May the Road Rise Up to Meet You: A Novel (15 page)

You know, I didn’t think it was possible, Seanny says, but this place stinks worse’n it did when me an’ Da lived here.

He looks up Baxter Street at the Five Points, standing next to Ethan who beams with a broad smile to hear such a thing from his brother and the opportunity it affords him.

Ahhhhh, maybe yer just gettin’ too comfortable in your noice new place on Fourteenth Street, fahhrr away from yer people, Ethan says.
Fahhr
away from de bosom of
Oireland
. Oh, Seanny …

Oh don’t you start again, Seanny says, knowing what’s coming.

Ethan stands up straight and tall and stares at his brother, then takes off his top hat and begins to sing loudly enough that people across the intersection stop and listen:

A few people across the way laugh a little and a man passing them picks up the lyrics from where Ethan left off … 
He was his father’s only son, his mother’s pride and joy, And dearly did his parents love, their wild Sean-ny boy …

Ah, leave it to an
Irishman
to go an’ change the lyrics of the damn song! Seanny says, feigning indignity as Ethan laughs.

Ahhh, I like it better this way
Seanny
.

And Ethan wraps his arm around his brother’s shoulder as they stare up the street. He’s long since caught up to his brother in height by now, passing him even by an inch or maybe two, but Sean wears the fine suit and top hat with far greater comfort than Ethan does his, and it gives off the impression of a native son of New York showing a newcomer around the town. It’d be hard to fault Ethan for such discomfort and unease in his deportment, since it was only the night before that he was presented with the fine suit he now wears. And he’s spent the years since he arrived in America following in his father’s footsteps, if any at all, and certainly not in the increasingly foreign realm of Seanny and his Tammany brethren.

So brudder o’ moine, you’ve not said a word about me
foine
new suit, Ethan says, putting on the exaggerated brogue he and his brother sometimes do when they want to make a particular point about the general nature of things. This time it’s Ethan’s turn to tease his brother some, and he releases his arm from around Seanny and stands before him, bowing with exaggerated awkwardness.

Pretty nice for a Mick fisherman, Seanny says. Where’d ya get it?

Ethan looks at him with a knowing smile before answering.

Mam an’ Aunt Em gave it t’me last night, he says. Said dey wanted me t’look me best when I went t’see the Dean, ya know. Sure dey musta been savin’ dere pennies fer goin’ on foive years t’afford sooch a suit as dis.

Oh yeah? Seanny says.

Yeah, Oi’ve got dat appointment ya know … t’see th’fella at da university, ya know … t’see if dey’ll take pity on a
poooor
Mick fisherman an’ let’m come an’ study in dere foine institution—

Is that so? Seanny says. Well it’s a nice enough suit, I suppose … for a Mick fisherman anyhow.

Ethan stands there in front of his brother waiting for him to crack, but it takes him dancing a few steps of a jig to get Seanny to smile, and then it takes some more singing to get him to acknowledge what Ethan’s known from the very minute his Mam and Aunt Em’d presented him the suit the night before.

All right, all right already … yer welcome, if it’s
thank you
you’re trying to say, Seanny finally admits.

Yes it is, brudder of mine, Ethan says. And I do thank you for it.

Well, you wear it like yer fresh off th’boat, Seanny says, and begins to walk up Baxter Street into the heart of the Five Points, feigning disgust as Ethan takes a few more exaggerated bows before following.

By this time, ten years since Ethan’d first arrived in New York and roughly the same length of time since Seanny’d first got his foot in the door of the municipal inner-workings of the Points, the McOwen family fortunes have changed dramatically. Seanny’s among the more important men to be found anywhere in New York outside of City Hall and certain firms on Wall Street, though he spends plenty of time in each of those places. He’s risen up from the ranks within Tammany Hall, not big enough, or rough enough, or stupid enough to be a thug in one of the gangs, and not Blue Blood like the Wall Street and City Hall boys, but plenty smart enough to carve out quite a niche for himself with the Tammany boys.

He’d spoken of business matters only at the very beginning, when he was still on the outside looking in, but now it’s impossible to get more than a glib remark about all the various endeavors he seems to be involved in, or even more, the actual title for whatever job it is he has.
I’m just a poor streetlamp tender
doesn’t fit the bill anymore. But he was able to bring Mam and Aunt Em over just a year after Ethan arrived, and they got to travel on a proper passenger ship with a cabin to themselves. Within a year after that, thanks to a little help on the rent from Seanny to be sure of it, they were moved into a nice place up in the Brooklyn Heights with more space than they ever could’ve imagined having back on the Lane. And then just a few years after that, Seanny came by the house one evening and told them it was theirs, that the owner’d been suddenly in need of cash and gave him a great price on it. Mam and Aunt Em seemed more willing to believe that such was
the nature of life in America, but Da remained skeptical. It was possibly because Seanny’d got away from him and put himself in the way of more trouble, that Da was content to see Ethan fish with him every morning and read his books in the afternoon and play ball in summer, the last ten years passing with little distinction from one to the next. But that was about to change now, Ethan hoped.

