by Jack Tunney
I was back, but not right away. I guess the Bank of Ireland didn’t see a lot of GIs, and they sure didn’t seem to see a lot of American twenty and fifty dollar bills. It took a while, but I got some of them exchanged to Irish pounds, nothing larger than a twenty.
I was relieved to see the cab still outside. “Okay, thanks for waiting,” I said to the driver. “Next stop…”
“The Liberties, Grays Square,” he said, looking at me in the rearview mirror. “Thanks for coming back,” he added.
A minute or two later, as we drove down the street, he said, “We’re almost in the Liberties. This here’s your Dublin Castle on the left.” He slowed so I could get a better look as we drifted past.
That figured, I thought, a castle. The Crowleys’ castle must be just around the corner. We drove on for no more than five minutes before he pulled to the curb. The street was made up of two story brick buildings, all with little store fronts and what looked like living quarters above. Down a narrow side street were a bunch of rundown, single story dumps about four feet wide.
The one nearest the corner had a broken front door with sheets of cardboard fixed over a couple of missing window panes. Three barefoot little boys ran down the street in ragged outfits. They reminded me of the dirty little kids we’d see in Berlin climbing out of cellars and begging for K rations or a Hershey’s bar. I figured these houses must be the servant’s quarters for Castle Crowley.
“Grays Square,” he said, in a somewhat disgusted tone, indicating the hovels with a nod of his head.
“That’s Grays Square? Are you sure? Maybe it’s the wrong one?”
“Maybe, but it’s the only one in the Liberties. The only one in Dublin I know. That’ll be one pound thirty.”
I handed him a five pound note.
“Got anything smaller?”
“No, it’s the smallest I have.”
He sighed, looked at me, muttered, then reached down and opened a lunch box on the floor and came out with a fist full of coins. He counted them out silently, then poured them into my cupped hands. I’d no idea if it was right or wrong.
I picked a fat coin out with a pig on it, handed it to him as a tip. “Here, thanks for the help.”
He didn’t say anything, but drove off before I had barely closed the door behind me. The three dirty little boys had been joined by a fourth fat kid sporting a shaved head. He picked his nose while they all stood staring at me.
ROUND 3
I hoisted my duffle and walked toward the four boys. I gave them I nod. They stood in their places, slowly turning a hundred and eighty degrees as I passed. There was the semblance of a side walk, square stone blocks actually, but no front yards in front of the houses. The houses were all attached to each other forming one long block.
Some of the doors were numbered. Most needed a coat of paint. Number four had cardboard in the windows panes and about a two inch gap between the bottom of the door and the threshold.
I continued down the lane, which made a ninety degree turn to the left. About half way down was number ten, the next door didn’t have a number, but fourteen squatted on the other side.
I was wrong when I said the places were four feet wide. Standing in front of number fourteen, it looked at least six feet. A door and a window, but at least this door looked cared for. It was bright red, with a brass knocker in the shape of a woman’s face. I took the photo out, looked at it - same door, same brass knocker floating just above my mom’s head.
I used the knocker and rapped on the door. It felt surprisingly solid. I rapped again, this time a little harder.
A moment later I heard a latch on the other side being undone and the door opened. A face peered out, green eyes, creamy skin and red hair, long red hair. She didn’t say anything, but looked me up and down, studied me for a long moment before her eyes settled on my nametag, Crowley. Her eyes suddenly grew wider.
“I don’t believe it,” she said and slammed the door.
I could hear her calling on the other side of the door. “Kathleen! Kathleen! Come here… come here, hurry.” Shrieking would have been too strong a term, but she was getting close. More quick, muffled words came through the far side of the closed door. I could tell it was two female voices, but couldn’t make out what was being said.
The door opened wide this time and there was an older woman next to the redhead. She was shorter by a good three or four inches. She had blue eyes. They both stared at me until the older woman finally spoke, “It’s Kevin then?”
