I have an infection, Seamus.
Yerra, youall be over that before youare married, Frankie.The eyes need exercise.The blink is great value for the eyes. I had an uncle with bad eyes and the blink saved him. He sat an hour ever day and blinked and it stood to him in the end.Wound up with powerful eyes, so he did.
I want to ask him more about the blink and the powerful eyes but he says,Now do you remember the poem, Frankie, the lovely poem of Patricia?
He stands in the aisle between the beds with his mop and his bucket and says the highwayman poem and all the patients stop their moaning and the nuns and nurses stand and listen and on and on goes Seamus till he comes to the end and everyone goes mad clapping and cheering him and he tells the world he loves that poem heall have it in his head forever no matter where he goes and if it wasnat for Frankie McCourt and his typhoid there and poor Patricia Madigan with the dipteria thatas gone G.o.d rest her head never know the poem and there I am famous in the eye ward of the City Home Hospital and all because of Seamus.
Mam canat come to visit every day, itas a long way out, she doesnat always have the money for the bus and the walk is hard on her corns.
She thinks my eyes look better though you canat tell with all that brown stuff, which looks and smells like iodine and if itas anything like iodine it must burn. Still, they say the bitterer the medicine the quicker the cure. She gets permission to take me for a walk around the grounds when the weather clears and thereas a strange sight,Mr.Timoney standing against the wall where the old people are with his eyes raised to the sky. I want to talk to him and I have to ask Mam because you never know whatas right or wrong in a hospital.
Mr.Timoney.
Who is it? Who do we have?
Frank McCourt, sir.
Francis, ah, Francis.
Mam says, Iam his mother,Mr.Timoney.
Well, then, the two of ye are blessed. I have neither kith nor kin nor Macushla my dog.And what are you doing in this place, Francis?
I have an infection in my eyes.
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Ah, Jesus, Francis, not the eyes, not the eyes. Mother of Christ, youare too young for that.
Mr.Timoney,would you like me to read to you?
With them eyes, Francis? Ah, no, son, Save the eyes. Iam beyond reading. In my head I have everything I need. I was smart enough to put things in my head in my youth and now I have a library in my head.
The English shot my wife. The Irish put down my poor innocent Macushla. Isnat it a joke of a world?
Mam says,Terrible world but G.o.d is good.
Indeed, missus. G.o.d made the world, itas a terrible world, but G.o.d is good. Good-bye, Francis. Rest your eyes and then read till they fall out of your head.We had good times with old Jonathan Swift, didnat we, Francis?
We did, Mr.Timoney.
Mam takes me back to the eye ward. She tells me, Donat be crying over Mr.Timoney, heas not even your father. Besides youall be ruining your eyes.
Seamus comes to the ward three times a week and brings new poems in his head. He says,You made Patricia sad, Frankie, when you didnat like the one about the owl and the p.u.s.s.ycat.
Iam sorry, Seamus.
I have it in my head, Frankie, and Iall say it for you if you donat say atis foolish.
I wonat, Seamus.
He says the poem and everyone in the ward loves it.They want the words and he says it three more times till the whole ward is saying, The Owl and the p.u.s.s.y-cat went to sea In a beautiful pea-green boat.
They took some honey, and plenty of money Wrapped up in a five-pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above, And sang to a small guitar, O lovely p.u.s.s.y,O p.u.s.s.y, my love, What a beautiful p.u.s.s.y you are, You are, You are.
What a beautiful p.u.s.s.y you are.
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They say it along with Seamus now and when itas finished they cheer and clap and Seamus laughs, delighted with himself.When heas gone with his mop and bucket you can hear them at all hours of the day and night O lovely p.u.s.s.y,O p.u.s.s.y, my love, What a beautiful p.u.s.s.y you are, You are, You are.
What a beautiful p.u.s.s.y you are.
Then Seamus comes with no mop and no bucket and Iam afraid heas sacked over the poetry but heas smiling and telling me heas off to England to work in a factory and earn decent wages for a change. Heall work for two months and bring the wife over and G.o.d might be pleased to send them children for he has to do something with all the poems in his head and what better than saying them to small ones in memory of that sweet Patricia Madigan dead of the dipteria.
Good-bye, Francis. If I had the right fist Iad write to you but Iall get the wife to write when she comes over. I might even learn to read and write myself so that the child that comes wonat have a fool for a father.
I want to cry but you canat cry in the eye ward with brown stuff in your eyes and nurses saying,Whatas this whatas this be a man, and nuns going on, Offer it up, think of the sufferings of Our Lord on the cross, the crown of thorns, the lance in the side, the hands and feet torn to bits with nails.
Iam a month in the hospital and the doctor says I can go home even if thereas still a bit of infection but if I keep the eyes clean with soap and clean towels and build up my health with nourishing food plenty of beef and eggs Iall have a pair of sparkling eyes in no time ha ha.
