Im sorry Missus Malone.”
“Good. He is always safe with me. And the bereevd ar in need of him. It is almost time to take him to the borderlands of death.”
Its Jesus that I hav discoverd in the dust. When the redblak sky is burnin throu the kitchen windo when wer sittin at the taybl drinkin hot choclat & eatin bred & jam when Im leenin on her safe & sownd & when wer dun with tellin of how lonely & scared weve bene I show her the finga the hand the foot & fether.
She holds them up to the danglin lite.
“It carnt be,” she wispers all intens.
“Carnt be what Mam?”
“In what plays was this fownd, Billy?”
“In the stoans & dust. Missus Malone told me it was in the plays Saynt Patriks used to be.”
“She telt you that?”
“Aye Mam.”
“What els did she tell?”
“She telt me that it was wer you started. She said you wer left ther wen you wer a baby.”
“Did she now,” she wispers. “Thats true enuf I gess.”
She holds the pink foot on her parm.
“It is Jesus, Billy. A fragmint of the littl infant Jesus & this is a fragmint of his aynjel. They cum from long bak in the past. Ther was nothing els of them?”
“Dont no, Mam.”
“I used to see him evry Sunday,” she says. “When I wos a littl girl. There he wos abuv me on a shelf on the church wall smiling down. I thort he wos just lovely & that he wos lookin rite insyd me & that he wud foreva kepe me safe.”
She tuches them these preshus things.
“The aynjel was abuv him” she says “hangin from the seelin. Can you imajin such things, Billy?”
Of cors I cant but I say I can.
“Mebbe well fynd mor,” she says. “Mebbe well fynd evrythin of Jesus & mayk him hole agen. And evrythin of the aynjel and make him hole as wel.”
“Aye Mam. Mebbe. Aye.”
She puts the fragmints on the taybl & tuches them & smyls at them & crys a bit & then we hav mor bred & jam.
“Maybe Jesus has been waytin for a childe like you. And now that Billy Dean is here he shows himself in the dust agen.”
She takes me to my bed soon after. She kisses my cheke & pulls the blankets to my throte.
“Well fynd mor,” she says. “Well reassembl it arl agen. What els did she tel?”
“She telt me of the day of my birth of the boms & the destrucshon & the deaths & of her dorter.”
“Did she Billy?”
“Aye.”
Wer silent for a wile.
“Why was I arl coverd in blud Mam?”
The qweschon mayks her gasp.
“O Billy when?”
“When I was born.”
She laffs. She kisses me agen.
“Thats how arl of us begin. Every singl won of us. And the blud that was on you that day was mine.”
She holds me tite then lets me go & says good nite.
I put the finga hand foot & fether on the taybl by my bed.
Slepe cums like the redblak sky darkenin over Blinkbonny.
My brane seeths like the shattad erth with things that grow & crarl & moov on it.
My bodys like the Blinkbonny erth with aynshent relics restin in it waytin to be fownd.
Im asleep no more than an our or 2 befor Mams sittin on the bed agen.
“Thers mor,” she wispers. “Much mor. Ill start to get it dun & we can moov on.”
And I lie harfsleeping as she pores mor of my life into my ear.
So I was born in her blud on the day of doom the day that boms wer blasting off owtside. Missus Malone ran off to see her dorter die. Mam lay on the bed beneeth the blanket & the crackin seelin & the qwaykin walls & farlin dust.
She grippd me tite.
It seemd to her that the end of the world was niy.
It seems I didnt flinch just kept on suckin at my mothers tit.
Nobody came. No mor boms. Grate clowds of smoak & ash drifted beyond the windo abuv. The room kept rite on crackin & qwaykin but it didn’t farl. Ther was distant screemin groanin cracklin rorein.
She left me wons & crept throu the dores & lookd throu the windos & had vishons of Hell & hurryd bak to me. She sippd warter. She nibbld biscuts that had been left by Missus Malone.
