XVII
Idont know why Mrs.OConnell had to shame me before the whole
world,and I dont think Im too good for the post office or anything else.
How could I with my hair sticking up,pimples dotting my face,my eyes
red and oozing yellow, my teeth crumbling with the rot, no shoulders,
no flesh on my arse after cycling thirteen thousand miles to deliver twenty
thousand telegrams to every door in Limerick and regions beyond?
Mrs. OConnell said a long time ago she knew everything about
every telegram boy. She must know about the times I went at myself on
top of Carrigogunnell, milkmaids gawking, little boys looking up.
She must know about Theresa Carmody and the green sofa, how I
got her into a state of sin and sent her to hell, the worst sin of all, worse
than Carrigogunnell a thousand times. She must know I never went to
confession after Theresa, that Im doomed to hell myself.
A person that commits a sin like that is never too good for the post
office or anything else.
The barman at Souths remembers me from the time I sat with
Mr. Hannon, Bill Galvin, Uncle Pa Keating, black white black. He
remembers my father, how he spent his wages and his dole while
singing patriotic songs and making speeches from the dock like a con-
demned rebel.
And what is it youd like? says the barman.
Im here to meet Uncle Pa Keating and have my first pint.
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