Brendan tells about himself and the rest...

Now comes myself -- third born and named after the saint rumored to have landed on Greenland, for some reason. My looks I took more from my mother, being small, darkly-fair and wiry even for a lad of ten years. My face was broader than my brother’s, my eyes as wide, and my thick black hair was so massed with curls, it was always a struggle to keep from being tangled, unlike the straight brown mops of the rest of my siblings. Many a neighbor woman told Ma it was certain I took after the older Farrells, though none had been around for decades and Ma's few snaps of them were of poor of quality. She didn't truly accept that comparison; she thought me too odd. 

"It's only toys he cares for, and he tears them apart, like an idiot hound." 

She was having a craic with Mrs. Cahan, on the settee, each with a mug of tea refreshed from a kettle hanging over the hearth, and the woman gently said, "But doesn't he then put them back together? The ones he has are such poor things. I wonder if he's trying to smarten them up?" 

"Nonsense," Ma had snorted. "He barely pays mind to anything but them. I can talk at him an hour and he won't hear a word till I flick his ear. then he looks at me, huffy and irritated. None of the other lads around here are like that, nor will he even try to play with them. It's his toys, only. I think he's just simple...and isn't it perfect to have one like him, now? I can only hope this next one's not the same." 

It took me some years to recall them having this conversation, with me being not four years old and focused on making the wheels fit back onto an old wind-up Castoy so they'd stay. I wasn't having much luck. 

Still, Mrs. Cahan had a good eye for me and my being a rare duck. By the age of ten, I could fix just about anything, from clock to transistor radio to the electric light in the parlor. But all that mattered to Ma was the little money I'd make off repairing other people's things. She was always adamant I give it over. However, by the age of nine and seeing how she was with Eamonn's wages, over and over, I held back at least half and hid it in little spots I'd fix up around the house when she was asleep or out. I felt quite the lively little sneak in doing so. 

That next one was Rhuari, almost three years younger than myself and my shadow in every way he could be. His face and feel were plain and direct, with big eyes flanking a short nose, who could spend hours watching me work my magic on a broken wind-up toy. He had yet to take the form or look of either parent, which led Mrs. Keogh, of Doolin Street by Fanin Court, to be certain he was from what she called a friendship between Ma and a certain butcher. 

I only knew she thought this because I came up with a clock I'd fixed for Mrs. Cormac, her neighbor, who was nodding with pursed lips as they washed their stoops, so neither noticed me, at first. When they did, they acted as if they were discussing state secrets and fumed about me with anger, the old cows. 

After Rhuari came Maeve, but six years old, at the time, and so obviously the sister to him, Mrs. Keogh’s gossip extended to her. But she'd forgot that by the time Maeve was set into motion, the gentleman in question had long encamped for Australia and the prospect of a better life. And the truth was, both she and Rhuari had the look of Aunt Mari, more calm and gentle than any of us. You could tell from the photos she’d send from America; I felt it fortunate her three -- a boy and two girls -- took more after her big, bluff husband than herself. 

Last would be Kieran, born but five months after the death of our father and growing up never to know the burning hate in his father's voice or the question of whether he’d meet the end of Da’s fist or the back of Ma’s hand, if either was in the mood. He came early, as if impatient to get started, and his looks were tainted by Ma with none of Da noticeable about him. 

The three miscarriages were mingled in with these births, whereupon one midwife severely cautioned her against having another. But again...the church being the church, where science and sense had no place in man’s day-to-day life, that advice was ignored. A woman is there for her husband and God will decide who lives and who dies, and to interfere with that in any way was hubris of the most blasphemous sort. Considering how long it took Ma to recover from the birth of Kieran, leaving Mairead to care for us with Mrs. Haggerty's help, that made it one more good thing Da was gone. 

For Ma. 

Though I did not really understand this until many years later. 

After the second miscarriage, Ma became obsessed with us being clean. She was already tight on that but it became close to a mania with her. Everyone bathed every other day, even when not necessary. Nits were removed from our heads, at the same time, using a fine tooth comb she would soak in alcohol, then our hair washed with a vinegar concoction neither of the girls liked and which made Eamonn hate even the thought of vinegar on his fish and chips. Clothes were washed and neat. The ragged floor scrubbed and sheets fresh on the bed. 

This dragged me and Eamonn into fixing the hovel up so it wouldn't be too much of a danger to us. I came to realize Da had actually done some work on it before I was born. It had been condemned as uninhabitable before Ma and Da took it over, so he had shored up the stairs and bedrooms and slapped paper on the walls. Made it livable, but only just. Still, with some of Eamonn's friends, we got it all redone to a fine enough shape. That is to say, they were happy with it, but I felt we could have done better. 

I also happened to learn my parents used Mrs. Haggerty's address to sign on for the dole, claiming we were all in one room of hers. As I understood it, this helped with her rent and kept ours low. It continued long after Da's death. Adding to this, after he died Ma became more and more fixated on his martyrdom and Ireland's history of being oppressed. Not that we weren't told all of this in school by the brothers. The life of a Catholic in Northern Ireland was held up as that of suffering towards greatness, and made no sense to me so I paid little attention. You might think to have so many crammed into a maisonette only half-wired for electric and a toilet outside was horribly cramped, but it was not considered usual for the Bogside. Normal situation was one family per room and sharing the kitchen and hearth and toilet and pump, and rising quite a hideous stench. But then, most were related to each other, so I came to think Ma and Da being separate from their families is what kept us from being pushed into that same situation. 

Of course, my siblings and I were all born in that hovel, not in hospital or the infirmary. When it was my time, Eamonn and Mairead were sent to stay, with Mrs. O’Canainn and Da was off using the miracle of my birth to cadge a few drinks off the lads at McReady’s, which extended into more than one day. So when he came home lost in his spirits, he and Ma had a great set-to despite her post-birth condition, since nothing was left of the dole and there was no food in the pantry. 

Through which I slept, Ma wrote in a letter to Aunt Mari as she complained about her husband. 

Which brought Aunt Mari no end of joy, if her response was to be believed. “It seems he was born knowing how to deal with the both of you.” 

To which, Ma wrote back in her too-precise hand, “No, I just think he was born simple.”