Mr. Benson hates America and you have to remember to hate America or heall hit you.

Mr. OaDea hates England and you have to remember to hate England or heall hit you.

If you ever say anything good about Oliver Cromwell theyall all hit you.

80.Even if they slap you six times on each hand with the ash plant or the blackthorn with the k.n.o.bs you must not cry.Youall be a sissy. There are boys who might jeer at you and mock you on the street but even they have to be careful because the day will come when the master hits and slaps them and they have to keep the tears behind their eyes or be disgraced forever. Some boys say it is better to cry because that pleases the masters. If you donat cry the masters hate you because youave made them look weak before the cla.s.s and they promise themselves the next time they have you up theyall draw tears or blood or both.

Big boys in fifth cla.s.s tell us Mr. OaDea likes to get you in front of the cla.s.s so that he can stand behind you, pinch your sideburns, which are called cossicks, pull up on them.Up, up, he says, till youare on tiptoe and the tears are filling your eyes.You donat want the boys in the cla.s.s to see you cry but pulling on the cossicks makes the tears come whether you like it or not and the master likes that. Mr. OaDea is the one master who can always bring the tears and the shame.

It is better not to cry because you have to stick with the boys in the school and you never want to give the masters any satisfaction.

If the master hits you thereas no use complaining to your father or mother.They always say,You deserve it. Donat be a baby.

I know Oliver is dead and Malachy knows Oliver is dead but Eugene is too small to know anything.When he wakes in the morning he says, Ollie,Ollie, and toddles around the room looking under the beds or he climbs up on the bed by the window and points to children on the street, especially children with fair hair like him and Oliver. Ollie,Ollie, he says, and Mam picks him up, sobs, hugs him. He struggles to get down because he doesnat want to be picked up and hugged. He wants to find Oliver.

Dad and Mam tell him Oliver is in heaven playing with angels and weall all see him again someday but he doesnat understand because heas only two and doesnat have the words and thatas the worst thing in the whole world.

Malachy and I play with him. We try to make him laugh. We make funny faces.We put pots on our heads and pretend to let them fall off.We run across the room and pretend to fall down.We take him to the Peopleas Park to see the lovely flowers, play with dogs, roll in the gra.s.s.

81.He sees small children with fair hair like Oliver. He doesnat say Ollie anymore. He only points.

Dad says Eugene is lucky to have brothers like Malachy and me because we help him forget and soon, with G.o.das help, heall have no memory of Oliver at all.

He died anyway.

Six months after Oliver went, we woke on a mean November morning and there was Eugene, cold in the bed beside us.Dr.Troy came and said that child died of pneumonia and why wasnat he in the hospital long ago? Dad said he didnat know and Mam said she didnat know and Dr.Troy said thatas why children die. People donat know. He said if Malachy or I showed the slightest sign of a cough or the faintest rattle in the throat we were to be brought to him no matter what time of day or night.We were to be kept dry at all times because there seemed to be a bit of a weakness in the chest in this family.He told Mam he was very sorry for her troubles and head give her a prescription for something to ease the pain of the days to come. He said G.o.d was asking too much, too d.a.m.n much.

Grandma came over to our room with Aunt Aggie. She washed Eugene, and Aunt Aggie went to a shop for a little white gown and a set of rosary beads.They dressed him in a white gown and laid him on the bed by the window where he used to look out for Oliver.They placed his hands on his chest, one hand on top of the other, bound in the little white rosary beads. Grandma brushed the hair back from his eyes and forehead and she said, Doesnat he have lovely soft silky hair?

Mam went to the bed and pulled a blanket over his legs to keep him warm.Grandma and Aunt Aggie looked at each other and said nothing.

Dad stood at the end of the bed beating his fists against his thighs, talking to Eugene, telling him, Och, it was the River Shannon that harmed you, the dampness from that river that came and took you and Oliver.

