Angela's Ashes by Frank McCourt

We have no money for a proper ball so one of the boys brings a sheep's bladder stuffed with rags.We kick the bladder up and down the meadow till there are holes and rags start falling out and we get fed up kicking a bladder that's hardly there anymore. Billy says we're to meet tomorrow morning which is Saturday and go out Ballinacurra to see if we can challenge rich Crescent College boys to a proper game, seven a side. He says we're to pin our red hearts to our shirts even if they're red rags.

Malachy is going home for tea but I can't go because I have to see Mikey Molloy and find out why I was born in half the time. Mikey is coming out of his house with his father, Peter. It's Mikey's sixteenth birthday and his father is taking him to Bowles's pub for his first pint. Nora Molloy is inside screeching after Peter that if they go they can stay gone, she's done baking bread, she's never going to the lunatic asylum again, if he brings that child home drunk she'll go to Scotland and dis- appear from the face of the earth.

Peter tells Mikey, Pay no attention to her, Cyclops.The mothers of Ireland are always enemies of the first pint. My own mother tried to kill my father with a frying pan when he took me for the first pint.

Mikey asks Peter if I can come with them and have a lemonade.

Peter tells everyone in the pub that Mikey is there for his first pint and when all the men want to stand Mikey a pint Peter says, Ah, no, 'twould be a terrible thing if he had too much and turned against it entirely.

The pints are drawn and we sit against the wall, the Molloys with their pints and I with my lemonade.The men wish Mikey all the best in the life to come and wasn't it a gift from God that he fell off that spout years ago and never had the fit since and wasn't it a great pity

253 about that poor little bugger, Quasimodo Dooley, carried off with the consumption after all his trouble talking for years like an Englishman so he could be on the BBC which is no fit place for an Irishman anyway.

Peter is talking to the men and Mikey, sipping his first pint, whis- pers to me, I don't think I like it, but don't tell my father.Then he tells me how he practices the English accent in secret so that he can be a BBC announcer, Quasimodo's dream. He tells me I can have Cuchu- lain back, that he's no use to you when you're reading the news on the BBC. Now that he's sixteen he wants to go to England and if ever I get a wireless that will be him on the BBC Home Service.

I tell him about the marriage certificate, how Billy Campbell said it has to be nine months but I was born in half the time and would he know if I was some class of a miracle.

Naw, he says, naw.You're a bastard.You're doomed.

You don't have to be cursing me, Mikey.

I'm not. That's what they call people who aren't born inside the nine months of the marriage, people conceived beyond the blanket.

What's that?

What's what?

Conceived.

That's when the sperm hits the egg and it grows and there you are nine months later.

I don't know what you're talking about.

He whispers,The thing between your legs is the excitement. I don't like the other names, the dong, the prick, the dick, the langer. So your father shoves his excitement into your mother and there's a spurt and these little germs go up into your mother where there's an egg and that grows into you.

I'm not an egg.

You are an egg. Everyone was an egg once.

Why am I doomed? 'Tisn't my fault I'm a bastard.

All bastards are doomed.They're like babies that weren't baptized. They're sent to Limbo for eternity and there's no way out and it's not their fault. It makes you wonder about God up there on His throne with no mercy for the little unbaptized babies.That's why I don't go near the chapel anymore. Anyway, you're doomed. Your father and mother had the excitement and they weren't married so you're not in a state of grace.

What am I going to do?

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Can't I light a candle or something.

You could try the Blessed Virgin. She's in charge of the doom.

But I don't have a penny for the candle.

All right, all right, here's a penny.You can give it back when you get a job a million years from now. 'Tis costing me a fortune to be the expert on Girls' Bodies and Dirty Things in General.

The barman is doing a crossword puzzle and he says to Peter,What's the opposite of advance?

Retreat, says Peter.

That's it, says the barman. Everything has an opposite.

Mother o' God, says Peter.

What's up with you, Peter? says the barman.

What was that you said before,Tommy?

Everything has an opposite.

Mother o' God.

Are you all right, Peter? Is the pint all right?

The pint is grand, Tommy, and I'm the champion of all pint drinkers, amn't I?

Begod an' you are, Peter. No denyin' that to you.

That means I could be the champion in the opposite department.

What are you talking about, Peter?

I could be the champion of no pints at all.

Ah, now, Peter, I think you're going a bit far. Is the wife all right at home?

Tommy, take this pint away from me. I'm the champion of no pints at all.Peter turns and takes the glass from Mikey.We're going home to your mother, Mikey.

You didn't call me Cyclops, Dad.

You're Mikey.You're Michael. We're going to England. No more pints for me, no pints for you, no more bread baking for your mother. Come on.

