eggs galore and legs of ham and they telling us what we should give up for Lent. Lent, my arse.What are we to give up when we have Lent all year long? I want to take Mrs. Spillane and her two blond crippled children and put them in that house in the country with the pile of rags and the man from the Boer War and wash everyone and let them all sit in the sun with the birds singing and the streams gurgling. I  can’t  leave  the  pile  of  rags  alone  with  a  useless  money  order because the pile is an old woman, Mrs. Gertrude Daly, all twisted with every class of disease you can get in a Limerick lane, arthritis, rheuma- tism, falling hair, a nostril half gone from her jabbing at it with her fin- ger, and you wonder what kind of a world is it when this old woman sits up from the rags and smiles at you with teeth that gleam white in the dark, her own teeth and perfect. That’s right, she says, me own teeth, and when I rot in the grave they’ll find me teeth a hundred years from now all white an’ shiny an’ I’ll be declared a saint. The telegram money order, three pounds, is from her son. It has a message, Happy  Birthday, Mammy, Your  fond  son, Teddy. She  says, A wonder he can spare it, the little shit, trottin’ around with every tart in Piccadilly. She asks if I’d ever do her a favor and cash the money order and get her a little Baby Powers whiskey at the pub, a loaf of bread, a pound of lard, seven potatoes, one for each day of the week.Would I boil a potato for her, mash it up with a lump of lard, give her a cut of bread, bring her a drop of water to go with the whiskey?  Would I go to O’Connor the chemist for ointment for her sores and while I’m at it bring some soap so she can give her body a good scrub and she’ll be forever grateful and say a prayer for me and here’s a couple of shillings for all my troubles. Ah, no thanks, ma’am. Take the money. Little tip.You did me great favors. I couldn’t, ma’am, the way you are. Take the money or I’ll tell the post office you’re not to deliver my telegram anymore. Oh, all right, ma’am.Thanks very much. Good night, son. Be good to your mother. Good night, Mrs. Daly. 318