Angela's Ashes: A Memoir Part 17

The fire dies and Mrs. Clohessy climbs over him into the bed. In a minute sheas snoring even if heas still coughing and laughing about the days of his youth when he danced with Angela Sheehan light as a feather in the Wembley Hall.

Itas cold in the room and Iam s.h.i.+vering in my wet clothes. Paddy is s.h.i.+vering too but heas asleep and he doesnat know heas cold. I donat know if I should stay here or get up and go home but who wants to be wandering the streets when a guard might ask you what youare doing out.

Itas my first time away from my family and I know Iad rather be in my own house with the smelly lavatory and stable next door. Itas bad when 165.

our kitchen is a lake and we have to go up to Italy but itas worse in the Clohessysa when you have to go down four flights to the lavatory and slip on s.h.i.+t all the way down. Iad be better off with four goats in a ditch.

I drift in and out of sleep but I have to wake up for good when Mrs.

Clohessy goes around pulling at her family to get them up.They all went to bed with their clothes on so they donat have to get dressed and thereas no fighting.They grumble and run out the door to get downstairs to the backyard lavatory. I have to go too and I run down with Paddy but his sister Peggy is on the bowl and we have to p.i.s.s against a wall. She says, Iall tell Ma what ye did, and Paddy says, Shurrup or Iall push you down into that f.e.c.kina lavatory. She jumps off the lavatory, pulls her drawers up and runs up the stairs crying, Iall tell, Iall tell, and when we get back to the room Mrs. Clohessy gives Paddy a belt on the head for what he did to his poor little sister.Paddy says nothing because Mrs. Clohessy is spooning porridge into mugs and jam jars and one bowl and telling us to eat up and go to school. She sits at the table eating her porridge. Her hair is gray black and dirty. It dangles in the bowl and picks up bits of porridge and drops of milk.The children slurp the porridge and complain they didnat get enough, theyare starving with the hunger. They have snotty noses and sore eyes and scabby knees.

Mr. Clohessy coughs and squirms on the bed and brings up the great gobs of blood and I run out of the room and puke on the stairs where thereas a step missing and thereas a shower of porridge and bits of apple to the floor below where people go back and forth to the lavatory in the yard.Paddy comes down and says, Sure thatas all right.Everywan gets sick ana s.h.i.+ts on them stairs ana the whole f.e.c.kina place is falling down anyway.

I donat know what Iam supposed to do now. If I go back to school Iall be killed and why should I go back to school or go home to get killed when I can go out the road and live on milk and apples the rest of my life till I go to America. Paddy says, Come on. School is all a cod anyway ana the masters is all madmen.

Thereas a knock at the Clohessysa door and itas Mam holding my little brother, Michael, by the hand, and Guard Dennehy, who is in charge of school attendance. Mam sees me and says,What are you doing with one shoe on? and Guard Dennehy says,Ah, now, missus, I think a more important question would be,What are you doing with one shoe off, ha, ha.

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Michael runs to me. Mammy was crying. Mammy was crying for you, Frankie.

She says,Where were you all night?

I was here.

You had me demented.Your father walked every street in Limerick looking for you.

Mr. Clohessy says,Whoas at the door?

Itas my mother,Mr. Clohessy.

G.o.d above, is that Angela?

aTis, Mr. Clohessy.

He struggles up on his elbows.Well, for the love of G.o.d, will you come in,Angela. Donat you know me?

Mam looks puzzled. Itas dark in the room and she tries to make out who is in the bed. He says, aTis me, Dennis Clohessy,Angela.

Ah, no.

aTis,Angela.

Ah, no.

I know,Angela. Iam changed.The cough is killiname. But I remember the nights at the Wembley Hall.Aw, Jaysus, you were a great dancer.

Nights at the Wembley Hall, Angela, and the fish and chips after. Oh, boys, oh, boys,Angela.

My mother has tears running down her face. She says,You were a great dancer yourself, Dennis Clohessy.

We could have won compet.i.tions, Angela. Fred and Ginger would have been lookina over their shoulders but you had to run off to America.

Aw, Jaysus.

He has another coughing fit and we have to stand and watch him hang over the bucket again and bring up the bad stuff from his insides.

Guard Dennehy says, I think, missus,we found the by ana Iall be going.

He says to me, If you ever go on the mooch again, by,weall have you in the jail above.Are you listenina to me, by?

I am, Guard.

Donat be tormentina your mother, by. Thatas wan thing the guards wonat put up with, the tormentina of mothers.

I wonat, Guard. I wonat torment her.

He leaves and Mam goes to the bed to take Mr. Clohessyas hand.

