Jack Moloney's Century

INTRODUCTION

It was Mister Bang who got me started on history. His real name was

Kenneth Bengsten, but we called him Mister Bang because it suited his ill temper. He came to Oregon from Arizona, and boasted that his father had fought for President Harlan Freeburger against the Mexicans.

Mister Bang was a visiting teacher who came to our school with his electronic archive, a dull gray box that he carried around like a holy relic. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn’t. Spoken words came out garbled, and pictures beamed onto the wall turned into a dusty whirl. The data contained in electrons got corrupted, as do the stories passing from one person to another.

He said America was doing fine until the Mexicans brought their war across our border.

Mister Bang was born too late to actually witness what he talked about, but my great grandfather and namesake Jack Moloney had lived through it all. Jack Himself was born in Derry, when Northern Ireland was still occupied by the British. In the year 2000 he jumped ship in New York City. He journeyed across the unraveling nation and came to Portland, once part of the United States, now part of Cascadia. He still had many years left in him before he died at the age of one hundred.

There was also my great-uncle Pat, who was Jack’s second son. With a glass in his hand Uncle Pat would tell stories about life in the old country, by which he meant the United States. With a few drinks in the glass he became quite loquacious, and told things he might not tell while sober.

And there were two in our family who were no longer alive to tell their stories.

Mister Bang didn’t last long at our neighborhood school. One day he was telling the class about the greatness of the United States of America, which once ruled the world – and then he stopped and glared at a student named Jim.

Jim was one of the slower boys in class.

Mister Bang asked, You were grinning. Is something funny?

Jim thought a while and said, If they're so smart why’d they shit in their drinking water?

Everyone broke out laughing. Mister Bang’s face turned red and he sent Jim to the office. Jim’s mother was working in the kitchen, so on the way he stopped to tell her what had happened. The two of them went on to the office, and talked to a school committee person.

He was only asking a question, said Jim’s mother. Why should he be punished for that?

The three of them went back to the classroom, where Mister Bang was still trying to keep the students quiet. The committee woman sent the rest of the students outside to the help in the garden.

So while we, still laughing, hoed weeds and picked vegetables for lunch, back in the classroom Jim and his mother and the committee lady were having a serious discussion with Mister Bang. That was the last we saw of him for a while.

I was ten at the time. In the next five years I listened more closely to the tales told by Jack Himself and Uncle Pat. I began writing them down, in bits and pieces, and years later I tried to put them all together in this book.

PART ONE

1

The Piggeries was a British army camp on top of Creggan Hill, in the city of Derry, in that part of Ireland still ruled by the English. Once it had been a pig farm, but for as long as Jack could remember the English soldiers made it theirs. Still it was called the Piggeries — an insult to the self-respecting creatures that once lived there.

Every day the soldiers came out of their camp to roar through the streets in their armored vehicles and march into people’s houses. They were always searching for something — people, weapons, who knows what? Sometimes they were quiet and businesslike, other times they’d break the furniture and dump your things on the floor. There was nothing you could do. The British soldiers had the guns and the power.

As a child Jack watched his parents sit tensely while the soldiers went thumping through the house, his father sullen and glum, his mother in a seething fury, his sisters sniffling.

When the soldiers were gone, the real fight would start. His mother would scream at his father for not standing up to the invaders.

That would put Dad in a sweat. For Christ’s sake, what do you want me to do? Sure, I could say something and get my head beat. What good would that do? House ransacked and my head beat besides. Think about it.

And what will you do now? she’d ask coldly. How long have you been thinking about that?

Before Jack was born her own uncle had been shot dead by the Brits. He’d been marching in a protest when the paratroopers opened fire and fourteen men lay dead in the street.

Jack’s father had not much anger in him. He was meant to live a quiet happy life, a different life from the one that was handed him. He taught Jack’s sisters how to step dance, and taught Jack how to play the button accordion. Later Jack and his father played in pubs and church halls, and Dad beamed with happiness and after a drink or two talked of getting a family band together and going on tour. But that dream seemed far away in the Derry they lived in.

When Jack grew older, he and his friends used to throw rocks at the soldiers. If they caught you they’d beat you, maybe break an arm or a head, or shoot you with a rubber bullet. The IRA was shooting back at the soldiers and the Ulster constabulary. It was a real war, and men Jack knew were gone from the neighborhood, taken away to prison.

