Angela's Ashes. A Memoir of a Childhood. By Frank McCourt. This book is dedicated to my brothers, Malachy, Michael, Alphonsus. I learn from you, I admire you. Angela's ashes: a memoir/Frank McCourt. p. cm. 1. Mortal Instruments Book 2. By. Angela's Ashes A Memoir of a Childhood By Frank McCourt This. Angela's Ashes A Memoir FRANK MCCOURT ANGELA'S ASHES A Memoir • FrankMcCourt scribner SCRIBNER Avenue of the Am.
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Angela's Ashes: A Memoir is a memoir by the Irish-American author Frank McCourt, with various anecdotes and stories of his childhood. Angela's Ashes: A Memoir by Frank McCourt - Free download as PDF File .pdf), Frank McCourts astounding humor and compassion, is a glorious book that. DOWNLOAD BOOK Angela's Ashes: A Memoir => raudone.infonlimited .info/?book=X Angela's Ashes: A Memoir pdf.
Therefore, Frank is alienated the same as his father but with this difference that his father became alienated due to work and finally family in the search for his freedom and happiness; while, Frank became alienated from his family due to losing patience to see his mother and brothers tortures in the search for bringing them happiness. The lack of symmetry between the worker and the employer leads both to be in the thought of changing situation without changing the principles of the contract; that is, improving wages by employer and improving the quality of the outcome by the worker.
This lack of symmetry results in alienation mostly for the worker and the alienation of the worker is in relation with low quality of the work done and finally the low of the profit which influence both the worker and the employer but the portion of the worker is bigger than the employer in this influence and lose. In the course of the novel it becomes quite crystal clear that both father and the son alienate differently but the both experience the same result which is the problem of hunger and poverty.
This result leads the father to forget the family and think about himself while the same result makes the son to be more decisive to free the family from the Burdon of all problems that most of the families suffer due to situation of the country in that time. Religion Religious suffering is, at one and the same time, the expression of real suffering and a protest against real suffering. Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions.
It is the opium of the people. Marx, 57 Mainly every person is in this belief that Marx was making words in this way that religion was dope produced by the powerful class to retain the common people happy. The actual Marx, however, was concerned with much more cumbersome difficulties.
Among other issues, he was thinking about how an abstract mankind could be existent. He comes to this conclusion that one could not.
Just the once the world was right side up, the notion would not be required. For the meantime we ought to pay attention to it. The church in the novel as it is clear has the biggest power in the society.
Therefore, in order to people to be controlled by the church, it should do some issues to keep them controlled and simultaneously silent not to protest. The only way that they find for this issue is the matter of religion. They use religion to fear them of God for the profit of their own position and power in the society. The church brings the people in a way that they cannot do more than the satisfaction of it.
Because of this exploitation from religion, the church is very wealthy and the people who work there are considered as the upper class of the society. It is in a way that entering to the church and having a job there is the biggest dream of most of the youth in the course of the novel. As it can be understand from the ideas of Marx about religion, the church use this issue for the profit in first place in order not to give the opportunity to people to have progress in their live especially financially.
All through his childhood, Frank is weighed down by blame at his own sinfulness, mainly the sinfulness of his sexual considerations and behavior. He regularly fears that he is damned or that he has damned other people around. McCourt puts forward that his guilt affects chiefly from his Catholicism.
As he grows up, Frank learns to have the usage of confession to discharge himself of guilt, and he discontinues sensing doomed by his natural sexual desires. The church has schooled the people in a way to repent every fast after doing a wrong action in the church that sometimes it is accompanied by money charging the priests to help them to repent or just listen to their penitence.
The same issue happens for Frank in the novel.
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He is one of those people who fear from church a lot. Therefore, he goes immediately after doing any wrong action even for the ones that there is no need to go. This fear makes Frank to hate from the church gradually. This displeasure to the church starts from the very beginning of the novel: It was, of course, a miserable childhood: Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood.
This is because he comes to this conclusion that attending the church just waste his time to speak with some priest that sometimes do not like even to listen his words. Furthermore, this pressure of the church on people to keep them silent and religious comes to be one the tools for Frank to prefer alienation than to be in the service of the church which does its job for the sake of money and improving its own power. Unlike his father, Frank is very concerned with religion even if he does not interested in priests or being priest his heart has been partially occupied with religion to his mature age.
