Ma, He Sold Me for a Few Cigarettes (22 page)

Jackser clamped his mouth shut an rolled his eyes aroun the room, givin everyone a dirty look. ‘Listen, ye whore's melt!' he said, fastenin his eyes back on me ma, who was darin him by starin back hard, an she had her jaws clamped, too! ‘If I get up outa this bed, ye'll be takin a short cut straight outa this fuckin winda. Do ye read me, Mrs?'

I came creepin back inta the room against me will, but I had te shut me ma up before he kilt the lot of us. ‘Do ye want yer tea, Jackser?' I croaked. ‘Ma! Give Jackser his tea, he's tired.'

‘Yeah!' Jackser shouted. ‘Listen te tha child an give me me tea. An I want no more of yer lip!'

Me ma hesimitated, an I pleaded wit me eyes. She stared at me wit her ice-cold marble eyes, an I stared back, annoyed, an frightened, too. ‘Give Jackser the tea, Ma,' I said, losin patience wit her. I knew if Jackser discovered we were tryin te poison him, he wouldn't hesimitate te kill us. An me ma was too stupid te see this. I know now I understand more than she does. I grabbed the babby from under the table an dragged him inta me bedroom, sayin, ‘We'll play in here, Jackser, cos ye need te rest in peace an quiet.'

We're movin again, down te Sheriff Street. Jackser's delighted, cos tha's where he comes from. He grew up in a little laneway there. Jackser gets one of his cronies, tha's wha me ma calls them, cos she hates them – they're always leadin him up te no good, she says, drinkin an chasin dyed blondes. Anyway, Jackser turns up wit his crony an yer man's horse an cart. An they take the two beds an mattresses, an the table an one chair, cos Jackser smashed the other one. An the blankets an coats fer the bed, an Teddy's cot, an they whip up the horse an take off laughin. ‘Right! We'll see ye down there,' Jackser shouts te me ma. ‘An don't take all day!'

I watch them disappear, wishin we could get a ride, too. An I hurry back te me ma, who's holdin the babby an lookin at the pram piled high inta a mountain wit the babby's blankets an clothes, an our two holy pictures, an the family one of themselves. An the mug belongin te Jackser, an our jam jars fer our tea. An the two dinner plates, an the tea pot, an the spoons an knife. An her papers wit all her documents, an loads a stuff. ‘Here, ye'll have te carry him while I try te manage this pram,' she says.

I grab the babby, an he slides down me legs an starts te slap me an hammer me wit his legs. ‘I can't carry him, Ma!' I whined, tryin te hump him up on te me hip.

‘Oh, give him here!' she shouts. An the babby happily wraps himself aroun her neck an shouts, ‘Ah!' at me, in case I come near him again. ‘Here! Push tha,' she says. I take the handlebars, but I can barely see over them, never mind see over the mountain of stuff. I push off, an the weight of the pram immediately heads fer the road an is about te turn over off the footpath.

‘Mind where ye're fuckin goin!' me ma shouts. I let go of the handlebars an race aroun the front te stop the pram. ‘Ah, this is no good!' me ma says. ‘What are we goin te do? We'll never get there!'

‘We can put the babby on top,' I says, ‘an you push, Ma, an I'll hold him.'

Me ma chews her lip an looks at the top of the mountain. ‘No! He'll fall off. Ah, fuck tha bandy bastard.'

‘Right! You go on wit the pram, an I'll stay here wit the babby an mind Charlie, an then ye can come back fer us,' I said.

‘I'll have te go all the way down, an then walk back, an back down again. I'm not fuckin Ronnie Delaney, ye know!'

‘Well, what are we goin te do then?' I roared, fed up wit me ma.

‘Right! You sit there, an I'll be back as soon as I can,' an off she went, puttin her back inta the pram an then tryin te stop it runnin away as she hit the corner.

The babby went mad when I sat on the steps of the house an me ma landed him in me lap. He was stretchin an slappin an throwin his head back in an awful temper, watchin me ma disappear aroun the corner. ‘OK. Come on, we go. Come on, we go.' I was pretendin, tryin te distract him. He stopped an stared at me fer a minute, an when he knew nothin was happenin, he tried te escape an crawl onta the steps. I grabbed a hold a him an roared, ‘Oh, lookit the doggy!' an a mangy, skinny-lookin dog came up te us te see if there was anythin te eat. The dog stared in disgust at us roarin an shoutin. He knew we had nothin te give him an went off about his business.

