prayer.He says the prayers of one child like us are worth more in heaven than the prayers of ten cardinals and forty bishops. He shows us how to  bless ourselves, In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen, and he says, Dear God, this is what you want, isn’t it? You want my son, Eugene.You took his brother, Oliver,You took  his  sister,  Margaret.  I’m  not  supposed  to  question  that,  am  I? Dear  God above, I don’t know why children have to die but that is Your will.You told the river to kill and the Shannon killed. Could You at last be merciful? Could You leave us the children we have? That is all we ask.Amen. He helps Malachy and me wash our heads and feet so that we’ll be clean for Eugene’s funeral.We have to be very quiet even when he hurts us cleaning our ears with the corner of the towel we brought from America. We have to be quiet because Eugene is there with his eyes closed and we don’t want him to be waking up and looking out the window for Oliver. Grandma comes and tells Mam she has to get up.There are children dead, she says, but there are children alive and they need their mother. She brings Mam a little tea in a mug to wash down the pills that ease the pain.Dad tells Grandma it’s Thursday and he has to go to the Labour Exchange for the dole and then down to the undertaker to bring the mourning carriage and the coffin. Grandma tells him to take me with him but he says it’s better for me to stay with Malachy so that I can pray for my little brother dead in the bed. Grandma says, Is it coddin’ me you are? Pray for a little child that’s barely two and already playing with his little brother in heaven? You’ll take your son with you and he’ll remind you this is no day for the pubs. She looks at him and he looks at her and he puts on his cap. At the Labour Exchange we stand at the end of the queue till a man comes from behind the counter and tells Dad he’s very sorry for his troubles and he should go ahead of everyone else on this sorrowful day. Men touch their caps and say they’re sorry for his troubles and some pat my head and give me pennies, twenty-four pennies, two shillings. Dad tells me I’m rich now and I should buy myself a sweet while he goes into this place for a minute. I know this place is a pub and I know he wants to get the black stuff that is called a pint but I don’t say anything because I want to go to the shop next door for a piece of toffee. I chew my toffee till it melts and leaves my mouth all sweet and sticky. Dad is still in the pub and I wonder if I should get another piece of toffee as 85