“Yes, I’m Kevin. Kevin Crowley.” I pointed to my nametag as further proof, after all the US Army would never tell a lie.
“So it is,” the older woman said. She reached out and touched my face as if to make sure I was real, then she looked past me to see if there was anyone with me. The redhead drew her arms across her chest and glared.
We stood there, the three of us, looking, not saying anything.
I waited and finally pulled out the photo. “This is my mother, here sitting in front of your door. At least I think it’s here. That’s me on her lap I was just a baby.” I added by way of explanation. “Her name was Nib, see.” I turned the photo over and showed the woman the penciled writing.
The redhead looked down, smiled, and then actually laughed. “We say Neave, it’s how we pronounce it, Neave. Do you not know your own mother’s name?”
“Neave,” I said “That sounds a lot better.”
“Is she with you, your mother?” The older woman leaned out, checked up and down the lane again, just to make sure.
“My mother? No. Actually she passed away years back. I never really knew her. In fact, all I’ve got is this picture.” I handed it to the older woman.
“More than we were given,” the redhead said, then glared again.
“Mary, stop. God bless, she passed on, did she?” The older woman held the photo, stared at it, then up at me, then back to the photo, collecting her thoughts.
“Like I said, I never really knew them, my mother and father.”
They shot a quick glance at one another, then the older woman said, “Well, Kevin, I’ve forgotten my manners. You best come in, come in. My son would have been your father, which makes me your Granny. I’m Kathleen Crowley. This is my neighbor, Mary O’Malley.”
The redhead nodded and flashed her eyes.
As they moved back from the door, I took my overseas cap off and followed them inside, stepping into a small parlor room. There was a fireplace on the opposite wall with what appeared to be a piece of sod smoldering in the center, however the room felt about twenty degrees cooler than outside. In front of me there was a steep staircase and another door.
“Care for a cup of tea?” Kathleen asked.
“Yes, ma’am, that would be nice.”
Kathleen smiled and nodded at Mary. Mary glared again, then went out through the other door into what I guessed was the kitchen.
Kathleen watched Mary depart and then turned her attention to me. “Sit yourself down.” She indicated one of two worn chairs in front of the small fireplace. “You’ve caught me a bit unprepared. I would guess you’ve a lot of questions, and we both have plenty of catching up to do.”
I gathered from the conversation and the room that my daydreams of treasure were way off the mark. Not only wasn’t there any treasure, there wasn’t much of anything.
My father had disappeared before I was born. My mother had left Ireland just after I was born. Kathleen didn’t have two pennies to rub together and, as I learned all this, I was getting the distinct impression redheaded Mary was blaming me for everyone’s troubles.
“Fat lot you have, sitting on your arse over in America.”
“Mary, that’s enough.”
“Well, Kathleen, he just waltzes in here probably thinking he’ll collect some sort of inheritance from his Irish relatives. You know that’s why he’s here, they’re all the same.”
“Mary, now that’s enough.”
I’d had about enough of the redh
ead’s glaring eyes and bad attitude. If I wanted any more of that I could go back to Berlin and see Sergeant-Major Taylor.
“It’s okay, really. I just wanted to see if someone was still here. As far as I know you’re the only family I have. And as far as sitting around…” I shot a look at Mary. “That never happened. I was orphaned and raised in St. Vincent’s Asylum for Boys. From there I joined the Army, not exactly easy street. I spent the past twenty-one months in Berlin, making sure food and supplies got out to a starving German population surrounded by a couple of million Russians. I’d love to just sit around, but to tell you the truth, I’ve been pretty busy just surviving and helping others survive.”
I thought I might have caught a smile from Kathleen.
“Well, I didn’t mean you exactly. You know how you hear on the radio about Americans always doing things, taking all the credit, and…”
“Mary.”
“Well, I mean…”
“Relax. Look, maybe I could take the two of you to dinner somewhere. You choose the restaurant.”
