He takes us to Souths pub, which is not supposed to be open, but
hes a regular customer and theres a back door for men who want their
pint to celebrate the birthday of the Baby Jesus above in the crib. He
orders his pint and lemonade for us and asks the man if theres any
chance of getting a few lumps of coal.The man says hes been serving
drink for twenty-seven years and nobody ever asked him for coal before.
Pa says it would be a favor and the man says if Pa asked for the moon
hed fly up and bring it back.The man leads us to the coal hole under
the stairs and tells us take what we can carry. Its real coal and not bits
from the Dock Road and if we cant carry it we can drag it along the
ground.
It takes us a long time to go from Souths pub to Barrack Hill
because of a hole in the bag. I pull the bag and its Malachys job to pick
up the lumps that fall through the hole and put them back again.Then
it starts to rain and we cant stand in a doorway till it passes because we
have that coal and its leaving a black trail along the pavement and
Malachy is turning black from picking up the lumps, pushing them into
the bag and wiping the rain from his face with his wet black hands. I
tell him hes black, he tells me Im black, and a woman in a shop tells us
get away from that door, tis Christmas Day and she doesnt want to be
looking at Africa.
We have to keep dragging the bag or well never have our Christ-
mas dinner. It will take ages to get a fire going and ages more to get our
dinner because the water has to be boiling when Mam puts in the head
of cabbage and the potatoes to keep the pig company in the pot.We
drag the bag up OConnell Avenue and we see people in their houses
sitting around tables with all kinds of decorations and bright lights. At
one house they push up the window and the children point and laugh
and call to us, Look at the Zulus.Where are yeer spears?
Malachy makes faces at them and wants to throw coal at them but
I tell him if he throws coal theres less for the pig and well never get
our dinner.
The downstairs in our house is a lake again from the rain pouring
under the door but it doesnt matter because were drenched anyway
and we can wade through the water. Dad comes down and drags the
bag upstairs to Italy. He says were good boys for getting so much coal,
that the Dock Road must have been covered with it.When Mam sees
us she starts to laugh, and then she cries. Shes laughing because
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