However, it can be understood that is occupation is gradually reducing. Therefore, he starts to think optimistically for his future and in order to achieve his dreams struggles as much as possible. The summit of his dreams has been the nightmare of his father.
It means he wishes to go to America to live and work. He is in this idea that America will give him the opportunities to live much better and to earn money— which is his first struggle—and to progress in his life. As usual mother is an angel figure supports him heartily even though she cannot support him financially. This revolution for Frank is for the sake of class struggle in Ireland and lack of satisfaction financially. Low wages and long term work never satisfy the working class but they have no choice other than accepting the situation.
According to Marx, class struggle makes the preliterate to go on by a glimpse to run away from this pressure. This glimpse is the revolution which waits for them. The same issue happens to Frank. Where start to have this glimpse from his childhood and this glimpse is becoming bigger and bigger by growing up. Being mature he decides to be alienated from his house because of lack of patience for the man who lives and has affair with his mother for the sake of survival and then he decides to live Ireland may be for good.
These are the starts for the revolution in Frank even though, whether he would be successful or not in America is not clear. The main character of this novel, Frank McCourt, from this class struggle makes for himself the dream of betterment. He finds this dream by immigrating back to the United States where his father with the family came back from due to financial problems. It is worth mentioning that this novel is a quite autobiographical memoir that the author writes and speaks about himself according to the history of Ireland.
In order to analyse this class struggle and its effects on frank this paper took advantage of the Marxism theory in partial.
In order to get the above mentioned achievement and application of Marxism theory for this work I did my best to look at this novel from different angles. We come to this understanding from this definition that it helps the upper class to keep their power to retain the lower class silent and obedient. In the story Frank can be a symbol of all other lower class people who finally take a suitable action to get rid of the upper class oppressions.
This is what Marx believes as the final result of its own idea. It believes that lower class at the end will run a revolution against the landlords who have repressed them for a long time and lastly victory is with the lower class. Works Cited 1. The aim of the institute is Accelerating Global Knowledge Sharing. All the journals articles are available online to the readers all over the world without financial, legal, or technical barriers other than those inseparable from gaining access to the internet itself.
Printed version of the journals is also available upon request of readers and authors. Download pdf. Remember me on this computer. Enter the email address you signed up with and we'll email you a reset link. Need an account? They laugh every day and Malachy's tongue gets better w i t h all the laughing.
W h e n he laughs you can see h o w white and small and pretty his teeth are and you can see his eyes shine. H e has blue eyes like my mother. H e has golden hair and pink cheeks. I have brown eyes like Dad. I have black hair and my cheeks are white i n the mirror. M y mother tells Mrs. Leibowitz d o w n the hall that Malachy is the happiest child i n the world. She tells M r s. Leibowitz down the hall, Frankie has the odd manner like his father.
I wonder what the odd manner is but I can't ask because I'm not supposed to be listening. I wish I could swing up into the sky, up into the clouds. I might be able to fly around the whole world and not hear my brothers, Oliver and Eugene, cry i n the middle of the night anymore. M y mother says they're always hungry. She cries i n the middle o f the night, too.
She says she's w o r n out nursing and feeding and changing and four boys is too much for her. She wishes she had one little girl all for herself. She'd give anything for one little girl. I'm i n the playground w i t h Malachy.
I'm four, he's three. H e lets me push h i m on the swing because he's no good at swinging himself and Freddie Leibowitz is i n school. W e have to stay i n the playground because the twins are sleeping and my mother says she's w o r n out.
G o out and play, she says, and give me some rest. D a d is out looking for a job again and sometimes he comes home w i t h the smell o f whiskey, singing all the songs about suffering Ireland. M a m gets angry and says Ireland can kiss her arse.
H e says that's nice language to be using i n front o f the children and she says never m i n d the language, food on the table is what she wants, not suffering Ireland. She says it was a sad day Prohibition ended because D a d gets the drink going around to saloons offering to sweep out the bars and lift barrels for a whiskey 22 or a beer. Sometimes he brings home bits o f the free lunch, rye bread, corned beef, pickles. H e puts the food on the table and drinks tea h i m self.
H e says food is a shock to the system and he doesn't k n o w where we get our appetites. M a m says,They get their appetites because they're starving half the time. W h e n D a d gets a j o b M a m is cheerful and she sings, Anyone can see why I wanted your kiss, It had to be and the reason is this Could it be true, someone like you Could love me, love me?
