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. I’m tired and hungry and I want Dad to carry me but I know there’s 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. They’re  all  asleep  on  the  bench, my  mother  and  three  brothers. When Dad tells Mam there’s 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,What’s up, missus? Dad tells him we’re stranded there at the bus station, we have no money and no place to stay and the chil- dren are hungry.The man says he’s going off duty now, he’ll take us to the police barracks where he has to report anyway, and they’ll see what can be done. The man in uniform tells us we can call him guard.That’s what you call policemen in Ireland. He asks us what you call policemen in Amer- ica and Malachy says, cop.The guard pats him on the head and tells him he’s a clever little Yankee. At the police barracks the sergeant tells us we can spend the night. He’s sorry but all he can offer is the floor. It’s Thursday and the cells are filled with men who drank their dole money and wouldn’t leave the pubs. The guards give us hot sweet tea and thick slices of bread slathered with butter and jam and we’re so happy we run around the barracks, playing.The guards say we’re a great bunch of little Yanks and they’d 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 bloody fillum stars. Did yez fall outa the sky or what? Women in cells at the other end tell Malachy he’s gorgeous and the twins are dotes. One woman talks to me. C’mere, 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 butterscotch. Put that in your mouth. I don’t want to put it in my mouth because it’s sticky and wet from her mouth but I don’t know what you’re supposed to do when a woman in a cell offers you sticky butterscotch and I’m about to put it in my mouth when a guard comes, takes the butterscotch and throws it back at the 53