Collected Short Stories Read Free Page B

him putting the bunch of lighted papers on the yard-brush and sticking them up the wide chimney. The chimney would roar, and if you went outside you’d see lines of sparks like hot wires coming out and the smoke bubbling over like lemonade in a bottle. But he wouldn’t burn it tonight, because we were waiting on Johnny.
    â€˜Is there any sign of him?’ said Mammie, when Daddy came in again.
    â€˜None yet; but he’ll be all right; he’ll be all right. We’ll say the prayers, and he’ll be in before we’re finished.’
    We were just ready to kneel when a knock came to the back door. It was a very dim knock and we all sat still, listening. ‘That’s him, now,’ said Daddy, and I saw my mother’s face brightening. Daddy went into the yard and I heard the stiff bar on the door opening and feet shuffling. ‘Easy now: easy now,’ said someone. Then Daddy came in, his face as white as a sheet. He said something to Mammie. ‘Mother of God, it isn’t true – it isn’t!’ she said. Daddy turned and sent me up to bed.
    Up in the wee room I could see down into the yard. The light from the kitchen shone into it and I saw men with black hats and the rain falling on them like little needles, but I couldn’t see our Johnny. I looked up at the shed on the slates, the rain was melting down its sides, and the wet felt was shining like new boots. When I looked into the yard again, Daddy was bending over something. I got frightened and went into my sisters’ room. They were crying and I cried, too, while I sat shivering in my shirt and my teeth chattering. ‘What’s wrong?’ I asked. But they only cried and said: ‘Nothing, son. Nothing. Go to sleep, Frankie, like a good little boy.’ My big sister put me into her bed, and put the clothes around me and stroked my head. Then she lay on the top of the bed beside me, and I could feel her breathing heavily on my back. Outside it was still blowy for the wind was kicking an empty salmon-tin which rattled along the street. For a long time I listened to the noises the wind made, and then I slept.
    In the morning when I opened my eyes I wondered at finding myself in my sisters’ room. It was very still: the blinds were down and the room was full of yellow light. I listened for the sound of plates, a brush scrubbing, or my big sister singing. But I heard nothing, neither inside the house nor outside it. I remembered about last night, my sisters crying because our Johnny didn’t come home. I sat up in bed; I felt afraid because the house was strange, and I got out and went into the wee back room.
    The door was open and there was yellow light in it, too, and the back of the bed had white cloth and I couldn’t see over it. Then I saw my Mammie in the room sitting on a chair. She stretched out her arms and I ran across and knelt beside her, burying my face in her lap. She had on a smooth, black dress, and I could smell the camphor balls off it, the smell that kills the moths, the funny things with no blood and no bones that eat holes in your jersey. There were no holes in Mammie’s dress. She rubbed my head with her hands and said: ‘You’re the only boy I have now.’ I could hear her heart thumping very hard, and then she cried, and I cried and cried, with my head down on her lap. ‘What’s wrong, Mammie?’ I asked, looking up at her wet eyes. ‘Nothing, darling: nothing, pet. He died for Ireland.’ I turned my head and looked at the bed. Johnny was lying on the white bed in a brown dress. His hands were pale and they were joined around his rosary beads, and a big crucifix between them. There was a big lump of wadding at the side of his head and wee pieces up his nose. I cried more and more, and then my Mammie made me put on my clothes, and go downstairs for my breakfast.
    All that day my Mammie stayed in the room to talk to the people that came to see