Mr.Downes across the way comes back from England for his motheras funeral. He tells Mrs.Downes about my father. She tells Bridey Hannon and Bridey tells my mother.Mr.Downes says that Malachy McCourt is gone pure mad with the drink, that he squanders his wages in pubs all over Coventry, that he sings Irish rebel songs which the English donat mind because theyare used to the way the Irish carry on about the hundreds of years of suffering, but they wonat put up with any man 230.
that stands up in a pub and insults the King and Queen of England, their two lovely daughters and the Queen Mother herself. Insulting the Queen Mother is going beyond the beyonds.What did she ever do to anyone, that poor old lady? Time after time Malachy drinks away his rent money and winds up sleeping in parks when the landlord throws him out. Heas a regular disgrace, so he is, and Mr.Downes is glad McCourt is not a Limerickman bringing shame to this ancient city.The magistrates in Coventry are losing their patience and if Malachy McCourt doesnat stop the b.l.o.o.d.y nonsense heall be kicked out of the country entirely.
Mam tells Bridey she doesnat know what sheas going to do with these stories from England, she never felt so desperate in her life. She can see Kathleen OaConnell doesnat want to give any more credit at the shop and her own mother barks at her if she asks for the loan of a shilling and the St.Vincent de Paul Society want to know when sheall stop asking for charity especially with a husband in England. Sheas ashamed of the way we look with the dirty old torn shirts, raggedy ganseys, broken shoes, holes in our stockings. She lies awake at night thinking the most merciful thing of all would be to put the four boys in an orphanage so that she could go to England herself and find some type of work where she could bring us all over in a year for the better life. There might be bombs but shead prefer bombs anytime to the shame of begging from this one and that one.
No, no matter what she canat bear the thought of putting us in the orphanage.That might be all right if you had the likes of Boysa Town in America with a nice priest like Spencer Tracy but you could never trust the Christian Brothers out in Glin who get their exercise beating boys and starving the life out of them.
Mam says thereas nothing left but the Dispensary and the public a.s.sistance, the relief, and sheas ashamed of her life to go and ask for it. It means youare at the end of your rope and maybe one level above tinkers, knackers and street beggars in general. It means you have to crawl before Mr. Coffey and Mr. Kane and thank G.o.d the Dispensary is at the other end of Limerick so that people in our lane wonat know weare getting the relief.
She knows from other women itas wise to be there early in the morning when Mr. Coffey and Mr. Kane might be in a good mood. If you go late in the morning theyare liable to be cranky after seeing hundreds of men women and children sick and asking for help. She will take us with her to prove she has four children to feed. She gets us up early 231.
and tells us for once in our lives donat wash our faces, donat comb our hair, dress in any old rag. She tells me give my sore eyes a good rub and make them as red as I can for the worse you look at the Dispensary the more pity you get and the better your chances of getting the public a.s.sistance. She complains that Malachy Michael and Alphie look too healthy and youad wonder why on this day of days they couldnat have their usual scabby knees or the odd cut bruise or black eye. If we meet anyone in the lane or the streets of Limerick we are not to tell them where weare going. She feels ashamed enough without telling the whole world and wait till her own mother hears.
There is a queue already outside the Dispensary.There are women like Mam with children in their arms, babies like Alphie, and children playing on the pavement.The women comfort the babies against the cold and scream at the ones playing in case they run into the street and get hit by a motor car or a bicycle.There are old men and women huddled against the wall talking to themselves or not talking at all. Mam warns us not to wander from her and we wait half an hour for the big door to open.A man tells us move inside in proper order and queue up before the platform, that Mr. Coffey and Mr. Kane will be there in a minute when they finish their tea in the room beyond.A woman complains her children are freezing with the cold and couldnat Coffey and Kane b.l.o.o.d.y well hurry up with their tea.The man says sheas a troublemaker but he wonat take her name this time with the cold thatas in the morning but if thereas another word sheall be a sorry woman.
Mr. Coffey and Mr. Kane get up on the platform and pay no attention to the people.Mr. Kane puts on his gla.s.ses, takes them off, polishes them, puts them on, looks at the ceiling.Mr. Coffey reads papers, writes something, pa.s.ses papers to Mr. Kane.They whisper to each other.They take their time.They donat look at us.
Then Mr. Kane calls the first old man to the platform.Whatas your name?
Timothy Creagh, sir.
Creagh, hah? A fine old Limerick name you have there.
I do, sir. Indeed I do.
And what do you want, Creagh?
Ah, sure, I do be havina them pains in me stomach again ana Iad like to see Dr. Feeley.
Well, now, Creagh, are you sure itas not the pints of porter that are going against your stomach.
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Ah, no, indeed, sir. Sure I hardly touch the pint at all with the pains.
My wife is home in the bed and I have to take care of her too.
Thereas great laziness in the world, Creagh. And Mr. Kane says to the people on the queue, Did ye hear that, ladies? Great laziness, isnat there?
