What are you blatherina about?

Wouldnat eat the boiled onion and got sick.

And whoas minding ye?

I am.

And whatas up with the child in the bed? Whatas his name?

Thatas Eugene. He misses Oliver.Theyare twins.

71.I know theyare twins.That child looks starved.Have ye any porridge here?

Whatas porridge? says Malachy.

Jesus, Mary and Holy St. Joseph! Whatas porridge! Porridge is porridge.

Thatas what porridge is.Ye are the most ignorant bunch oaYanks I ever seen. Come on, put on yeer clothes and weall go across the street to your aunt Aggie. Sheas there with the husband, Pa Keating, and sheall give ye some porridge.

She picks up Eugene, wraps him in her shawl and we cross the street to Aunt Aggieas. Sheas living with Uncle Pa again because he said she wasnat a fat cow after all.

Do you have any porridge? Grandma says to Aunt Aggie.

Porridge? Am I supposed to be feeding porridge to a crowd of Yanks?

Pity about you, says Grandma. It wonat kill you to give them a little porridge.

And I suppose theyall be wanting sugar and milk on top of everything or they might be banging on my door looking for an egg if you donat mind. I donat know why we have to pay for Angelaas mistakes.

Jesus, says Grandma, atis a good thing you didnat own that stable in Bethlehem or the Holy Family would still be wanderina the world crumblina with the hunger.

Grandma pushes her way past Aunt Aggie, puts Eugene on a chair near the fire and makes the porridge. A man comes in from another room. He has black curly hair and his skin is black and I like his eyes because theyare very blue and ready to smile.Heas Aunt Aggieas husband, the man who stopped the night we were attacking the fleas and told us all about fleas and snakes, the man with the cough he got from swallowing gas in the war.

Malachy says,Why are you all black? and Uncle Pa Keating laughs and coughs so hard he has to ease himself with a cigarette. Oh, the little Yanks, he says.Theyare not a bit shy. Iam black because I work at the Limerick Gas Works shoveling coal and c.o.ke into the furnaces. Ga.s.sed in France and back to Limerick to work in the gas works.When you grow up youall laugh.

Malachy and I have to leave the table so the big people can sit and have tea.They have their tea but Uncle Pa Keating, who is my uncle because heas married to my aunt Aggie, picks up Eugene and takes him 72.on his lap. He says, This is a sad little fella, and makes funny faces and silly sounds. Malachy and I laugh but Eugene only reaches up to touch the blackness of Pa Keatingas skin, and then when Pa pretends to bite his little hand, Eugene laughs and everyone in the room laughs. Malachy goes to Eugene and tries to make him laugh even more but Eugene turns away and hides his face in Pa Keatingas shirt.

I think he likes me, says Pa, and thatas when Aunt Aggie puts down her teacup and starts to bawl,Waah,waah,waah, big teardrops tumbling down her fat red face.

Aw, Jesus, says Grandma, there she is again.Whatas up with you this time?

And Aunt Aggie blubbers,To see Pa there with a child on his lap ana me with no hope of having my own.

Grandma barks at her, Stop talkina like that in front of the children.

Have you no shame? When G.o.d is good and ready Heall send you your family.

Aunt Aggie sobs, Angela with five born ana one just gone ana her so useless she couldnat scrub a floor ana me with none ana I can scrub ana clean with the best and make any cla.s.s of a stew or a fry.

Pa Keating laughs, I think Iall keep this little fella.

Malachy runs to him. No, no, no.Thatas my brother, thatas Eugene.

And I say, No, no, no, thatas our brother.

Aunt Aggie pats the tears on her cheeks. She says, I donat want nothing of Angelaas. I donat want nothing thatas half Limerick and half North of Ireland, so I donat, so ye can take him home. Iall have me own someday if I have to do a hundred novenas to the Virgin Mary and her mother, St.Ann, or if I have to crawl from here to Lourdes on me two bended knees.

Grandma says, Thatas enough.Ye have had yeer porridge and atis time to go home and see if yeer father and mother are back from the hospital.

She puts on her shawl and goes to pick up Eugene but he clutches so hard at Pa Keatingas shirt she has to pull him away though he keeps looking back at Pa till weare out the door.

We followed Grandma back to our room. She put Eugene in the bed and gave him a drink of water. She told him to be a good boy and go 73.to sleep for his little brother,Oliver,would be home soon and theyad be playing again there on the floor.

