on to one another.The rain gets heavier and we know we cant stand
under a tree or well be fried entirely so we stand by a door which is
opened in a minute by a big fat maid in a little white hat and a black
dress with a little white apron who tells us get away from this door were
a disgrace.We run from the door and Paddy calls back, Mullingar heifer,
beef to the heels, and he laughs till he chokes and has to lean against a
wall with the weakness.Theres no sense in standing in from the rain
anymore, were soaked to the skin, so we take our time down OCon-
nell Avenue. Paddy says he learned that Mullingar heifer thing from his
uncle Peter, the one that was in India in the English army and they have
a photo of him standing with a group of soldiers with their helmets and
guns and bandoliers around their chests and there are dark men in uni-
form who are Indians and loyal to the King. Uncle Peter had a great
time for himself in a place called Kashmir, which is lovelier than Killar-
ney that theyre always bragging about and singing. Paddy goes on again
about running away and winding up in India in a silken tent with the
girl with the red dot and the curry and the figs and hes making me
hungry even if Im stuffed with apples and milk.
The rain is clearing and there are birds honking over our heads.Paddy
says theyre ducks or geese or something on their way to Africa where its
nice and warm.The birds have more sense than the Irish.They come to
the Shannon for their holidays and then they go back to the warm places,
maybe even India.He says hell write me a letter when hes over there and
I can come to India and have my own girl with a red dot.
Whats that dot for, Paddy?
It shows theyre high class, the quality.
But, Paddy, would the quality in India talk to you if they knew you
were from a lane in Limerick and had no shoes?
Course they would, but the English quality wouldnt.The English
quality wouldnt give you the steam of their piss.
Steam of their piss? God, Paddy, did you think of that yourself ?
Naw, naw, thats what my father says below in the bed when hes
coughin up the gobs and blamin the English for everything.
And I think, Steam of their piss. Ill keep that for myself. Ill go
around Limerick saying it, Steam of their piss, Steam of their piss, and
when I go to America some day Ill be the only one who knows it.
Question Quigley is wobbling toward us on a big womans bicycle
and calls to me, Hoi, Frankie McCourt, youre going to be killed. Dotty
ONeill sent a note to your house and said you didnt come back to
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