Angela's Ashes: A Memoir Part 5

54.Mam shakes her head, no.

Ah,now, missus, surely you should have a nice egg in your condition.

But Mam shakes her head and I wonder how she can say no to a soft-boiled egg when thereas nothing in the world like it.

All right, maaam, says the sergeantas wife, a bit of toast, then, and something for the children and your poor husband.

She goes back to another room and soon thereas tea and bread. Dad drinks his tea but gives us his bread and Mam says,Will you eat your bread, for G.o.das sake.You wonat be much use to us falling down with the hunger. He shakes his head and asks the sergeantas wife is there any chance of a cigarette. She brings him the cigarette and tells Mam the guards in the barracks have taken up a collection to pay our train fares to Limerick.There will be a motor car to pick up our trunk and leave us at Kingsbridge Railway Station and,Youall be in Limerick in three or four hours.

Mam puts up her arms and hugs the sergeantas wife.G.o.d bless you and your husband and all the guards, Mam says. I donat know what wead do without you.G.o.d knows atis a lovely thing to be back among our own.

aTis the least we could do, says the sergeantas wife.These are lovely children you have and Iam from Cork meself and I know what atis to be in Dublin without two pennies to rub together.

Dad sits at the other end of the bench, smoking his cigarette, drinking his tea. He stays that way till the motor car comes to take us through the streets of Dublin. Dad asks the driver if head mind going by way of the G.P.O. and the driver says, Is it a stamp you want or what? No, says Dad. I hear they put up a new statue of Cuchulain to honor the men who died in 1916 and Iad like to show it to my son here who has a great admiration for Cuchulain.

The driver says he has no notion of who this Cuchulain was but he wouldnat mind stopping one bit. He might come in himself and see what the commotion is all about for he hasnat been in the G.P.O. since he was a boy and the English nearly wrecked it with their big guns firing up from the Liffey River. He says youall see the bullet holes all over the front and they should be left there to remind the Irish of English perfidy. I ask the man whatas perfidy and he says ask your father and I would but weare stopping outside a big building with columns and thatas the G.P.O.

Mam stays in the motor car while we follow the driver into the G.P.O.There he is, he says, thereas your man Cuchulain.

55.And I feel tears coming because Iam looking at him at last, Cuchulain, there on his pedestal in the G.P.O.Heas golden and he has long hair, his head is hanging and thereas a big bird perched on his shoulder.

The driver says,Now what in G.o.das name is this all about? Whatas this fellow doina with the long hair and the bird on his shoulder? And will you kindly tell me, mister, what this has to do with the men of 1916?.

Dad says,Cuchulain fought to the end like the men of Easter Week.

His enemies were afraid to go near him till they were sure he was dead and when the bird landed on him and drank his blood they knew.

Well, says the driver, atis a sad day for the men of Ireland when they need a bird to tell them a man is dead. I think we better go now or weall be missing that train to Limerick.

The sergeantas wife said shead send a telegram to Grandma to meet us in Limerick and there she was on the platform, Grandma, with white hair, sour eyes, a black shawl, and no smile for my mother or any of us, even my brother,Malachy, who had the big smile and the sweet white teeth. Mam pointed to Dad. This is Malachy, she said, and Grandma nodded and looked away. She called two boys who were hanging around the railway station and paid them to carry the trunk.The boys had shaved heads, snotty noses, and no shoes and we followed them through the streets of Limerick. I asked Mam why they had no hair and she said their heads were shaved so that the lice would have no place to hide.Malachy said,Whatas a lice? and Mam said, Not lice. One of them is a louse. Grandma said,Will ye stop it! What kind oa talk is this? The boys whistled and laughed and trotted along as if they had shoes and Grandma told them, Stop that laughina or atis droppina ana breakina that trunk yeall be.They stopped the whistling and laughing and we followed them into a park with a tall pillar and a statue in the middle and gra.s.s so green it dazzled you.

Dad carried the twins, Mam carried a bag in one hand and held Malachyas hand with the other.When she stopped every few minutes to catch her breath, Grandma said,Are you still smokina them f.a.gs? Them f.a.gs will be the death of you.Thereas enough consumption in Limerick without people smokina f.a.gs on top of it ana atis a rich manas foolishness.