But he kept looking out the window.

She told Malachy and me we could sit on the floor and play but to be quiet because she was going to say her prayers.Malachy went to the bed and sat by Eugene and I sat on a chair at the table making out words on the newspaper that was our tablecloth. All you could hear in the room was Malachy whispering to make Eugene happy and Grandma mumbling to the click of her rosary beads. It was so quiet I put my head on the table and fell asleep.

Dad is touching my shoulder. Come on, Francis, you have to take care of your little brothers.

Mam is slumped on the edge of the bed, making small crying sounds like a bird. Grandma is pulling on her shawl. She says, Iall go down to Thompson the undertaker about the coffin and the carriage.

The St.Vincent de Paul Society will surely pay for that, G.o.d knows.

She goes out the door. Dad stands facing the wall over the fire, beating on his thighs with his fists, sighing, Och, och, och.

Dad frightens me with his och, och, och, and Mam frightens me with her small bird sounds and I donat know what to do though I wonder if anyone will light the fire in the grate so that we can have tea and bread because itas a long time since we had the porridge. If Dad would move away from the fireplace I could light the fire myself.All you need is paper, a few bits of coal or turf, and a match. He wonat move so I try to go around his legs while heas beating on his thighs but he notices me and wants to know why Iam trying to light the fire. I tell him weare all hungry and he lets out a crazy laugh. Hungry? he says. Och, Francis, your wee brother Oliver is dead.Your wee sister is dead and your wee brother is dead.

He picks me up and hugs me so hard I cry out.Then Malachy cries, my mother cries, Dad cries, I cry,but Eugene stays quiet.Then Dad snif- fles,Weall have a feast. Come on, Francis.

He tells my mother weall be back in awhile but she has Malachy and Eugene on her lap in the bed and she doesnat look up. He carries me through the streets of Limerick and we go from shop to shop with him asking for food or anything they can give to a family that has two chil- 74.dren dead in a year, one in America, one in Limerick, and in danger of losing three more for the want of food and drink. Most shopkeepers shake their heads. Sorry for your troubles but you could go to the St.

Vincent de Paul Society or get the public a.s.sistance.

Dad says heas glad to see the spirit of Christ alive in Limerick and they tell him they donat need the likes of him with his northern accent to be telling them about Christ and he should be ashamed of himself dragging a child around like that like a common beggar, a tinker, a knacker.

A few shopkeepers give bread, potatoes, tins of beans and Dad says, Weall go home now and you boys can eat something, but we meet Uncle Pa Keating and he tells Dad heas very sorry for his troubles and would Dad like to have a pint in this pub here?

There are men sitting in this pub with great gla.s.ses of black stuff before them. Uncle Pa Keating and Dad have the black stuff, too.They lift their gla.s.ses carefully and slowly drink.There is creamy white stuff on their lips, which they lick with little sighs. Uncle Pa gets me a bottle of lemonade and Dad gives me a piece of bread and I donat feel hungry anymore. Still, I wonder how long weall sit here with Malachy and Eugene hungry at home,hours from the porridge, which Eugene didnat eat anyway.

Dad and Uncle Pa drink their gla.s.s of black stuff and have another.

Uncle Pa says, Frankie, this is the pint.This is the staff of life.This is the best thing for nursing mothers and for those who are long weaned.

He laughs and Dad smiles and I laugh because I think thatas what youare supposed to do when Uncle Pa says something. He doesnat laugh when he tells the other men about Oliver dying. The other men tip their hats to Dad. Sorry for your troubles, mister, and surely youall have a pint.

Dad says yes to the pints and soon heas singing Roddy McCorley and Kevin Barry and song after song I never heard before and crying over his lovely little girl, Margaret, that died in America and his little boy, Oliver, dead beyond in the City Home Hospital. It frightens me the way he yells and cries and sings and I wish I could be at home with my three brothers, no,my two brothers, and my mother.

The man behind the bar says to Dad, I think now, mister, youave had enough.Weare sorry for your troubles but you have to take that child home to his mother that must be heartbroken by the fire.

75.Dad says, One, one more pint, just one, eh? and the man says no.

Dad shakes his fist. I did me bit for Ireland, and when the man comes out and takes Dadas arm, Dad tries to push him away.

Uncle Pa says, Come on now, Malachy, stop the blaguarding.You have to go home to Angela.You have a funeral tomorrow and the lovely children waiting for you.

