their cigarettes. The smoking brought on Nora’s cough and she told Mam the fags would kill her in the end, that there was a touch of con- sumption in her family and no one lived to a ripe old age, though who would want to in Limerick, a place where you could look around and the first thing you noticed was a scarcity of gray hairs, all the gray hairs either in the graveyard or across the Atlantic working on railroads or sauntering around in police uniforms. You’re lucky, missus, that you saw a bit of the world. Oh, God, I’d give anything to see New York, people dancing up and down Broadway without a care. No, I had to go and fall for a boozer with the charm, Peter Molloy, a champion pint drinker that had me up the pole and up the aisle when I was barely seventeen. I was ignorant, missus.We grew up ignorant in Limerick, so we did, knowing feck all about anything and signs on, we’re mothers before we’re women. And there’s nothing here but rain and oul’ biddies saying the rosary. I’d give me teeth to get out, go to America or even England itself.The champion pint drinker is always on the dole and sometimes he even drinks that and drives me so demented I wind up in the lunatic asylum. She  drew  on  her  cigarette  and  gagged,  coughing  till  her  body rocked  back  and  forth, and  in  between  the  coughs  she  whimpered, Jesus, Jesus.When the cough died away she said she had to go home and take her medicine. She said, I’ll see you next week, missus, at the St.Vin- cent de Paul. If you’re stuck for anything send a message to me at Vize’s Field.Ask anyone for the wife of Peter Molloy, champion pint drinker. Eugene is sleeping under a coat on the bed. Dad sits by the fireplace with Oliver on his lap. I wonder why Dad is telling Oliver a Cuchulain story. He knows the Cuchulain stories are mine, but when I look at Oliver I don’t mind. His cheeks are bright red, he’s staring into the dead fire, and you can see he has no interest in Cuchulain. Mam puts her hand on his forehead. I think he has a fever, she says. I wish I had an onion  and  I’d  boil  it  in  milk  and  pepper. That’s  good  for  the  fever. But even if I had what would I boil the milk on? We need coal for that fire. She gives Dad the docket for the coal down the Dock Road. He takes me with him but it’s dark and all the coal yards are closed. What are we going to do now, Dad? 68