Angela's Ashes: A Memoir Part 4

I remain your loving neice Philomena Flynn (what was MacNamara) and last but not least your neice Delia Fortune (what was MacNamara, too, ha ha ha) 45.Grandma Sheehan sent money to Philomena and Delia.They bought the tickets, found a steamer trunk at the St.Vincent de Paul Society, hired a van to take us to the pier in Manhattan, put us on the s.h.i.+p, said Good-bye and good riddance, and went away.

The s.h.i.+p pulled away from the dock. Mam said,Thatas the Statue of Liberty and thatas Ellis Island where all the immigrants came in.Then she leaned over the side and vomited and the wind from the Atlantic blew it all over us and other happy people admiring the view. Pa.s.sengers cursed and ran, seagulls came from all over the harbor and Mam hung limp and pale on the s.h.i.+pas rail.home the money from the Labour Exchange and you donat have to be running around to pubs to find them.

II.

In a week we arrived at Moville, County Donegal, where we took a bus to Belfast and from there another bus to Toome in County Antrim.

We left the trunk in a shop and set out to walk the two miles up the road to Grandpa McCourtas house. It was dark on the road, the dawn barely stirring on the hills beyond.

Dad carried the twins in his arms and they took turns crying with the hunger.Mam stopped every few minutes to sit and rest on the stone wall along the road.We sat with her and watched the sky turn red and then blue. Birds started to chirp and sing in the trees and as the dawn came up we saw strange creatures in the fields, standing, looking at us.

Malachy said,What are they, Dad?

Cows, son.

What are cows, Dad?

Cows are cows, son.

We walked farther along the brightening road and there were other creatures in the fields, white furry creatures.

Malachy said,What are they, Dad?

Sheep, son.

What are sheep, Dad?

My father barked at him, Is there any end to your questions? Sheep are sheep, cows are cows, and that over there is a goat.A goat is a goat.

47.The goat gives milk, the sheep gives wool, the cow gives everything.

What else in G.o.das name do you want to know?

And Malachy yelped with fright because Dad never talked like that, never spoke sharply to us. He might get us up in the middle of the night and make us promise to die for Ireland but he never barked like this.

Malachy ran to Mam and she said, There, there, love, donat cry.Your father is just worn out carrying the twins and atis hard answering all those questions when youare carting twins through the world.

Dad set the twins on the road and held out his arms to Malachy.

Now the twins started to cry and Malachy clung to Mam, sobbing.The cows mooed, the sheep maaed, the goat ehehed, the birds twittered in the trees, and the beep beep of a motor car cut through everything.A man called from the motor car, Good Lord, what are you people doing on this road at this hour of an Easter Sunday morning?

Dad said, Good morning, Father.

Father? I said.Dad, is that your father?

Mam said, Donat ask him any questions.

Dad said,No, no, this is a priest.

Malachy said,Whatas aa"? but Mam put her hand over his mouth.

The priest had white hair and a white collar. He said,Where are you going?

Dad said, Up the road to McCourts of Moneygla.s.s, and the priest took us in his motor car. He said he knew the McCourts, a fine family, good Catholics, some daily communicants, and he hoped head see us all at Ma.s.s, especially the little Yankees who didnat know what a priest was, G.o.d help us.

At the house my mother reaches for the gate latch. Dad says, No, no, not that way. Not the front gate.They use the front door only for visits from the priest or funerals.

We make our way around the house to the kitchen door. Dad pushes in the door and thereas Grandpa McCourt drinking tea from a big mug and Grandma McCourt frying something.

Och, says Grandpa, youare here.

Och, we are, says Dad. He points to my mother.This is Angela, he says. Grandpa says, Och, you must be worn out, Angela. Grandma says nothing, she turns back to the frying pan. Grandpa leads us through the kitchen to a large room with a long table and chairs. He says, Sit down and have some tea.Would you like boxty?

48.Malachy says,Whatas boxty?

Dad laughs. Pancakes, son. Pancakes made with potatoes.

Grandpa says,We have eggs. Itas Easter Sunday and you can have all the eggs you can hold.

