than five shillings. I asked him if he was joking. No, he wasnt. Every-
one in Limerick is talking about this page and theyre dying to get their
hands on it.
Five shillings or nothing, Frankie. If theyre rich charge more but
thats what Im charging so dont be going around on your bicycle and
puttin me out of business with low prices.We have to give Peter some-
thing or hell be running to McCaffrey and spilling the beans.
Some people are willing to pay seven shillings and sixpence and Im
rich in two days with over ten pounds in my pocket minus one for Peter
the snake, who would betray us to McCaffrey. I put eight pounds in the
post office for my fare to America and that night we have a big supper
of ham, tomatoes, bread, butter, jam. Mam wants to know if I won the
sweepstakes and I tell her people give me tips. Shes not happy Im a
messenger boy because thats the lowest you can drop in Limerick but
if it brings in ham like this we should light a candle in gratitude. She
doesnt know the money for my fare is growing in the post office and
shed die if she knew what I was earning from writing threatening
letters.
Malachy has a new job in the stockroom of a garage handing out
parts to mechanics and Mam herself is taking care of an old man, Mr.
Sliney, out in the South Circular Road while his two daughters go off
to work every day. She tells me if Im delivering papers out there to
come to the house for tea and a sandwich. The daughters will never
know and the old man wont mind because hes only half conscious
most of the time worn out from all his years in the English army in
India.
She looks peaceful in the kitchen of this house in her spotless apron,
everything clean and polished around her, flowers bobbing in the gar-
den beyond, birds chirping away, music from Radio Eireann on the
wireless. She sits at the table with a pot of tea, cups and saucers, plenty
of bread, butter, cold meats of all kinds. I can have any class of a sand-
wich but all I know is ham and brawn. She doesnt have any brawn
because thats the kind of thing youd find people eating in lanes not in
a house on the South Circular Road. She says the rich wont eat brawn
because its what they scoop off floors and counters in bacon factories
and you never know what youre getting.The rich are very particular
about what they stick between two slices of bread. Over in America
brawn is called head cheese and she doesnt know why.
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