At Swim, Two Boys - Jamie O'Neill [39]
“When does it end, this devotion of yours?”
“End of the month.”
“What happens then?”
“The Monday is the Queenship of Mary. I’ll know then if I’m to be a brother.”
“Do you know what my mother always wanted for me?”
“What’s that?”
“She always hoped I’d make a dungman’s monkey.” The arm gave a squeeze of his neck. “And look at me now. Haven’t I made her wish?”
Old hunchback on her tramp through Glasthule. Widow’s stoop to give the correct designation. Could set your clock by her, eight on the blow, there or thereabouts. Every night the road to Dalkey, never known to pass the other way back. How she gets to Dublin again we don’t know. Still, she was a harmless soul. Mr. Mack tipped his hat as she passed and said, “Hello, Mary Days. How’s this the days are doing?”
The determined old head didn’t lift an oat as onward she trudged.
Odd that now. By rights she’d give out how the days is doing. Half the year they’re drawing in, come mid-winter then they’re drawing out again. Hold on now. Have I got the right handle at all? Is it Mary Days or Mary Nights is her name?
He called out, “Mary Nights, Mary Nights, how’s this the nights is doing?” But she had already passed up the road.
Mr. Mack stared after. Made a donkey of that, he told himself. He looked round to see had anyone been watching. “Good evening, Constable.”
The constable beetled from under his helmet, swivelled on his heels to beat the opposite way.
Mr. Mack turned into a lane of cottages. Dark-green moss growing up the walls, yellow-green slime coming down. Smell of—what would you call that smell? Crowd of nippers at mud pies by the pump. Curious how quiet they play. If a poor man’s riches is his children, these folk is mighty flush. He began knocking at the half-doors. “Tell your ma it’s Mr. Mack for the fortnightly.”
Who has fewer childer feeds them fatter. Truer word. That was the way with his own two. Though he supposed had it turned out to the differ, there’d be other feet at his table now, devouring him out of house and home. Nice to have a little girl though. A little girl would be nice to have. Handy about the house and all.
Little sisters, you may work,
Work and help your mothers,
Darn the stockings, mend the shirts,
Father’s things and brother’s.
Yes, a girl would have been dandy. God rest your soul in peace everlasting.
That time with Gordie we went down the Banks. Like Calcutta it was. Well, any place in India, you takes your pick. Never suspected to find it on my doorstep. The fever van had called collecting. Children stood watching, the way they would be waiting their turn. Flies on their faces. I said to Gordie, “We won’t bother with that sum now.” Gordie felt it too for he said, “We’ve a poor right coming here looking for payment.”
At the last cottage, a little girl came out and pulled the door after her. “The ma’s away on a message,” she said.
Mr. Mack bent down till he was level with her nose. Small as she was she had a smaller child in her arms. “Well, little lady, we’ll have to take the little brother so.”
“Ma, Ma, the General’s after going to take the buddy, Ma!”
Mr. Mack said Aha! with his eyes and waited while the woman came with her poke.
“Why wouldn’t you call of a Saturday like any decent Christian?” she complained while she counted out the coins. “Wouldn’t you know we was depending on his wages tomorrow?”
But how could he collect of a Saturday? Sure Saturday was his busiest night in the shop.
Some of these people, you’d think it was the bailiff after chucking them out the way they’d treat you. The trip-club, the communion-club, the photograph-club, the club for Christmas. Had he any sense he’d charge for a new trousers. Has me pockets near destroyed, the fiddler’s change I collect. Wouldn’t mind but I charge no commission, I share out the interest, not a penny would come the way of the shop necessarily. I only take the opportunity to remind them of