We have tea and boxty and boiled eggs and we all fall asleep. I wake up in a bed with Malachy and the twins. My parents are in another bed over by the window.Where am I? Itas getting dark.This is not the s.h.i.+p.

Mam snores hink, Dad snores honk. I get up and poke at Dad. I have to pee. He says, Use the chamber pot.

What?

Under the bed, son.The chamber pot. It has roses on it and maidens cavorting in the glen. Pee in that, son.

I want to ask him what heas talking about for even if Iam bursting I feel strange peeing into a pot with roses and maidens cavorting, whatever they are.We had nothing like this in Cla.s.son Avenue where Mrs.

Leibowitz sang in the lavatory while we clutched ourselves in the hall.

Now Malachy has to use the chamber pot but he wants to sit on it.

Dad says, No, you canat do that, son.You have to go outside.When he says that I have to go, too, to sit. He leads us downstairs and through the big room where Grandpa is sitting reading by the fire and Grandma is dozing in her chair. Itas dark outside, though the moon is bright enough for us to see where weare going. Dad opens the door of a little house that has a seat with a hole in it. He shows Malachy and me how to sit on the hole and how to wipe ourselves with squares of newspaper stuck on a nail.Then he tells us wait while he goes inside, closes the door and grunts. The moon is so bright I can look down the field and see the things called cows and sheep and I wonder why they donat go home.

In the house there are other people in the room with my grandparents.

Dad says,These are your aunts: Emily, Nora, Maggie,Vera.Your aunt Eva is in Ballymena with children like you. My aunts are not like Mrs. Leibowitz and Minnie MacAdorey, they nod their heads but they donat hug us or smile. Mam comes into the room with the twins and when Dad tells his sisters, This is Angela and these are the twins, they just nod again.

Grandma goes to the kitchen and soon we have bread and sausages and tea.The only one who speaks at the table is Malachy. He points his spoon at the aunts and asks their names again.When Mam tells him eat his sausage and be quiet his eyes fill with tears and Aunt Nora reaches 49.over to comfort him. She says,There, there, and I wonder why everyone says there there when Malachy cries. I wonder what there there means.

Itas quiet at the table till Dad says, Things are terrible in America.

Grandma says, Och, aye. I read it in the paper. But they say Mr. Roosevelt is a good man and if you stayed you might have work by now.

Dad shakes his head and Grandma says, I donat know what youare going to do,Malachy.Things are worse here than they are in America.

No work here and, G.o.d knows, we donat have room in this house for six more people.

Dad says, I thought I might get work on some of the farms.We could get a small place.

Where would you stay in the meantime? says Grandma. And how would you support yourself and your family?

Och, I could go on the dole, I suppose.

You canat get off a s.h.i.+p from America and go on the dole, says Grandpa.They make you wait a while and what would you do while youare waiting?

Dad says nothing and Mam looks straight ahead at the wall.

Youad be better off in the Free State, says Grandma. Dublin is big and surely thereas work there or in the farms around.

Youare ent.i.tled to money from the IRA, too, says Grandpa.You did your bit and theyave been handing out money to men all over the Free State.You could go to Dublin and ask for help.We can loan you the bus fare to Dublin.The twins can sit on your lap and you wonat have to pay for them.

Dad says,Och,aye, and Mam stares at the wall with tears in her eyes.

After we ate we went back to bed and next morning, all the grown-ups sat around looking sad. Soon a man came in a motor car and took us back down the road to the shop which had our trunk.They lifted the trunk up on the roof of a bus and we got into the bus. Dad said we were going to Dublin. Malachy said,Whatas Dublin? but no one answered him.Dad held Eugene on his lap and Mam held Oliver.Dad looked out at the fields and told me this is where Cuchulain liked to go for a walk.

I asked him where Cuchulain hit the ball into the dogas mouth and he said a few miles away.

