there whining and whinging. If I go over to that bed I’ll give you some- thing to whinge about. Dad is back with the doctor. Dad has the whiskey smell.The doc- tor examines the baby, prods her, raises her eyelids, feels her neck, arms, legs. He straightens up and shakes his head. She’s gone. Mam reaches for the baby, hugs her, turns to the wall. The doctor wants to know, Was there any kind of accident? Did anyone drop the baby? Did the boys play too hard with her? Anything? My father shakes his head. Doctor says he’ll have to take her to examine her and Dad signs a paper. My mother begs for another few minutes  with  her  baby  but  the  doctor  says  he  doesn’t  have  all  day. When  Dad  reaches  for  Margaret  my  mother  pulls  away  against  the wall.  She  has  the  wild  look,  her  black  curly  hair  is  damp  on  her forehead  and  there is sweat all over her face, her eyes are wide open and   her  face   is   shiny  with  tears,  she  keeps  shaking  her  head  and moaning, Ah, no, ah, no, till Dad eases the baby from her arms. The doctor   wraps   Margaret   completely   in   a   blanket   and   my   mother cries, Oh, Jesus, you’ll  smother her. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, help me. The  doctor leaves. My  mother turns to the wall and doesn’t make a move  or  sound. The  twins  are  awake,  crying  with  the  hunger,  but Dad  stands in the middle of the room, staring at the ceiling. His face is white and he beats on his thighs with his fists. He comes to the bed, puts his hand on  my head. His hand is shaking. Francis, I’m going out for cigarettes. Mam stays in the bed all day, hardly moving. Malachy and I fill the twins’ bottles with water and sugar. In the kitchen we find a half loaf of stale bread and two cold sausages.We can’t have tea because the milk is sour in the icebox where the ice is melted again and everyone knows you can’t drink tea without milk unless your father gives it to you out of his mug while he’s telling you about Cuchulain. The twins are hungry again but I know I can’t give them water and sugar all day and night. I boil sour milk in a pot, mash in some of the stale bread, and try to feed them from a cup, bread and goody. They make faces and run to Mam’s bed, crying. She keeps her face to the wall and they run back to me, still crying. They won’t eat the bread and goody till I kill the taste of the sour milk with sugar. Now they eat and smile and rub the goody over their faces. Malachy wants some and if he can eat it, so can I.We all sit on the floor eating the goody and chew- 36