One night some men came to the house with an old mortar. Jack helped them set it up in the back yard and they fired three rounds, one after the other. Flashes and smoke rose from the Piggeries.

They buried the mortar in the garden, still hot from the firing. They dumped it in a hole and pushed the earth over it and planted a row of cabbages on top. Then Jack and the others joined the people in the streets who’d all come out of their houses. Armored cars went roaring by. Then soldiers and police came down the street, banging on doors and searching each house.

They never found the mortar, and a few days later some IRA men came and took it away. The Brits were in a rage. Two soldiers had been wounded by the shells. The Brits began rounding up people for questioning with a rubber club. They took Jack’s father while he was at work and kept him for three days. He came home with his face bruised, and swore he didn’t tell them anything.

Jack was eighteen and the Brits were on his trail. Maybe the IRA was worried that he might talk, maybe they wanted to spare him a rough session with the police. They got him out of Derry quickly. There was no telling when he’d be able to come back. When he said goodbye to his parents and sisters, I think they all pretended he wouldn’t be gone long.

He stayed with some comrades in the Republic. There he shared a flat with Bashir, a sad-eyed man from Palestine whose family had been kicked out of their home. From there Jack went to London and then to Holland. In Rotterdam he had a job awaiting him on a cruise ship.

We don’t have ships like that today. It was a floating city for rich people. It had a dining room, several cafes and bars, a night club, casino, a movie theater, a swimming pool, a wireless line to any stock broker you wanted, beauty salons for men and women, a gymnasium and steam rooms, and a quiet room that served as a chapel. Mister Bang would have loved it -- the height of civilization. A million years of evolution produced dressed-up dunces who got drunk and danced in a pack with blank looks on their faces.

Jack shared a small cabin on the crew’s deck with two Dutchmen. The cabin was so small they took turns standing up to get dressed. Jack and one of the Dutchmen were waiters. The other Dutchman was a cook, a surly fellow who never stopped complaining about the Filipinos who worked in the galley.

Jack’s first voyage was to the Mediterranean. It was billed as the Ancient Civilization cruise, and stopped in Italy, Greece, Turkey and North Africa. In every port the passengers had a few hours to troop ashore and buy things in shops and market stalls. Sometimes the natives would put on a show in the town square. The streets were full of musicians and the police kept beggars away.

In one of the ports Jack bought a concertina, a little squeeze box that had notes he wasn’t used to. He reckoned it was some kind of Middle Eastern scale, but he didn’t have a lot of time to figure it out. The two Dutchmen in his cabin were either arguing or demanding silence. Sometimes Jack would go up on deck at night, to find a quiet spot where he could practice.

At the end of 1999, the ship made a Millennium Cruise, an excuse to throw a two-week party for well-paying passengers. It was Jack’s first cruise in the Caribbean, and he began to think of jumping ship in the United States. He had an address of people in New York City, who could help him stay or help him on his way. The situation in Ireland wasn’t improving. The Orange gangs made war on the Catholics who were expected to surrender their arms, and the politicians played their games. Now that Jack was away from there he could be exploring a new world..

The ship crossed the Atlantic and picked up passengers in New York and Florida. In the big dining room Jack, nineteen and resplendent in white jacket and black creased trousers, did his best to keep his diners happy.

At the first meal of the cruise the Falco family did not look happy. The father was a black-haired man with a pale pasty face. The mother was a plump lady with a worried smile. Their boy of ten had to be stopped from using the dinner knives as drumsticks, and their teen-aged daughter seemed to glare darkly at all of them.

One morning Jack sat in a quiet corner of the deck playing his concertina, trying out the scales to the beat and throb of the ship’s engine, in the middle of a rich blue sea. A few strolling passengers gave him a quick glance and a listen, and moved on. Then some one stopped. It was the Falco girl. That sounds nice, she said.

Thank you.

Where did you learn to play?

Just beginning with this one, said Jack. Usually I play the accordion. Me father taught me that.

Where are you from?

Ireland. The city of Derry.

Is that the same as Londonderry? There was a song about that.

Just plain Derry, said Jack. The London part is something the Brits added...To show us who’s boss.

She thought that over, then asked. Are you Catholic?

More or less.

My father hates Catholics. He used to be one himself but then he got saved.

"From a fate worse than death, I’ll bet. So then he must hate himself a little

bit."