Grandma said,Will you stop that? Youare making the whole house nervous. She took Dr. Troyas prescription and told me run over to OaConnor the chemist for the pills, that there would be no charge due to the kindness of Dr.Troy. Dad said head come with me, that wead go to the Jesuit church and say a prayer for Margaret and Oliver and Eugene, all happy in heaven.The chemist gave us the pills, we stopped 82.to say the prayers, and when we returned to the room, Grandma gave Dad money to bring a few bottles of stout from the pub. Mam said,No, no, but Grandma said, He doesnat have the pills to ease him, G.o.d help us, and a bottle of stout will be some small comfort.Then she told him head have to go to the undertaker tomorrow to bring the coffin back in a carriage. She told me to go with my father and make sure he didnat stay in the pub all night and drink all the money. Dad said, Och, Frankie shouldnat be in pubs, and she said,Then donat stay there. He put on his cap and we went to Southas pub and he told me at the door I could go home now, that head be home after one pint. I said, No, and he said, Donat be disobedient. Go home to your poor mother. I said,No, and he said I was a bad boy and G.o.d would be displeased. I said I wasnat going home without him and he said, Och, what is the world coming to? He had one quick pint of porter in the pub and we went home with the bottles of stout. Pa Keating was in our room with a small bottle of whiskey and bottles of stout and Uncle Pat Sheehan brought two bottles of stout for himself. Uncle Pat sat on the floor with his arms around his bottles and he kept saying,Theyare mine, theyare mine, for fear theyad be taken from him. People who were dropped on their heads always worry someone will steal their stout. Grandma said,All right, Pat, drink your stout yourself.No one will bother you. She and Aunt Aggie sat on the bed by Eugene.Pa Keating sat at the kitchen table drinking his stout and offering everyone a sip of his whiskey.Mam took her pills and sat by the fire with Malachy on her lap. She kept saying Malachy had hair like Eugene and Aunt Aggie said no he did not till Grandma drove her elbow into Aunt Aggieas chest and told her shut up. Dad stood against the wall drinking his stout between the fireplace and the bed with Eugene.Pa Keating told stories and the big people laughed even though they didnat want to laugh or they werenat supposed to laugh in the presence of a dead child. He said when he was in the English army in France the Germans sent gas over which made him so sick they had to take him to the hospital.They kept him in the hospital a while and then sent him back to the trenches. English soldiers were sent home but they didnat give a fiddleras fart about the Irish soldiers, whether they lived or died.

Instead of dying Pa made a vast fortune. He said he solved one of the great problems of trench warfare. In the trenches it was so wet and muddy they had no way of boiling the water for the tea. He said to himself, Jasus, I have all this gas in my system and atis a great pity to waste it.

83.So he shoved a pipe up his a.r.s.e, lit a match to it, and there in a second he had a fine flame ready to boil water in any billycan.Tommies came running from trenches all around when they heard the news and they gave him any amount of money if head let them boil water.He made so much money he was able to bribe the generals to let him out of the army and off he went to Paris where he had a fine time drinking wine with artists and models. He had such a high time of it he spent all his money and when he came back to Limerick the only job he could get was in the gas works shoveling coal into the furnaces. He said there was so much gas in his system now he could supply light to a small town for a year. Aunt Aggie sniffed and said that was not a proper story to be telling in the presence of a dead child and Grandma said it was better to have a story like that than to be sitting around with the long face.

Uncle Pat Sheehan, sitting on the floor with his stout, said he was going to sing a song. More power to you, said Pa Keating, and Uncle Pat sang aThe Road to Rasheen.a He kept saying, Rasheen, Rasheen, mavourneen mean, and the song made no sense because his father dropped him on his head long ago and every time he sang that song he had different words. Grandma said that was a fine song and Pa Keating said Caruso better look over his shoulder. Dad went over to the bed in the corner where he slept with Mam. He sat on the edge, put his bottle on the floor, covered his face with his hands and cried. He said, Frank, Frank, come here, and I had to go to him so that he could hug me the way Mam was hugging Malachy. Grandma said,We better go now and sleep a bit before the funeral tomorrow.They each knelt by the bed and said a prayer and kissed Eugeneas forehead. Dad put me down, stood up and nodded to them as they left.When they were gone he lifted each of the stout bottles to his mouth and drained it. He ran his finger inside the whiskey bottle and licked it. He turned down the flame in the paraffin oil lamp on the table and said it was time for Malachy and me to be in bed.Wead have to sleep with him and Mam that night as little Eugene would be needing the bed for himself. It was dark in the room now except for the sliver of streetlight that fell on Eugeneas lovely soft silky hair.