But Dad struggles till a few men push him out into the darkness.

Uncle Pa stumbles out with the bag of food. Come on, he says.Weall go back to your room.

Dad wants to go to another place for a pint but Uncle Pa says he has no more money. Dad says heall tell everyone his sorrows and theyall give him pints. Uncle Pa says thatas a disgraceful thing to do and Dad cries on his shoulder.Youare a good friend, he tells Uncle Pa. He cries again till Uncle Pa pats him on the back. Itas terrible, terrible, says Uncle Pa, but youall get over this in time.

Dad straightens up and looks at him. Never, he says.Never.

Next day we rode to the hospital in a carriage with a horse.They put Oliver in a white box that came with us in the carriage and we took him to the graveyard.They put the white box into a hole in the ground and covered it with earth. My mother and Aunt Aggie cried, Grandma looked angry, Dad, Uncle Pa Keating, and Uncle Pat Sheehan looked sad but did not cry and I thought that if youare a man you can cry only when you have the black stuff that is called the pint.

I did not like the jackdaws that perched on trees and gravestones and I did not want to leave Oliver with them. I threw a rock at a jackdaw that waddled over toward Oliveras grave. Dad said I shouldnat throw rocks at jackdaws, they might be somebodyas soul. I didnat know what a soul was but I didnat ask him because I didnat care. Oliver was dead and I hated jackdaws. Iad be a man someday and Iad come back with a bag of rocks and Iad leave the graveyard littered with dead jackdaws.

The morning after Oliveras burial Dad went to the Labour Exchange to sign and collect the weekas dole, nineteen shillings and sixpence. He said head be home by noon, that head get coal and make a fire, that wead have 76.rashers and eggs and tea in honor of Oliver, that we might even have a sweet or two.

He wasnat home by noon, or one, or two, and we boiled and ate the few potatoes the shopkeepers had given the day before.He wasnat home anytime before the sun went down that day in May.There was no sign of him till we heard him, long after the pubs closed, rolling along Windmill Street, singing, When all around a vigil keep, The Westas asleep, the Westas asleepa"

Alas, and well may Erin weep When Connacht lies in slumber deep.

There lake and plain smile fair and free, aMid rocks their guardian chivalry.

Sing, Oh, let man learn liberty From crashing wind and lashing sea.

He stumbled into the room, hanging on to the wall. A snot oozed from his nose and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. He tried to speak. Zeeze shildren should be in bed. Lishen to me. Shildren go to bed.

Mam faced him. These children are hungry. Whereas the dole money? Weall get fish and chips so theyall have something in their bellies when they go to sleep.

She tried to stick her hands into his pockets but he pushed her away.

Have respheck, he said. Reshpeck in front of shildren.

She struggled to get at his pockets.Whereas the money? The children are hungry.You mad oula b.a.s.t.a.r.d, did you drink all the money again? Just what you did in Brooklyn.

He blubbered, Och, poor Angela.And poor wee Margaret and poor wee Oliver.

He staggered to me and hugged me and I smelled the drink I used to smell in America. My face was wet from his tears and his spit and his snot and I was hungry and I didnat know what to say when he cried all over my head.

Then he let me go and hugged Malachy, still going on about the wee sister and the wee brother cold in the ground, and how we all have to pray and be good, how we have to be obedient and do what our 77.mother tells us. He said we have our troubles but itas time for Malachy and me to start school because thereas nothing like an education, it will stand to you in the end, and you have to get ready to do your bit for Ireland.

Mam says she canat spend another minute in that room on Windmill Street. She canat sleep with the memory of Oliver in that room, Oliver in the bed, Oliver playing on the floor,Oliver sitting on Dadas lap by the fire. She says itas not good for Eugene to be in that place, that a twin will suffer more over the loss of his brother than even a mother can understand.

Thereas a room going on Hartstonge Street with two beds instead of the one we have here for the six of us, no, the five of us.Weare getting that room and to make sure sheas going to the Labour Exchange on Thursday to stand in the queue to take the dole money the minute itas handed to Dad. He says she canat do that, head be disgraced with the other men.The Labour Exchange is a place for men not for women taking the money from under their noses. She says, Pity about you. If you didnat squander the money in the pubs I wouldnat have to follow you the way I did in Brooklyn.