Yeah, maybe he does. He says it’s the Pope and the church he hates and he’s trying to save the people.

That’s good of him. Is that why he’s taking this cruise?

She laughed. He thinks Jesus is coming this next year. He wanted to take the Pacific cruise. You go to the international date line and you get to see the millennium first. But Mom said that was too expensive. We’d have to all fly to California. And anyway, if Jesus comes it’ll be everywhere at once.

So what happens then?

I don’t know. I guess the believers go up to heaven...

Leaving the heathen in charge.

He thinks they’re in charge already. They rule the world and now they’ll destroy it.

What’s your name?

Barbara.

Jack gave her the name he was traveling under. So what do you think of it?

She shrugged. He’s okay most of the time. Maybe he’ll get back to normal some day....But I’ve been taking up your time...

That’s all right. We can still talk if you’d like.

Maybe later. I have to see my mom.

Jack watched her walk away, and an hour later he was serving lunch to her family. For a moment she caught his eye and smiled slightly.

Christmas at sea. From the cold storage room came a tree that went up in a corner of the dining room. The Filipino bus boys hung it with lights and decorations. On almost every table sat a small artificial Christmas tree with a pink light on top. Some other tables had little menorahs.

Mr. Falco handed Jack the tree. We won’t be needing this, he said.

Shall I take it back?

Please, said Mr. Falco with a smile, and Jack noticed he was not sitting in his usual chair.

On Christmas Day Santa Claus handed out presents to the children in the movie theater. The chapel had special services and the bars had extended happy hour.

While Jack was practicing his Middle Eastern concertina, Barbara stopped by. You want to know why Daddy gave you back the tree?

Well, now that you mention it...

He says Christmas trees are a pagan thing, they got nothing to do with Jesus.

He’s right about that, said Jack. That’s one point for the tree if you ask me.

Don’t tell him that. He’ll give you a big lecture. That’s why he changed his seat, so he wouldn’t have to look at the big tree.

A man of principle, said Jack. I’ve met a few like that.

Is that why they’re fighting in Ireland? she asked.

That’s why some of them think they’re fighting. The Brits just sit back and laugh.

But people are getting killed. Don’t they care about that?

Up to a point, I suppose. As long as it doesn’t get in the way of business.

Soon the Christmas tree was thrown overboard and it was New Years Eve. The great millennium party had been planned long ago, and one of the items concerned the passengers who were single women. Even the youngest was twice as old as Jack, and she spent much of her time in the ship’s bars, going from one to the next, drinking alone or with whoever she ran into.

The ship’s staff included a group of men that Jack called the Dancers. These were men who were older than he, who had good looks and dressed well, and who knew how to dance. Their job was to shine up to the single women and keep them happy. If they got paid at all it wasn’t much, but they did get a free cruise for their trouble — and anything the women cared to give them.

For the millennium cruise there were not enough dancing men to go around, and so other members of the crew were asked to help out. Not the Filipinos who worked in the kitchen. Not the surly Dutchmen that Jack roomed with. Nor the engine crew. The social director thought that Jack would fit the bill. He lent Jack a white jacket and ruffled shirt and dark trousers to wear to the millennial event.

The party began with buffet supper. The passengers crowded around the long tables and filled their plates. Waiters came around pouring champagne, bus boys took away the dirty plates and the passengers went back for more.

The Falco family had a glass of champagne each. Barbara smiled up at Jack as he poured, and the pale Mr. Falco raised his glass and said, To the year of Our Lord Two Thousand ... Maybe it really will be the year of Our Lord.

A dance band began playing music that well-stuffed, middle-aged people could move their feet to. As couples went to the dance floor, the social director looked to see which women were sitting alone. He and another man came up to Jack and the social director said, See those two ladies? You need to go over there together and ask them for a dance. Then maybe chat with them for a while. Ambrose knows what to do.

Ambrose was an Englishman about thirty-five. With his bristly haircut and Union Jack necktie, he looked like an army man, but he sounded more like a shop clerk. They danced the ladies around the packed floor for a few tunes. Jack’s partner was named Mavis, a smiley woman in her fifties who moved like she had springs in her arms.

When they got back to the table, four glasses of champagne awaited them. They toasted the new millennium, and Ambrose kept up a stream of amusing chatter. Jack was happy. He didn’t have to say much, just look pleasant and talk a bit about Ireland. A waiter brought more champagne, and Mavis was moved to raise a toast to world peace.

