Dubliners
children. A little boy came running down the stairs.
“Who is that?” said the man, peering through the darkness.
“Me, pa.”
“Who are you? Charlie?”
“No, pa. Tom.”
“Where’s your mother?”
“She’s out at the chapel.”
“That’s right.... Did she think of leaving any dinner for me?”
“Yes, pa. I——”
“Light the lamp. What do you mean by having the place in darkness? Are
the other children in bed?”
The man sat down heavily on one of the chairs while the little boy lit
the lamp. He began to mimic his son’s flat accent, saying half to
himself: _“At the chapel. At the chapel, if you please!”_ When the lamp
was lit he banged his fist on the table and shouted:
“What’s for my dinner?”
“I’m going ... to cook it, pa,” said the little boy.
The man jumped up furiously and pointed to the fire.
“On that fire! You let the fire out! By God, I’ll teach you to do that
again!”
He took a step to the door and seized the walking-stick which was
standing behind it.
“I’ll teach you to let the fire out!” he said, rolling up his sleeve in
order to give his arm free play.
The little boy cried _“O, pa!”_ and ran whimpering round the table, but
the man followed him and caught him by the coat. The little boy looked
about him wildly but, seeing no way of escape, fell upon his knees.
“Now, you’ll let the fire out the next time!” said the man striking at
him vigorously with the stick. “Take that, you little whelp!”
The boy uttered a squeal of pain as the stick cut his thigh. He clasped
his hands together in the air and his voice shook with fright.
“O, pa!” he cried. “Don’t beat me, pa! And I’ll ... I’ll say a _Hail
Mary_ for you.... I’ll say a _Hail Mary_ for you, pa, if you don’t beat
me.... I’ll say a _Hail Mary_....”
CLAY
The matron had given her leave to go out as soon as the women’s tea was
over and Maria looked forward to her evening out. The kitchen was spick
and span: the cook said you could see yourself in the big copper
boilers. The fire was nice and bright and on one of the side-tables
were four very big barmbracks. These barmbracks seemed uncut; but if
you went closer you would see that they had been cut into long thick
even slices and were ready to be handed round at tea. Maria had cut
them herself.
Maria was a very, very small person indeed but she had a very long nose
and a very long chin. She talked a little through her nose, always
soothingly: _“Yes, my dear,”_ and _“No, my dear.”_ She was always sent
for when the women quarrelled over their tubs and always succeeded in
making peace. One day the matron had said to her:
“Maria, you are a veritable peace-maker!”
And the sub-matron and two of the Board ladies had heard the
compliment. And Ginger Mooney was always saying what she wouldn’t do to
the dummy who had charge of the irons if it wasn’t for Maria. Everyone
was so fond of Maria.
The women would have their tea at six o’clock and she would be able to
get away before seven. From Ballsbridge to the Pillar, twenty minutes;
from the Pillar to Drumcondra, twenty minutes; and twenty minutes to
buy the things. She would be there before eight. She took out her purse
with the silver clasps and read again the words _A Present from
Belfast_. She was very fond of that purse because Joe had brought it to
her five years before when he and Alphy had gone to Belfast on a
Whit-Monday trip. In the purse were two half-crowns and some coppers.
She would have five shillings clear after paying tram fare. What a nice
evening they would have, all the children singing! Only she hoped that
Joe wouldn’t come in drunk. He was so different when he took any drink.
Often he had wanted her to go and live with them; but she would have
felt herself in the way (though Joe’s wife was ever so nice with her)
and she had become accustomed to the life of the laundry. Joe was a
good fellow. She had nursed him and Alphy too; and Joe used often say:
“Mamma is mamma but Maria is my proper mother.”
After the break-up at home the boys had got her that position in the
_Dublin by Lamplight_ laundry, and she liked it. She used to have such
a bad opinion of Protestants but now she thought they were very nice
people, a little quiet and serious, but still very nice people to live
with. Then she had her plants in the conservatory and she liked looking
after them. She had lovely ferns and wax-plants and, whenever anyone
came to visit her, she always gave the visitor one or two slips from
her conservatory. There was one thing she didn’t like and that was the
tracts on the walks; but the matron was such a nice person to deal
with, so genteel.
When the cook told her everything was ready she went into the women’s
room and began to pull the big bell. In a few minutes the women began
to come in by twos and threes, wiping their steaming hands in their
petticoats and pulling down the sleeves of their blouses over their red
steaming arms. They settled down before their huge mugs which the cook
and the dummy filled up with hot tea, already mixed with milk and sugar
in huge tin cans. Maria superintended the distribution of the barmbrack
and saw that every woman got her four slices. There was a great deal of
laughing and joking during the meal. Lizzie Fleming said Maria was sure
to get the ring and, though Fleming had said that for so many Hallow
Eves, Maria had to laugh and say she didn’t want any ring or man
either; and when she laughed her grey-green eyes sparkled with
disappointed shyness and the tip of her nose nearly met the tip of her
chin. Then Ginger Mooney lifted up her mug of tea and proposed Maria’s
health while all the other women clattered with their mugs on the
table, and said she was sorry she hadn’t a sup of porter to drink it
in. And Maria laughed again till the tip of her nose nearly met the tip
of her chin and till her minute body nearly shook itself asunder
because she knew that Mooney meant well though, of course, she had the
notions of a common woman.