Dad lights the fire in the morning, makes the tea, toasts the bread in the fire. He brings Mamas toast and tea but she waves it away and turns to the wall. He brings Malachy and me to Eugene to kneel and say a 84.prayer. He says the prayers of one child like us are worth more in heaven than the prayers of ten cardinals and forty bishops. He shows us how to bless ourselves, In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen, and he says, Dear G.o.d, this is what you want, isnat it? You want my son, Eugene.You took his brother, Oliver,You took his sister, Margaret. Iam not supposed to question that, am I?

Dear G.o.d above, I donat know why children have to die but that is Your will.You told the river to kill and the Shannon killed. Could You at last be merciful? Could You leave us the children we have? That is all we ask.Amen.

He helps Malachy and me wash our heads and feet so that weall be clean for Eugeneas funeral.We have to be very quiet even when he hurts us cleaning our ears with the corner of the towel we brought from America.We have to be quiet because Eugene is there with his eyes closed and we donat want him to be waking up and looking out the window for Oliver.

Grandma comes and tells Mam she has to get up.There are children dead, she says, but there are children alive and they need their mother.

She brings Mam a little tea in a mug to wash down the pills that ease the pain. Dad tells Grandma itas Thursday and he has to go to the Labour Exchange for the dole and then down to the undertaker to bring the mourning carriage and the coffin. Grandma tells him to take me with him but he says itas better for me to stay with Malachy so that I can pray for my little brother dead in the bed. Grandma says, Is it coddina me you are? Pray for a little child thatas barely two and already playing with his little brother in heaven? Youall take your son with you and heall remind you this is no day for the pubs. She looks at him and he looks at her and he puts on his cap.

At the Labour Exchange we stand at the end of the queue till a man comes from behind the counter and tells Dad heas very sorry for his troubles and he should go ahead of everyone else on this sorrowful day.

Men touch their caps and say theyare sorry for his troubles and some pat my head and give me pennies, twenty-four pennies, two shillings. Dad tells me Iam rich now and I should buy myself a sweet while he goes into this place for a minute. I know this place is a pub and I know he wants to get the black stuff that is called a pint but I donat say anything because I want to go to the shop next door for a piece of toffee. I chew my toffee till it melts and leaves my mouth all sweet and sticky. Dad is still in the pub and I wonder if I should get another piece of toffee as 85.long as heas in there with the pint. Iam about to give the money to the woman in the shop when my hand is slapped down and thereas Aunt Aggie, raging. Is this what you do, she says, on the day of your brotheras funeral? Gorgina yourself on sweets.And whereas that father of yours?

Heas, heas, in the pub.

Of course heas in the pub.You out here stuffina yourself with sweets and him in there gettina himself into a staggerina condition the day your poor little brother goes to the graveyard. She tells the shop woman, Just like his father, the same odd manner, the same oula northern jaw.

She tells me get into that pub and tell my father to stop the drinking and get the coffin and the carriage. She will not set foot inside the pub for the drink is the curse of this poor G.o.dforsaken country.

Dad is sitting at the back of the pub with a man who has a dirty face and hair growing out of his nose.Theyare not talking but staring straight ahead and their black pints are resting on a small white coffin on the seat between them. I know thatas Eugeneas coffin because Oliver had one like it and I want to cry when I see the black pints on top of it. Iam sorry now I ever ate that toffee and I wish I could take it out of my stomach and give it back to the woman in the shop because itas not right to be eating toffee when Eugene is dead in the bed and Iam frightened by the two black pints on his white coffin.The man with Dad is saying, No, mister, you canat leave a childas coffin in a carriage no more. I did that once,went in for a pint and they robbed that little coffin out of the b.l.o.o.d.y carriage.Can you credit that? It was empty, thank G.o.d,but there you are. Desperate times we live in, desperate.The man with Dad lifts his pint and takes a long swallow and when he puts his gla.s.s down thereas a hollow sound in the coffin. Dad nods at me.Weall be going in a minute, son, but when he goes to put his gla.s.s on the coffin after the long swallow I push it away.

Thatas Eugeneas coffin. Iall tell Mam you put your gla.s.s on Eugeneas coffin.