Along the path through the park there were hundreds of flowers of different colors that excited the twins.They pointed and made squeaky 56.noises and we laughed, everyone except Grandma, who pulled her shawl over her head. Dad stopped and put the twins down so that they could be closer to the flowers. He said, Flowers, and they ran back and forth, pointing, trying to say Flowers. One of the boys with the trunk said, G.o.d, are they Americans? and Mam said,They are.They were born in New York.All the boys were born in New York.The boy said to the other boy, G.o.d, theyare Americans.They put the trunk down and stared at us and we stared back at them till Grandma said,Are ye goina to stand here all day lookina at flowers ana gawkina at each other? And we all moved on again, out of the park, down a narrow lane and into another lane to Grandmaas house.

There is a row of small houses on each side of the lane and Grandma lives in one of the small houses. Her kitchen has a s.h.i.+ny polished black iron range with a fire glowing in the grate.There is a table along the wall under the window and a press opposite with cups and saucers and vases. This press is always locked and she keeps the key in her purse because youare not supposed to use anything in there unless someone dies or returns from foreign parts or thereas a visit by a priest.

There is a picture on the wall by the range of a man with long brown hair and sad eyes. He is pointing to his chest where there is a big heart with flames coming out of it. Mam tells us,Thatas the Sacred Heart of Jesus, and I want to know why the manas heart is on fire and why doesnat He throw water on it? Grandma says,Donat these children know anything about their religion? and Mam tells her itas different in America.

Grandma says the Sacred Heart is everywhere and thereas no excuse for that kind of ignorance.

Under the picture of the man with the burning heart there is a shelf with a red gla.s.s holding a flickering candle and next to it a small statue.

Mam tells us,Thatas the Baby Jesus, the Infant of Prague, and if ye ever need anything pray to Him.

Malachy says,Mam,could I tell Him Iam hungry, and Mam puts her finger to her lips.

Grandma grumbles around the kitchen making tea and telling Mam to cut the loaf of bread and donat make the cuts too thick. Mam sits by the table with her breath coming hard and says sheall cut the bread in a minute. Dad takes the knife and starts slicing the bread and you can see Grandma doesnat like that. She frowns at him but says nothing even though he makes thick slices.

There arenat enough chairs for everyone so I sit on the stairs with 57.my brothers to have bread and tea. Dad and Mam sit at the table and Grandma sits under the Sacred Heart with her mug of tea. She says, I donat know under G.o.d what Iam goina to do with ye.There is no room in this house.There isnat room for even one of ye.

Malachy says,Ye,ye, and starts to giggle and I say,Ye,ye, and the twins say,Ye, ye, and weare laughing so hard we can hardly eat our bread.

Grandma glares at us. What are ye laughina at? Thereas nothina to laugh at in this house.Ye better behave yeerselves before I go over to ye.

She wonat stop saying Ye, and now Malachy is helpless with laughter, spewing out his bread and tea, his face turning red.

Dad says,Malachy and the rest of you, stop it. But Malachy canat, he goes on laughing till Dad says, Come over here. He rolls up Malachyas sleeve and raises his hand to slap his arm.

Are you going to behave yourself?

Malachyas eyes fill with tears and he nods, I will, because Dad never raised his hand like that before. Dad says, Be a good boy and go sit with your brothers, and he pulls down the sleeve and pats Malachy on the head.

That night Mamas sister, Aunt Aggie, came home from her job in the clothing factory. She was big like the MacNamara sisters, and she had flaming red hair. She wheeled a large bicycle into the little room behind the kitchen and came out to her supper. She was living in Grandmaas because she had a fight with her husband, Pa Keating, who told her, when he had drink taken,Youare a great fat cow, go home to your mother. Thatas what Grandma told Mam and thatas why there was no room for us in Grandmaas house. She had herself, Aunt Aggie, and her son Pat, who was my uncle and who was out selling newspapers.

Aunt Aggie complained when Grandma told her Mam would have to sleep with her that night. Grandma said, Oh, will you shut your gob.

aTis only for one night ana that wonat kill you ana if you donat like it you can go back to your husband where you belong anyway instead of runnina home to me. Jesus, Mary ana Holy St. Joseph, look at this housea"

you ana Pat ana Angela and her clatther of Americans.Will I have any peace in the latter end of my life?