They looked at one another blankly for a moment before Kathleen said, “Oh that’s very kind, Kevin, just like your father, but really it’s not necessary.”
“Please, it would be my treat.” Besides, I was starving. I’d hardly touched my tea. I hate the stuff and had taken it only to be polite and the cookie Mary gave me, she called it a biscuit, was tasteless and damn near broke my teeth it was so hard.
“There really is nowhere to go,” Mary said.
“Perhaps you’d like some porridge?” Kathleen offered.
This was not going my way. “Is there a store nearby, maybe I could get some steaks?”
“We’ve a butcher shop,” Mary said.
“Okay, they have steaks there, right?”
Kathleen looked like she was still considering the porridge option.
“Mary, can you show me where the butcher shop is? And Kathleen, if it’s all right, I’ll have Mary take me shopping.”
“Well, I don’t…”
“Please. My treat. When was the last time you had a big old juicy T-bone?”
“Goodness, I’ve never had one.”
“Never had one? Then that settles it… T-bones all around. You’ll take me?” I asked Mary.
She nodded, this time without the glare.
“Okay, great, that’s settled. Come on, let’s go.”
ROUND 4
“You’re not too happy about me showing up at the door, are you?”
“Are you always this direct?” Mary asked and increased her pace.
We were walking to the butcher shop. Actually I was sort of following. She carried an empty wicker basket and, no mater how fast I walked to catch up, she would speed up.
We’d gone a good two blocks without a word. Not much traffic, a lot of bicycles, more than a few stares at my uniform. I was trying to figure out how she could be mad at a guy she didn’t know three hours ago who wanted to buy her a nice T-bone steak. So far I wasn’t coming up with the answer.
“I shouldn’t have to tell you. You should be able to cop on and know.”
“Maybe, I mean I didn’t know either of you existed until you opened the door. The last time I was here I was about three weeks old. I didn’t know my parents or anything about them. Am I missing something?”
We were just walking past a pub called The Stoop Inn when she stopped and wheeled on me, I brought my left halfway up just as a reflex. “Your father left Kathleen in an awful state with a huge debt when he ran off,” she said. “She lost everything to Ardee, everything.”
“Ardee?”
She looked at me like I just asked her my own name. “Humpf, Squire Basil Ardee, he’s only one of the vilest creatures in Dublin, all of Ireland for that matter. Your Gran lives in that dreadful, damp little cottage, on that awful lane, and it’s all because of your father.”
“I have no idea what in the world you’re talking about. I never knew my parents. The only thing I have is that photograph of my mom with the address penciled on the back.”
She seemed to soften, at least for the moment. “I’m sorry, I know but it’s just that seeing what it does to poor old Kathleen, and she’s not in the best of health poor old dear.”
“Could you explain it to me, maybe…”
“Well, if it isn’t Mary, Mary, quite contrary.”
She turned toward the voice. Three men, I guessed no older than thirty. Each wore a cap, a threadbare coat and heavy working boots. They were walking abreast so anyone coming their way had to step into the street to get past. It was the one in the middle who had spoken.
“That’s about enough from the likes of you, Mister Kelly. You may work for our landlord, but you’ve no right to …”
“That’s right young Missy. I work for your landlord, and we’ll be around tomorrow to collect the week’s rent, and maybe a little something else in the way of payment.” He laughed, his two pals picked up the chorus.
I didn’t like these guys, but decided to keep quiet rather than interfere. It didn’t work. Then again, it was pretty hard to ignore the only GI in Dublin and, for that matter, probably the entire country.
“What are you looking at, sergeant?” The one with the big mouth stomped his right foot and snapped to attention then saluted sloppily with the wrong hand. His two pals laughed.
“Come on, Kevin,” Mary said, stepping into the street to walk around them. I had another idea. “Kevin, please. The shop will close any minute.”
“Yes, hurry along Kevin. The shop is about to close.” They all laughed and then big mouth stepped aside and waved his arm in a grand gesture.
