my brothers to have bread and tea. Dad and Mam sit at the table and Grandma sits under the Sacred Heart with her mug of tea. She says, I don’t know under God what I’m goin’ to do with ye.There is no room in this house.There isn’t room for even one of ye. Malachy says,Ye,ye,and starts to giggle and I say,Ye,ye,and the twins say,Ye, ye, and we’re laughing so hard we can hardly eat our bread. Grandma  glares  at  us. What  are  ye  laughin’ at? There’s  nothin’ to laugh at in this house.Ye better behave yeerselves before I go over to ye. She won’t stop saying Ye, and now Malachy is helpless with laugh- ter, spewing out his bread and tea, his face turning red. Dad says, Malachy and the rest of you, stop it. But Malachy can’t, he goes on laughing till Dad says, Come over here. He rolls up Malachy’s sleeve and raises his hand to slap his arm. Are you going to behave yourself? Malachy’s eyes fill with tears and he nods, I will, because Dad never raised his hand like that before. Dad says, Be a good boy and go sit with your brothers, and he pulls down the sleeve and pats Malachy on the head. That  night  Mam’s  sister, Aunt  Aggie,  came  home  from  her  job  in the  clothing  factory.  She  was  big  like  the  MacNamara  sisters,  and she  had  flaming  red  hair. She  wheeled  a  large  bicycle  into  the  little room behind the kitchen and came out to her supper. She was living in  Grandma’s because she had a fight with her husband, Pa Keating, who  told  her, when  he  had  drink  taken, You’re  a  great  fat  cow, go home  to  your  mother. That’s  what  Grandma  told  Mam  and  that’s why  there was no room for us in Grandma’s house. She had herself, Aunt Aggie, and her son Pat, who was my uncle and who was out sell- ing newspapers. Aunt Aggie complained when Grandma told her Mam would have to sleep with her that night. Grandma said, Oh, will you shut your gob. ’Tis only for one night an’ that won’t kill you an’ if you don’t like it you can go back to your husband where you belong anyway instead of run- nin’ home to me. Jesus, Mary an’ Holy St. Joseph, look at this house— you an’ Pat an’ Angela and her clatther of Americans.Will I have any peace in the latter end of my life? She spread coats and rags on the floor of the little back room and 58