W h e n D a d brings home the first week's wages M a m is delighted she can pay the lovely Italian man i n the grocery shop and she can hold her head up again because there's nothing worse i n the world than to owe and be beholden to anyone. She cleans the kitchen, washes the mugs and plates, brushes crumbs and bits of food from the table, cleans out the icebox and orders a fresh block of ice from another Italian.
She downloads toilet paper that we can take d o w n the hall to the lavatory and that, she says, is better than having the headlines from the Daily News blackening your arse. She boils water on the stove and spends a day at a great tin tub washing our shirts and socks, diapers for the twins, our two sheets, our three towels.
She hangs everything out on the clotheslines behind the apartment house and we can watch the clothes dance i n w i n d and sun. She says you wouldn't want the neighbors to k n o w what you have i n the way of a wash but there's nothing like the sweetness o f clothes dried by the sun.
W h e n D a d brings home the first week's wages on a Friday night we k n o w the weekend w i l l be wonderful.
O n Saturday night M a m w i l l boil water on the stove and wash us i n the great tin tub and D a d w i l l dry us. Malachy w i l l turn around and show his behind. D a d w i l l pretend to be shocked and we'll all laugh. M a m w i l l make hot cocoa and we'll be able to stay up while D a d tells us a story out o f his head.
MacAdorey or M r. Leibowitz d o w n the hall, and D a d w i l l have the two of them rowing up a river i n Brazil chased by Indians w i t h green noses and puce shoulders. O n nights like that we can drift 23 off to sleep k n o w i n g there w i l l be a breakfast o f eggs, fried tomatoes and fried bread, tea with lashings o f sugar and milk and, later i n the day, a big dinner o f mashed potatoes, peas and ham, and a trifle M a m makes, layers o f fruit and w a r m delicious custard on a cake soaked i n sherry W h e n D a d brings home the first week's wages and the weather is fine M a m takes us to the playground.
She sits on a bench and talks to M i n n i e MacAdorey. She tells M i n n i e stories about characters i n L i m e r ick and M i n n i e tells her about characters i n Belfast and they laugh because there are funny people i n Ireland, N o r t h and South. T h e n they teach each other sad songs and Malachy and I leave the swings and seesaws to sit with them on the bench and sing, A group of young soldiers one night in a camp Were talking of sweethearts they had.
All seemed so merry except one young lad, And he was downhearted and sad. Come and join us, said one of the boys, Surely there's someone for you. But Ned shook his head and proudly he said I am in love with two, Each like a mother to me, From neither of them shall I part. For one is my mother, God bless her and love her, The other is my sweetheart.
Malachy and I sing that song and M a m and M i n n i e laugh till they cry at the way Malachy takes a deep b o w and holds his arms out to M a m at the end. D a n MacAdorey comes along on his way home from work and says R u d y Vallee better start worrying about the competition. W h e n we go home M a m makes tea and bread and j a m or mashed potatoes with butter and salt. D a d drinks the tea and eats nothing.
M a m says, G o d above, H o w can you work all day and not eat? H e says, The tea is enough. She says, You'll ruin your health, and he tells her again that food is a shock to the system. H e drinks his tea and tells us stories and shows us letters and words i n the Daily News or he smokes a cigarette, stares at the wall, runs his tongue over his lips. W h e n Dad's job goes into the third week he does not bring home the wages. O n Friday night we wait for h i m and M a m gives us bread 24 and tea.
T h e darkness comes d o w n and the lights come o n along Classon Avenue. Other men with jobs are home already and having eggs for dinner because you can't have meat on a Friday. You can hear the families talking upstairs and downstairs and down the hall and B i n g Crosby is singing on the radio, Brother, can you spare a dime? Malachy and I play with the twins. She sits at the kitchen table talking to herself,What am I going to do? Where are my four warriors?
M a m says, Leave those boys alone. They're gone to bed half hungry because you have to fill your belly w i t h whiskey. H e comes to the bedroom door. U p , boys, up. A nickel for everyone w h o promises to die for Ireland. Deep in Canadian woods we met From one bright island flown. Great is the land we tread, but yet Our hearts are with our own. Francis, Malachy, Oliver, Eugene. M a m is at the kitchen table, shaking, her hair hanging damp, her face wet.