We're leaving the pub and Tommy the barman calls after us,You know what 'tis, Peter. 'Tis all them bloody books you're reading.They have your head destroyed.

Peter and Mikey turn to go home. I have to go to St. Joseph's to light the candle that will save me from the doom but I look in the win- dow of Counihan's shop and there in the middle is a great slab of

255 Cleeves' toffee and a sign, two pieces for a penny. I know I'm doomed but the water is running along the sides of my tongue and when I put my penny on the counter for Miss Counihan I promise the Virgin Mary the next penny I get I'll be lighting a candle and would she please talk to her Son and delay the doom for awhile.

A penn'orth of Cleeves' toffee doesn't last forever and when it's gone I have to think of going home to a mother who let my father push his excitement into her so that I could be born in half the time and grow up to be a bastard. If she ever says a word about the red dress or anything I'll tell her I know all about the excitement and she'll be shocked.

Saturday morning I meet The Red Hearts of Limerick and we wan- der out the road looking for a football challenge. The boys are still grousing that the bits of red dress don't look like hearts till Billy tells them if they don't want to play football go home and play with their sisters' dolls.

There are boys playing football in a field in Ballinacurra and Billy challenges them.They have eight players and we have only seven but we don't mind because one of them has one eye and Billy tells us stay on his blind side. Besides, he says, Frankie McCourt is nearly blind with his two bad eyes and that's worse.They're all togged out in blue and white jerseys and white shorts and proper football boots. One of them says we look like something the cat brought in and Malachy has to be held back from fighting them. We agree to play half an hour because the Balli- nacurra boys say they have to go to lunch. Lunch.The whole world has dinner in the middle of the day but they have lunch. If no one scores in half an hour it's a draw.We play back and forth till Billy gets the ball and goes speeding and dancing up the sideline so fast no one can catch him and in goes the ball for a goal.The half hour is nearly up but the Balli- nacurra boys want another half hour and they manage to score well into the second half hour.Then the ball goes over the line for touch. It's our ball. Billy stands on the touch line with the ball over his head. He pre- tends to look at Malachy but throws the ball to me. It comes to me as if it's the only thing that exists in the whole world. It comes straight to my foot and all I have to do is swivel to the left and swing that ball straight into the goal.There's a whiteness in my head and I feel like a boy in heaven. I'm floating over the whole field till The Red Hearts of Limerick clap me on the back and tell me that was a great goal,Frankie, you too, Billy.

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Mam says Mr. Hannon should see the doctor and Mrs. Hannon says, Sure, he seen the doctor a dozen times and the doctor says he has to stay off them legs.That's all. Stay off them legs. Sure how can he stay off them legs? He has to work. What would we live on if he didn't work?

Mam says maybe Bridey could get some kind of a job herself and Bridey is offended.Don't you know I have a weak chest, Angela? Don't you know I had rheumatic fever an' I could go at any time? I have to be careful.

Mam often talks about Bridey and her rheumatic fever and weak chest. She says,That one is able to sit here by the hour and complain about her ailments but it doesn't stop her from puffing away on the Woodbines.

Mam tells Bridey she's very sorry over the weak chest and it's ter- rible the way her father suffers. Mrs. Hannon tells my mother that John is getting worse every day,And what would you think, Mrs. McCourt, if your boy Frankie went on the float with him a few hours a week and helped him with the bags? We can barely afford it but Frankie could earn a shilling or two and John could rest his poor legs.

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Bridey says, He'd be out in the air and there's nothing like fresh air for someone with bad eyes or getting over the typhoid, isn't that right, Frankie?

'Tis, Bridey.

I'm dying to go around with Mr. Hannon on the great float like a real workingman. If I'm good at it they might let me stay at home from school forever but Mam says, He can do it as long as it doesn't interfere with school and he can start on a Saturday morning.

I'm a man now so I light the fire early on Saturday morning and make my own tea and fried bread. I wait next door for Mr. Hannon to come out with his bicycle and there's a lovely smell of rashers and eggs coming through the window. Mam says Mr. Hannon gets the best of food because Mrs. Hannon is as mad about him as she was the day she married him.They're like two lovers out of an American film the way they go on.Here he is pushing the bicycle and puffing away on the pipe in his mouth. He tells me climb up on the bar of his bike and off we go to my first job as a man.His head is over mine on the bike and the smell of the pipe is lovely.There's a coal smell on his clothes and that makes me sneeze.

Men are walking or cycling toward the coal yards and Rank's Flour Mills and the Limerick Steamship Company on the Dock Road. Mr. Hannon takes his pipe from his mouth and tells me this is the best morning of all, Saturday, half day.We'll start at eight and be finished by the time the Angelus rings at twelve.