She spread coats and rags on the floor of the little back room and 58.we slept there with the bicycle. Dad stayed on a chair in the kitchen, took us to the lavatory in the backyard when we needed it, and in the night hushed the twins when they cried from the cold.

In the morning,Aunt Aggie came for her bicycle telling us,Will ye mind yeerselves, will ye? Will ye get out of my way?

When she left, Malachy kept saying,Will ye mind yeerselves, will ye? Will ye get out of the way, will ye? and I could hear Dad laughing out in the kitchen till Grandma came down the stairs and he had to tell Malachy be quiet.

That day Grandma and Mam went out and found a furnished room on Windmill Street where Aunt Aggie had a flat with her husband, Pa Keating. Grandma paid the rent, ten s.h.i.+llings for two weeks. She gave Mam money for food, loaned us a kettle, a pot, a frying pan, knives and spoons, jam jars to be used for mugs, a blanket and a pillow. She said that was all she could afford anymore, that Dad would have to get up off his a.r.s.e, get a job, go on the dole, go for the charity at the St.Vincent de Paul Society or go on the relief.

The room had a fireplace where we could boil water for our tea or an egg in case we ever came into money.We had a table and three chairs and a bed, which Mam said was the biggest she had ever seen.We were glad of the bed that night,worn out after nights on floors in Dublin and in Grandmaas. It didnat matter that there were six of us in the bed, we were together, away from grandmothers and guards,Malachy could say ye ye ye and we could laugh as much as we liked.

Dad and Mam lay at the head of the bed, Malachy and I at the bottom, the twins wherever they could find comfort. Malachy made us laugh again.Ye, ye, ye, he said, and oy oy oy, and then fell asleep.Mam made the little hink hink snore sound that told us she was sleeping. In the moonlight I could look up the length of the bed and see Dad still awake and when Oliver cried in his sleep Dad reached for him and held him.Whisht, he said.Whisht.

Then Eugene sat up, screaming, tearing at himself.Ah, ah,Mommy, Mommy. Dad sat up.What? Whatas up, son? Eugene went on crying and when Dad leaped from the bed and turned on the gaslight we saw the fleas, leaping, jumping, fastened to our flesh.We slapped at them and slapped but they hopped from body to body, hopping, biting.We tore at the bites till they bled.We jumped from the bed, the twins crying,Mam moaning,Oh,Jesus, will we have no rest! Dad poured water and salt into 59.a jam jar and dabbed at our bites.The salt burned but he said wead feel better soon.

Mam sat by the fireplace with the twins on her lap.Dad pulled on his trousers and dragged the mattress off the bed and out to the street.

He filled the kettle and the pot with water, stood the mattress against the wall, pounded it with a shoe, told me to keep pouring water on the ground to drown the fleas dropping there.The Limerick moon was so bright I could see bits of it s.h.i.+mmering in the water and I wanted to scoop up moon bits but how could I with the fleas leaping on my legs.

Dad kept pounding with the shoe and I had to run back through the house to the backyard tap for more water in the kettle and the pot.

Mam said, Look at you.Your shoes are drenched and youall catch your death and your father will surely get the pneumonia without a shoe to his foot.

A man on a bicycle stopped and wanted to know why Dad was beating that mattress. Mother oa G.o.d, he said, I never heard such a cure for fleas. Do you know that if a man could jump like a flea one lep would take him halfway to the moon? The thing to do is this, when you go back inside with that mattress stick it on the bed upside down and that will confuse the little b.u.g.g.e.rs.They wonat know where they are and theyall be biting the mattress or each other, which is the best cure of all. After they bite the human being they have the frenzy, you know, for there are other fleas around them that also bit the human being and the smell of the blood is too much for them and they go out of their minds.Theyare a right b.l.o.o.d.y torment ana I should know for didnat I grow up in Limerick, down in the Irishtown, ana the fleas there were so plentiful ana forward theyad sit on the toe of your boot ana discuss Irelandas woeful history with you. It is said there were no fleas in ancient Ireland, that they were brought in be the English to drive us out of our wits entirely, ana I wouldnat put it past the English.Anaisnat it a very curious thing that St. Patrick drove the snakes out of Ireland ana the English brought in the fleas. For centuries Ireland was a lovely peaceful place, snakes gone, not a flea to be found.You could stroll the four green fields of Ireland without fear of snakes ana have a good nightas sleep with no fleas to bother you. Them snakes were doina no harm, they wouldnat bother you unless you cornered them ana they lived off other creatures that move under bushes ana such places,whereas the flea sucks the blood from you mornina noon ana night for thatas his nature ana he canat help 60.himself. I hear for a fact that places that have snakes galore have no fleas.

