want to get into her own bed and Im ready to go to the small one
against the wall. Instead, theres the sound of her climbing the chair, the
table, the chair, crying up into the loft and telling Laman Griffin, Hes
only a boy, tormented with his eyes, and when Laman says, Hes a little
shit and I want him out of the house, she cries and begs till theres whis-
pering and grunting and moaning and nothing.
In awhile theyre snoring in the loft and my brothers are asleep
around me. I cant stay in this house for if Laman Griffin comes at me
again Ill take a knife to his neck. I dont know what to do or where
to go.
I leave the house and follow the streets from the Sarsfield Barracks
to the Monument Café. I dream of how Ill get back at Laman some
day. Ill go to America and see Joe Louis. Ill tell him my troubles and
hell understand because he comes from a poor family. Hell show me
how to build up my muscles, how to hold my hands and use my feet.
Hell show me how to dig my chin into my shoulder the way he does
and how to let go with a right uppercut that will send Laman flying. Ill
drag Laman to the graveyard at Mungret where his family and Mams
family are buried and Ill cover him with earth all the way to his chin
so that he wont be able to move and hell beg for his life and Ill say,
End of the road, Laman, youre going to meet your Maker, and hell beg
and beg while I trickle dirt on his face till its covered completely and
hes gasping and asking God for forgiveness for not giving me the bike
and punching me all over the house and doing the excitement with my
mother and Ill be laughing away because hes not in a state of grace
after the excitement and hes going to hell as sure as God made little
apples as he used to say himself.
The streets are dark and I have to keep an eye out in case I might
be lucky like Malachy long ago and find fish and chips dropped by
drunken soldiers.Theres nothing on the ground. If I find my uncle,
Ab Sheehan, he might give me some of his Friday night fish and chips,
but they tell me in the café he came and went already. Im thirteen now
so I dont call him Uncle Pat anymore. I call him Ab or The Abbot like
everybody else. Surely if I go to Grandmas house hell give me a piece
of bread or something and maybe hell let me stay the night. I can tell
him Ill be working in a few weeks delivering telegrams and getting big
tips at the post office and ready to pay my own way.
Hes sitting up in bed finishing his fish and chips, dropping to the
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