plenty of time to reflect on my sins in the big ward upstairs and I should
beg Gods forgiveness for my disobedience reciting a pagan English
poem about a thief on a horse and a maiden with red lips who commits
a terrible sin when I could have been praying or reading the life of a
saint. She made it her business to read that poem so she did and Id be
well advised to tell the priest in confession.
The Kerry nurse follows us upstairs gasping and holding on to the
banister. She tells me I better not get the notion shell be running up to
this part of the world every time I have a little pain or a twinge.
There are twenty beds in the ward, all white, all empty.The nurse
tells Seamus put me at the far end of the ward against the wall to make
sure I dont talk to anyone who might be passing the door,which is very
unlikely since there isnt another soul on this whole floor. She tells
Seamus this was the fever ward during the Great Famine long ago and
only God knows how many died here brought in too late for anything
but a wash before they were buried and there are stories of cries and
moans in the far reaches of the night. She says twould break your heart
to think of what the English did to us, that if they didnt put the blight
on the potato they didnt do much to take it off. No pity. No feeling at
all for the people that died in this very ward, children suffering and
dying here while the English feasted on roast beef and guzzled the best
of wine in their big houses, little children with their mouths all green
from trying to eat the grass in the fields beyond, God bless us and save
us and guard us from future famines.
Seamus says twas a terrible thing indeed and he wouldnt want to
be walking these halls in the dark with all the little green mouths gap-
ing at him.The nurse takes my temperature, Tis up a bit, have a good
sleep for yourself now that youre away from the chatter with Patricia
Madigan below who will never know a gray hair.
She shakes her head at Seamus and he gives her a sad shake back.
Nurses and nuns never think you know what theyre talking about.
If youre ten going on eleven youre supposed to be simple like my uncle
Pat Sheehan who was dropped on his head.You cant ask questions.You
cant show you understand what the nurse said about Patricia Madigan,
that shes going to die, and you cant show you want to cry over this girl
who taught you a lovely poem which the nun says is bad.
The nurse tells Seamus she has to go and hes to sweep the lint from
under my bed and mop up a bit around the ward. Seamus tells me shes
a right oul bitch for running to Sister Rita and complaining about the
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