XVI
Mrs. OConnell gives me telegrams to deliver to Mr. Harrington,
the Englishman with the dead wife that was born and bred in Limer-
ick.The boys at the post office say sympathy telegrams are a waste of
time. People just cry and moan with the grief and they think theyre
excused from the tip.Theyll ask you if youd like to come in for a look
at the departed and a prayer by the bed.That wouldnt be so bad if they
offered you a drop of sherry and a ham sandwich. Oh, no, theyre happy
to get your prayer but youre only a telegram boy and youre lucky if
you get a dry biscuit. Older boys at the post office say you have to play
your cards right to get the grief tip. If youre asked in to say a prayer you
have to kneel by the corpse, give a powerful sigh, bless yourself, drop
your forehead to the bedclothes so they wont see your face, let your
shoulders shake like one collapsing with sorrow, hold on to the bed
with your two hands as if theyre going to have to tear you away to
deliver the rest of your telegrams, make sure your cheeks are glinting
with tears or the spit you dabbed on, and if you dont get a tip after all
that push the next batch of telegrams under the door or fire them over
the transom and leave them to their grief.
This isnt my first time delivering telegrams to the Harrington house.
Mr. Harrington is always away on business for the insurance company
326