Can't you leave them alone? Jesus, M a r y and Joseph, isn't it enough that you come home without a penny i n your pocket without making fools o f the children o n top of it? She comes to us. G o back to bed, she says. I want them up, he says. I want them ready for the day Ireland will be free from the center to the sea. Don't cross me, she says, for i f you do it'll be a sorry day in your mother's house.
H e pulls his cap down over his face and cries, M y poor mother. Poor Ireland. O c h , what are we going to do? M a m says, You're pure stone mad, and she tells us again to go to bed. H e looks at us and shakes his head at M a m as i f to say, O c h , you shouldn't talk like that i n front o f the children. I'm asking you, Are you c o m i n g home so that we can have a bit o f supper or will it be midnight with no money i n your pocket and you singing Kevin Barry and the rest o f the sad songs?
H e puts on his cap, shoves his hands into his trouser pockets, sighs and looks up at the ceiling. I told you before I'll be home, he says. Later in the day M a m dresses us. She puts the twins into the pram and off we go through the long streets of Brooklyn.
Sometimes she lets Malachy sit in the pram w h e n he's tired of trotting along beside her. She tells me I'm too big for the pram. I could tell her I have pains i n my legs from trying to keep up with her but she's not singing and I k n o w this is not the day to be talking about my pains. We come to a big gate where there's a man standing i n a box with windows all around. M a m talks to the man.
She wants to k n o w i f she can go inside to where the men are paid and maybe they'd give her some o f Dad's wages so he wouldn't spend it in the bars. The man shakes his head. I'm sorry, lady, but i f we did that we'd have half the wives i n Brooklyn storming the place. Lotta men have the drinking problem but there's nothing we can do long as they show up sober and do their work.
We wait across the street.
M a m lets me sit on the sidewalk with my back against the wall. She gives the twins their bottles of water and sugar but Malachy and I have to wait till she gets money from D a d and we can go to the Italian for tea and bread and eggs. W h e n the whistle blows at half five men i n caps and overalls swarm through the gate, their faces and hands black from the work. M a m tells us watch carefully for D a d because she can hardly see across the street herself, her eyes are that bad.
There are dozens of men, then a few, then none. M a m is crying, W h y couldn't ye see him? Are ye blind or what?
She goes back to the man i n the box. Are you sure there wouldn't be one man left inside? N o , lady, he says. They're out. We go back through the long streets o f Brooklyn. T h e twins hold up their bottles and cry for more water and sugar. Malachy says he's hungry and M a m tells h i m wait a little, we'll get money from D a d and we'll all have a nice supper. We'll go to the Italian and get eggs and make toast with the flames on the stove and we'll have jam on it.
O h , we will, and we'll all be nice and warm. We go from bar to bar looking for Dad. M a m leaves us outside with the pram while she goes i n or she sends 26 me. There are crowds o f noisy men and stale smells that remind me o f D a d w h e n he comes home with the smell o f the whiskey on h i m.
T h e man behind the bar says,Yeah, sonny, whaddya want? You're not supposeta be i n here, y'know. I'm looking for my father. Is my father here? Naw, sonny, how'd I k n o w dat? Who's your fawdah? His name is Malachy and he sings K e v i n Barry. N o , Malachy. H e calls out to the men i n the bar,Youse guys, youse k n o w guy Malachy what sings K e v i n Barry?
M e n shake their heads. O n e says he knew a guy Michael sang K e v i n Barry but he died o f the drink w h i c h he had because o f his war wounds.
T h e barman says, Jeez, Pete, I didn't ax ya to tell me history o' da woild, did I? Naw, kid. We don't let people sing i n here. Causes trouble. Specially the Irish. Let 'em sing, next the fists are flying. Besides, I never hoid a name like dat Malachy. Naw, kid, no Malachy here. T h e man called Pete holds his glass toward me. Here, kid, have a sip, but the barman says,Whaddya doin', Pete? Tryina get the k i d drunk? D o that again, Pete, an' I'll come out an' break y'ass.
M a m tries all the bars around the station before she gives up. She leans against a wall and cries. Jesus, we still have to walk all the way to Classon Avenue and I have four starving children. She sends me back into the bar where Pete offered me the sip to see i f the barman would fill the twins' bottles with water and maybe a little sugar i n each. The men i n the bar think it's very funny that the barman should be filling baby bottles but he's big and he tells them shut their lip.