50.Malachy said, Look, look, and we looked. It was a great silvery sheet of water and Dad said it was Lough Neagh, the largest lake in Ireland, the lake where Cuchulain used to swim after his great battles. Cuchulain would get so hot that when he jumped into Lough Neagh it boiled over and warmed the surrounding countryside for days. Some day wead all come back and go swimming like Cuchulain himself.Wead fish for eels and fry them in a pan not like Cuchulain, who would pluck them from the lough and swallow them, wriggling, because thereas great power in an eel.

Is that right, Dad?

aTis.

Mam didnat look out the window at Lough Neagh. Her cheek rested on top of Oliveras head and she stared at the floor of the bus.

Soon the bus is rolling into a place where there are big houses, motor cars, horses pulling carts, people on bicycles and hundreds walking.

Malachy is excited.Dad,Dad,whereas the playground,the swings? I want to see Freddie Leibowitz.

Och, son, youare in Dublin now, far from Cla.s.son Avenue.Youare in Ireland, a long way from New York.

When the bus stops the trunk is lifted down and set on the floor of the bus station. Dad tells Mam she can sit on a bench in the station while he goes to see the IRA man in a place called Terenure. He says there are lavatories in the station for the boys, he wonat be long, heall have money when he returns and weall all have food. He tells me go with him and Mam says, No, I need him to help. But when Dad says, Iall need help carrying all that money, she laughs and says,All right, go with your Pop.

Your Pop.That means sheas in a good mood. If she says your father it means sheas in a bad mood.

Dad holds my hand as I trot along beside him. Heas a fast walker, itas a long way to Terenure and Iam hoping heall stop and carry me the way he did with the twins in Toome. But he lopes along and says nothing except to ask people where Terenure is. In awhile he says weare in Terenure and now we have to find Mr. Charles Heggarty of the IRA.

A man with a pink patch on his eye tells us weare on the right street, Charlie Heggarty lives at number fourteen, G.o.d blast him. The man 51.tells Dad, I can see youare a man that did his bit. Dad says, Och, I did my bit, and the man says, I did me bit, too, and what did it get me but one eye less and a pension that wouldnat feed a canary.

But Ireland is free, says Dad, and thatas a grand thing.

Free, my a.r.s.e, the man says. I think we were better off under the English. Good luck to you anyway, mister, for I think I know what youare here for.

A woman opens the door at number fourteen. Iam afraid, she says, that Mr.Heggarty is busy. Dad tells her he just walked all the way from the middle of Dublin with his small son, that he left wife and three children waiting for him at the bus place, and if Mr. Heggarty is that busy then weall wait for him on the doorstep.

The woman is back in a minute to say Mr.Heggarty has a little time to spare and would you come this way. Mr.Heggarty is sitting at a desk near a glowing fire. He says,What can I do for you? Dad stands before the desk and says, I have just returned from America with wife and four children.We have nothing. I fought with a Flying Column during the Troubles and Iam hoping you can help me now in the time of need.

Mr. Heggarty takes Dadas name and turns the pages of a big book on his desk. He shakes his head, No, no record of your service here.

Dad makes a long speech. He tells Mr. Heggarty how he fought, where, when, how he had to be smuggled out of Ireland because of the price on his head, how he was raising his sons to love Ireland.

Mr.Heggarty says heas sorry but he canat be handing out money to every man who wanders in claiming he did his bit. Dad says to me, Remember this, Francis. This is the new Ireland. Little men in little chairs with little bits of paper.This is the Ireland men died for.

Mr.Heggarty says heall look into Dadas claim and heall be sure to let him know what turns up.Heall let us have money to take the bus back into the city. Dad looks at the coins in Mr.Heggartyas hand and says,You could add to that and make the price of a pint.

Oh, itas the drink you want, is it?

One pint is hardly drink.

Youad walk the miles back and make the boy walk because you want a pint,wouldnat you?

Walking never killed anyone.

I want you to leave this house, says Mr.Heggarty, or Iall call a guard, and you can be sure youall never hear from me again.Weare not handing out money to support the Guinness family.

52.Night falls along the streets of Dublin. Children laugh and play under streetlights, mothers call from doorways, smells of cooking come at us all the way, through windows we see people around tables, eating.

