wn pretending I was the greatest footballer in the world. She wishes we had a drop of hair oil in the house but water and spit will keep my hair from sticking up like black straw in a mattress. She warns me speak up when I go to St. Joseph's and don't be mumbling in English or Latin. She says, 'Tis a great pity you grew out of your First Communion suit but you have nothing to be ashamed of, you come from good blood, McCourts, Sheehans, or my mother's family the Guilfoyles that owned acre after acre in County Limerick before the English took it away and gave it to footpads from London.
Dad holds my hand going through the streets and people look at us because of the way we're saying Latin back and forth. He knocks at the sacristy door and tells Stephen Carey, This is my son, Frank, who knows the Latin and is ready to be an altar boy.
Stephen Carey looks at him, then me. He says, We don't have room for him, and closes the door.
Dad is still holding my hand and squeezes till it hurts and I want to cry out. He says nothing on the way home. He takes off his cap, sits by the fire and lights a Woodbine. Mam is smoking, too. Well, she says, is he going to be an altar boy?
There's no room for him.
Oh. She puffs on her Woodbine. I'll tell you what it is, she says. 'Tis class distinction. They don't want boys from lanes on the altar. They don't want the ones with scabby knees and hair sticking up. Oh, no, they want the nice boys with hair oil and new shoes that have fathers with suits and ties and steady jobs. That's what it is and 'tis hard to hold on to the Faith with the snobbery that's in it.
Och, aye.
Oh, och aye my arse. That's all you ever say. You could go to the priest and tell him you have a son that has a head stuffed with Latin and why can't he be an altar boy and what is he going to do with all that Latin?
Och, he might grow up to be a priest.
I ask him if I can go out and play. Yes, he says, go out and play.
Mam says, You might as well.
VI
Mr. O'Neill is the master in the fourth class at school. We call him Dotty because he's small like a dot. He teaches in the one classroom with a platform so that he can stand above us and threaten us with his ash plant and peel his apple for all to see. The first day of school in September he writes on the blackboard three words which are to stay there the rest of the year, Euclid, geometry, idiot. He says if he catches any boy interfering with these words that boy will go through the rest of his life with one hand. He says anyone who doesn't understand the theorems of Euclid is an idiot. Now, repeat after me, Anyone who doesn't understand the theorems of Euclid is an idiot. Of course we all know what an idiot is because that's what the masters keep telling us we are.
Brendan Quigley raises his hand. Sir, what's a theorem and what's a Euclid?
We expect Dotty to lash at Brendan the way all the masters do when you ask them a question but he looks at Brendan with a little smile. Ah, now, here's a boy with not one but two questions. What is your name, boy?
Brendan Quigley, sir.
This is a boy who will go far. Where will he go, boys?
Far, sir.
Indeed and he will. The boy who wants to know something about the grace, elegance and beauty of Euclid can go nowhere but up. In what direction and no other can this boy go, boys?
Up, sir.
Without Euclid, boys, mathematics would be a poor doddering thing. Without Euclid we wouldn't be able to go from here to there. Without Euclid the bicycle would have no wheel. Without Euclid St. Joseph could not have been a carpenter for carpentry is geometry and geometry is carpentry. Without Euclid this very school could never have been built.
Paddy Clohessy mutters behind me, Feckin' Euclid.
Dotty barks at him. You, boy, what is your name?
Clohessy, sir.
Ah, the boy flies on one wing. What is your Christian name?
Paddy.
Paddy what?
Paddy, sir.
And what, Paddy, were you saying to McCourt?
I said we should get down on our two knees and thank God for Euclid.
I'm sure you did, Clohessy. I see the lie festering in your teeth. What do I see, boys?
The lie, sir.
And what is the lie doing, boys?
Festering, sir.
Where, boys, where?
In his teeth, sir.
Euclid, boys, was a Greek. What, Clohessy, is a Greek?
Some class of a foreigner, sir.
Clohessy, you are a half-wit. Now, Brendan, surely you know what a Greek is?
Yes, sir. Euclid was a Greek.