Arizona, for instance.Youare forever hearing about the snakes of Arizona but when did you ever hear of fleas in Arizona? Good luck to you. I have to be careful standina here for if one of them gets on my clothes I might as well invite his whole family home.They multiply faster than Hindus.

Dad said,You wouldnat by any chance have a cigarette,would you?

A cigarette? Oh, sure, of course. Here you are. Arenat I nearly destroyed from the f.a.gs myself.The oula hacking cough, you know. So powerful it nearly knocks me off the bicycle. I can feel that cough stirring in me solar plexus ana workina its way up through me entrails till the next thing it takes off the top oa me head.

He struck a match on a box, lit a cigarette for himself and held out the match for Dad. Of course, he said, youare bound to have the cough when you live in Limerick because this is the capital city of the weak chest and the weak chest leads to the consumption. If all the people that has consumption in Limerick were to die this would be a ghost town, though I donat have consumption meself.No, this cough was a present from the Germans. He paused, puffed on his cigarette, and struggled with a cough. Bejesus, excuse the language, but the f.a.gsall get me in the end.Well, Iall leave you now to the mattress ana remember what I told you, confuse the little b.u.g.g.e.rs.

He wobbled away on his bicycle, the cigarette dangling from his mouth, the cough racking his body. Dad said, Limerickmen talk too much. Come on,weall put this mattress back and see if thereas any sleep in this night.

Mam sat by the fireplace with the twins asleep on her lap, and Malachy lay curled up on the floor by her feet. She said,Who was that you were talking to? It sounded very like Pa Keating, Aggieas husband.

I could tell by the cough. He got that cough in France in the war when he swallowed the gas.

We slept the rest of that night, and in the morning we saw where the fleas had feasted, our flesh pink with flea welts and bright with the blood of our scratches.

Mam made tea and fried bread, and once more Dad dabbed at our bites with the salty water. He hauled the mattress outside again to the backyard. On a cold day like this the fleas would surely freeze to death and wead all have a good nightas sleep.

61.. . .

A few days later when weare settled into the room Dad is shaking me out of my dreams.Up, Francis, up. Put on your clothes and run over for your aunt Aggie.Your mother needs her. Hurry.

Mam is moaning in the bed, her face pure white. Dad has Malachy and the twins out of the bed and sitting on the floor by the dead fire. I run across the street and knock on Aunt Aggieas door till Uncle Pat Keating comes coughing and grumbling,Whatas up? Whatas up?

My mother is moaning in the bed. I think sheas sick.

Now Aunt Aggie comes grumbling.Ye are nothing but trouble since ye came from America.

Leave him alone,Aggie, heas only a child thatas doing what heas told.

She tells Uncle Pa go back to bed, that he has to go to work in the morning not like some from the North that she wonat mention. He says,No, no, Iam coming.Thereas something wrong with Angela.

Dad tells me sit over there with my brothers. I donat know whatas up with Mam because everyone is whispering and I can barely hear Aunt Aggie telling Uncle Pa the child is lost run for the ambulance and Uncle Pa is out the door, Aunt Aggie telling Mam you can say what you like about Limerick but the ambulance is fast. She doesnat talk to my father, never looks at him.

Malachy says,Dad, is Mammy sick?

Och, sheall be all right, son. She has to see the doctor.

I wonder what child is lost because weare all here, one two three four of us, not a lost child anywhere and why canat they tell me whatas wrong with my mother. Uncle Pa comes back and the ambulance is right behind him.A man comes in with a stretcher and after they carry Mam away there are blood spots on the floor by the bed. Malachy bit his tongue and there was blood and the dog on the street had blood and he died. I want to ask Dad to tell me if Mam will be gone forever like my sister Margaret but heas going with Mam and thereas no use asking Aunt Aggie anything for fear shead bite your head off. She wipes away the blood spots and tells us get back into bed and stay there till Dad comes home.