Now, son. Now, son.

Dad, thatas Eugeneas coffin.

The other man says,Will we have another pint, mister?

Dad says to me,Wait outside another few minutes, Francis.

No.

Donat be a bad boy.

No.

86.The other man says, By Jesus, if that was my son Iad kick his a.r.s.e from here to the County Kerry. He have no right to be talkina to his father in that manner on a sorrowful day. If a man canat have a pint the day of a funeral whatas the use of livina at all, at all.

Dad says,All right.Weall go.

They finish their pints and wipe the wet brown stains off the coffin with their sleeves.The man climbs up to the driveras seat of the carriage and Dad and I ride inside. He has the coffin on his lap and he presses it against his chest. At home our room is filled with big people, Mam, Grandma, Aunt Aggie, her husband, Pa Keating, Uncle Pat Sheehan, Uncle Tom Sheehan, who is Mamas oldest brother and who never came near us before because he hates people from the North of Ireland.

Uncle Tom has his wife, Jane, with him. Sheas from Galway and people say she has the look of a Spaniard and thatas why no one in the family talks to her.

The man takes the coffin from Dad and when he brings it into the room Mam moans, Oh, no, oh, G.o.d, no.The man tells Grandma heall be back in awhile to take us to the graveyard. Grandma tells him head better not come back to this house in a drunken state because this child thatas going to the graveyard suffered greatly and deserves a bit of dignity and she wonat put up with a driver thatas drunk and ready to fall out of the high seat.

The man says, Missus, I drove dozens oa children to the graveyard ana never once fell out of any seat, high or low.

The men are drinking stout from bottles again and the women are sipping sherry from jam jars. Uncle Pat Sheehan tells everyone,This is my stout, this is my stout, and Grandma says, aTis all right, Pat. No one will take your stout.Then he says he wants to sing aThe Road to Rasheena till Pa Keating says,No, Pat, you canat sing on the day of a funeral.You can sing the night before. But Uncle Pat keeps saying,This is my stout and I want to sing aThe Road to Rasheen,a and everyone knows he talks like that because he was dropped on his head. He starts to sing his song but stops when Grandma takes the lid off the coffin and Mam sobs, Oh, Jesus, oh, Jesus, will it ever stop? Will I be left with one child?

Mam is sitting on a chair at the head of the bed. Sheas stroking Eugeneas hair and face and hands. She tells him that of all the children 87.in the world he was the sweetest and the most delicate and loving. She tells him atis a terrible thing to lose him but isnat he in heaven now with his brother and his sister and isnat that a comfort to us, knowing Oliver is no longer lonesome for his twin. Still, she puts her head down next to Eugene and cries so hard all the women in the room cry with her.

She cries till Pa Keating tells her we have to go before the darkness falls, that we canat be in graveyards in the dark.

Grandma whispers to Aunt Aggie,Whoall put the child in the cof- fin? and Aunt Aggie whispers, I wonat.Thatas the job for the mother.

Uncle Pat hears them. Iall put the child in the coffin, he says. He limps to the bed and places his arms around Mamas shoulders. She looks up at him and her face is drenched. He says, Iall put the child in the cof- fin,Angela.

Oh, Pat, she says. Pat.

I can do it, he says. Sure heas only a small child ana I never lifted a small child before in my life. I never had a small child in me arms. I wonat drop him,Angela. I wonat. Honest to G.o.d, I wonat.

I know you wonat, Pat. I know you wonat.

Iall lift him ana I wonat be singinaaThe Road to Rasheen.a I know you wonat, Pat, Mam says.

Pat pulls down the blanket Mam put there to keep Eugene warm.

Eugeneas feet are white and bright with little blue veins. Pat bends over, picks up Eugene and holds him against his chest. He kisses Eugeneas forehead and then everyone in the room kisses Eugene. He places Eugene in the coffin and steps back.We are all gathered around looking at Eugene for the last time.

Uncle Pat says, See, I didnat drop him, Angela, and she touches his face.

Aunt Aggie goes to the pub for the driver. He puts the lid on the coffin and screws it down. He says,Whoas comina in the carriage? and takes the coffin to the carriage.Thereas room only for Mam and Dad, Malachy and me. Grandma says,Ye go ahead to the graveyard and weall wait here.