She looked at Ambrose and Jack and said, See, you’re from England and you’re from Ireland, and you’re friends. That’s so nice. Maybe there’s real hope for peace.

Jack wondered how long they had to keep these two women company. He decided to leave it up to Ambrose. He saw Barbara across the dining room, sitting alone with her family and looking pretty .

The night wore on and Ambrose showed no sign of leaving. When eleven o’clock came Jack reckoned they’d be staying till the magic hour. The waiters kept the champagne glasses full. Soon they brought around paper hats and noisemakers.

At midnight the room exploded in a bellow. Happy New Year! Happy Millennium! Mavis planted a moist kiss on Jack’s cheek and said, Let’s go on deck and see the fireworks.

Passengers crowded the rail and cheered as the rockets shot up into the night, and showers of light fell on the smooth dark sea. Mavis squeezed Jack’s hand and said, If you want to you can come and visit me tonight. That’s if you want to.

Years later Jack told me two versions of this story. In one he said he was engaged to be married. In the other he told Mavis he was going to seminary to be a priest. In the first version she smiled and said no more, not putting too much hope into the invitation. In the second version she said, You could make it a farewell. You won’t see me any more, and your life will be....well, a lot different.

Mavis said good night and Jack was by himself in the thinning crowd. Ambrose and the other woman were gone. Maybe for a good time with Mavis, thought Jack.

A voice behind him asked, Who was that lady? It was Barbara asking.

We’re supposed to pay attention to the single ladies, said Jack. Part of the job.

I’m single...

But you’re with your family.

Don’t remind me. I was trying to get away but you were gone...I had an argument with my father. He wants me to go to some bible college and I won’t go. I told him I’ll get a job and live by myself.

Can you do that? asked Jack.

In another month I’ll be eighteen. They can’t stop me.

Where would you live?

Maybe in the city. I know a girl who’s got an apartment and she says there’s room for me. She needs help with the rent.

So all you need is a job.

I’ll find something. Jack had no doubt that she would. She looked darkly determined. Then she asked, Do you live in New York?

No, not at the moment...

She giggled. You’re here at the moment. Where do you live between cruises?

Here and there...Mostly on the ship.

I thought you said something about going to New York.

I did? He wondered if she could read his mind. He still hadn’t decided to jump ship.

Do you have a place where I could call you?

There’s a pub, it’s an Irish place. I was going to give them a visit.

She took a piece of paper from her purse and handed it to Jack. Barbara

Falco, it said, along with a phone number. That’s where I’ll be staying.

From his wallet Jack fished out a slip of paper. He read her the name of the pub and the address and phone number. She wrote it down and said, I don’t know if I’ll get another chance to talk. So maybe I’ll be seeing you.

She stood by the rail smiling his way. He kissed her and then she had her mouth by his ear. I have to go now, she said in a soft voice and then she was gone.

Now he stood alone on the deck with thoughts racing through his mind. Now he knew it would be a cowardly thing not to jump ship in New York. Something had started with this girl, and if he didn’t see it through he’d regret it forever.

2

One cold day in January Jack stepped off the ship and into a new world. He walked up Eighth Avenue lugging his button accordion and the concertina, wearing three layers of clothes and all his valuables tucked away in pockets. On a slip of paper he had an address. He had the same address written down on two other scraps of paper, in case he should lose one or two. He felt ready for anything.

The address was for a tavern on 183rd Street and Jack was standing on the corner of Eighth and 19th. Clearly he had a long way to go. He stopped a pleasant faced woman and asked for directions. She gave him a loud earful of Spanish, then grinned and motioned for him to follow her.

At the next street the stopped in a dusty grocery store. The woman snatched the paper out of Jack’s hand and showed it to an older woman behind the counter. The two conversed in Spanish for a while, pausing to laugh now and then while eyeing Jack.

Then the older woman said, You have to go uptown. All the way to where Bronkus is. You understand Bronkus?

Is that some kind of horse? Jack asked.

The two women looked at each other. Caballo? asked the younger. The older one shrugged. She tried again with Jack:

Not a horse. Place where people live.

On a piece of paper filled with numbers she found a space and wrote:

B..R...O...n...X.

