ach and she brings a cake loaded with currants and raisins she baked herself.The Abbot brings six bottles of stout and says,That’s all right, Frankie, ye can all drink it as long as I have a bottle or two for meself to help me sing me song. He sings “The Road to Rasheen.” He holds his stout, closes his eyes, and song comes out in a high whine.The words make no sense and every- one wonders why tears are seeping from his shut eyes.Alphie whispers to me,Why is he crying over a song that makes no sense? I don’t know. The Abbot ends his song, opens his eyes, wipes his cheeks and tells us that was a sad song about an Irish boy that went to America and got shot by gangsters and died before a priest could reach his side and he tells me don’t be gettin’ shot if you’re not near a priest. Uncle Pa says that’s the saddest song he ever heard and is there any chance we could have something lively. He calls on Mam and she says, Ah, no, Pa, sure I don’t have the wind. Come on, Angela, come on. One voice now, one voice and one voice only. All right. I’ll try. We all join in the chorus of her sad song, A mother’s love is a blessing No matter where you roam. Keep her while you have her, You’ll miss her when she’s gone. Uncle Pa says one song is worse than the one before and are we turning this night into a wake altogether, is there any chance someone would sing a song to liven up the proceedings or will he be driven to drink with the sadness. Oh, God, says Aunt Aggie, I forgot.The moon is having an eclipse abroad this minute. We stand out in the lane watching the moon disappear behind a round black shadow.Uncle Pa says,That’s a very good sign for you going to America, Frankie. No,says Aunt Aggie,’tis a bad sign.I read in the paper that the moon is practicing for the end of the world. Oh, end of the world my arse, says Uncle Pa. ’Tis the beginning for 357