no more bread and were hungry, the four of us.We can get no more
credit at OConnells shop.We cant go near Grandma, either. She yells
at us all the time because Dad is from the North and he never sends
money home from England where he is working in a munitions factory.
Grandma says we could starve to death for all he cares.That would teach
Mam a lesson for marrying a man from the North with sallow skin, an
odd manner and a look of the Presbyterian about him.
Still, Ill have to try Kathleen OConnell once more. Ill tell her my
mother is sick above in the bed, my brothers are starving and well all
be dead for the want of bread.
I put on my shoes and run quickly through the streets of Limerick
to keep myself warm against the February frost.You can look in peo-
ples windows and see how cozy it is in their kitchens with fires glow-
ing or ranges black and hot everything bright in the electric light cups
and saucers on the tables with plates of sliced bread pounds of butter
jars of jam smells of fried eggs and rashers coming through the windows
enough to make the water run in your mouth and families sitting there
digging in all smiling the mother crisp and clean in her apron everyone
washed and the Sacred Heart of Jesus looking down on them from the
wall suffering and sad but still happy with all that food and light and
good Catholics at their breakfast.
I try to find music in my own head but all I can find is my mother
moaning for lemonade.
Lemonade. Theres a van pulling away from Souths pub leaving
crates of beer and lemonade outside and there isnt a soul on the street.
In a second I have two bottles of lemonade up under my jersey and I
saunter away trying to look innocent.
Theres a bread van outside Kathleen OConnells shop.The back
door is open on shelves of steaming newly baked bread.The van driver
is inside the shop having tea and a bun with Kathleen and its no trou-
ble for me to help myself to a loaf of bread. Its wrong to steal from
Kathleen with the way shes always good to us but if I go in and ask her
for bread shell be annoyed and tell me Im ruining her morning cup of
tea, which shed like to have in peace ease and comfort thank you. Its
easier to stick the bread up under my jersey with the lemonade and
promise to tell everything in confession.
My brothers are back in bed playing games under the overcoats but
they jump when they see the bread.We tear at the loaf because were
too hungry to slice it and we make tea from this mornings leaves.When
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