So you’re goin’ through with it, Seanny says to Ethan as they walk up Baxter Street.

Mmm-hmm, Ethan responds, knowing his brother has thought the idea a foolish one from the start.

But Seanny refrains from offering his opinion once again, simply pulling his brother toward him and kissing him on the side of his head before taking his arm away and looking Ethan in the eye.

Bruddera mine, ’tis a foine
dreamin’
sorta lad y’are, Sean says, as he stops in front of the
Rose of Shannon
. Come on, would th’noble young Squire deign to sip a pint or two with the unwashed?

I’m not going in to see the Dean after a pint, Seanny. Ya want me to fulfill every idea they have about us?

Why, do you mean they might think
ill
of us poor workin’ men? Seanny says, taking the mocking tone Ethan had used just minutes earlier. After
all
we went through in the
Old Country
 … wouldn’t you think—

Oh shite, Ethan interrupts him, looking over Seanny’s shoulder. Here’s yer boy Cormac. I gotta go before he challenges me to another arm wrestle.

And Ethan’s gone up Baxter Street without even shaking his brother’s hand, offering just a
thanks for the suit
as he goes. Cormac calls after him, something about an arm wrestle of course, but Ethan just tips his cap to him and keeps going.

He arrives at the Dean’s office at ten minutes to two and is shown into his office by a young man around Ethan’s age who must be his assistant. The next few minutes are spent wide-eyed and open-mouthed as Ethan admires the vast collection of books, each of them bound in fine leather, and filling the shelves that stretch from floor to ceiling on every wall but one. It’s as if the Brodericks’ entire library back home was somehow squeezed into a room a third as large, and he begins to
feel as out of place as he did when he was twelve and Aislinn sneaked him in to see the original.

But when the Dean arrives a few minutes later, Ethan’s fears are allayed by the very look of the man. He has no flowing academic robes or four-cornered hat and spectacles, and his wrinkled white shirt seems practically held together by a tie that fits loosely around his neck. He doesn’t carry any books but does have a hammer and chisel in his hands.

Mr. MacOwen, is it? he asks.

Yes sir, Ethan MacOwen, Ethan replies and extends his hand toward him, forcing a frown to the Dean’s face and requiring him to move the chisel into his left hand so he can give Ethan a limp handshake. He walks around his desk and sits down, adjusting the hammer and chisel in each hand.

What is the nature of your inquiry? he asks, looking at a side drawer on the desk rather than at Ethan.

Well sir, Ethan replies uncomfortably, put off a little by the Dean’s indifference. I’m interested in becoming a student here for the next term.

The Dean says nothing in response but inserts the chisel into the seam between one of the drawers and the frame of his desk. He hits the chisel twice with the hammer before hitting his finger with the third swing.

Dammit! Confounded piece of … Joshua!

The door opens and the assistant steps in. Dean? he asks.

Come over here and get this damn thing open.

He hands him the chisel and hammer and Joshua taps at it awkwardly.

You’re chipping the wood there! the Dean shouts.

Yes, Dean. Are you sure it’s not locked?

Well of course I’m sure! It’s broken. Stuck.

Joshua continues tapping at it as the Dean looks on with an expression of anguish and for the minute or so it takes them to pry open the drawer, neither of them seems to even be aware of Ethan’s presence. He doesn’t volunteer his assistance lest they get a look at his heavily calloused fisherman’s hands, so he’s forced to sit quietly and watch them struggle.

Ahh … there. And Joshua pulls the drawer and it slides unwillingly open.

Good, the Dean says. That’s it, leave it now. Good. Take those things with you. Go.

Joshua walks out of the office carrying the tools with him while the Dean fumbles through papers, as if doing an inventory to see what might’ve vanished while the drawer was tightly closed. After the contents apparently meet with his approval, he slowly closes the drawer almost all the way and pulls it open as a test. When it passes inspection, he closes it again without removing anything and looks back up at Ethan, seeming almost surprised that he is still there.

So what was this now? he asks.

Well sir … I was hoping you would give me some information on how I could enroll for the next term as a student, he says with great attention paid to pronouncing each syllable completely.

You what? You want to be a student?

Yes, sir.

The Dean looks at him full of doubt.

From where have you come? he asks.

Brooklyn, sir. Brooklyn Heights.

Originally
. Where were you brought into this world?

Had he slipped? Ethan thinks. Did he pronounce something with enough of a hint of a brogue that the Dean has seen right through him, even despite the silliness of introducing himself as Ethan Mack-Owen?

Your accent doesn’t sound like anything I’m familiar with, the Dean adds, and I am an expert in dialects.

So he’s done it so far, Ethan thinks, knowing all that was necessary now was to fill in the details of a Scottish father and perhaps a German mother and accents mixed together but him born here in this country and his parents both well-to-do and educated and …

Ireland, sir, he confesses as if by instinct, unable to do such a thing to the memory of Mr. Hanratty and the Heroes of ’98 and his brother and Da and … himself. But we’ve been here for some time now, he adds.

I see.
Ubi studebas?
the Dean asks.

Ethan’s eyes open broadly before he catches himself.

I’m … sorry sir?