He tells her heall be shamed forever. She says she doesnat care. She wants that room on Hartstonge Street, a nice warm comfortable room with a lavatory down the hall like the one in Brooklyn, a room without fleas and the dampness that kills. She wants that room because itas on the same street as Leamyas National School and Malachy and I can come home at the dinner hour, which is noon, for a cup of tea and a cut of fried bread.

On Thursday Mam follows Dad to the Labour Exchange. She marches in behind him and when the man pushes the money toward Dad she takes it.The other men on the dole nudge each other and grin and Dad is disgraced because a woman is never supposed to interfere with a manas dole money. He might want to put sixpence on a horse or have a pint and if all the women start acting like Mam the horses will stop running and Guinness will go broke. But she has the money now and we move to Hartstonge Street.Then she carries Eugene in her arms and we go up the street to Leamyas National School.The headmaster, Mr. Scallan, says we are to return on Monday with a composition book, a pencil, and a pen with a good nib on it.We are not to come to school with ringworm or lice and our noses are to be blown at all times, not 78.on the floor, that spreads the consumption, or on our sleeves, but in a handkerchief or a clean rag. He asks us if we are good boys and when we say we are, he says, Good Lord, whatas this? Are they Yanks or what?

Mam tells him about Margaret and Oliver and he says, Lord above, Lord above, thereas great suffering in the world.Anyway, weall put the little fellow, Malachy, in the infantsa cla.s.s and his brother in first cla.s.s.

Theyare in the same room with one master. Monday morning, then, nine oaclock prompt.

The boys in Leamyas want to know why we talk like that. Are ye Yanks or what? And when we tell them we came from America they want to know,Are ye gangsters or cowboys?

A big boy sticks his face up to mine. Iam asking ye a question, he says.Are ye gangsters or cowboys?

I tell him I donat know and when he pokes his finger into my chest Malachy says, Iam a gangster, Frankas a cowboy.The big boy says,Your little brother is smart and youare a stupid Yank.

The boys around him are excited. Fight, they yell, fight, and he pushes me so hard I fall. I want to cry but the blackness comes over me the way it did with Freddie Leibowitz and I rush at him, kicking and punching. I knock him down and try to grab his hair to bang his head on the ground but thereas a sharp sting across the backs of my legs and Iam pulled away from him.

Mr. Benson, the master, has me by the ear and heas whacking me across the legs.You little hooligan, he says. Is that the kind of behavior you brought from America? Well, by G.o.d, youall behave yourself before Iam done with you.

He tells me hold out one hand and then the other and hits me with his stick once on each hand. Go home now, he says, and tell your mother what a bad boy you were.Youare a bad Yank. Say after me, Iam a bad boy.

Iam a bad boy.

Now say, Iam a bad Yank.

Iam a bad Yank.

Malachy says, Heas not a bad boy. Itas that big boy. He said we were cowboys and gangsters.

Is that what you did, Heffernan?

I was only jokina, sir.

No more joking, Heffernan. Itas not their fault that theyare Yanks.

79.aTisnat, sir.

And you, Heffernan, should get down on your two knees every night and thank G.o.d youare not a Yank for if you were,Heffernan, youad be the greatest gangster on two sides of the Atlantic.Al Capone would be coming to you for lessons.Youare not to be bothering these two Yanks anymore, Heffernan.

I wonat, sir.

And if you do, Heffernan, Iall hang your pelt on the wall. Now go home, all of ye.

There are seven masters in Leamyas National School and they all have leather straps, canes, blackthorn sticks.They hit you with the sticks on the shoulders, the back, the legs, and, especially, the hands. If they hit you on the hands itas called a slap.They hit you if youare late, if you have a leaky nib on your pen, if you laugh, if you talk, and if you donat know things.

They hit you if you donat know why G.o.d made the world, if you donat know the patron saint of Limerick, if you canat recite the Apostlesa Creed, if you canat add nineteen to forty-seven, if you canat subtract nineteen from forty-seven, if you donat know the chief towns and products of the thirty-two counties of Ireland, if you canat find Bulgaria on the wall map of the world thatas blotted with spit, snot, and blobs of ink thrown by angry pupils expelled forever.

They hit you if you canat say your name in Irish, if you canat say the Hail Mary in Irish, if you canat ask for the lavatory pa.s.s in Irish.

It helps to listen to the big boys ahead of you.They can tell you about the master you have now, what he likes and what he hates.

One master will hit you if you donat know that Eamon De Valera is the greatest man that ever lived.Another master will hit you if you donat know that Michael Collins was the greatest man that ever lived.