and tea.The darkness comes down and the lights come on along Clas-
son Avenue. Other men with jobs are home already and having eggs for
dinner because you cant have meat on a Friday.You can hear the fam-
ilies talking upstairs and downstairs and down the hall and Bing Crosby
is singing on the radio, Brother, can you spare a dime?
Malachy and I play with the twins.We know Mam wont sing Any-
one can see why I wanted your kiss. She sits at the kitchen table talking
to herself,What am I going to do? till its late and Dad rolls up the stairs
singing Roddy McCorley.He pushes in the door and calls for us,Where
are my troops? Where are my four warriors?
Mam says, Leave those boys alone.Theyre gone to bed half hungry
because you have to fill your belly with whiskey.
He comes to the bedroom door. Up, boys, up. A nickel for every-
one who promises to die for Ireland.
Deep in Canadian woods we met
From one bright island flown.
Great is the land we tread, but yet
Our hearts are with our own.
Up, boys, up. Francis, Malachy, Oliver, Eugene. The Red Branch
Knights, the Fenian Men, the IRA. Up, up.
Mam is at the kitchen table, shaking, her hair hanging damp, her
face wet. Cant you leave them alone? she says. Jesus, Mary and Joseph,
isnt it enough that you come home without a penny in your pocket
without making fools of the children on top of it?
She comes to us. Go back to bed, she says.
I want them up, he says. I want them ready for the day Ireland will
be free from the center to the sea.
Dont cross me, she says, for if you do itll be a sorry day in your
mothers house.
He pulls his cap down over his face and cries, My poor mother.
Poor Ireland. Och, what are we going to do?
Mam says,Youre pure stone mad,and she tells us again to go to bed.
On the morning of the fourth Friday of Dads job Mam asks him
if hell be home tonight with his wages or will he drink everything
again? He looks at us and shakes his head at Mam as if to say, Och, you
shouldnt talk like that in front of the children.
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