Jack nodded. He’d been thinking of wild broncos. Thinking again he remembered Basher telling him in Dublin about this place in Bronx, New York where his countrymen could lay low for a while. Basher was from Palestine and he was laying low in Ireland.

You understand Bronx? the woman asked, and Jack nodded.

Okay, she went on. You go take the subway. Eight Avenue subway uptown.

The younger woman said something in Spanish and it sounded to Jack like they were having an argument. Finally the older one said, It’s okay. Rosa show you the subway.

Jack left the store with Rosa. She was short and plump with light brown hair and light brown skin. She walked jauntily, her skirt swinging on this cold day, while Jack sweated under his layers of clothing.

They went down some steps and she paid their way through the turnstile. Down some more steps to a platform between two tracks.

Are you taking the train too? he asked.

I go see my friend in Brooklyn.

A train came roaring in and stopped with a screech. Doors flew open and people came rushing out, and Rosa pushed him inside and squeezed his hand.

He found himself saying, I’d like to see you again.

Okay, you come to the store. My name is Rosa. She formed the name with her lips like a kiss.

Then the doors thumped shut and the train lurched off into darkness. Jack saw his face reflected in the glass of the door, a ghostly face speeding through a dark howling hell.

Coming up the stairs to the street, Jack found a part of the city that looked less confining. You could gaze up between buildings and see more than a strip of dirty sky. You could see the whole gritty bowl.

He walked the streets till he found Connolly’s Tavern. He sat down at the end of the bar and put his accordion and concertina where he could keep an eye on them.

The bartender, who looked like a gray-haired priest, asked, You play those?

I do my best, said Jack. He ordered a pint of Guinness and watched the bartender fill the glass with priestly devotion.

That afternoon Jack sat quietly sipping stout. He watched the other customers and listened to their talk. Some sounded straight from Ireland, with one maybe from Belfast. He wondered how many were illegal like him.

After bringing Jack a second pint the bartender said, I haven’t seen you here before.

I’ve never been here before, said Jack. I heard about this place from a friend in Dublin.

Oh, and who was that?

A fellow named Basher.

Basher, eh? Does he go around bashing people?

No, that’s his real name. He’s from Palestine.

I see, said the bartender. And how does he like living in Dublin?

He says it’s the next best thing to home. People have made him welcome.

That’s good. It’s not easy finding yourself in a strange land.

Jack nodded and said, "Right now I’m trying to find a place to stay.

Something quiet and inexpensive."

I know of a place. The bartender wrote down an address on a beer coaster. It’s just a few blocks from here. The rooms are small but they’re clean, and there are meals if you want.

While Jack finished his stout, the bartender gave him directions, and then

Jack was off. I’d like to get settled in and then I’ll be back.

Bring your instrument, said the bartender. We’re having a session tonight.

The address was an old brick building. A fiftyish woman opened the door

and looked Jack over. Her smile had big teeth in it. She saw the beer coaster in his hand and asked him his name, and invited him in.

The first floor had a parlor with plants and a kitchen in back where something sweet and buttery was cooking. A cat peered up at Jack, and he could see two more sprawled senseless on the parlor rug.

Upstairs was a long hallway with doors on each side. The woman showed him a narrow room that had a bed, a chair and a dresser, and one window. She said there was a bathroom down the hall. Jack paid her a week’s rent and then he closed the door of his room and took off the layers of clothing. In the bathroom he washed some socks and underwear in the sink, and took a shower. Then he put on his cleanest shirt and pants and went outside with his own key in his pocket, lugging his accordion.

It was evening. He strolled along an avenue that was roaring with cars and buses. From a taco stand came a warm blast of garlic. The place was like a long cave where people stood along the walls eating. Jack went in and bought a burrito, which he ate underneath a travel poster from Acapulco. It showed a man riding a giant kite above the water. If the boat that was pulling him ever ran out of gas the man would fall like a stone. A week ago he’d been on the warm Caribbean and now he’d cast his fate on this icy shore. He wondered how Barbara was doing, waiting for her eighteenth birthday so she could cast herself free.

Back at Connolly’s two bartenders were busy serving up pints and pitchers. The priestly one with the steel-gray hair brought Jack a pint of stout and said, It’s free if you’re a musician.

