerick Leader. I wouldnat wipe the hole of my a.r.s.e with the Limerick Leader. Thereas a book over there on the table, Gulliveras Travels. Thatas not what I want you to read. Look in the back for another thing, A Modest Proposal. Read that to me. It begins, It is a melancholy object to those who walk . . . Do you have that? I have the whole b.l.o.o.d.y thing in my head but I still want you to read to me.

He stops me after two or three pages.Youare a good reader. And what do you think of that, Francis, that a young healthy child well nursed is at a year old a most delicious, nourishing, and wholesome food, whether stewed, roasted, baked, or boiled, eh? Macushla would love a dinner of a nice plump Irish infant,wouldnat you, you oula hoor?

He gives me sixpence, and tells me return next Sat.u.r.day.

Mam is delighted I earned sixpence for reading to Mr. Timoney and what was it he wanted read, the Limerick Leader? I tell her I had to read A Modest Proposal from the back of Gulliveras Travels and she says, Thatas all right, atis only a childrenas book.Youad expect him to want something strange for heas a little off in the head after years in the sun in the English army in India and they say he was married to one of them Indian women and she was accidentally shot by a soldier during some cla.s.s of a disturbance. Thatas the kind of thing that would drive you to childrenas books. She knows this Mrs. Minihan who lives next door to Mr. Timoney and used to clean house but couldnat stand it anymore the way he laughed at the Catholic Church and said one manas sin was another manas romp.Mrs. Minihan didnat mind the odd drop of sherry of a Sat.u.r.day morning but then he tried to turn her into a Buddhist, which he said he was himself and the Irish would be much better off in general if they sat under a tree and watched the Ten Commandments and the Seven Deadly Sins float down the Shannon and far out to sea.

176.

The next Friday Declan Collopy from the Confraternity sees me on the street delivering the papers with my uncle Pat Sheehan. Hoi, Frankie McCourt, what are you doina with Ab Sheehan?

Heas my uncle.

Youare supposed to be at the Confraternity.

Iam working, Declan.

Youare not supposed to be working. Youare not even ten and youare destroyina the perfect attendance in our section. If youare not there next Friday Iall give you a good thump in the gob, do you hear me?

Uncle Pat says, Go away, go away, or Iall walk on you.

Ah, shut up,Mr. Stupid that was dropped on your head. He pushes Uncle Pat on the shoulder and knocks him back against the wall. I drop the papers and run at him but he steps aside and punches me on the back of the neck and my forehead is rammed into the wall and it puts me in such a rage I canat see him anymore. I go at him with arms and legs and if I could tear his face off with my teeth I would but he has long arms like a gorilla and he just keeps pushing me away so that I canat touch him. He says,You mad f.e.c.kina eejit. Iall destroy you in the Confraternity, and he runs away.

Uncle Pat says,You shouldnat be fightina like that ana you dropped all me papers ana some oa them is wet ana how am I supposed to sell wet papers, and I wanted to jump on him too and hit him for talking about papers after I stood up to Declan Collopy.

At the end of the night he gives me three chips from his bag and sixpence instead of threepence. He complains itas too much money and itas all my motheras fault for going on to Grandma about the low pay.

Mam is delighted Iam getting sixpence on Fridays from Uncle Pat and sixpence on Sat.u.r.days from Mr.Timoney. A shilling a week makes a big difference and she gives me tuppence to see the Dead End Kids at the Lyric after Iam finished the reading.

Next morning Mr.Timoney says,Wait till we get to Gulliver, Francis.

Youall know Jonathan Swift is the greatest Irish writer that ever lived, no, the greatest man to put pen to parchment. A giant of a man, Francis. He laughs all through A Modest Proposal and youad wonder what heas laughing at when itas all about cooking Irish babies. He says,Youall laugh when you grow up, Francis.

Youare not supposed to talk back to grown-ups but Mr. Timoney is different and he doesnat mind when I say, Mr. Timoney, big people are always telling us that. Oh, youall laugh when you grow up.

177.

Youall understand when you grow up. Everything will come when you grow up.

He lets out such a roar of a laugh I think heas going to collapse. Oh, Mother oa G.o.d, Francis.Youare a treasure.Whatas up with you? Do you have a bee up your a.r.s.e? Tell me whatas up.

Nothing, Mr.Timoney.

I think you have the long puss, Francis, and I wish I could see it.Go over to the mirror on the wall, Snow White, and tell me if you have the long puss. Never mind. Just tell me whatas up.

Declan Collopy was at me last night and I got into a fight.

He makes me tell him about the Confraternity and Declan and my uncle Pat Sheehan, who was dropped on his head, and then he tells me he knows my uncle Pa Keating, who was ga.s.sed in the war and works in the gas works. He says,Pa Keating is a jewel of a man.And Iall tell you what Iall do, Francis. Iall talk to Pa Keating and weall go to the crawthumpers at the Confraternity. Iam a Buddhist myself and I donat hold with fighting but I havenat lost it.Theyare not going to interfere with my little reader, oh, by Jesus, no.

