Ma, He Sold Me for a Few Cigarettes (5 page)

The next day, the district nurse arrived te wash an clean the babby's belly button. It looked very yucky. I watched very closely as she stripped Charlie. He smelled terrible an his poo was yella! An he lay in his box, naked an screamin. The nurse turned aroun te get the box of borax powder, so I leaned in closer te get a better look, an the nurse roared at me. She said I was te keep me filthy hands offa the babby. Well, I'd had enough! I didn't like him anyway. When she was all ready, an Charlie was sleepin peacefully in his drawer, an the nurse was packin her bag, I sneaked over an looked inta the drawer. He was all washed an polished, an smelled lovely, but the nurse shouted, ‘Get away from that baby.' So I pinched his cheek, an she gave me an unmerciful slap on the ear. The babby was roarin, an me ma was threatenin te kill me. The nurse picked up her bag an galloped out the door. I started roarin, too. I wanted me ma te get up outa the bed.

‘If I have te get up outa this bed, I'll be done fer ya!' she kept sayin. ‘Give tha babby his soother.' But I wouldn't. I wanted te see if she still had legs, cos she was walkin in a queer way when she came home from the hospital. So she dragged herself from the bed. First one leg, then the other, all the time grindin her teeth an starin at me like she was goin te tear me from limb te limb. When she finally stood up, holdin onta the bed an the press, I stared at her legs. She had them miles apart, an she couldn't walk properly. I was very worried she might not get better, an on top of tha she didn't seem te like me any more. She wouldn't talk te me.

‘Get tha babby's soother an put it in his mouth!' but I just kept starin. I wanted her te move some more an be me mammy again. ‘I'm warnin ye, Martha, if ye keep on tormentin me, I'll throw this at ye,' an she picked up the bread knife. I ran te look after the babby.

I walked past the pub on the corner, an me cousin Barney was standin outside, eatin a bag of grapes. Nelly was inside drinkin porter an roarin her head laughin. I said te Barney, ‘Wha's them ye're eatin?' An he said, ‘Grapes.'

‘Give us one.'

‘No!'

‘Ye're very mean!' I said.

‘Don't care, ye're not gettin any.'

‘Right, I'm not playin wit ye no more!' an I ran home te tell me ma. She was sittin by the fire lookin very annoyed when I dashed in te tell her about Nelly an Barney havin money an grapes an he wouldn't share wit me. ‘Ah! Don't be botherin me about them,' she said. ‘They're not bothered about us any more. Tha Nelly one is goin off te England tonight, an she won't be back.'

I went runnin back out te stare at Barney. Yeah! He had his face washed an his hair combed, an he was wearin a lovely coat. Nelly must have picked up tha in the Iveagh Market.

When I got home, the fire was out, an me ma was sittin in the dark, starin at nothin.

We're on our own now. There's just me, the ma an me babby brother, Charlie. Me ma doesn't talk much except te say, ‘Shut tha babby up! Give him his soother.' He cries a lot. I think it's cos he's hungry. Sometimes me ma can't light the fire, cos we've no coal. So she can't boil the water te make the babby's bottle or make a drop a tea. I'm always hungry, but the babby hasn't learnt te get used te it yet. He won't shut up! He just keeps on screamin. I'm worn out, rockin him up an down on me knee. Sometimes he'll nod off fer me when I give him me finger te suck.

Last night when me ma was givin him his bottle, she suddenly jumped up an said, ‘Run, Martha, run,' an she was gone like the wind out the door wit the babby in her arms. I turned te ask her wha's wrong, but she was already down the stairs an flyin through the hall. I banged the door behind me an galloped after her. She was up the hill an aroun the corner before I knew wha was happenin. I pushed meself fer all I was worth, tryin te catch up, but she was halfway up Thomas Street.

‘Ma!' I screamed. ‘Wait fer me, Ma! Wait fer me!' But no, she just kept runnin, like Ronnie Delaney. Me chest was poundin, an me legs were seizin up, an I still didn't know wha was wrong. I shouted at the top of me lungs, ‘No! I'm not comin, I'm not movin any more!'

Me ma half turned an shouted back, ‘The hospital! We have te get te the hospital! Don't stop, keep goin.'

It's the middle of the night, an there isn't a soul on the streets. We fly off James's Street an turn right down the hill, past the mad house, St Patrick's Hospital. Me ma bursts through the doors of Dr Steevens' Hospital an inta the out-patients. ‘He's not breathin!' she shouts. ‘The babby's not breathin.' She's still runnin when she slams the babby inta the arms of a doctor.

