Even if they slap you six times on each hand with the ash plant or the blackthorn with the knobs you must not cry.You’ll be a sissy. There are boys who might jeer at you and mock you on the street but even they have to be careful because the day will come when the master hits and slaps them and they have to keep the tears behind their eyes or be disgraced forever. Some boys say it is better to cry because that pleases the masters. If you don’t cry the masters hate you because you’ve made them look weak before the class and they promise themselves the next time they have you up they’ll draw tears or blood or both. Big boys in fifth class tell us Mr. O’Dea likes to get you in front of the class so that he can stand behind you, pinch your sideburns, which are called cossicks, pull up on them. Up, up, he says, till you’re on tiptoe and the tears are filling your eyes.You don’t want the boys in the class to see you cry but pulling on the cossicks makes the tears come whether you like it or not and the master likes that. Mr. O’Dea is the one mas- ter who can always bring the tears and the shame. It is better not to cry because you have to stick with the boys in the school and you never want to give the masters any satisfaction. If the master hits you there’s no use complaining to your father or mother.They always say,You deserve it. Don’t be a baby. I know Oliver is dead and Malachy knows Oliver is dead but Eugene is too small to know anything.When he wakes in the morning he says, Ollie, Ollie, and toddles around the room looking under the beds or he climbs up on the bed by the window and points to children on the street, especially children with fair hair like him and Oliver. Ollie, Ollie, he says, and Mam picks him up, sobs, hugs him. He struggles to get down because he doesn’t want to be picked up and hugged. He wants to find Oliver. Dad and Mam tell him Oliver is in heaven playing with angels and we’ll all see him again someday but he doesn’t understand because he’s only two and doesn’t have the words and that’s the worst thing in the whole world. Malachy  and  I  play  with  him. We  try  to  make  him  laugh. We make funny faces.We put pots on our heads and pretend to let them fall off.We run across the room and pretend to fall down.We take him to the People’s Park to see the lovely flowers, play with dogs, roll in the grass. 81