H e tells me babies should be drinking milk not water and w h e n I tell h i m M a m doesn't have the money he empties the baby bottles and fills them with milk.
H e says, Tell ya m o m they need that for the teeth an' bones. Ya drink water an' sugar an' all ya get is rickets. She says she knows all about teeth and bones and rickets but beggars can't be choosers. W h e n we reach Classon Avenue she goes straight to the Italian grocery shop. She tells the man her husband is late tonight, that he's probably working overtime, and w o u l d it be at all possible to get : a few things and she'll be sure to see h i m tomorrow?
O h , she says, I don't want much. Anything you like, missus, because I k n o w you're an honest woman and you got a bunch o' nice kids there.
We have eggs and toast and j a m though we're so weary walking the long streets of Brooklyn we can barely move our jaws to chew. The twins fall asleep after eating and M a m lays them on the bed to change their diapers. She sends me down the hall to rinse the dirty diapers i n the lavatory so that they can be hung up to dry and used the next day.
Malachy helps her wash the twins' bottoms though he's ready to fall asleep himself. I crawl into bed with Malachy and the twins. I look out at M a m at the kitchen table, smoking a cigarette, drinking tea, and crying.
I want to get up and tell her I'll be a man soon and I'll get a j o b i n the place w i t h the big gate and I'll come home every Friday night with money for eggs and toast and j a m and she can sing again Anyone can see w h y I wanted your kiss. T h e next week D a d loses the job. H e comes home that Friday night, throws his wages on the table and says to M a m , Are you happy now?
Y o u hang around the gate complaining and accusing and they sack me. They were looking for an excuse and you gave it to them. H e takes a few dollars from his wages and goes out. H e comes home late roaring and singing. The twins cry and M a m shushes them and cries a long time herself.
We spend hours in the playground when the twins are sleeping, when M a m is tired, and when D a d comes home with the whiskey smell on him, roaring about Kevin Barry getting hanged on a M o n d a y morning or the R o d d y M c C o r l e y song, Up the narrow street he stepped Smiling and proud and young About the hemp-rope on his neck The golden ringlets clung, There's never a tear in the blue eyes Both glad and bright are they, As Roddy McCorley goes to die On the bridge ofToome today 28 W h e n he sings he marches around the table, M a m cries and the twins h o w l w i t h her.
She says, G o out, Frankie, go out, Malachy. You shouldn't see your father like this. Stay in the playground. We don't m i n d going to the playground. We can play w i t h the leaves piling up on the ground and we can push each other on the swings but then winter comes to Classon Avenue and the swings are frozen and won't even move. They don't have a glove between them.
That makes me laugh because I k n o w Malachy and I have four hands between us and one glove w o u l d be silly. Malachy doesn't k n o w what I'm laughing at: H e won't k n o w anything till he's four going on five.
H e holds her bottle and sings, Clap hands, clap hands, Till Daddy comes home, With buns in his pocket For Maisie alone. Malachy tries to sing that song but I tell h i m stop, it's Maisie's song.
H e starts to cry and M i n n i e says, There, there. You can sing the song. That's a song for all the children. M a c A d o r e y smiles at Malachy and I wonder what kind o f world is it where anyone can sing anyone else's song.
M i n n i e says, Don't frown, Frankie. It makes your face dark and G o d knows it's dark enough. Some day you'll have a little sister and you can sing that song to her. You'll have a little sister, surely.
There's a new baby soon, a little girl, and they call her Margaret. We all love Margaret. She has black curly hair and blue eyes like M a m and she waves her little hands and chirps like any little bird i n the trees along Classon Avenue. M i n n i e says there was a holiday in heaven the day this child was made.
She makes me dance, says M r s. W h e n D a d comes home from looking for a job he holds Margaret and sings to her: In a shady nook one moonlit night A leprechaun I spied. With scarlet cap and coat ofgreen A cruiskeen by his side. Oh, I laugh to think he was caught at last, But the fairy was laughing, too. H e walks around the kitchen w i t h her and talks to her. H e tells her h o w lovely she is w i t h her curly black hair and the blue eyes o f her mother.
H e tells her he'll take her to Ireland and they'll walk the Glens o f A n t r i m and swim i n L o u g h Neagh. H e ' l l get a j o b soon, so he will, and she'll have dresses o f silk and shoes w i t h silver buckles. T h e more D a d sings to Margaret the less she cries and as the days pass she even begins to laugh.