The day passd by. She thort that Missus Malone was blown apart. She thort my
“Good. He is always safe with me. And the bereevd ar in need of him. It is almost time to take him to the borderlands of death.”
Its Jesus that I hav discoverd in the dust. When the redblak sky is burnin throu the kitchen windo when wer sittin at the taybl drinkin hot choclat & eatin bred & jam when Im leenin on her safe & sownd & when wer dun with tellin of how lonely & scared weve bene I show her the finga the hand the foot & fether.
She holds them up to the danglin lite.
“It carnt be,” she wispers all intens.
“Carnt be what Mam?”
“In what plays was this fownd, Billy?”
“In the stoans & dust. Missus Malone told me it was in the plays Saynt Patriks used to be.”
“She telt you that?”
“Aye Mam.”
“What els did she tell?”
“She telt me that it was wer you started. She said you wer left ther wen you wer a baby.”
“Did she now,” she wispers. “Thats true enuf I gess.”
She holds the pink foot on her parm.
“It is Jesus, Billy. A fragmint of the littl infant Jesus & this is a fragmint of his aynjel. They cum from long bak in the past. Ther was nothing els of them?”
“Dont no, Mam.”
“I used to see him evry Sunday,” she says. “When I wos a littl girl. There he wos abuv me on a shelf on the church wall smiling down. I thort he wos just lovely & that he wos lookin rite insyd me & that he wud foreva kepe me safe.”
She tuches them these preshus things.
“The aynjel was abuv him” she says “hangin from the seelin. Can you imajin such things, Billy?”
Of cors I cant but I say I can.
“Mebbe well fynd mor,” she says. “Mebbe well fynd evrythin of Jesus & mayk him hole agen. And evrythin of the aynjel and make him hole as wel.”
“Aye Mam. Mebbe. Aye.”
She puts the fragmints on the taybl & tuches them & smyls at them & crys a bit & then we hav mor bred & jam.
“Maybe Jesus has been waytin for a childe like you. And now that Billy Dean is here he shows himself in the dust agen.”
She takes me to my bed soon after. She kisses my cheke & pulls the blankets to my throte.
“Well fynd mor,” she says. “Well reassembl it arl agen. What els did she tel?”
“She telt me of the day of my birth of the boms & the destrucshon & the deaths & of her dorter.”
“Did she Billy?”
“Aye.”
Wer silent for a wile.
“Why was I arl coverd in blud Mam?”
The qweschon mayks her gasp.
“O Billy when?”
“When I was born.”
She laffs. She kisses me agen.
“Thats how arl of us begin. Every singl won of us. And the blud that was on you that day was mine.”
She holds me tite then lets me go & says good nite.
I put the finga hand foot & fether on the taybl by my bed.
Slepe cums like the redblak sky darkenin over Blinkbonny.
My brane seeths like the shattad erth with things that grow & crarl & moov on it.
My bodys like the Blinkbonny erth with aynshent relics restin in it waytin to be fownd.
Im asleep no more than an our or 2 befor Mams sittin on the bed agen.
“Thers mor,” she wispers. “Much mor. Ill start to get it dun & we can moov on.”
And I lie harfsleeping as she pores mor of my life into my ear.
So I was born in her blud on the day of doom the day that boms wer blasting off owtside. Missus Malone ran off to see her dorter die. Mam lay on the bed beneeth the blanket & the crackin seelin & the qwaykin walls & farlin dust.
She grippd me tite.
It seemd to her that the end of the world was niy.
It seems I didnt flinch just kept on suckin at my mothers tit.
Nobody came. No mor boms. Grate clowds of smoak & ash drifted beyond the windo abuv. The room kept rite on crackin & qwaykin but it didn’t farl. Ther was distant screemin groanin cracklin rorein.
She left me wons & crept throu the dores & lookd throu the windos & had vishons of Hell & hurryd bak to me. She sippd warter. She nibbld biscuts that had been left by Missus Malone.
The day passd by. She thort that Missus Malone was blown apart. She thort my
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