Mr.Timoney is an old man but he talks like a friend and I can say what I feel. Dad would never talk to me like Mr. Timoney. Head say, Och, aye, and go for a long walk.

Uncle Pat Sheehan tells Grandma he doesnat want me to help with the papers anymore, he can get another boy much cheaper and he thinks I should be giving him some of my Sat.u.r.day morning sixpence anyway since Iad never have the reading job without him.

A woman next door to Mr.Timoney tells me Iam wasting my time knocking on the door, Macushla bit the postman, the milkman and a pa.s.sing nun on the same day and Mr.Timoney couldnat stop laughing though he cried when the dog was taken away to be put down.You can bite postmen and milkmen all you like but the case of the pa.s.sing nun goes all the way to the bishop and he takes steps especially if the owner of the dog is a known Buddhist and a danger to good Catholics around him. Mr.Timoney was told this and cried and laughed so hard the doctor came and said he was gone beyond recall so they carted him off to the City Home, where they keep old people who are helpless or demented.

Thatas the end of my Sat.u.r.day sixpence but Iall read to Mr.Timoney money or no money. I wait down the street till the woman next 178.

door goes in, I climb in Mr.Timoneyas window for Gulliveras Travels and walk miles to the City Home so that he wonat miss his reading.The man at the gate says,What? You want to come in ana read to an oula man? Is it coddina me you are? Get outa here before I call the guards.

Could I leave the book for someone else to read to Mr.Timoney?

Leave it. Leave it for Jaysus sake ana donat be botheriname. Iall send it up to him.

And he laughs.

Mam says,Whatas up with you? Why are you moping? And I tell her how Uncle Pat doesnat want me anymore and how they put Mr. Timoney in the City Home for laughing just because Macushla bit the postman, the milkman and a pa.s.sing nun. She laughs too and Iam sure the world is gone mad. Then she says, Ah, Iam sorry and itas a pity you lost two jobs.You might as well start going to the Confraternity again to keep The Posse away and, worse, the director, Father Gorey.

Declan tells me sit in front of him and if thereas any blaguarding heall break my f.e.c.kina neck for heall be watching me as long as heas prefect and no little s.h.i.t like me is going to keep him from a life in linoleum.

Mam says she has trouble climbing the stairs and sheas moving her bed to the kitchen. She laughs, Iall come back up to Sorrento when the walls are damp and the rain runs under the door. School is over and she can stay in bed in the kitchen as long as she likes because she doesnat have to get up for us. Dad lights the fire, makes the tea, cuts the bread, makes sure we wash our faces and tells us go out and play. He lets us stay in bed if we like but you never want to stay in bed when thereas no school.Weare ready to run out and play in the lane the minute we wake.

Then one day in July he says we canat go downstairs.We have to stay up here and play.

Why, Dad?

Never mind. Play here with Malachy and Michael and you can go down later when I tell you.

He stands at the door in case we might get a notion to wander down the stairs.We push our blanket up in the air with our feet and pre- 179.

tend weare in a tent, Robin Hood and his Merry Men.We hunt fleas and squash them between our thumbnails.

Then thereas a babyas cry and Malachy says,Dad, did Mam get a new baby?

Och, aye, son.

Iam older so I tell Malachy the bed is in the kitchen so that the angel can fly down and leave the baby on the seventh step but Malachy doesnat understand because heas only eight going on nine and Iall be ten next month.

Mam is in the bed with the new baby. He has a big fat face and heas red all over.Thereas a woman in the kitchen in a nurseas uniform and we know sheas there to wash new babies who are always dirty from the long journey with the angel.We want to tickle the baby but she says,No, no, ye can look at him but donat lay a finger.

Donat lay a finger.Thatas the way nurses talk.

We sit at the table with our tea and bread looking at our new brother but he wonat even open his eyes to look back at us so we go out and play.

In a few days Mam is out of the bed holding the baby on her lap by the fire. His eyes are open and when we tickle him he makes a gurgling sound, his belly shakes and that makes us laugh. Dad tickles him and sings a Scottish song, Oh, oh, stop your ticklina, Jock, Stop your ticklina, Jock.

Stop your ticklina, Ickle ickle icklin Stop your ticklina, Jock.

Dad has a job so Bridey Hannon is able to visit Mam and the baby any time she likes and for once Mam doesnat tell us go out and play so they can talk about secret things.They sit by the fire smoking and talking about names. Mam says she likes the names Kevin and Sean but Bridey says, Ah, no, thereas too many of them in Limerick. Jesus, Angela, if you stuck your head out the door and called, Kevin or Sean, come in for your tea, youad have half oa Limerick running to your door.

Bridey says if she had a son which please G.o.d she will some day 180.

sheall call him Ronald because sheas mad about Ronald Colman that you see in the Coliseum Cinema. Or Errol, now thatas another lovely name, Errol Flynn.

Mam says,Will you go way outa that, Bridey. Iad never be able to stick my head out the door and say, Errol, Errol, come in for your tea.

Sure the poor child would be a laughingstock.