Well, it’s still New York.
She won’t give up and I won’t though I’m looking at the pettiness of the two of us and wondering why I’m arguing instead of celebrating the arrival of my mother and my youngest brother in the city all of us dreamed of all our lives. Why does she pick on my eyes and why do I have to contradict her over the traffic?
Linda tries to ease the moment. Well, as Malachy says, it is a beautiful day.
Mam gives a little begrudging nod. ’Tis.
And how was the weather when you left Ireland, Mam?
A begrudging word, Raining.
Oh, it’s always raining in Ireland, isn’t it, Mam?
No, it’s not, and she folds her arms and stares straight ahead at the traffic that was much busier an hour earlier.
At the apartment Linda makes breakfast while Mam dandles the new baby, Siobhan, and croons to her the way she crooned to seven of us. Linda says, Mam, would you like tea or coffee?
Tea, please.
When the breakfast is ready Mam puts the baby down, comes to the table and wants to know what is that thing floating around in her cup. Linda tells her it’s a tea bag and Mam puts her nose in the air. Oh, I wouldn’t drink that. Sure, that’s not proper tea at all.
Malachy’s face tightens and he tells her through his teeth, That’s the tea we have. That’s the way we make it. We don’t have a pound of Lyons’ tea and a teapot for you.
Well, then, I won’t have anything. I’ll just eat my egg. I don’t know what kind of country this is where you can’t get a decent cup of tea.
Malachy is ready to say something but the baby cries and he goes to lift her from her crib while Linda flutters around Mam, smiling, trying to please. We could get a teapot, Mam, and we could get loose tea, couldn’t we, Malachy?
But he’s parading the living room with the baby whimpering on his shoulder and you can see that in the matter of tea bags he won’t yield, not this morning anyway. Like anyone who has ever had a decent cup of tea in Ireland he despises tea bags but he has an American wife who knows nothing but tea bags, he has a baby and things on his mind and little patience with this mother with her nose in the air over tea bags her first day in the United States of America and he doesn’t know why, after all his expense and trouble, he has to tolerate her picky ways for the next three weeks in this small apartment.
Mam pushes away from the table. Lavatory? she asks Linda. Where’s the lavatory?
What?
Lavatory. WC.
Linda looks at Malachy. The toilet, he says. The bathroom.
Oh, says Linda. In there.
While Mam is in the bathroom Alphie tells Linda the tea bag wasn’t that bad after all. If you didn’t see it floating in the cup you’d think it was all right, and Linda smiles again. She tells him that’s why the Chinese don’t serve great chunks of meat. They don’t like looking at the animal they’re eating. If they cook chicken they chop it into little pieces and mix it with other things so you barely know it’s chicken. That’s why you never see a chicken leg or breast in a Chinese restaurant.
Is that right? Alphie says.
The baby is still whimpering on Malachy’s shoulder but all is sweet at the table with Alphie and Linda discussing tea bags and the delicacy of Chinese cooking. Then Mam comes from the bathroom and tells Malachy, That child is full of wind, so she is. I’ll take her.
Malachy hands over Siobhan and sits at the table with his tea. Mam walks the floor with the piece of leather flapping from her broken shoe and I know I’ll have to take her down Third Avenue to a shoe shop. She pats the baby and there’s a powerful burp that makes us all laugh. She puts the baby back in the crib and leans over her. There, there, leanv, there, there, and the baby gurgles. She returns to the table, rests her hands in her lap and tells us, I’d give me two eyes for a decent cup of tea, and Linda tells her she’ll go out today and get a teapot and loose tea, right, Malachy?
He says, Right, because he knows in his heart there’s nothing like tea made in a pot which you rinse with water boiling madly, where there’s a heaping spoon for each cup, where you pour in the madly boiling water, keeping the pot warm with a tea cosy while the tea brews for six minutes exactly.
Malachy knows that’s how Mam will make tea and he softens his stand on tea bags. He knows also that in the matter of baby burping she has finer instincts and superior ways and it’s a fair exchange, a decent cup of tea for her and comfort for the baby Siobhan.
For the first time in ten years we’re all together, Mam and her four sons. Malachy has his wife, Linda, and his baby, Siobhan, the first of a new generation. Michael has a girlfriend, Jan, and Alphie will soon find one, too. I’m reconciled with Alberta and living with her in Brooklyn.
Malachy is the life of the party in New York and no party can start without him. If he doesn’t appear there’s restlessness and whimpering, Where’s Malachy? Where’s your brother? and when he roars in they’re happy. He sings and drinks and passes his glass for more drink and sings again till he rushes off to the next party.
Mam loves the life, the excitement of it. She loves having a highball at Malachy’s bar and being introduced as Malachy’s mother. Her eyes twinkle and her cheeks glow and she dazzles the world with a flash of false teeth. She follows Malachy to the parties, the oul’ hooleys, she calls them, basks in the mother spotlight and tries to join in Malachy’s songs till she runs out of breath with the first signs of emphysema. After all the years sitting by the fire in Limerick wondering where the next loaf of bread was coming from she’s having a lovely time and isn’t this a grand country altogether? Ah, maybe she’ll stay a little longer. Sure, what’s the use of going back to Limerick in the middle of the winter with nothing to do but sit there by the fire warming her poor shins? She’ll go back when the weather warms up, Easter maybe, and Alphie can get a job here to keep them going.
Malachy has to tell her if she wants to stay in New York even for a short time she can’t stay with him in his small apartment with Linda and the baby, four months old.
She calls me at Alberta’s and tells me, I’m hurted, so I am. Four sons in New York and no place for me to lay my head.
But we all have small apartments, Mam. No room.
Well, one would wonder what ye’re all doing with the money ye’re making. Ye should have told me this before ye dragged me from my own comfortable fireplace.
No one dragged you. Didn’t you say over and over you wanted to come for Christmas and didn’t Malachy pay your fare?
I came because I wanted to see my first grandchild and, don’t worry, I’ll pay Malachy back if I have to get down on my two knees and scrub floors. If I knew the way I was going to be treated here I would have stayed in Limerick and had a nice goose for myself and a roof over my head.
Alberta whispers I should invite Mam and Alphie for dinner on Saturday night. There’s a silence at the other end and then a sniffle.
Well, I don’t know what I’ll be doing on Saturday night. Malachy said there might be a party.
All right. We invited you to dinner but if you want to go to another party with Malachy, go.
You don’t have to sound so huffy. It’s an awful long distance to Brooklyn. I know because I used to live there.
It’s less than half an hour.
She whispers something to Alphie and he takes the phone. Francis? We’ll come.
When I open the door she brings her own chill along with the January chill. She acknowledges Alberta’s existence with a nod and asks if I have a match for her cigarette. Alberta offers her a cigarette but she says, no, she has her own and these American cigarettes barely have any taste anyway. Alberta offers her a drink and she’ll have a highball. Alphie says he’ll have a beer and Mam says, Oh, you’re starting, are you?
I tell her it’s only a beer.