But wasn’t Maria glad when the women had finished their tea and the
cook and the dummy had begun to clear away the tea-things! She went
into her little bedroom and, remembering that the next morning was a
mass morning, changed the hand of the alarm from seven to six. Then she
took off her working skirt and her house-boots and laid her best skirt
out on the bed and her tiny dress-boots beside the foot of the bed. She
changed her blouse too and, as she stood before the mirror, she thought
of how she used to dress for mass on Sunday morning when she was a
young girl; and she looked with quaint affection at the diminutive body
which she had so often adorned. In spite of its years she found it a
nice tidy little body.
When she got outside the streets were shining with rain and she was
glad of her old brown waterproof. The tram was full and she had to sit
on the little stool at the end of the car, facing all the people, with
her toes barely touching the floor. She arranged in her mind all she
was going to do and thought how much better it was to be independent
and to have your own money in your pocket. She hoped they would have a
nice evening. She was sure they would but she could not help thinking
what a pity it was Alphy and Joe were not speaking. They were always
falling out now but when they were boys together they used to be the
best of friends: but such was life.
She got out of her tram at the Pillar and ferreted her way quickly
among the crowds. She went into Downes’s cake-shop but the shop was so
full of people that it was a long time before she could get herself
attended to. She bought a dozen of mixed penny cakes, and at last came
out of the shop laden with a big bag. Then she thought what else would
she buy: she wanted to buy something really nice. They would be sure to
have plenty of apples and nuts. It was hard to know what to buy and all
she could think of was cake. She decided to buy some plumcake but
Downes’s plumcake had not enough almond icing on top of it so she went
over to a shop in Henry Street. Here she was a long time in suiting
herself and the stylish young lady behind the counter, who was
evidently a little annoyed by her, asked her was it wedding-cake she
wanted to buy. That made Maria blush and smile at the young lady; but
the young lady took it all very seriously and finally cut a thick slice
of plumcake, parcelled it up and said:
“Two-and-four, please.”
She thought she would have to stand in the Drumcondra tram because none
of the young men seemed to notice her but an elderly gentleman made
room for her. He was a stout gentleman and he wore a brown hard hat; he
had a square red face and a greyish moustache. Maria thought he was a
colonel-looking gentleman and she reflected how much more polite he was
than the young men who simply stared straight before them. The
gentleman began to chat with her about Hallow Eve and the rainy
weather. He supposed the bag was full of good things for the little
ones and said it was only right that the youngsters should enjoy
themselves while they were young. Maria agreed with him and favoured
him with demure nods and hems. He was very nice with her, and when she
was getting out at the Canal Bridge she thanked him and bowed, and he
bowed to her and raised his hat and smiled agreeably, and while she was
going up along the terrace, bending her tiny head under the rain, she
thought how easy it was to know a gentleman even when he has a drop
taken.
Everybody said: _“O, here’s Maria!”_ when she came to Joe’s house. Joe
was there, having come home from business, and all the children had
their Sunday dresses on. There were two big girls in from next door and
games were going on. Maria gave the bag of cakes to the eldest boy,
Alphy, to divide and Mrs Donnelly said it was too good of her to bring
such a big bag of cakes and made all the children say:
“Thanks, Maria.”
But Maria said she had brought something special for papa and mamma,
something they would be sure to like, and she began to look for her
plumcake. She tried in Downes’s bag and then in the pockets of her
waterproof and then on the hallstand but nowhere could she find it.
Then she asked all the children had any of them eaten it—by mistake, of
course—but the children all said no and looked as if they did not like
to eat cakes if they were to be accused of stealing. Everybody had a
solution for the mystery and Mrs Donnelly said it was plain that Maria
had left it behind her in the tram. Maria, remembering how confused the
gentleman with the greyish moustache had made her, coloured with shame
and vexation and disappointment. At the thought of the failure of her
little surprise and of the two and fourpence she had thrown away for
nothing she nearly cried outright.
But Joe said it didn’t matter and made her sit down by the fire. He was
very nice with her. He told her all that went on in his office,
repeating for her a smart answer which he had made to the manager.
Maria did not understand why Joe laughed so much over the answer he had
made but she said that the manager must have been a very overbearing
person to deal with. Joe said he wasn’t so bad when you knew how to
take him, that he was a decent sort so long as you didn’t rub him the
wrong way. Mrs Donnelly played the piano for the children and they
danced and sang. Then the two next-door girls handed round the nuts.
Nobody could find the nutcrackers and Joe was nearly getting cross over
it and asked how did they expect Maria to crack nuts without a
nutcracker. But Maria said she didn’t like nuts and that they weren’t
to bother about her. Then Joe asked would she take a bottle of stout
and Mrs Donnelly said there was port wine too in the house if she would
prefer that. Maria said she would rather they didn’t ask her to take
anything: but Joe insisted.