Itas the middle of the night and the four of us are warm in the bed and we fall asleep till Dad comes home and tells us Mam is nice and comfortable in the hospital and sheall be home in no time.

62.Later, Dad goes to the Labour Exchange for the dole.There is no hope of a laboring man with a North of Ireland accent getting a job in Limerick.

When he returns, he tells Mam weall be getting nineteen s.h.i.+llings a week. She says thatas just enough for all of us to starve on. Nineteen s.h.i.+llings for six of us? Thatas less than four dollars in American money and how are we supposed to live on that? What are we to do when we have to pay rent in a fortnight? If the rent for this room is five s.h.i.+llings a week weall have fourteen s.h.i.+llings for food and clothes and coal to boil the water for the tea.

Dad shakes his head, sips his tea from a jam jar, stares out the window and whistles aThe Boys of Wexford.a Malachy and Oliver clap their hands and dance around the room and Dad doesnat know whether to whistle or smile because you canat do both and he canat help himself.

He has to stop and smile and pat Oliveras head and then go back to the whistling. Mam smiles, too, but itas a very quick smile and when she looks into the ashes you can see the worry where the corners of her mouth turn down.

Next day she tells Dad to mind the twins and takes Malachy and me with her to the St.Vincent de Paul Society.We stand in a queue with women wearing black shawls. They ask our names and smile when we talk.They say, Lord above,would you listen to the little Yankees, and they wonder why Mam in her American coat would be looking for charity since thereas hardly enough for the poor people of Limerick without Yanks coming over and taking the bread out of their mouths.

Mam tells them a cousin gave her that coat in Brooklyn, that her husband has no work, that she has other children at home, twin boys.

The women sniff and pull their shawls about them, they have their own troubles. Mam tells them she had to leave America because she couldnat stand it after her baby girl died. The women sniff again but now itas because Mam is crying. Some say they lost little ones, too, and thereas nothing worse in the world, you could live as long as Methuselemas wife but you never get over it. No man can ever know what it is to be a mother that has lost a child, not if the man lived longer than two Methuselems.

They all have a good cry till a red-haired woman pa.s.ses a little box around.The women pick something from the box between their fin- 63.gers and stuff it up their noses. A young woman sneezes and the redhaired woman laughs. Ah, sure, Biddy, youare not able for that snuff.

Come here, little Yankee boys, have a pinch. She plants the brown stuff in our nostrils and we sneeze so hard the women stop crying and laugh till they have to wipe their eyes with their shawls. Mam tells us,Thatas good for ye, atwill clear yeer heads.

The young woman, Biddy, tells Mam weare two lovely boys. She points at Malachy. That little fella with the goldy ringlet, isnat he gorgeous?

He could be a film star with s.h.i.+rley Temple. And Malachy smiles and warms up the queue.

The woman with the snuff says to Mam, Missus, I donat want to be forward but I think you should be sitting down for we heard about your loss.

Another woman worries,Ah, no, they donat like that.

Who donat like what?

Ah, sure, Nora Molloy, the Society donat like us sittina on the steps.

They want us to be standina respectful against the wall.

They can kiss my a.r.s.e, says Nora, the red-haired woman. Sit down there, missus, on that step ana Iall sit next to you ana if thereas one word out of the St.Vincent de Paul Society Iall take the face off aem, so I will.

Do you smoke, missus?

I do, says Mam, but I donat have them.

Nora takes a cigarette from a pocket in her ap.r.o.n, breaks it, and offers half to Mam.

The worried woman says,They donat like that either.They say every f.a.g you smoke is taking food from the mouth of your child. Mr. Quinlivan inside is dead against it. He says if you have money for the f.a.gs you have money for food.

Quinlivan can kiss my a.r.s.e, too, the grinny oula b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Is he going to begrudge us a puff of a f.a.g, the only comfort we have in the world?

A door opens at the end of the hall and a man appears.Are any of ye waiting for childrenas boots?

Women raise their hands, I am. I am.

Well, the boots are all gone.Yeall have to come back next month.

But my Mikey needs boots for school.

Theyare all gone, I told you.

But atis freezina abroad, Mr. Quinlivan.

The boots are all gone. Nothing I can do. Whatas this? Whoas smoking?

64.Nora waves her cigarette. I am, she says, and enjoying it down to the last ash.

Every puff you take, he starts.