land is a donkey’s arse.Men have been dying for Ireland since the begin- ning of time and look at the state of the country. It’s bad enough that Dad loses jobs in the third week but now he drinks all the dole money once a month. Mam gets desperate and in the morning she has the bitter face and she won’t talk to him. He has his tea and leaves the house early for the long walk into the country.When he returns in the evening she still won’t talk to him and she won’t make his tea. If the fire is dead for the want of coal or turf and there’s no way of boiling water for the tea, he says, Och, aye, and drinks water out of a  jam jar and smacks his lips the way he would with a pint of porter. He  says  good  water  is  all  a  man  needs  and  Mam  makes  a  snorting sound.When she’s not talking to him the house is heavy and cold and we know we’re not supposed to talk to him either for fear she’ll give us the bitter look.We know Dad has done the bad thing and we know you can  make  anyone  suffer  by  not  talking  to  him.  Even  little  Michael knows that when Dad does the bad thing you don’t talk to him from Friday  to  Monday  and  when  he  tries  to  lift  you  to  his  lap  you  run to Mam. I’m nine years old and I have a pal, Mickey Spellacy, whose relations are dropping  one  by  one  of  the  galloping  consumption.  I  envy  Mickey because every time someone dies in his family he gets a week off from school and his mother stitches a black diamond patch on his sleeve so that he can wander from lane to lane and street to street and people will know he has the grief and pat his head and give him money and sweets for his sorrow. But this summer Mickey is worried. His sister, Brenda, is wasting away with the consumption and it’s only August and if she dies before September he won’t get his week off from school because you can’t get a  week  off  from  school  when  there’s  no  school.  He  comes  to  Billy Campbell and me to ask if we’ll go around the corner to St. Joseph’s Church and pray for Brenda to hang on till September. What’s in it for us, Mickey, if we go around the corner praying? Well, if Brenda hangs on and I get me week off ye can come to the wake and have ham and cheese and cake and sherry and lemonade and everything and ye can listen to the songs and stories all night. Who could say no to that? There’s nothing like a wake for having a 171