Dotty gives him the little smile. He tells Clohessy he should model himself on Quigley, who knows what a Greek is. He draws two lines side by side and tells us these are parallel lines and the magical and mysterious thing is that they never meet, not if they were to be extended to infinity, not if they were extended to God's shoulders and that, boys, is a long way though there is a German Jew who is upsetting the whole world with his ideas on parallel lines.
We listen to Dotty and wonder what all this has to do with the state of the world with the Germans marching everywhere and bombing everything that stands. We can't ask him ourselves but we can get Brendan Quigley to do it. Anyone can see Brendan is the master's pet and that means he can ask any question he likes. After school we tell Brendan he has to ask the question tomorrow, What use is Euclid and all those lines that go on forever when the Germans are bombing everything? Brendan says he doesn't want to be the master's pet, he didn't ask for it, and he doesn't want to ask the question. He's afraid if he asks that question Dotty will attack him. We tell him if he doesn't ask the question we'll attack him.
Next day Brendan raises his hand. Dotty gives him the little smile. Sir, what use is Euclid and all the lines when the Germans are bombing everything that stands?
The little smile is gone. Ah, Brendan. Ah, Quigley. Oh, boys, oh, boys.
He lays his stick on the desk and stands on the platform with his eyes closed. What use is Euclid? he says. Use? Without Euclid the Messerschmitt could never have taken to the sky. Without Euclid the Spitfire could not dart from cloud to cloud. Euclid brings us grace and beauty and elegance. What does he bring us, boys?
Grace, sir.
And?
Beauty, sir.
And?
Elegance, sir.
Euclid is complete in himself and divine in application. Do you understand that, boys?
We do, sir.
I doubt it, boys, I doubt it. To love Euclid is to be alone in this world.
He opens his eyes and sighs and you can see the eyes are a little watery.
Paddy Clohessy is leaving the school that day and he's stopped by Mr. O'Dea, who teaches the fifth class. Mr. O'Dea says, You, what's your name?
Clohessy, sir.
What class are you in?
Fourth class, sir.
Now tell me, Clohessy, is that master of yours talking to you about Euclid?
He is, sir.
And what is he saying?
He's saying he's a Greek.
Of course he is, you diddering omadhaun. What else is he saying?
He's saying there would be no school without Euclid.
Ah. Now is he drawing anything on the board?
He's drawing lines side by side that will never meet even if they land on God's shoulders.
Mother o' God.
No, sir. God's shoulders.
I know, you idiot. Go home.
The next day there's a great noise at our classroom door and Mr. O'Dea is yelling, Come out, O'Neill, you chancer, you poltroon. We can hear everything he's saying because of the broken glass over the door.
The new headmaster, Mr. O'Halloran, is saying, Now, now, Mr. O'Dea. Control yourself. No quarreling in front of our pupils.
Well, then, Mr. O'Halloran, tell him stop teaching the geometry. The geometry is for the fifth form and not the fourth. The geometry is mine. Tell him to teach the long division and leave Euclid to me. Long division will stretch his intellect such as it is, God help us. I don't want the minds of these boys destroyed by that chancer up there on the platform, him handing out apple skins and causing diarrhea right and left. Tell him Euclid is mine, Mr. O'Halloran, or I'll put a stop to his gallop.
Mr. O'Halloran tells Mr. O'Dea to return to his classroom and asks Mr. O'Neill to step into the hall. Mr. O'Halloran says, Now, Mr. O'Neill, I have asked you before to stay away from Euclid.
You have, Mr. O'Halloran, but you might as well ask me to stop eating my daily apple.
I'll have to insist, Mr. O'Neill. No more Euclid.
Mr. O'Neill comes back to the room and his eyes are watery again. He says little has changed since the time of the Greeks for the barbarians are within the gates and their names are legion. What has changed since the time of the Greeks, boys?
It is torture to watch Mr. O'Neill peel the apple every day, to see the length of it, red or green, and if you're up near him to catch the freshness of it in your nose. If you're the good boy for that day and you answer the questions he gives it to you and lets you eat it there at your desk so that you can eat it in peace with no one to bother you the way they would if you took it into the yard. Then they'd torment you, Gimme a piece, gimme a piece, and you'd be lucky to have an inch left for yourself.