I was frozen solid, an the babby was asleep in me arms, an Charlie was cuddled in beside me, wit his fists between his knees te keep his hands warm, when me ma finally rounded the corner wit the pram an hurried up te us. ‘Tha bastard was givin out,' she said. ‘He doesn't want the babby te catch cold. Come on, we'd better hurry,' an she took the babby from me stiff arms an put him in the pram. An she covered him up wit the blanket an put the cover on an pulled up the hood. I lifted meself up, hangin on te the railins. I was so stiff an cold, an I dreaded the walk an facin the Jackser fella. I lifted Charlie wit me an put him on his feet. The wind was blowin his coat open an smackin the legs off me.

‘Ma, put Charlie in the pram! He can't walk, an he's too tired,' I said.

‘No! He'll break the springs an sit on the babby's legs.'

‘I'm not movin,' I said, an she was gone, flyin aroun the corner. I grabbed Charlie's hand, an he started te cry. I was cryin an roarin, too. I was in a rage wit me ma.

She kept ahead of us all the way te Amiens Street, just lookin aroun now an then te make sure we were behind her. ‘Come on!' she'd shout. ‘Hurry up, we're nearly there.' By the time she did stop long enough fer us te catch up wit her, she was standin under the arch next te the train station. ‘Right! We're just there,' she said, an she pushed on, headin down te Sheriff Street. Me anger was now left me, an I just felt disgust fer me ma, cos all she wanted was te get down te tha Jackser. I was beginnin te think she was as bad as him. She coulda given Charlie the bit of comfort an put him in the pram.

When we finally got te St Brigid's Gardens, we went in a narra road an came onta a square wit balconies all round. We were on the ground floor, next te waste ground wit a railin aroun it, an concrete sheds in the middle of the square fer keepin yer pram an yer bike. We lifted the pram inta the hall, an Jackser came rushin te show us the flat. ‘Look, Martha! We have two rooms, an you an Charlie can sleep in the bedroom. I've put yer bed up fer ye's. I'm thinkin of puttin the cot in there, too, there's plenty of room. But I won't do tha now.'

I had a winda, but it was too high up fer me te see out. An there was nothin else te look at, so I went inta the sittin room, an there was a big winda lookin onta waste ground, surrounded by other flats, an all the windas were lookin on te this patch of grass. There were dogs an childre runnin aroun, an people dumped their old mattresses an rubbish there. The sittin room had a fireplace, an Jackser had put their bed at the far wall an the table an chair in the middle of the room, an he'd got the fire lightin.

I've been sittin in the flat fer days now, listenin te the childre playin outside. I'd love te be out there playin wit them, but I'm afraid of me life te go near them. It's all too strange. I can't face new childre again. They won't like me, an they'll fight wit me an call me names. There sounds like an awful lot of them out there, an I'm tryin te think how I'll get aroun this. Maybe I could pretend te have an English voice. I could say I was born in England. Tha might distract them from the state I look. Runnin aroun in me bare feet tells them immediately tha I'm a pauper. Then they'll think they're better off an more important than me. The English voice won't last, then they'll call me an eejit an try te beat the hell outa me, an I'll never get any peace.

Jackser sends me up an down te the shops, an there's millions of kids aroun the place. I'm beginnin te look aroun me now an size them up. But I still don't stop te talk te anyone when I'm runnin back wit the messages.

Me ma decided te give herself an airin an put the babby in the pram, an me an Charlie went wit her down te the shops. On the way back, I saw somethin lyin on the road, just beside the entrance te our flats. There wasn't a soul te be seen down there, an I said te me ma, ‘Lookit, Ma! There's an orange box lyin in the middle of the road. We could use it on the fire or maybe sit on it. Will I run down an get it?'

‘No!' me ma said. ‘I'm goin in here te the vegebale shop te get an onion. You stay here an mind the pram.'

I was hangin on te the pram, watchin te see wha me ma was buyin an thinkin about gettin the orange box before someone else whips it. Me ma came outa the shop, an we started walkin down the road, headin fer home. It was very quiet, this hour of the mornin. It was aroun half eleven, an all the childre were at school.

Suddenly, I saw a coupla little childre head towards me orange box, an I said te me ma, ‘Ah, they're goin te take it!' Then a man got outa a big cattle truck, an he seemed te be staggerin towards it as well. I started te run, an as I got closer I saw it wasn't an orange box but a babby lyin stretched out. The man was standin a few feet away wit his arms out, implorin, ‘Sweet Jesus, I never had a chance! She must have come outa them flats. She was straight under me wheels before I knew wha was happenin. One minute nothin an the next a little child appears from nowhere an goes straight under me wheels!'