First we get the horse ready, give him a bit of a rub, fill the wooden tub with oats and the bucket with water. Mr. Hannon shows me how to put on the harness and lets me back the horse into the shafts of the float. He says, Jaysus, Frankie, you have the knack of it.

That makes me so happy I want to jump up and down and drive a float the rest of my life.

There are two men filling bags with coal and turf and weighing them on the great iron scale, a hundredweight in each bag. It's their job to stack the bags on the float while Mr. Hannon goes to the office for the delivery dockets. The bag men are fast and we're ready for our rounds. Mr. Hannon sits up on the left side of the float and flicks the whip to show where I'm to sit on the right side. It's hard to climb up the way the float is so high and packed with bags and I try to get up by

258 climbing the wheel. Mr. Hannon says I should never do the likes of that again. Never put your leg or hand near a wheel when the horse is har- nessed in the shafts. A horse might take a notion to go for a walk for himself and there you are with the leg or the arm caught in the wheel and twisted off your body and you looking at it. He says to the horse, G'up ower that,and the horse shakes his head and rattles the harness and Mr.Hannon laughs.That fool of a horse loves to work,he says.He won't be rattling his harness in a few hours.

When the rain starts we cover ourselves with old coal bags and Mr. Hannon turns his pipe upside down in his mouth to keep the tobacco dry. He says the rain makes everything heavier but what's the use of complaining.You might as well complain about the sun in Africa.

We cross the Sarsfield Bridge for deliveries to the Ennis Road and the North Circular Road.Rich people,says Mr.Hannon,and very slow to put their hands in their pockets for a tip.

We have sixteen bags to deliver. Mr. Hannon says we're lucky today because some houses get more than one and he doesn't have to be climbing on and off that float destroying his legs.When we stop he gets down and I pull the bag to the edge and lay it on his shoulders. Some houses have areas outside where you pull up a trap door and tip the bag till it empties and that's easy.There are other houses with long backyards and you can see Mr. Hannon suffering with his legs when he has to carry the bags from the float to the sheds near the back doors.Ah, Jay- sus, Frankie, ah, Jaysus, is the only complaint out of him and he asks me to give him a hand to climb back on the float. He says if he had a hand- cart he could wheel the bags from float to house and that would be a blessing but a handcart would cost two weeks' wages and who could afford that?

The bags are delivered and the sun is out, the float is empty, and the horse knows his workday is over. It's lovely to sit on the float looking along the length of the horse from his tail to his head rocking along the Ennis Road over the Shannon and up the Dock Road.Mr.Hannon says the man who delivered sixteen hundredweights of coal and turf deserves a pint and the boy who helped him deserves a lemonade. He tells me I should go to school and not be like him working away with the two legs rotting under him. Go to school, Frankie, and get out of Limerick and Ireland itself.This war will be over some day and you can go to America or Australia or any big open country where you can look up and see no end to the land.The world is wide and you can have great

259 adventures. If I didn't have these two legs I'd be over in England mak- ing a fortune in the factories like the rest of the Irishmen, like your father. No, not like your father. I hear he left you high and dry, eh? I don't know how a man in his right mind can go off and leave a wife and family to starve and shiver in a Limerick winter. School, Frankie, school.The books, the books, the books. Get out of Limerick before your legs rot and your mind collapses entirely.

The horse clops along and when we get to the coal yard we feed and water him and give him a rubdown. Mr. Hannon talks to him all the time and calls him Me oul' segosha, and the horse snuffles and pushes his nose against Mr. Hannon's chest. I'd love to bring this horse home and let him stay downstairs when we're up in Italy but even if I could get him in the door my mother would yell at me that the last thing we need in this house is a horse.

The streets going up from the Dock Road are too hilly for Mr. Hannon to ride the bicycle and carry me, so we walk. His legs are sore from the day and it takes a long time to get up to Henry Street.He leans on the bicycle or sits on the steps outside houses, grinding down on the pipe in his mouth.

I'm wondering when I'll get the money for the day's work because Mam might let me go to the Lyric Cinema if I get home in time with my shilling or whatever Mr. Hannon gives me. Now we're at the door of South's pub and he tells me come in, didn't he promise me a lemonade?

Uncle Pa Keating is sitting in the pub.He's all black as usual and he's sitting next to Bill Galvin, all white as usual, snuffling and taking great slugs out of his black pint. Mr. Hannon says, How're you? and sits on the other side of Bill Galvin and everyone in the pub laughs. Jaysus, says the barman, look at that, two lumps of coal and a snowball. Men come in from other parts of the pub to see the two coal-black men with the lime-white man in the middle and they want to send down to the Lim- erick Leader for a man with a camera.