There are days when the questions are too hard and he torments us by dropping the apple peel into the wastebasket. Then he borrows a boy from another class to take the wastebasket down to the furnace to burn papers and apple peel or he'll leave it for the charwoman, Nellie Ahearn, to take it all away in her big canvas sack. We'd like to ask Nellie to keep the peel for us before the rats get it but she's weary from cleaning the whole school by herself and she snaps at us, I have other things to be doin' with me life besides watchin' a scabby bunch rootin' around for the skin of an apple. Go 'way.
He peels the apple slowly. He looks around the room with the little smile. He teases us, Do you think, boys, I should give this to the pigeons on the windowsill? We say, No, sir, pigeons don't eat apples. Paddy Clohessy calls out, 'Twill give them the runs, sir, and we'll have it on our heads abroad in the yard.
Clohessy, you are an omadhaun. Do you know what an omadhaun is?
I don't, sir.
It's the Irish, Clohessy, your native tongue, Clohessy. An omadhaun is a fool, Clohessy. You are an omadhaun. What is he, boys?
An omadhaun, sir.
Clohessy says, That's what Mr. O'Dea called me, sir, a diddering omadhaun.
He pauses in his peeling to ask us questions about everything in the world and the boy with the best answers wins. Hands up, he says, who is the President of the United States of America?
Every hand in the class goes up and we're all disgusted when he asks a question that any omadhaun would know. We call out, Roosevelt.
Then he says, You, Mulcahy, who stood at the foot of the cross when Our Lord was crucified?
Mulcahy is slow. The Twelve Apostles, sir.
Mulcahy, what is the Irish word for fool?
Omadhaun, sir.
And what are you, Mulcahy?
An omadhaun, sir.
Fintan Slattery raises his hand. I know who stood at the foot of the cross, sir.
Of course Fintan knows who stood at the foot of the cross. Why wouldn't he? He's always running off to Mass with his mother, who is known for her holiness. She's so holy her husband ran off to Canada to cut down trees, glad to be gone and never to be heard from again. She and Fintan say the rosary every night on their knees in the kitchen and read all kinds of religious magazines: The Little Messenger of the Sacred Heart, The Lantern, The Far East, as well as every little book printed by the Catholic Truth Society. They go to Mass and Communion rain or shine and every Saturday they confess to the Jesuits who are known for their interest in intelligent sins not the usual sins you hear from people in lanes who are known for getting drunk and sometimes eating meat on Fridays before it goes bad and cursing on top of it. Fintan and his mother live on Catherine Street and Mrs. Slattery's neighbors call her Mrs. Offer-It-Up because no matter what happens, a broken leg, a spilled cup of tea, a disappeared husband, she says, Well, now, I'll offer that up and I'll have no end of Indulgences to get me into heaven. Fintan is just as bad. If you push him in the schoolyard or call him names he'll smile and tell you he'll pray for you and he'll offer it up for his soul and yours. The boys in Leamy's don't want Fintan praying for them and they threaten to give him a good fong in the arse if they catch him praying for them. He says he wants to be a saint when he grows up, which is ridiculous because you can't be a saint till you're dead. He says our grandchildren will be praying to his picture. One big boy says, My grandchildren will piss on your picture, and Fintan just smiles. His sister ran away to England when she was seventeen and everyone knows he wears her blouse at home and curls his hair with hot iron tongs every Saturday night so that he'll look gorgeous at Mass on Sunday. If he meets you going to Mass he'll say, Isn't my hair gorgeous, Frankie? He loves that word, gorgeous, and no other boy will ever use it.
Of course he knows who stood at the foot of the cross. He probably knows what they were wearing and what they had for breakfast and now he's telling Dotty O'Neill it was the three Marys.
Dotty says, Come up here, Fintan, and take your reward.
He takes his time going to the platform and we can't believe our eyes when he takes out a pocketknife to cut the apple peel into little bits so that he can eat them one by one and not be stuffing the whole thing into his mouth like the rest of us when we win. He raises his hand, Sir, I'd like to give some of my apple away.
The apple, Fintan? No, indeed. You do not have the apple, Fintan. You have the peel, the mere skin. You have not nor will you ever achieve heights so dizzy you'll be feasting on the apple itself. Not my apple, Fintan. Now did I hear you say you want to give away your reward?
You did, sir. I'd like to give three pieces, to Quigley, Clohessy and McCourt.