I donat know why we canat keep Eugene. I donat know why they have to send him away with that man who puts his pint on the white coffin. I donat know why they had to send Margaret away and Oliver. It is a bad thing to put my sister and my brothers in a box and I wish I could say something to someone.

88.. . .

The horse clop-clopped through the streets of Limerick. Malachy said, Are we going to see Oliver? and Dad said, No,Oliver is in heaven and donat ask me what heaven is because I donat know.

Mam said, Heaven is a place where Oliver and Eugene and Margaret are happy and warm and weall see them there some day.

Malachy said,The horse did his doodoo on the street and there was a smell, and Mam and Dad had to smile.

At the graveyard the driver climbs down and opens the door of the carriage.

Gimme that coffin, he says, ana Iall carry it up to the grave. He yanks at the coffin and stumbles.Mam says,Youare not carrying my child in the condition youare in. She turns to Dad.You carry him, she says.

Do what you like, says the driver. Do what you b.l.o.o.d.y well like,and he climbs up to his seat.

Itas getting dark now and the coffin seems whiter than ever in Dadas arms. Mam takes our hands and we follow Dad through the graves.The jackdaws are quiet in the trees because their day is nearly over and they have to rest so that they can get up early in the morning and feed their babies.

Two men with shovels are waiting by a small open grave. One man says,Ye are very late. Good thing this is a small job or wead be gone.He climbs into the grave. Hand it to me, he says, and Dad hands him the coffin.

The man sprinkles some straw and gra.s.s on the coffin and as he climbs out the other man shovels in the earth. Mam lets out a long cry, Oh, Jesus, Jesus, and a jackdaw croaks in a tree. I wish I had a rock to hit that jackdaw. When the men finish shoveling in the earth they wipe their foreheads and wait. One says,Ah, well, now, thereas usually a little something for the thirst thatas in it.

Dad says, Oh, yes, yes, and gives them money.They say, Sorry for your troubles, and they leave.

We make our way back to the carriage at the graveyard gate but the carriage is gone. Dad looks around in the darkness and comes back shaking his head. Mam says, That driver is nothing but a dirty old drunkard, G.o.d forgive me.

89.Itas a long walk from the graveyard to our room. Mam tells Dad, These children need some nourishment and you have money left from the dole this morning. If youare thinking of going to the pubs tonight you can forget it.Weare taking them to Naughtonas and they can have fish and chips and lemonade for atisnat every day they bury a brother.

The fish and chips are delicious with vinegar and salt and the lemonade is tart in our throats.

When we get home the room is empty.There are empty stout bottles on the table and the fire is out. Dad lights the paraffin oil lamp and you can see the hollow left in the pillow by Eugeneas head.You expect to hear him and see him toddling across the room, climbing up on the bed to look out the window for Oliver.

Dad tells Mam heas going out for a walk. She says no. She knows what heas up to, that he canat wait to spend his last few shillings in the pubs.All right, he says. He lights the fire and Mam makes tea and soon weare in bed.

Malachy and I are back in the bed where Eugene died. I hope heas not cold in that white coffin in the graveyard though I know heas not there anymore because angels come to the graveyard and open the cof- fin and heas far from the Shannon dampness that kills, up in the sky in heaven with Oliver and Margaret where they have plenty of fish and chips and toffee and no aunts to bother you, where all the fathers bring home the money from the Labour Exchange and you donat have to be running around to pubs to find them.

III.

Mam says she canat spend another minute in that room on Hartstonge Street. She sees Eugene morning, noon and night. She sees him climbing the bed to look out at the street for Oliver and sometimes she sees Oliver outside and Eugene inside, the two of them chatting away.

Sheas happy theyare chatting like that but she doesnat want to be seeing and hearing them the rest of her life. Itas a shame to move when weare so near Leamyas National School but if she doesnat move soon sheall go out of her mind and wind up in the lunatic asylum.

We move to Roden Lane on top of a place called Barrack Hill.

There are six houses on one side of the lane, one on the opposite side.

The houses are called two up, two down, two rooms on top, two on the bottom. Our house is at the end of the lane, the last of the six. Next to our door is a small shed, a lavatory, and next to that a stable.