I walked past, ready to coldcock him if he so much as blinked. It didn’t happen and we continued on.
“Are they friends of yours?” I asked once we were out of earshot.
“Oisin Kelly,” she said, and spit. “He’s a right bastard, that one. They all are. They all work for Ardee, his toughs.”
“And you rent from him, this Ardee?”
“Everyone on the lane rents from Ardee, but they’re the ones who come round to collect. It’s all we can afford. We pay by the week, so we never have enough to get ahead and move somewhere else. Not that there’s anywhere else to move to. Your gran is a proud woman, and they make her life a right bollix.”
The butcher shop was about to close, but we made it in the door just in time. As we entered a small bell attached to the door rang. There was a white enamel counter about six feet in front of us, with various cuts of meat arranged in neat rows. The stone floor was covered in sawdust.
“Hi ya.” The butcher nodded and winked at Mary, then leaned over the top of the counter and gave me the once over. I caught his eyes resting on my nametag and noticed he was missing the top joint of his ring finger.
Using my thumb and forefinger I indicated how thick I wanted the steaks to be cut. He smiled, threw a heavy piece of meat on the wood chopping block and picked up a saw.
“Like this?” He grinned, showing a couple of dark gaps in his smile.
“Just like that. Three of them.” I said. Then I caught sight of a large roast in the meat counter. “I’ll take this roast, too.”
Mary looked at me wide-eyed. Amazingly she didn’t comment.
“This roast?” the butcher asked, after wrapping our T-bones in paper. His smile was growing wider.
“Yeah. Better give me a half dozen of those potatoes, there, too.” I nodded to a bin in the corner.
He filled a paper bag with the potatoes and handed it to Mary. She placed it in her wicker basket on top of the steaks and the roast.
“Do you have any bacon?” I asked.
“Rashers, smoked or white. Whichever you like.”
I looked at Mary, not quite following what he said.
“The white,” she said nodding.
“Two?”
“No, give us a dozen,” I said. I watched as he slapped a piece of meat onto the chopping block and began cutting a dozen slices with
a razor sharp knife. As we left, he put the closed sign in the door and snapped the lock after us.
“All that meat. It’s not that we’re starving,” she growled once we were outside, then picked up her pace in the direction we’d come.
“It’s something I’m doing for Kathleen, my gran. Don’t worry. I’m going to tell her not to share any with you.”
She didn’t say anything, but I thought I caught a smile. About a half block from The Stoop Inn, she suddenly crossed the street. I followed her. A few seconds later I saw three figures cross the street to cut off our path. Mary noticed them too, glanced left and right before slowing her pace considerably.
“You’re not to say a thing. They’re full of the drink.”
“They’ve been drinking for all of about seven minutes.”
“Please don’t start anything. They’re right knackers.”
“I’ll be a gentleman, I promise” I said, then took off my overseas cap and tucked it under my epaulet. Mary didn’t seem to notice. She just kept her head down and slowed her pace a little more.
The men spread out across the sidewalk and waited for us to get closer. Big Mouth had his arm stretched out, leaning against the front of a brick building. He stood there watching and sipping from his pint glass as we approached. I was aware a small crowd had gathered outside The Stoop Inn across the street. Half-a-dozen guys in tweed caps and threadbare coats coming out of the pub stood ready to watch the fun.
“You’re not to say a thing,” Mary whispered, staring down at the sidewalk.
As we approached, she stepped into the street. One of them stepped off to block her path. Big Mouth pushed off from the side of the building, took a sip from his pint, and then drew his sleeve across his mouth.
“Now, a proper gentleman would carry that for you, Mary dear. What did you bring us, darling? Dinner is it?” He gave a nod to the guy who had just stepped off the curb.
I’d seen their type before, big enough to intimidate, but not in shape. I guessed Big Mouth was maybe twenty, no make it thirty pounds overweight. Bullies. Probably bullies for so long they’d forgotten what it was like when someone actually wasn’t going to be intimidated.