‘He took a convulsion when I was feedin him. He turned blue, an I couldn't get him te breathe.'

The doctors an nurses rushed aroun the babby, an we were put outside te wait. They told me ma te go home; they're keepin the babby in. She went te take a look at him, an when she came out she said we have te pray he'll be all right.

* * *

We went te the hospital te collect the babby. He looks lovely, like a little china doll wit big blue eyes an white curly hair. His eyes are like saucers starin out at ye from his tiny white face. I can't squeeze him yet, cos me ma says he's delicate. So I just keep lookin at him an makin faces, tryin te make him laugh.

Me ma says I have te go back te school now, cos I'm nearly six. So she brings me up te Francis Street, an I start straight away. I'm in the First Holy Communion class, an today they told us all about St Patrick. He's the saint fer Ireland. He was kidnapped by the English an brought here te mind the sheep on a very lonely mountain, an he was only a child! I felt very sorry fer tha poor young fella, so I did. All by himself an no mammy te mind him. The teacher was very impressed wit me when I repeated the story back fer her, an she said I can make me Communion!

Me ma's all excited. She said the nuns sorted me Communion clothes an we can go te the shop in Francis Street an pick them out. I picked out a lovely red coat, an me ma said, ‘No! It has te be blue fer Our Lady.' Then I saw a gorgeous pink one. I'd look lovely in tha, but me ma said ye can only wear blue. So I said I wouldn't wear it, an the aul one in the shop said Our Lady was watchin me, an I'd made her cry. Then I picked out a lovely Italian frock. Ye'd think I was gettin married in tha! But me ma said, ‘No!' If I got tha I couldn't afford the coat. Tha sounded grand, an me mind was made up. I'd take the Italian frock. So then me ma started te lose her rag, an she was grindin her teeth. The aul one said I couldn't make the collection fer the money if I didn't have a blue coat fer Our Lady, cos I wouldn't be dressed properly. An me ma wouldn't get any money. So we ended up wit the blue coat. I hate it, I do! It has no style.

The mornin of me Communion is here. Me ma's friend Tessie turned up te get me ready. Last night they washed me hair an scrubbed me in a tin bath belongin te Tessie. They dragged up buckets a water from the tap in the back yard an then boiled the water over the fire. I'd never seen so much water in me life! Me ma held me down while Tessie covered me in Sunlight soap. I couldn't breathe, an I was screamin an roarin an tryin te escape from the bath. Me ma was pushin an slappin me back down inta the water, an I thought me last hour had come. I never want te see a bath of water again fer as long as I live. Then they put pipe cleaners in me hair te make me hair curl. But I couldn't sleep, an me ma wouldn't take them out. An just as I got te sleep, now they've woken me up again.

‘Come on, Martha! It's time te wake up. We've te get ye ready.'

‘No, Ma! I'm tired. I don't want te make me Communion. I want te go back te sleep.'

‘There's a good girl, ye'll be grand! I'll just give yer face an hands a wash before I dress ye.'

‘Ma! I want a bit a bread.'

‘No! Ye can't eat anythin, ye have te fast.'

‘I'm hungry.'

‘Lookit! Ye'll get yer lovely breakfast of jelly an ice cream after ye receive Holy God!'

‘I don't want Holy God, I want a bit a bread,' I whined.

Tessie took out the pipe cleaners, an me ma put me in me frock an me shoes an socks. Tessie fixed me veil on me head, an I'm all ready now.

Charlie is sittin in his go-car, in his new romper suit, an he has a lovely blue pixie hat sittin on top of his mop of white curly hair. He gorra wash, too, after me. He's after bangin his teeth wit the new rattler Tessie gave him. An he thinks it's my fault, cos he gave me a smack of it when I leaned in te give him a squeeze.

Me ma finished her tea, an now we can all get movin te the church.

‘She looks like an angel, Sally. She's a picture of beauty!'

‘Yeah, she turned out well, didn't she? Listen, Tessie. Will you take the babby, just in case he starts in the chapel?'

‘Right, Sally, I'll mind him. How old is he now, Sally?'

‘Eh, he'll be ten months soon. Martha was six three days ago.'

‘Tha was lucky, or she wouldn't be makin the Communion now.'