She laughs and we all laugh. T h e twins cried when they were small and D a d and M a m w o u l d say Whisht and H u s h and feed them and they'd go back to sleep. B u t when Margaret cries there's a high lonely feeling in the air and D a d is out o f bed i n a second, holding her to h i m , doing a slow dance around the table, singing to her, making sounds like a mother. W h e n he passes the w i n d o w where the streetlight shines i n you can see tears on his cheeks and that's strange because he never cries for anyone unless he has the drink taken and he sings the Kevin Barry song and the R o d d y M c C o r l e y song.
N o w he cries over Margaret and he has no smell o f drink on h i m. M a m tells M i n n i e MacAdorey, He's i n heaven over that child. H e hasn't touched a drop since she was born. I should've had a little girl a long time ago. O c h , they're lovely, aren't they? T h e little boys are grand, too, but you need a little girl for yourself. Lord above, i f I didn't nurse her I wouldn't be able to get near her the way he wants to be holding her day and night.
M i n n i e says it's lovely, all the same, to see a man so charmed with his little girl for isn't everyone charmed with her? The twins are able to stand and walk and they have accidents all the time.
Their bottoms are sore because they're always wet and shitty. They put dirty things i n their mouths, bits o f paper, feathers, shoelaces, and they get sick. M a m says we're all driving her crazy. She dresses the twins, puts them i n the pram, and Malachy and I take them to the playground. The cold weather is gone and the trees have green leaves up and down Classon Avenue. We race the pram around the playground and the twins laugh and make goo-goo sounds till they get hungry and start to cry.
There are two bottles i n the pram filled w i t h water and sugar and that keeps them quiet for awhile till they're hungry again and they cry so hard I don't k n o w what to do because they're so small and I wish I could give them all kinds o f food so that they'd laugh and make the baby sounds. They love the mushy food M a m makes i n a pot, bread mashed up i n milk and water and sugar. M a m calls it bread and goody. If I take the twins home n o w M a m will yell at me for giving her no rest or for waking Margaret.
We are to stay i n the playground till she sticks her head out the w i n d o w and calls for us. I make funny faces for the twins to stop their crying. I put a piece of paper on my head and let it fall and they laugh and laugh. I push the pram over to Malachy playing on the swings with Freddie Leibowitz. Malachy is trying to tell Freddie all about the way Setanta became Cuchulain.
I tell h i m stop telling that story, it's my story. H e won't stop. I push h i m and he cries, Waah, waah, I'll tell M a m. Freddie pushes me and everything turns dark in my head and I run at h i m with fists and knees and feet till he yells, Hey, stop, stop, and I won't because I can't, I don't k n o w how, and i f I stop Malachy will go on taking my story from me.
Freddie pushes me away and runs off, yelling, Frankie tried to kill me. Frankie tried to kill me. I don't k n o w what to do because I never tried to kill anyone before and n o w Malachy, on the swing, cries, Don't kill me, Frankie, and he 3i looks so helpless I put my arms around h i m and help h i m off the swing. H e hugs me. I won't tell your story anymore. I won't tell Freddie about C o o , C o o. I want to laugh but I can't because the twins are crying i n the pram and it's dark in the playground and what's the use of trying to make funny faces and letting things fall off your head when they can't see you i n the dark?
The Italian grocery shop is across the street and I see bananas, apples, oranges. I k n o w the twins can eat bananas. Malachy loves bananas and I like them myself. B u t you need money, Italians are not k n o w n for giving away bananas especially to the M c C o u r t s w h o owe them money already for groceries. M y mother tells me all the time, Never, never leave that playground except to come home. B u t what am I to do with the twins bawling with the hunger i n the pram?
I tell Malachy I'll be back i n a minute. I make sure no one is looking, grab a bunch o f bananas outside the Italian grocery shop and run down M y r t l e Avenue, away from the playground, around the block and back to the other end where there's a hole i n the fence. W e push the pram to a dark corner and peel the bananas for the twins. There are five bananas i n the bunch and we feast on them i n the dark corner. T h e twins slobber and chew and spread banana over their faces, their hair, their clothes.
I realize then that questions w i l l be asked. M a m w i l l want to k n o w w h y the twins are smothered i n bananas, where did you get them? I can't tell her about the Italian shop on the corner. That's what I'll say. A man. T h e n the strange thing happens.
