At Philomena’s house the sisters and their husbands ate and drank while Angela sat in a corner nursing the baby and crying. Philomena stuffed her mouth with bread and ham and rumbled at Angela,That’s what you get for being such a fool. Hardly off the boat and you fall for that lunatic.You shoulda stayed single,put the child up for adoption,and you’d be a free woman today.Angela cried harder and Delia took up the attack, Oh, stop it,Angela, stop it.You have nobody to blame but your- self for gettin’ into trouble with a drunkard from the North, a man that doesn’t  even  look  like  a  Catholic, him  with  his  odd  manner. I’d  say that . . . that . . . Malachy has a streak of the Presbyterian in him right enough.You shuddup, Jimmy. If I was you,said Philomena,I’d make sure there’s no more children. He don’t have a job, so he don’t, an’ never will the way he drinks. So . . . no more children,Angela.Are you listenin’ to me? I am, Philomena. A year later another child was born.Angela called him Malachy after his father and gave him a middle name, Gerard, after his father’s brother. The MacNamara sisters said Angela was nothing but a rabbit and they wanted nothing to do with her till she came to her senses. Their husbands agreed. I’m in a playground on Classon Avenue in Brooklyn with my brother, Malachy. He’s two, I’m three.We’re on the seesaw. Up, down, up, down. Malachy goes up. I get off. Malachy goes down. Seesaw hits the ground. He screams. His hand is on his mouth and there’s blood. Oh, God. Blood is bad. My mother will kill me. And here she is, trying to run across the playground. Her big belly slows her. She says,What did you do? What did you do to the child? I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what I did. She pulls my ear. Go home. Go to bed. Bed? In the middle of the day? 19