And the women say, Oh, there is, indeed, Mr. Kane, great laziness.
Mr. Creagh gets his docket to see the doctor, the queue moves ahead and Mr. Kane is ready for Mam.
The public a.s.sistance, is that what you want,woman, the relief?
aTis, Mr. Kane.
And whereas your husband?
Oh, heas in England, buta"
England, is it? And where is the weekly telegram, the big five pounds?
He didnat send us a penny in months, Mr. Kane.
Is that a fact? Well,we know why, donat we? We know what the men of Ireland are up to in England.We know thereas the occasional Limerickman seen trotting around with a Piccadilly tart, donat we?
He looks out at the people on the queue and they know theyare supposed to say,We do,Mr. Kane, and they know theyare supposed to smile and laugh or things will go hard with them when they reach the platform.They know he might turn them over to Mr. Coffey and heas notorious for saying no to everything.
Mam tells Mr. Kane that Dad is in Coventry and nowhere near Piccadilly and Mr. Kane takes off his gla.s.ses and stares at her.Whatas this?
Are we having a little contradiction here?
Oh, no,Mr. Kane, G.o.d no.
I want you to know, woman, that it is the policy here to give no relief to women with husbands in England. I want you to know youare taking the bread from the mouths of more deserving people who stayed in this country to do their bit.
Oh, yes, Mr. Kane.
And whatas your name?
McCourt, sir.
Thatas not a Limerick name.Where did you get a name like that?
My husband, sir. Heas from the North.
Heas from the North and he leaves you here to get the relief from the Irish Free State. Is this what we fought for, is it?
I donat know, sir.
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Why donat you go up to Belfast and see what the Orangemen will do for you, ah?
I donat know, sir.
You donat know. Of course you donat know.Thereas great ignorance in the world.
He looks out at the people, I said thereas great ignorance in the world, and the people nod their heads and agree thereas great ignorance in the world.
He whispers to Mr. Coffey and they look at Mam, they look at us.
He tells Mam at last that she can have the public a.s.sistance but if she gets a single penny from her husband sheas to drop all claims and give the money back to the Dispensary. She promises she will and we leave.
We follow her to Kathleen OaConnellas shop to get tea and bread and a few sods of turf for the fire.We climb the stairs to Italy and get the fire going and itas cozy when we have our tea.Weare all very quiet, even the baby Alphie, because we know what Mr. Kane did to our mother.
X.
Itas cold and wet down in Ireland but weare up in Italy. Mam says we should bring the poor Pope up to hang on the wall opposite the window.
After all heas a friend of the workingman, heas Italian, and theyare a warm weather people. Mam sits by the fire, shivering, and we know something is wrong when she makes no move for a cigarette. She says she feels a cold coming and shead love to have a tarty drink, a lemonade.
But thereas no money in the house, not even for bread in the morning.
She drinks tea and goes to bed.
The bed creaks all night with her twistings and turnings and she keeps us awake with her moaning for water. In the morning, she stays in bed, still shivering, and we keep quiet. If she sleeps long enough Malachy and I will be too late for school.Hours pa.s.s and still she makes no move and when I know itas well past school time I start the fire for the kettle. She stirs and calls for lemonade but I give her a jam jar of water. I ask her if shead like some tea and she acts like a woman gone deaf. She looks flushed and itas odd she doesnat even mention cigarettes.
We sit quietly by the fire, Malachy, Michael, Alphie, myself.We drink our tea while Alphie chews the last bit of bread covered with sugar. He makes us laugh the way he smears the sugar all over his face and grins at us with his fat sticky cheeks. But we canat laugh too much or Mam will jump out of the bed and order Malachy and me off to school where weall be killed for being late.We donat laugh long, there is 235.
no more bread and weare hungry, the four of us.We can get no more credit at OaConnellas shop.We canat go near Grandma, either. She yells at us all the time because Dad is from the North and he never sends money home from England where he is working in a munitions factory.
Grandma says we could starve to death for all he cares.That would teach Mam a lesson for marrying a man from the North with sallow skin, an odd manner and a look of the Presbyterian about him.
Still, Iall have to try Kathleen OaConnell once more. Iall tell her my mother is sick above in the bed, my brothers are starving and weall all be dead for the want of bread.
I put on my shoes and run quickly through the streets of Limerick to keep myself warm against the February frost.You can look in peopleas windows and see how cozy it is in their kitchens with fires glowing or ranges black and hot everything bright in the electric light cups and saucers on the tables with plates of sliced bread pounds of b.u.t.ter jars of jam smells of fried eggs and rashers coming through the windows enough to make the water run in your mouth and families sitting there digging in all smiling the mother crisp and clean in her ap.r.o.n everyone washed and the Sacred Heart of Jesus looking down on them from the wall suffering and sad but still happy with all that food and light and good Catholics at their breakfast.
I try to find music in my own head but all I can find is my mother moaning for lemonade.