The players gathered on a stage in the corner of the back room and began picking out tunes -- a fiddler and a guitar and a mandolin and a bodhran. Jack sat off to the side and followed along. They played a few jigs and hornpipes, then the others went softer and the fiddler, who seemed to be the man in charge, said to Jack, Let’s see what you can do.

His fingers felt nimble and he was ready to take on this strange country he was in. He cut loose with The Devil’s Hornpipe, the notes flying like sparks from hell and the other musicians raced to keep up.

It was late when Jack wriggled his key into the hole and got the front door open. Two cats waited in the entry and another sat halfway up the long stairs. He plodded up to his room and turned on the dim light.

There was little heat, but the bed had three blankets and a down comforter. Jack burrowed in and thought, Not bad for one day. Next he needed a job before his money ran out. As he drifted off to sleep he heard the cats out in the hall. They cried and hissed at each other, and then for a while they were silent. All of a sudden he heard a squeal and a growl as some rodent met its end.

3

Looking for work, are you? The priestly bartender eyed Jack in the early afternoon light. That Basher fellow tell you there was plenty of work over here?

No, he’s never been to this country, said Jack. It was another friend who said that. Dominick Flynn’s his name.

The bartender went on stacking clean glasses. Dominick Flynn....Aahh, these young fellows think they can travel everywhere and live off the fat of the land. Maybe for them...

Jack said, Dominick’s not as young as he used to be.

Maybe I have him mixed up with someone else. What does he look like?

A short stout man. His hair has gone gray and he has a front tooth missing.

And he told you how he came over here and found work as a fashion model....

He said he drove a taxicab.

There was no Dominick Flynn. He was nothing more than a collection of passwords.

The bartender said, You might go see a gentleman named Dan Carmody. He’s usually on the lookout for people willing to work.

He wrote down an address on the back of a coaster. Show him this, he said, and Jack understood.

This was a different coaster than the one from the day before. The kind of coaster might mean something, but Jack didn’t ask what that was. He assumed he was in good hands.

Dan Carmody had an office around a corner from Fordham Road. He was a middle-aged man with a smooth face and glasses. He sat behind the bare top of a battered desk and asked Jack what kind of work he did.

Jack recited all the jobs he’d had, and a few more besides.

Dan Carmody smiled and said, I hear you’re a musician too. What is it you play, the accordion? Well, you might make a better living doing that than anything else. It’s plush times for a few, hard times for everyone else. But instead of eating they’d rather spend their money on music and drink. But I’m not in the music business...

Jack looked around the office and wondered what kind of business this man was in. The barren room gave little clue.

Dan Carmody went on, There’s lots of construction work these days. If you’d like to try that, you can start Monday morning.

Jack spent the weekend roaming around the city. He left the poor slushy streets of Bronx and got on a bus heading downtown. Back in those days there was an entertainment company called Disney that ran fantasy lands pretending to be real. According to Jack, people would rather visit Disney’s fake Paris than the real thing. In Times Square Disney was turning a real part of the city into a gaudy fantasy of moving lights.

Downtown was full of tall buildings that crowded out the sky. Downtown was where the rich people lived and played. He watched them as they came out of the hotels and theaters and restaurants, happy with their world. It made him think of the cruise ship with its bright lights and huge rooms for the passengers, while the crew lived in dirty kitchens and tiny cabins.

The rich people got in taxicabs and sped away. The sidewalks were full of people on foot, jabbering at each other many languages. People walked along pressing phones to the sides of their faces, connected to a world that was not around them. Perhaps to a world of higher beings, who knows, maybe to God himself. On some corners men ranted in languages known only to themselves. From food stands came smells of spices and grease. Sidewalk vendors stood behind trays of watches and jewelry and bottles of perfume. Musicians played in the plazas, and Jack peered into their instrument cases to see how much money they were making. Maybe he’d give it a try himself if his job didn’t work out.

From sidewalk grates came the distant rumble of the subway trains.

Dan Carmody had talked about the construction business, but Jack’s part looked more like destruction. The company he worked for fixed up old buildings. They gave Jack a pry-bar, a hammer and a pair of pliers. His job was to tear the plaster off the walls and pull nails out of the bare studs, sweep the floor and push the debris down a chute to a dump box on the street below.

It was dusty work, and he wore a paper mask over his nose and mouth. At the end of the day he came home and took a shower. Sometimes he ate with the Dowlings, sometimes he went down to Connolly’s where musicians got free meals for playing in the sessions.