The man was white as a corpse an was staggerin aroun, lookin at the little babby who was mashed te the ground. She was so small she had probably only learnt te walk not long ago. I looked aroun te see if her mammy was lookin fer her, or maybe her brothers or sisters, but there was nobody aroun, only the two little childre, who were about three years old, an the man an me. Even me ma was gone. I'd heard her mutter somethin te me about, ‘Oh, Jesus! Come on!'

I inched closer te look at the child, but most of her was mashed te nothin, her fair curly hair an her face was squashed. I jumped back wit the shock. ‘Mister! Will I ask someone te get the police or somethin? Ye need help,' an the man looked at me.

He was in terrible shock. ‘Would ye? Would ye do tha so!' An then he looked at the child again an took off his jacket an put it over the little babby.

I ran down te the priest's house an banged the door. A little aul one came out an screamed at me fer keepin me finger on the bell an bangin on the door. ‘What do ye want? There's no one here.' She was about te slam the door on me, an I told her te get the police. A child had been kilt!

‘Where did it happen?'

‘Just aroun the corner,' I pointed, ‘in front of the flats. She was kilt by a big cattle truck, an she's lyin all mashed on the ground. It's terrible! An the man who did it is in an awful state altogether!'

‘Oh, God bless us an save us!' said the housekeeper. ‘I'll run in an get Father.' An she rushed in, an I rushed off. When I got back te the man, there was a load of people standin aroun an lookin. A policeman was talkin te the man an tryin te keep everyone back. Suddenly, he let a roar at the lot of us an put his arms up an shouted, ‘Get offa the road! Go an play in the flats. Do ye see what's after happenin now? Go on, stay off the road!'

I looked aroun me, wonderin where the little child's mammy was, but there was still no sign of her yet. An I thought, she still doesn't know! The poor mammy will lose her mind. I wonder who was supposed te be mindin the child. I don't see them here either. I wandered back inta the flats an was wonderin how I coulda thought she was an orange box. When I'd looked down the road, there hadn't been a sinner about. It was so quiet, an she'd been lyin all tha time on the road an nobody te run te her.

Jackser started me at a new school, an he brought me over himself. ‘This is me old school,' he kept tellin me. ‘I went here before they sent me te Artane. Now I'm goin te send you. It's a great school. They'll teach ye everythin ye need te know. So be grateful te them, an if they see ye're interested, they'll be happy te learn ye all they can. Ye're lucky I'm lookin after ye, cos there's not many men who'd do what I'm doin fer ye. An if ye were waitin on yer mammy te move herself, then ye may wait till yer hair turns grey! Now, get all the edumacation ye can get outa them, it'll stand ye in good stead! Right?'

‘Right, Jackser!' I agreed, an in we went te see the person in charge.

I was put inta the second class an sat there in the desk completely lost. They all had books – English books, Irish books, sums copybooks. An worst of all, they were all dippin pens inta an inkwell an joinin up letters together! These childre were all scholars! I was lookin aroun me at the lot of them, an they were very serious scholars. I hadn't even started yet te be a scholar. I never got te even finish the baby class! The teacher, Miss Flaherty is her name, is a terrible aul one altogether. She's marchin up an down wit a huge stick in her hand. An she really fancies herself. She keeps fixin her tight perm wit her free hand an smackin the nearest desk wit her stick, in case anyone is lookin up from their writin. Her hair at the roots is stone grey, but the rest of it is dyed blue.

She's walkin down the room now between the desks an pointin her stick at people's copybooks. ‘Keep it above the line, you stupid creature! You, keep your head down!' an she moves on. I haven't done a thing yet. Ah, God! How do ye do this? I look at wha the young one beside me is doin, an I have a go. I'm sweatin, tryin te do them letters an sort of draw them together. But it looks like a man tryin te hang himself. An now I've just blobbed a big stain of ink. I drawed in me breath suddenly wit the fright. The young one beside me looked up an did the same when she saw what I'd done. Her mouth is hangin open, an her eyes is bulgin. She stopped starin at me copybook an moved herself down the seat, takin her copybook wit her. An she's leaned over it an put her arm aroun it, so I can't see wha she's writin an how she does it. I don't know wha te do now. An the more I stare at it, the more me head seems te be emptyin. I'm just sittin in dread, waitin fer it te be over. She's roarin an shoutin an gettin closer all the time. She's lookin at the young one beside me an tellin her, ‘Good! Yes! Good girl, Agnes!' Then she looks over at mine, an me fingers are covered in ink. The copybook is a holy show.