Uncle Pa says,What are you doing all black yourself, Frankie? Did you fall down a coal mine?

I was helping Mr. Hannon on the float.

Your eyes look atrocious, Frankie. Piss holes in the snow.

'Tis the coal dust, Uncle Pa.

Wash them when you go home.

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I will, Uncle Pa.

On the way home I see myself in the glass of a shop window all black from the coal, and I feel like a man, a man with a shilling in his pocket, a man who had a lemonade in a pub with two coal men and a lime man. I'm not a child anymore and I could easily leave Leamy's School forever. I could work with Mr. Hannon every day and when his legs got too bad I could take over the float and deliver coal to the rich people the rest of my life and my mother wouldn't have to be a beggar at the Redemptorist priests' house.

People on the streets and lanes give me curious looks.Boys and girls laugh and call out, Here's the chimney sweep. How much do you want for cleaning our chimney? Did you fall into a coal hole? Were you burned by the darkness?

They're ignorant.They don't know I spent the day delivering hun- dredweights of coal and turf.They don't know I'm a man.

Mam is sleeping up in Italy with Alphie and there's a coat over the window to keep the room dark.I tell her I earned a shilling and she says I can go to the Lyric, I deserve it.Take tuppence and leave the rest of the shilling on the mantelpiece downstairs so that she can send out for a loaf of bread for the tea.The coat suddenly drops from the window and the room is bright. Mam looks at me, God above, look at your eyes. Go downstairs and I'll be down in a minute to wash them.

She heats water in the kettle and dabs at my eyes with boric acid powder and tells me I can't go to the Lyric Cinema today or any day till my eyes clear up though God knows when that will be. She says,You can't be delivering coal with the state of your eyes.The dust will surely destroy them.

I want the job. I want to bring home the shilling. I want to be a man.You can be a man without bringing home a shilling.Go upstairs and lie down and rest your two eyes or it's a blind man you'll be.

I want that job.I wash my eyes three times a day with the boric acid powder. I remember Seamus in the hospital and how his uncle's eyes were cured with the blink exercise and I make sure to sit and blink for an hour every day.You can't beat the blink for the strong eye, he said.

261 And now I blink and blink till Malachy runs to my mother, talking out in the lane with Mrs. Hannon, Mam, something is up with Frankie, he's upstairs blinking and blinking.

She comes running up.What's wrong with you?

I'm making my eyes strong with the exercise.

What exercise?

The blinking.

Blinking is not exercise.

Seamus in the hospital says you can't beat the blink for the strong eye. His uncle had powerful eyes from the blinking.

She says I'm getting odd and goes back to the lane and her chat with Mrs. Hannon and I blink and bathe my eyes with the boric acid powder in warm water. I can hear Mrs. Hannon through the window, Your little Frankie is a godsend to John for 'tis the climbing up and down on that float that was ruining his legs entirely.

Mam doesn't say anything and that means she feels so sorry for Mr. Hannon she'll let me help him again on his heavy delivery day,Thurs- day. I wash my eyes three times a day and I blink till I get a pain in my eyebrows. I blink in school when the master isn't looking and all the boys in my class are calling me Blinky and adding that to the list of names.

Blinky McCourt

beggar woman's son

scabby-eyed

blubber gob

dancing

I don't care what they call me anymore as long as my eyes are clear- ing up and I have a regular job lifting hundredweights of coal on a float. I wish they could see me on Thursday after school when I'm on the float and Mr. Hannon hands me the reins so that he can smoke his pipe in comfort. Here you are, Frankie, nice and gentle for this is a good horse and he doesn't need to be pulled at.

He hands me the whip too but you never need the whip with this horse. It's all for show and I just flick it at the air like Mr. Hannon or I might knock a fly off the horse's great golden rump swinging between the shafts.

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The horse lifts his tail and great lumps of steaming yellow shit drop from his behind. I start to pull on the reins so that he can stop and have a bit of comfort for himself but Mr. Hannon says, No, Frankie, let him trot.They always shit on the trot.That's one of the blessings horses have, they shit on the trot, and they're not dirty and stinking like the human race, not at all, Frankie.The worst thing in the world is to go into a lavatory after a man that had a feed of pig's feet and a night of pints. The stink from that could twist the nostrils of a strong man. Horses are different.All they have is oats and hay and what they drop is clean and natural.

I work with Mr. Hannon after school on Tuesdays and Thursdays and the half day on Saturday morning and that means three shillings for my mother though she worries all the time over my eyes.The minute I get home she washes them and makes me rest them for half an hour.