We arrived at the chapel in Meath Street, an all the mammies took their places in the seats. We were lined up outside on the street. We formed a procession of girl an boy, wit the priests an altar boys carryin lighted candles at the top of the procession. We slowly made our way along Meath Street an up the steps an inta the brightly lit chapel, singin hymns. As the last of us filed in, the great black doors slammed shut behind us, an we broke inta ‘Ave Maria'. I looked aroun, startled by the thuddin doors, an saw crowds of old women in their black shawls linin the back of the chapel. They were all cryin an dryin their eyes wit their shawls.

We sat in the benches at the top of the chapel, an I listened te the hushed drone of the priests murmurin the Latin an swingin the big incense box, an the whispered prayers of the old women at the back. I smelled the lilies from the altar an heard the expensive sound of starch an crinkle comin from our frocks as we shifted ourselves fer more comfort. The bright lights came from all aroun us. Every statue had its lights burnin, an candles was lit fer every one of us by our mammies. I looked aroun at the others, an they had white faces an shiny curly hair under the snowy-white veils, an the tiaras glinted against their faces. An they were very quiet an still. I looked down at me baby-blue coat an me starched white frock, an me white gloves coverin me hands tha I had joined together an wrapped aroun me mother o pearl rosary beads tha Tessie gave me, an I felt in me senses tha we were all precious. Heaven must be somethin like this. An I wanted me mammy te be happy, too. I asked the angels te whisper te God's mammy, Our Lady, te send me mammy enough money so she won't have te worry about coal, an we could have dinners, an she could pay the rent. An maybe a bit more te buy the babby a few more romper suits, an a teddy fer him. An maybe a doll fer me. An enough so she can go te the pictures, cos she loves tha, an take me wit her. An she'd laugh all the time, an she wouldn't be lonely, sittin starin inta nothin. An then I wouldn't be worried, cos me ma is me whole world.

We stood now in front of the altar rail, waitin our turn te kneel at the marble steps. But the little girl in front of me has gorra fright. She doesn't want te take Holy God! The priest is annoyed, an he barks at the altar boy te hold the brass shovel under the child's chin while he grabs her face an tries te squeeze Holy God down her throat. But she twists an fights an tries te get sick, an they drag her away. We stare, hopin nothin happens te us. The priest is very angry an his face is roarin red. ‘Hold it under! Don't let them drop it!' he keeps sayin te the altar boy. I was glad when I went back te me bench an concentrated on tryin te swallow down Holy God.

We walked down the aisle in twos, singin ‘The Bells o the Angelus', an the doors were thrown open. The church bells rang, an our mammies looked at us wit stars in their eyes. The old women cried an blew their noses in the corner of their shawls. An the traffic was held back while we sang our way across Meath Street from the chapel te the Little Flower dinner house te get our breakfast.

We sat on benches along a big table covered in a white tablecloth, an we were given a big bowl of jelly an ice cream. They put cloths on over our dresses te keep us clean. Then the nun an the teachers came aroun te admire us. The nun smiled an spoke te each child, an admired them an told them their mammies were very good. An then it was my turn. I turned aroun te show her me dress, but the teacher said somethin te her, an she nodded te the teacher, looked at me, an kept goin on te the next child. She smiled an admired the other child's dress, but she didn't look at me. I looked down at me jelly an ice cream, an I knew I shouldn't be havin it. I wasn't supposed te be here wit the others. I'm just like Hairy Lemon, an people are afraid te go near dirty tramps. I held me head down in shame. I didn't want people lookin at me the way the nun did.

Me ma brought me te make the collection an visit all her friends. We went all aroun the Liberties, down te the Oliver Bond flats an up te Keogh Square. The babby's new romper suit was covered in chocolate, an he kept smilin at everybody, cos they were kissin an squeezin him, an tellin him he was gorgeous, an givin him crusts a bread dipped in sugar te chew on. I was admired an patted, an told te twirl te show off me frock. Me ma drank tea an ate cake, an I drank lemonade an ate cake an biscuits. An we did the same thing the next day after the Mass on Sunday. Me ma kept this up fer a week, until me frock was filthy an I was sick of the sight of me veil, which kept fallin offa me head, an then I wouldn't wear them any more.

We're leavin our house, cos it's condemned. We're movin up te James's Street. We pass St Patrick's Hospital down the hill an then turn right inta a row of flats wit a wall at the end.

The horse an cart arrives te move our furniture. We don't have much, me ma says, cos it's all gone over the years te feed Nelly's drink. All me granny's lovely antique furniture, which she got from her mother an father who were French Huguenots an tha had been in the family fer hundreds of years. Me granny had been a Protestant until she married a Catholic.