And I feel tears coming because I’m looking at him at last, Cuchu- lain,there on his pedestal in the G.P.O.He’s golden and he has long hair, his head is hanging and there’s a big bird perched on his shoulder. The driver says, Now what in God’s name is this all about? What’s this fellow doin’ with the long hair and the bird on his shoulder? And will you kindly tell me, mister, what this has to do with the men of 1916? Dad says, Cuchulain fought to the end like the men of Easter Week. His enemies were afraid to go near him till they were sure he was dead and when the bird landed on him and drank his blood they knew. Well, says the driver, ’tis a sad day for the men of Ireland when they need a bird to tell them a man is dead. I think we better go now or we’ll be missing that train to Limerick. The sergeant’s wife said she’d send a telegram to Grandma to meet us in Limerick and there she was on the platform, Grandma, with white hair, sour eyes, a black shawl, and no smile for my mother or any of us, even my brother, Malachy, who had the big smile and the sweet white teeth. Mam pointed to Dad. This is Malachy, she said, and Grandma nodded  and  looked  away.  She  called  two  boys  who  were  hanging around the railway station and paid them to carry the trunk.The boys had shaved heads, snotty noses, and no shoes and we followed them through the streets of Limerick. I asked Mam why they had no hair and she said their heads were shaved so that the lice would have no place to hide. Malachy said,What’s a lice? and Mam said, Not lice. One of them is a louse. Grandma said,Will ye stop it! What kind o’ talk is this? The boys whistled and laughed and trotted along as if they had shoes and Grandma told them, Stop that laughin’ or ’tis droppin’ an’ breakin’ that trunk ye’ll be. They stopped the whistling and laughing and we fol- lowed them into a park with a tall pillar and a statue in the middle and grass so green it dazzled you. Dad carried the twins, Mam carried a bag in one hand and held Malachy’s hand with the other.When she stopped every few minutes to catch her breath, Grandma said,Are you still smokin’ them fags? Them fags will be the death of you.There’s enough consumption in Limerick without people smokin’ fags on top of it an’ ’tis a rich man’s foolishness. Along the path through the park there were hundreds of flowers of different colors that excited the twins.They pointed and made squeaky 56