His face is caved in all around his eyes and his hair is s.h.i.+ny black with the sweat running from the top of his head. His children stand around the bed looking at him and looking at Mam. Mrs. Clohessy sits by 167.

the fire rattling the poker in the grate and pus.h.i.+ng the baby away from the fire. She says, aTis his own b.l.o.o.d.y fault for not goina into hospital, so atis.

Mr. Clohessy gasps, Iad be all right if I could live in a dry place.

Angela, is America a dry place?

aTis, Dennis.

The doctor told me go to Arizona.A funny man that doctor.Arizona how are you. I donat have the money to go around the corner for a pint.

Mam says,Youall be all right, Dennis. Iall light a candle for you.

Save your money,Angela. My dancina days are done.

I have to go now, Dennis. My son has to go to school.

Before you go,Angela, will you do one thing for me?

I will, Dennis, if atis in my power.

Would you ever give us a verse of that song you sang the night before you went to America?

Thatas a hard song, Dennis. I wouldnat have the wind for it.

Ah, come on, Angela. I never hear a song anymore. There isnat a song in this house.The wife there doesnat have a note in her head ana no step in her foot.

Mam says,All right. Iall try.

Oh, the nights of the Kerry dancing, Oh, the ring of the piperas tune, Oh, for one of those hours of gladness, gone, alas, like our youth too soon.

When the boys began to gather in the glen of a Summer night, And the Kerry piperas tuning made us long with wild delight.

She stops and presses her hand to her chest, Oh, G.o.d, my wind is gone. Help me, Frank, with the song, and I sing along, Oh, to think of it, Oh, to dream of it, fills my heart with tears.

Oh, the nights of the Kerry dancing, Oh, the ring of the piperas tune Oh, for one of those hours of gladness, gone, alas, like our youth too soon.

Mr. Clohessy tries to sing with us, gone, alas, like our youth too soon, but it brings on the cough. He shakes his head and cries, I wouldnat doubt you,Angela. It takes me back. G.o.d bless you.

G.o.d bless you, too, Dennis, and thanks, Mrs. Clohessy, for having Frankie here off the streets.

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aTwas no trouble,Mrs.McCourt. Heas quiet enough.

Quiet enough, says Mr. Clohessy, but heas not the dancer his mother was.

Mam says, aTis hard to dance with one shoe,Dennis.

I know, Angela, but youad wonder why he didnat take it off. Is he a bit strange?

Ah, sometimes he has the odd manner like his father.

Oh, yes. The father is from the North, Angela, and that would account for it.Theyad think nothing of dancing with one shoe in the North.

We walk up Patrick Street and OaConnell Street, Paddy Clohessy and Mam and Michael and myself, and Mam sobs all the way. Michael says, Donat cry,Mammy. Frankie wonat run away.

She lifts him up and hugs him. Oh, no, Michael, atisnat Frankie Iam crying about. aTis Dennis Clohessy and the dancing nights at the Wembley Hall and the fish and chips after.

She comes into the school with us.Mr. OaNeill looks cross and tells us sit down heall be with us in a minute.He talks a long time at the door with my mother and when she leaves he walks between the seats and pats Paddy Clohessy on the head.

Iam very sorry for the Clohessys and all their troubles but I think they saved me from getting into trouble with my mother.

VII.

There are Thursdays when Dad gets his dole money at the Labour Exchange and a man might say,Will we go for a pint,Malachy? and Dad will say, One, only one, and the man will say, Oh, G.o.d, yes, one, and before the night is over all the money is gone and Dad comes home singing and getting us out of bed to line up and promise to die for Ireland when the call comes. He even gets Michael up and heas only three but there he is singing and promising to die for Ireland at the first opportunity.Thatas what Dad calls it, the first opportunity. Iam nine and Malachy is eight and we know all the songs.We sing all the verses of Kevin Barry and Roddy McCorley, aThe Westas Asleep,a aOaDonnell Abu,aaThe Boys of Wexford.a We sing and promise to die because you never know when Dad might have a penny or two left over from the drinking and if he gives it to us we can run to Kathleen OaConnellas next day for toffee. Some nights he says Michael is the best singer of all and he gives him the penny. Malachy and I wonder whatas the use of being eight and nine and knowing all the songs and ready to die when Michael gets the penny so that he can go to the shop next day and stuff his gob with toffee galore. No one can ask him to die for Ireland at the age of three, not even Padraig Pea.r.s.e, who was shot by the English in Dublin in 1916 and expected the whole world to die with him.

