The door of the priests’ house swings open and the people rush with their hands out. I can hear them, Brother, brother, here, brother, ah, for the love o’ God, brother. Five children at home, brother. I can see my own mother pushed along. I can see the tightness of her mouth when she snatches at a bag and turns from the door and I push the pram up the street before she can see me. I don’t want to go home anymore. I push the pram down to the Dock Road, out to Corkanree where all the dust and garbage of Lim- erick is dumped and burned. I stand a while and look at boys chase rats. I don’t know why they have to torture rats that are not in their houses. I’d keep going on into the country forever if I didn’t have Alphie bawl- ing with the hunger, kicking his chubby legs, waving his empty bottle. Mam has the fire going and something boiling in a pot. Malachy smiles and says she brought home corned beef and a few spuds from Kathleen O’Connell’s shop.He wouldn’t be so happy if he knew he was the son of a beggar. She calls us in from the lane and when we sit at the table it’s hard for me to look at my mother the beggar. She lifts the pot to the table, spoons out the potatoes one each and uses a fork to lift out the corned beef. It isn’t corned beef at all. It’s a great lump of quivering gray fat and the only sign of corned beef is a little nipple of red meat on top.We stare at that bit of meat and wonder who will get it. Mam says, That’s for Alphie. He’s a baby, he’s growing fast, he needs it. She puts it on a saucer in front of him. He pushes it away with his finger, then pulls it back. He lifts it to his mouth, looks around the kitchen, sees Lucky the dog and throws it to him. There’s no use saying anything.The meat is gone.We eat our pota- toes with plenty of salt and I eat my fat and pretend it’s that nipple of red meat. 251