push him on the swing. He says,You uck kill me uck on seesaw. He gets Freddie Leibowitz to push him and he’s happy, laughing when he swings to the sky. Freddie is big, he’s seven, and I ask him to push me. He says, No, you tried to kill your brother. I try to get the swing going myself but all I can do is move it back and forth and I’m angry because Freddie and Malachy are laughing at the way I can’t swing.They’re great pals now, Freddie, seven, Malachy, two.They laugh every day and Malachy’s tongue gets better with all the laughing. When he laughs you can see how white and small and pretty his teeth  are  and  you  can  see  his  eyes  shine.  He  has  blue  eyes  like  my mother. He has golden hair and pink cheeks. I have brown eyes like Dad.  I  have  black  hair  and  my  cheeks  are  white  in  the  mirror.  My mother tells Mrs. Leibowitz down the hall that Malachy is the happiest child in the world. She tells Mrs. Leibowitz down the hall, Frankie has the odd manner like his father. I wonder what the odd manner is but I can’t ask because I’m not supposed to be listening. I wish I could swing up into the sky, up into the clouds. I might be able to fly around the whole world and not hear my brothers, Oliver and Eugene,cry in the middle of the night anymore.My mother says they’re always hungry. She cries in the middle of the night, too. She says she’s worn out nursing and feeding and changing and four boys is too much for her. She wishes she had one little girl all for herself. She’d give any- thing for one little girl. I’m in the playground with Malachy. I’m four, he’s three. He lets me push him on the swing because he’s no good at swinging himself and Freddie  Leibowitz  is  in  school. We  have  to  stay  in  the  playground because the twins are sleeping and my mother says she’s worn out. Go out and play, she says, and give me some rest. Dad is out looking for a job again and sometimes he comes home with the smell of whiskey, singing all the songs about suffering Ireland. Mam gets angry and says Ireland can kiss her arse. He says that’s nice language to be using in front of the children and she says never mind the language, food on the  table  is  what  she  wants,  not  suffering  Ireland.  She  says  it  was  a sad  day Prohibition ended because Dad gets the drink going around to saloons offering to sweep out the bars and lift barrels for a whiskey 22