Besides, Mikey Molloyas father said anyone who wants to die for Ire- 170.

land is a donkeyas a.r.s.e.Men have been dying for Ireland since the beginning of time and look at the state of the country.

Itas bad enough that Dad loses jobs in the third week but now he drinks all the dole money once a month. Mam gets desperate and in the morning she has the bitter face and she wonat talk to him. He has his tea and leaves the house early for the long walk into the country.When he returns in the evening she still wonat talk to him and she wonat make his tea. If the fire is dead for the want of coal or turf and thereas no way of boiling water for the tea, he says, Och, aye, and drinks water out of a jam jar and smacks his lips the way he would with a pint of porter.

He says good water is all a man needs and Mam makes a snorting sound.When sheas not talking to him the house is heavy and cold and we know weare not supposed to talk to him either for fear sheall give us the bitter look.We know Dad has done the bad thing and we know you can make anyone suffer by not talking to him. Even little Michael knows that when Dad does the bad thing you donat talk to him from Friday to Monday and when he tries to lift you to his lap you run to Mam.

Iam nine years old and I have a pal, Mickey Spellacy, whose relations are dropping one by one of the galloping consumption. I envy Mickey because every time someone dies in his family he gets a week off from school and his mother st.i.tches a black diamond patch on his sleeve so that he can wander from lane to lane and street to street and people will know he has the grief and pat his head and give him money and sweets for his sorrow.

But this summer Mickey is worried. His sister, Brenda, is wasting away with the consumption and itas only August and if she dies before September he wonat get his week off from school because you canat get a week off from school when thereas no school. He comes to Billy Campbell and me to ask if weall go around the corner to St. Josephas Church and pray for Brenda to hang on till September.

Whatas in it for us,Mickey, if we go around the corner praying?

Well, if Brenda hangs on and I get me week off ye can come to the wake and have ham and cheese and cake and sherry and lemonade and everything and ye can listen to the songs and stories all night.

Who could say no to that? Thereas nothing like a wake for having a 171.

good time.We trot around to the church where they have statues of St.

Joseph himself as well as the Sacred Heart of Jesus, the Virgin Mary and St. Thrse of Lisieux, the Little Flower. I pray to the Little Flower because she died of the consumption herself and shead understand.

One of our prayers must have been powerful because Brenda stays alive and doesnat die till the second day of school.We tell Mickey weare sorry for his troubles but heas delighted with his week off and he gets the black diamond patch which will bring the money and sweets.

My mouth is watering at the thought of the feast at Brendaas wake.

Billy knocks on the door and thereas Mickeyas aunt.Well?

We came to say a prayer for Brenda and Mickey said we could come to the wake.

She yells, Mickey!

What?

Come here. Did you tell this gang they could come to your sisteras wake?

No.

But, Mickey, you promised . . .

She slams the door in our faces.We donat know what to do till Billy Campbell says,Weall go back to St. Josephas and pray that from now on everyone in Mickey Spellacyas family will die in the middle of the summer and heall never get a day off from school for the rest of his life.

One of our prayers is surely powerful because next summer Mickey himself is carried off by the galloping consumption and he doesnat get a day off from school and that will surely teach him a lesson.

Proddy Woddy ring the bell, Not for heaven but for h.e.l.l.

On Sunday mornings in Limerick I watch them go to church, the Protestants, and I feel sorry for them, especially the girls, who are so lovely, they have such beautiful white teeth. I feel sorry for the beautiful Protestant girls, theyare doomed.Thatas what the priests tell us. Outside the Catholic Church there is no salvation. Outside the Catholic Church there is nothing but doom.And I want to save them. Protestant girl, come with me to the True Church. Youall be saved and you wonat have the doom.After Ma.s.s on Sunday I go with my friend Billy 172.

Campbell to watch them play croquet on the lovely lawn beside their church on Barrington Street.Croquet is a Protestant game.They hit the ball with the mallet, pock and pock again, and laugh. I wonder how they can laugh or donat they even know theyare doomed? I feel sorry for them and I say, Billy, whatas the use of playing croquet when youare doomed?

He says, Frankie, whatas the use of not playing croquet when youare doomed?

Grandma says to Mam,Your brother Pat, bad leg ana all, was selling papers all over Limerick by the time he was eight and that Frank of yours is big and ugly enough to work.

But heas only nine and still in school.

School. aTis school that has him the way he is talkina back ana goina around with the sour puss ana the odd manner like his father.He could get out ana help poor Pat of a Friday night when the Limerick Leader is a ton weight. He could run up the long garden paths of the quality ana save Patas poor legs ana earn a few pennies into the bargain.