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The priest ascended the curved steps to the pulpit. “Your prayers are requested,” intoned his magnificent voice, “for the repose of the soul of John Nolan.”

“Nolan…Nolan…” sighed the echoes of the vaulted ceiling.

With a sound like an anguished whisper, nearly a thousand people knelt to pray briefly for the soul of a man only a dozen of them had known. Francie began the prayer for the souls in Purgatory.

Good Jesus, Whose loving heart was ever troubled by the sorrows of others, look with pity on the soul of our dear one in Purgatory. Oh You, Who loved Your own, hear my cry for mercy….

46

“IN TEN MORE MINUTES,” ANNOUNCED FRANCIE, “IT WILL BE 1917.”

Francie and her brother were sitting side by side with their stockinged feet inside the oven of the kitchen range. Mama, who had given strict orders to be called five minutes before midnight, was resting on her bed.

“I have a feeling,” continued Francie, “that 1917 will be more important than any year we’ve ever had.”

“You say that about every year,” claimed Neeley. “First, 1915 was going to be the most important. Then 1916, and now, 1917.”

“It will be important. For one thing, in 1917 I’ll be sixteen for real instead of just in the office. And other important things have started already. The landlord’s putting in wires. In a few weeks we’ll have ’lectricity instead of gas.”

“Suits me.”

“Then he’s going to rip out these stoves and put in steam heat.”

“Gee, I’ll miss this old stove. Remember how in olden times,” (two years ago!) “I used to sit on the stove?”

“And I used to be afraid you’d catch on fire.”

“I feel like sitting on the stove right now.”

“Go ahead.” He sat on the surface furthest away from the firebox. It was pleasantly warm but not hot. “Remember,” Francie went on, “how we did our examples on this hearthstone, and the time papa got us a real blackboard eraser and then the stone was like the blackboard in school, only lying down?”

“Yeah. That was a long time ago. But look! You can’t claim 1917’s going to be important because we’ll have ’lectricity and steam heat. Other flats have had ’em for years. That’s nothing important.”

“The important thing about this year is that we’ll get into the war.”

“When?”

“Soon. Next week…next month.”

“How do you know?”

“I read the papers every day, brother—two hundred of ’em.”

“Oh, boy! I hope it lasts ’til I’m old enough to join the navy.”

“Who’s joining the navy?” They looked around, startled. Mama was standing in the bedroom doorway.

“We’re just talking, Mama,” explained Francie.

“You forgot to call me,” said Mama reproachfully, “and I thought I heard a whistle. It must be New Year’s now.”

Francie threw open the window. It was a frosty night without a wind. All was still. Across the yards, the backs of the houses were dark and brooding. As they stood at the window, they heard the joyous peal of a church bell. Then other bell sounds tumbled over the first pealing. Whistles came in. A siren shrieked. Darkened windows banged open. Tin horns were added to the cacophony. Someone fired off a blank cartridge. There were shouts and catcalls.

1917!

The sounds died away and the air was filled with waiting. Someone started to sing:

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

And never brought to mind…

The Nolans picked up the song. One by one, the neighbors joined in. And they all sang. But as they sang something disquieting came among them. A group of Germans were singing a round. The German words crowded into “Auld Lang Syne.”

Ja, das ist ein Gartenhaus,

Gartenhaus,

Gartenhaus.

Ach, du schoenes,

Ach, du schoenes,

Ach, du schoenes Gartenhaus.

Someone shouted: “Shut up, you lousy heinies!” In answer, the German song swelled mightily and drowned out “Auld Lang Syne.”

In retaliation, the Irish shouted a parody of the song across the dark back yards.

Yeah, das is a God-damned song,

God-damned song,

God-damned song.

Oh, du lousy,

Oh, du lousy,

Oh, du lousy heinie song.

Windows could be