crumbs along the windowsill for her. The blackbird was his wife saying hello.
—But all so soon, what day did you exactly say, or did you tell me that? he said.
—This Friday, I said.
—And why, he said.
—Why what, I said.
—Did Daly take the hearing from you at the Junction?
—The hearing’s sound, I said.
—You have a job, he said.
—I don’t like it anymore, I said.
—Aren’t you the plucky fellow, he said.
—I wouldn’t know, I said.
—You know it only too well, he said. —When I was your age, so many went off. The Christmas cards arrived for a few years with a few scribbles you could barely read and then them cards stopped arriving. People go away and don’t come back. Only too well I know that myself—
—It’s not that way anymore—
—Do you think it’s a fool I am!
—That’s one thing I never think, I said.
—Well, that’s good to hear, so what exactly do you plan on doing when you arrive there? And how long do you intend on staying there?
—I’m not sure yet, I said.
—Not sure. It’s not like you’re going down the road a bit.
—I’ll get a job. I’ll go to school.
—Will you now. Go to school. So you will.
—That’s what I’m thinking.
—And what does my plucky fellow intend to learn in school? From what I remember, you learned nothing there in all the years you went.
—I might study English, I said.
—Don’t you know that already?
—Something else, then, I said.
—But why are you going out there in the first place? he asked. —Your mother, God rest her, would want you to stay where you are, in that fine job I got for you. She’d like you to be here for your brothers and sisters. I’m not going to be around for too long more. Did you go and visit Tess? You took the train down to Cork to see her—
—I rang her. She didn’t want me going down there—
—You were very happy to not have to put yourself out—
—She didn’t want me going down there. She said it’d make her lonesome—
—That’s the best excuse I’ve heard in a long time. Since when did she know what she is thinking! That might be the one thing you know as good as I do!
—Tess’s fine. She likes the nursing, I said.
—You didn’t even bother to go down and see her, and you getting onto a plane for yourself—
—I told you she didn’t want me to!
—Keep the voice down. Do you hear me. The ears are sound as a bell. More sounder than your own. But what difference anyway that you are going. We never see much of you. You might as well be gone. When I think of it, you were always gone. My plucky fella cares greatly for us—
—I’m not so sure about that, I said.
—Now the truth of what I know since day one comes out—
—Whatever you think yourself, I said.
—Don’t disrespect your father, he said, grinding the back teeth, wagging the bent finger, and shuffling the feet.
—Sorry, I said.
—There’s little sorrow in you, he said.
The blackbird started to sing. He cocked his head. That smile appeared and he turned to look at a holy picture on the wall above their bed.
A few minutes later, he said, —You remember them John Garfield films, you do?
—I do, I said.
—You were young, but you were so fond of them. There’s risk for you, he said.
—Eddie told me you were into the acting, the first day I arrived in Dublin, I said.
—What are you bringing up now—
—Your second cousin. Eddie in the union.
—Like I have been saying to you my entire life, you talk and think about things that are of no use, and Eddie never had a clue what he was going on about. The only one Eddie is faithful to is John Powers. He keeps that family in high spirits. Eddie’s trouble is that he never got used to not being at home. He’d come down from Dublin for a few weeks in summer before he found the unfortunate old wife who could never give him a child, and we’d go for a few—
—He told me that day he was sad he had no children—
—There you are again,
—But all so soon, what day did you exactly say, or did you tell me that? he said.
—This Friday, I said.
—And why, he said.
—Why what, I said.
—Did Daly take the hearing from you at the Junction?
—The hearing’s sound, I said.
—You have a job, he said.
—I don’t like it anymore, I said.
—Aren’t you the plucky fellow, he said.
—I wouldn’t know, I said.
—You know it only too well, he said. —When I was your age, so many went off. The Christmas cards arrived for a few years with a few scribbles you could barely read and then them cards stopped arriving. People go away and don’t come back. Only too well I know that myself—
—It’s not that way anymore—
—Do you think it’s a fool I am!
—That’s one thing I never think, I said.
—Well, that’s good to hear, so what exactly do you plan on doing when you arrive there? And how long do you intend on staying there?
—I’m not sure yet, I said.
—Not sure. It’s not like you’re going down the road a bit.
—I’ll get a job. I’ll go to school.
—Will you now. Go to school. So you will.
—That’s what I’m thinking.
—And what does my plucky fellow intend to learn in school? From what I remember, you learned nothing there in all the years you went.
—I might study English, I said.
—Don’t you know that already?
—Something else, then, I said.
—But why are you going out there in the first place? he asked. —Your mother, God rest her, would want you to stay where you are, in that fine job I got for you. She’d like you to be here for your brothers and sisters. I’m not going to be around for too long more. Did you go and visit Tess? You took the train down to Cork to see her—
—I rang her. She didn’t want me going down there—
—You were very happy to not have to put yourself out—
—She didn’t want me going down there. She said it’d make her lonesome—
—That’s the best excuse I’ve heard in a long time. Since when did she know what she is thinking! That might be the one thing you know as good as I do!
—Tess’s fine. She likes the nursing, I said.
—You didn’t even bother to go down and see her, and you getting onto a plane for yourself—
—I told you she didn’t want me to!
—Keep the voice down. Do you hear me. The ears are sound as a bell. More sounder than your own. But what difference anyway that you are going. We never see much of you. You might as well be gone. When I think of it, you were always gone. My plucky fella cares greatly for us—
—I’m not so sure about that, I said.
—Now the truth of what I know since day one comes out—
—Whatever you think yourself, I said.
—Don’t disrespect your father, he said, grinding the back teeth, wagging the bent finger, and shuffling the feet.
—Sorry, I said.
—There’s little sorrow in you, he said.
The blackbird started to sing. He cocked his head. That smile appeared and he turned to look at a holy picture on the wall above their bed.
A few minutes later, he said, —You remember them John Garfield films, you do?
—I do, I said.
—You were young, but you were so fond of them. There’s risk for you, he said.
—Eddie told me you were into the acting, the first day I arrived in Dublin, I said.
—What are you bringing up now—
—Your second cousin. Eddie in the union.
—Like I have been saying to you my entire life, you talk and think about things that are of no use, and Eddie never had a clue what he was going on about. The only one Eddie is faithful to is John Powers. He keeps that family in high spirits. Eddie’s trouble is that he never got used to not being at home. He’d come down from Dublin for a few weeks in summer before he found the unfortunate old wife who could never give him a child, and we’d go for a few—
—He told me that day he was sad he had no children—
—There you are again,
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