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 cant 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.
Thats right, she says, me own teeth, and when I rot in the grave
theyll find me teeth a hundred years from now all white an shiny an
Ill 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 Id 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 OConnor the chemist for ointment for her sores and while Im at
it bring some soap so she can give her body a good scrub and shell be
forever grateful and say a prayer for me and heres a couple of shillings
for all my troubles.
Ah, no thanks, maam.
Take the money. Little tip.You did me great favors.
I couldnt, maam, the way you are.
Take the money or Ill tell the post office youre not to deliver my
telegram anymore.
Oh, all right, maam.Thanks very much.
Good night, son. Be good to your mother.
Good night, Mrs. Daly.
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