Mam goes to the St.Vincent de Paul Society to see if thereas any chance of getting furniture.The man says heall give us a docket for a table, two chairs, and two beds. He says weall have to go to a secondhand furniture shop down in the Irishtown and haul the furniture home ourselves. Mam says we can use the pram she had for the twins and when she says that she cries. She wipes her eyes on her sleeves and asks the man if the beds weare getting are secondhand. He says of course they are, and she says sheas very worried about sleeping in beds some- 91.one might have died in, especially if they had the consumption. The man says, Iam very sorry, but beggars canat be choosers.

It takes us all day to haul the furniture on the pram from one end of Limerick to the other.There are four wheels on the pram but one is bockety, it wants to go in a different direction.We have two beds, one sideboard with a mirror, a table and two chairs.Weare happy with the house.We can walk from room to room and up and down the stairs.You feel very rich when you can go up and down the stairs all day as much as you please. Dad lights the fire and Mam makes the tea. He sits at the table on one chair, she sits on the other and Malachy and I sit on the trunk we brought from America.While weare drinking our tea an old man pa.s.ses our door with a bucket in his hand. He empties the bucket into the lavatory and flushes and thereas a powerful stink in our kitchen.

Mam goes to the door and says,Why are you emptying your bucket in our lavatory? He raises his cap to her.Your lavatory, missus? Ah, no.

Youare making a bit of a mistake there, ha, ha.This is not your lavatory.

Sure, isnat this the lavatory for the whole lane.Youall see pa.s.sing your door here the buckets of eleven families and I can tell you it gets very powerful here in the warm weather, very powerful altogether. aTis December now, thank G.o.d, with a chill in the air and Christmas around the corner and the lavatory isnat that bad, but the day will come when youall be calling for a gas mask. So, good night to you, missus, and I hope youall be happy in your house.

Mam says,Wait a minute, sir. Could you tell me who cleans this lavatory?

Cleans? Ah, Jasus, thatas a good one. Cleans, she says. Is it joking you are? These houses were built in the time of Queen Victoria herself and if this lavatory was ever cleaned it must have been done by someone in the middle of the night when no one was lookina.

And he shuffles up the lane laughing away to himself.

Mam comes back to her chair and her tea.We canat stay here, she says.That lavatory will kill us with all diseases.

Dad says,We canat move again.Where will we get a house for six shillings a week? Weall keep the lavatory clean ourselves.Weall boil buckets of water and throw them in there.

Oh, will we? says Mam, and where will we get the coal or turf or blocks to be boiling water?

Dad says nothing. He finishes his tea and looks for a nail to hang our one picture.The man in the picture has a thin face. He wears a yel- 92.low skullcap and a black robe with a cross on his chest. Dad says he was a Pope,Leo the Thirteenth,a great friend of the workingman.He brought this picture all the way from America where he found it thrown out by someone who had no time for the workingman. Mam says heas talking a lot of b.l.o.o.d.y nonsense and he says she shouldnat say b.l.o.o.d.y in front of the children. Dad finds a nail but wonders how heas going to get it into the wall without a hammer. Mam says he could go borrow one from the people next door but he says you donat go around borrowing from people you donat know. He leans the picture against the wall and drives the nail with the bottom of a jam jar.The jam jar breaks and cuts his hand and a blob of blood falls on the Popeas head. He wraps his hand in the dish rag and tells Mam,Quick,quick, wipe the blood off the Pope before it dries. She tries to wipe the blood away with her sleeve but itas wool and spreads the blood till the whole side of the Popeas face is smeared. Dad says, Lord above, Angela, youave destroyed the Pope entirely, and she says,Arrah, stop your whining,weall get some paint and go over his face some day, and Dad says, Heas the only Pope that was ever a friend to the workingman and what are we to say if someone from the St.Vincent de Paul Society comes in and sees blood all over him? Mam says, I donat know. Itas your blood and atis a sad thing when a man canat even drive a nail straight. It just goes to show how useless you are.Youad be better off digging fields and anyway I donat care. I have pain in my back and Iam going to bed.

Och, what am I going to do? Dad says.

Take down the Pope and hide him in the coal hole under the stairs where he wonat be seen and heall be out of harmas way.