At Connolly’s there was much talk about Ireland, where the Brits were talking about peace and their Unionist allies were still making war. They said there could be no peace unless the IRA gave up their weapons, while the Ulster Constabulary kept theirs — now didn’t that sound like a trap?

4

One night at Connolly’s the phone rang, and the bartender answered it and then handed the phone to Jack.

Hi, this is Barbara. Remember me? The cruise ship.

Yes I do, said Jack. Where are you?

Out on Long Island. Her voice sounded distressed. Look, something came up. I need your help. I need a place to stay.

What happened?

The girl I was going to stay with, she changed her mind. I think her boy friend is living with her. Anyway, the only people I know in the city are relatives and Dad’s friends, except for you...What kind of place are you living in?

Nothing fancy. Sort of like a rooming house. An Irish couple run it.

Could I rent a room there?

Don’t know why not.

Where is it?

Up in Bronx. Not close to much of anything, except this place.

That sounds good. I thought of staying at the Y, but my father would look for me there...

So one morning Jack took the day off and rode the train out to Manhasset on Long Island. Not many people going his way, but when he got off the train he saw that the platform was full of people heading into the city. He found Barbara down at the end of the crowd, under a bridge where the street crossed overhead. She was looking the other way, but then she turned and saw him and gave a little beckoning wave of her hand. She wore a wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses on this cold gray day.

Hi, she said. This means a lot to me...

Glad to help, he said. It’s nice to see another part of the city.

I never liked it out here. She stood looking away from the crowd, holding a big purse and a shopping bag at her feet. I just hope no one sees us.

When’s our train? asked Jack.

The one you were on goes two more stops and then comes back. About twenty minutes.

When the time came he saw the train rounding a curve far down the track. When it stopped they were at the last door of the last car. They climbed on board and sat in the last seat. She pulled a newspaper out of her purse and held it up with her face behind it, peering over the top.

The train pulled away and from behind the paper she smiled and asked,

What kind of a job you got?

It’s in the construction business...No, make that destruction. I help tear apart buildings so they can put them back together again.

You like it?

It’s all right. I’m thinking maybe they’ll let me do some carpentry.

The conductor stopped at their seat and she handed him two tickets.

When he was gone, Jack said, So you’re moving out with just the clothes on your back.

Just the things I need. I couldn’t take a suitcase.

That’s like me when I left the ship. I had about three layers of clothes.

Your accordion, she said. You bring that?

Both of them.

That’s good. I liked the way you play.

Halfway into the city she began talking about her life at home. When she was ten her father got born again and left the Catholic church. At first it was just him. Her mother still took Barbara and her little brother to Saint Mary’s, but her father complained so much that she stopped. Now they both wanted her to go with them to this new church that was in a movie theater. Her brother liked it, but Barbara thought it was phony. She’d never been much of a Catholic, but this was worse. People smiled as they talked about their personal life with Jesus, they kept smiling as they called you a sinner headed for hell.

Barbara wanted to go to college, but the only one her father would pay for was a bible school in Virginia. That’s when she knew she had to leave home. She wanted to get a job in the city and take some classes, maybe save her money and go to a real school. A girl she knew was going to let Barbara share her apartment, but then that plan fell through.

She looked at Jack. I don’t want to impose on you. I just need a place to stay and then I’ll look for a job. I’ve got some money saved so I’ll be all right.

At Penn Station it was Jack’s turn to lead the way. They took the subway uptown to the Bronx, then walked a dozen blocks to Jack’s building. It’s not much, he said.

Looks all right to me, said Barbara.

They went inside and Jack knocked on the manager’s door. "Hello, Mrs.

Dowling. This is my friend Barbara, and she’d like to rent a room if you have one."

He watched Mrs. Dowling look Barbara over, and added, Isn’t there a vacant room at the end of the hall?

I suppose there is, said Mrs. Dowling. Isn’t she a bit young to be out renting rooms?

I’m eighteen, said Barbara. I can’t go back to my family, I don’t want to get hit any more...

Jack said, I can vouch for her. It’s a terrible situation she’s in with her father. She needs to be away from him and have a decent life.

Mrs. Dowling looked stricken. "Oh, I know what can happen. The things you hear about, it just breaks your heart. That poor little girl over by Grand

Concourse..."

She