There's a man at the gate o f the playground. He's calling me. O h , G o d , it's the Italian. Hey, sonny, come 'ere. Hey, talkin' to ya. Y o u the k i d w i d the little bruddas, right?
Angelas Ashes PDF
Yes, sir. Gotta bag o' fruit. I don' give it to you I trow i d out. So, heah, take the bag. Ya got apples, oranges, bananas. Ya like bananas, right? I think ya like bananas, eh? I k n o w ya like the bananas. Heah, take the bag. Ya gotta nice mother there. Ya father? Well, ya know, he's got the problem, the Irish thing. Give them twins a banana. Shud 'em up.
I hear 'em all the way cross the street. Thank you, sir. Polite kid, eh? Where ja loin dat? M y father told me to say thanks, sir. Your father? O h , well. Dad sits at the table reading the paper.
H e says that President Roosevelt is a good man and everyone i n America will soon have a job. M a m is on the other side o f the table feeding Margaret w i t h a bottle. She has the hard look that frightens me. Where did you get that fruit? T h e Italian man gave it to me. D i d you steal that fruit? Malachy says, T h e man. T h e man gave Frankie the bag. A n d what did you do to Freddie Leibowitz? His mother was here.
Lovely woman. I don't k n o w what we'd do without her and M i n n i e MacAdorey. A n d you had to attack poor Freddie.
Malachy jumps up and down. H e din't. Din't try to kill Freddie. Din't try to kill me. Dad says, Whisht, Malachy, whisht. C o m e over here. A n d he takes Malachy on his lap. M y mother says, G o down the hall and tell Freddie you're sorry.
But D a d says, D o you want to tell Freddie you're sorry? I don't. M y parents look at one another. D a d says, Freddie is a good boy. H e was only pushing your little brother on the swing. Isn't that right? H e was trying to steal my Cuchulain story. Freddie doesn't care about the Cuchulain story. Hundreds of stories. He's Jewish. What's Jewish? Dad laughs.
Jewish is, Jewish is people w i t h their o w n stories. They don't need Cuchulain.
They have Moses. They have Samson. What's Samson? If you go down and talk to Freddie I'll tell you about Samson later. You can tell Freddie you're sorry and you'll never do it again and you can even ask h i m about Samson. Anything you like as long as you talk to Freddie. Is she all right? M y mother says, O f course she's all right. She's feeding. G o d above, you're a bundle o f nerves.
They're talking about Margaret now and I'm forgotten. I don't care. I'm going down the hall to ask Freddie about Samson, to see i f Samson is as good as Cuchulain, to see i f Freddie has his o w n story or i f he still wants to steal Cuchulain. Malachy wants to go with me now that my father is standing and doesn't have a lap anymore.
Leibowitz says, O h , Frankie, Frankie, come i n , come in. A n d little Malachy.
A n d tell me, Frankie, what did you do to Freddie? Tried to kill him? Freddie is a good boy, Frankie. Reads his book. Listens to radio with his papa. H e swinks you brother on swink. O h , Frankie, Frankie. A n d you poor mother and her sick baby. She's not sick, Mrs. Sick she is. Zat is one sick baby. I k n o w from sick babies. I work i n hoztipal. D o n ' t tell me, Frankie. Freddie, Freddie, Frankie is here.
Frankie won't kill you no more.
Angela's Ashes: A Memoir by Frank McCourt
You and little Malachy. N i c e Chewish name, have piece cake, eh? W h y they give you a Chewish name, eh? So, glass milk, piece cake. You boys so thin, Irish don't eat. We sit at the table with Freddie, eating cake, drinking milk. L e i bowitz sits i n an armchair reading the paper, listening to the radio. Sometimes he speaks to Mrs.
Leibowitz and I don't understand because strange sounds come from his mouth. Freddie understands. Leibowitz makes the strange sounds Freddie gets up and takes h i m a piece o f cake.
Leibowitz smiles at Freddie and pats his head and Freddie smiles back and makes the strange sounds. Leibowitz shakes her head at Malachy and me. Oy, so thin. Leibowitz says words we can understand, W h e n Irish oyes are smiling.
Leibowitz laughs so hard her body shakes and she holds her stomach and Malachy says O y again because he knows that makes everyone laugh. Leibowitz, my father said Freddie has a favorite story.