Why, Fintan?
They're my friends, sir.
The boys around the room are sneering and nudging each other and I feel ashamed because they'll say I curl my hair and I'll be tormented in the schoolyard and why does he think I'm his friend? If they say I wear my sister's blouse there's no use telling them I don't have a sister because they'll say, You'd wear it if you had a sister. There's no use saying anything in the schoolyard because there's always someone with an answer and there's nothing you can do but punch them in the nose and if you were to punch everyone who has an answer you'd be punching morning noon and night.
Quigley takes the bit of peel from Fintan. Thanks, Fintan.
The whole class is looking at Clohessy because he's the biggest and the toughest and if he says thanks I'll say thanks. He says, Thanks very much, Fintan, and blushes and I say, Thanks very much, Fintan, and I try to stop myself from blushing but I can't and all the boys sneer again and I'd like to hit them.
After school the boys call to Fintan, Hoi, Fintan, are you goin' home to curl your gorgeous hair? Fintan smiles and climbs the steps of the schoolyard. A big boy from seventh class says to Paddy Clohessy, I suppose you'd be curlin' your hair too if you wasn't a baldy with a shaved head.
Paddy says, Shurrup, and the boy says, Oh, an' who's goin' to make me? Paddy tries a punch but the big boy hits his nose and knocks him down and there's blood. I try to hit the big boy but he grabs me by the throat and bangs my head against the wall till I see lights and black dots. Paddy walks away holding his nose and crying and the big boy pushes me after him. Fintan is outside on the street and he says, Oh, Francis, Francis, oh, Patrick, Patrick, what's up? Why are you crying, Patrick? and Paddy says, I'm hungry. I can't fight nobody because I'm starving with the hunger an' fallin' down an' I'm ashamed of meself.
Fintan says, Come with me, Patrick. My mother will give us something, and Paddy says, Ah, no, me nose is bleedin'.
Don't worry. She'll put something on your nose or a key on the back of your neck. Francis, you must come, too. You always look hungry.
Ah, no, Fintan.
Ah, do, Francis.
All right, Fintan.
Fintan's flat is like a chapel. There are two pictures, the Sacred Heart of Jesus and the Immaculate Heart of Mary. Jesus is showing His heart with the crown of thorns, the fire, the blood. His head is tilted to the left to show His great sorrow. The Virgin Mary is showing her heart and it would be a pleasant heart if it didn't have that crown of thorns. Her head is tilted to the right to show her sorrow because she knows her Son will come to a sad end.
There's a picture on another wall of a man with a brown robe and birds sitting all over him. Fintan says, Do you know who that is, Francis? No? That's your patron, St. Francis of Assisi, and do you know what today is?
The fourth of October.
That's right and it's his feast day and special for you because you can ask St. Francis for anything and he'll surely give it to you. That's why I wanted you to come here today. Sit down, Patrick, sit down, Francis.
Mrs. Slattery comes in with her rosary beads in her hand. She's happy to meet Fintan's new friends and would we like a cheese sandwich? And look at your poor nose, Patrick. She touches his nose with the cross on her rosary beads and says a little prayer. She tells us these rosary beads were blessed by the Pope himself and would stop the flow of a river if requested never mind Patrick's poor nose.
Fintan says he won't have a sandwich because he's fasting and praying for the boy who hit Paddy and me. Mrs. Slattery gives him a kiss on the head and tells him he's a saint out of heaven and asks if we'd like mustard on our sandwiches and I tell her I never heard of mustard on cheese and I'd love it. Paddy says, I dunno. I never had a sangwidge in me life, and we all laugh and I wonder how you could live ten years like Paddy and never have a sandwich. Paddy laughs, too, and you can see his teeth are white and black and green.
We eat the sandwich and drink tea and Paddy wants to know where the lavatory is. Fintan takes him through the bedroom to the backyard and when they come back Paddy says, I have to go home. Me mother'll kill me. I'll wait for you outside, Frankie.
Now I have to go to the lavatory and Fintan leads me to the backyard. He says, I have to go, too, and when I unbutton my fly I can't pee because he's looking at me and he says, You were fooling. You don't have to go at all. I like to look at you, Francis. That's all. I wo