She gives me a ham sandwich with juicy slices of tomato and tea in
a cup with little pink angels flying around shooting arrows at other lit-
tle flying angels who are blue and I wonder why they cant make
teacups and chamber pots without all kinds of angels and maidens
cavorting in the glen. Mam says thats the way the rich are, they love the
bit of decoration and wouldnt we if we had the money. Shed give her
two eyes to have a house like this with flowers and birds abroad in the
garden and the wireless playing that lovely Warsaw Concerto or the
Dream of Olwyn and no end of cups and saucers with angels shooting
arrows.
She says she has to look in on Mr. Sliney hes so old and feeble he
forgets to call for the chamber pot.
Chamber pot? You have to empty his chamber pot?
Of course I do.
Theres a silence here because I think were remembering the cause
of all our troubles, Laman Griffins chamber pot. But that was a long
time ago and now its Mr. Slineys chamber pot, which is no harm
because shes paid for this and hes harmless. When she comes back
she tells me Mr. Sliney would like to see me, so come in while hes
awake.
Hes lying in a bed in the front parlor, the window blocked with a
black sheet, no sign of light. He tells my mother, Lift me up a bit, mis-
sus, and pull back that bloody thing off the window so I can see the boy.
He has long white hair down to his shoulders. Mam whispers he
wont let anyone cut it. He says, I have me own teeth, son.Would you
credit that? Do you have your own teeth, son?
I do, Mr. Sliney.
Ah. I was in India you know. Me and Timoney up the road. Bunch
of Limerick men in India. Do you know Timoney, son?
I did, Mr. Sliney.
Hes dead, you know. Poor bugger went blind. I have me sight. I
have me teeth. Keep your teeth, son.
I will, Mr. Sliney.
Im getting tired, son, but theres one thing I want to tell you. Are
you listening to me?
I am, Mr. Sliney.
Is he listening to me, missus?
Oh, he is, Mr. Sliney.
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