Iam tired and hungry and I want Dad to carry me but I know thereas no use asking him now the way his face is tight and set. I let him hold my hand and I run to keep up with him till we reach the bus place where Mam is waiting with my brothers.

Theyare all asleep on the bench, my mother and three brothers.

When Dad tells Mam thereas no money she shakes her head and sobs, Oh, Jesus, what are we going to do? A man in a blue uniform comes over and asks her,Whatas up, missus? Dad tells him weare stranded there at the bus station,we have no money and no place to stay and the children are hungry.The man says heas going off duty now, heall take us to the police barracks where he has to report anyway, and theyall see what can be done.

The man in uniform tells us we can call him guard.Thatas what you call policemen in Ireland. He asks us what you call policemen in America and Malachy says, cop.The guard pats him on the head and tells him heas a clever little Yankee.

At the police barracks the sergeant tells us we can spend the night.

Heas sorry but all he can offer is the floor. Itas Thursday and the cells are filled with men who drank their dole money and wouldnat leave the pubs.

The guards give us hot sweet tea and thick slices of bread slathered with b.u.t.ter and jam and weare so happy we run around the barracks, playing.The guards say weare a great bunch of little Yanks and theyad like to take us home but I say, No,Malachy says,No, the twins say, No,No, and all the guards laugh. Men in cells reach out and pat our heads, they smell like Dad when he comes home singing about Kevin Barry and Roddy McCorley going to die. The men say, Jasus, will ye listen to them.They sound like b.l.o.o.d.y fillum stars. Did yez fall outa the sky or what? Women in cells at the other end tell Malachy heas gorgeous and the twins are dotes. One woman talks to me. Camere, love, would you like a sweet? I nod, and she says,All right, put your hand out. She takes something sticky from her mouth and puts it on my hand.There you are now, she says, a nice bit of b.u.t.terscotch. Put that in your mouth. I donat want to put it in my mouth because itas sticky and wet from her mouth but I donat know what youare supposed to do when a woman in a cell offers you sticky b.u.t.terscotch and Iam about to put it in my mouth when a guard comes, takes the b.u.t.terscotch and throws it back at the 53.woman.You drunken hoor, he says, leave the child alone, and all the women laugh.

The sergeant gives my mother a blanket and she sleeps stretched out on a bench.The rest of us lie on the floor. Dad sits with his back to the wall, his eyes open under the peak of his cap, and he smokes when the guards give him cigarettes.The guard who threw the b.u.t.terscotch at the woman says heas from Ballymena in the north and he talks with Dad about people they know there and in other places like Cushendall and Toome.The guard says heall have a pension some day and heall live on the sh.o.r.es of Lough Neagh and fish his days away. Eels, he says, eels galore. Jasus, I love a fried eel. I ask Dad, Is this Cuchulain? and the guard laughs till his face turns red.Ah, Mother oa G.o.d, did yez hear this? The lad wants to know if Iam Cuchulain.A little Yank and he knows all about Cuchulain.

Dad says,No, heas not Cuchulain but heas a fine man who will live on the sh.o.r.es of Lough Neagh and fish his days away.

Dad is shaking me. Up, Francis, up. It is noisy in the barracks. A boy mopping the floor is singing, Anyone can see why I wanted your kiss, It had to be and the reason is this, Could it be true, someone like you Could love me, love me?

I tell him thatas my motheras song and heas to stop singing it but he just puffs on his cigarette and walks away and I wonder why people have to sing other peopleas songs. Men and women coming out of the cells are yawning and grunting. The woman who offered me the b.u.t.terscotch stops and says, I had a drop taken, child. Iam sorry I made a fool of you, but the guard from Ballymena tells her,Move on, you oula hoor, before I lock you up again.

Oh, lock me up, she says. In, out. What does it matter, you bluea.r.s.ed b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

Mam is sitting up on the bench, the blanket wrapped around her.A woman with gray hair brings her a mug of tea and tells her, Sure, Iam the sergeantas wife and he said you might need help.Would you like a nice soft-boiled egg, missus?