She pushes me toward the playground gate. Go.
She picks up Malachy and waddles off.
My fathers friend, Mr. MacAdorey, is outside our building. Hes stand-
ing at the edge of the sidewalk with his wife, Minnie, looking at a dog
lying in the gutter.There is blood all around the dogs head.Its the color
of the blood from Malachys mouth.
Malachy has dog blood and the dog has Malachy blood.
I pull Mr. MacAdoreys hand. I tell him Malachy has blood like
the dog.
Oh, he does, indeed, Francis. Cats have it, too.And Eskimos.All the
same blood.
Minnie says, Stop that, Dan. Stop confusing the wee fellow. She tells
me the poor wee dog was hit by a car and he crawled all the way from
the middle of the street before he died.Wanted to come home, the poor
wee creature.
Mr. MacAdorey says,Youd better go home, Francis. I dont know what
you did to your wee brother, but your mother took him off to the hos-
pital. Go home, child.
Will Malachy die like the dog, Mr. MacAdorey?
Minnie says, He bit his tongue. He wont die.
Why did the dog die?
It was his time, Francis.
The apartment is empty and I wander between the two rooms,the bed-
room and the kitchen.My father is out looking for a job and my mother
is at the hospital with Malachy. I wish I had something to eat but theres
nothing in the icebox but cabbage leaves floating in the melted ice. My
father said never eat anything floating in water for the rot that might be
in it. I fall asleep on my parents bed and when my mother shakes me
its nearly dark.Your little brother is going to sleep a while. Nearly bit
his tongue off. Stitches galore. Go into the other room.
My father is in the kitchen sipping black tea from his big white
enamel mug. He lifts me to his lap.
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