Everyone laughs again but I don't because I can't remember what comes after Sam. Freddie mumbles through his cake, Samson, and M r s. Leibowitz tells h i m , Don't talk w i z you mouse full, and I laugh because she's grown-up and she says mouse instead o f mouth. Malachy laughs because I laugh and the Leibowitzes look at each other and smile.
Freddie says, N o t Samson. M y favorite story is David and the giant, Goliath. David killed h i m dead w i t h a slingshot, a stone i n his head. H i s brains was on the ground.
Were on the ground, says M r. Yes, Papa. That's what Freddie calls his father and D a d is what I call my father. M y mother's whisper wakes me.
What's up w i t h the child? It's still early and there isn't much morning i n the room but you can see D a d over by the w i n d o w w i t h Margaret i n his arms. He's rocking her and sighing, O c h. M a m says, Is she, is she sick? O c h , she's very quiet and she's a wee bit cold.
M y mother is out o f the bed, taking the child. G o for the doctor. G o for God's sake, and my father is pulling on his trousers over his shirt, no jacket, shoes, no socks on this bitter day. W e wait i n the room, the twins asleep at the bottom o f the bed, Malachy stirring beside me. Frankie, I want a drink o f water. M a m rocks in her bed w i t h the baby in her arms. O h , Margaret, Margaret, my o w n little love.
Angela's Ashes: A Memoir by Frank McCourt
O p e n your lovely blue eyes, my little leanv. I fill a cup of water for Malachy and me and my mother wails,Water for you and your brother. O h , indeed, Water, is it? A n d nothing for your sister. Your poor little sister. D i d you ask i f she'd like a drop o f water? G o on and drink your water, you and your brother, as i f nothing happened.
A regular day for the two o f you, isn't it? A n d the twins sleeping away as i f they didn't have a care and their poor little sister sick here in my arms. Sick in my arms. O h , sweet Jesus i n heaven.
W h y is she talking like this? She's not talking like my mother today. I want my father. Where is my father?
I get back into bed and start to cry. Malachy says,Why you cry? Your sister is sick i n my arms and you're 35 there w h i n i n g and whinging. If I go over to that bed I'll give you something to whinge about. Dad is back with the doctor. D a d has the whiskey smell. T h e doctor examines the baby, prods her, raises her eyelids, feels her neck, arms, legs. H e straightens up and shakes his head. She's gone. M a m reaches for the baby, hugs her, turns to the wall. T h e doctor wants to know, Was there any kind o f accident?
D i d anyone drop the baby? D i d the boys play too hard with her? M y father shakes his head. D o c t o r says he'll have to take her to examine her and D a d signs a paper.
M y mother begs for another few minutes w i t h her baby but the doctor says he doesn't have all day. W h e n D a d reaches for Margaret my mother pulls away against the wall. She has the w i l d look, her black curly hair is damp on her forehead and there is sweat all over her face, her eyes are wide open and her face is shiny with tears, she keeps shaking her head and moaning, A h , no, ah, no, till D a d eases the baby from her arms.
T h e doctor wraps Margaret completely i n a blanket and my mother cries, O h , Jesus, you'll smother her. Jesus, M a r y and Joseph, help me. The doctor leaves. M y mother turns to the wall and doesn't make a move or sound. T h e twins are awake, crying with the hunger, but Dad stands i n the middle o f the room, staring at the ceiling.
His face is white and he beats on his thighs with his fists. H e comes to the bed, puts his hand on my head. H i s hand is shaking. Francis, I'm going out for cigarettes. M a m stays i n the bed all day, hardly moving. Malachy and I fill the twins' bottles with water and sugar. In the kitchen we find a half loaf of stale bread and two cold sausages.
We can't have tea because the milk is sour i n the icebox where the ice is melted again and everyone knows you can't drink tea without milk unless your father gives it to you out of his m u g while he's telling you about Cuchulain.
The twins are hungry again but I k n o w I can't give them water and sugar all day and night. I boil sour milk i n a pot, mash i n some o f the stale bread, and try to feed them from a cup, bread and goody. They make faces and run to Mam's bed, crying.They won't eat the bread and goodytill I kill the taste of the sour milk with sugar. I have black hair and my cheeks are white i n the mirror. Philomena said, O u r little cousin no sooner gets off the boat than you are at her.
Sticking o n middle names was an atrocious A m e r ican habit and there was no need for a second name w h e n you're christened after the man from Assisi. Hey, talkin' to ya.
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