Maggie's Breakfast (14 page)

“First floor, sir. Watch your step, please.”

The lift didn’t come in line with the landing. He hit his boot off the edge and about four pounds of horseshit fell off his sole into the lift.

“Thank ya, boy.”

“You’re very welcome, sir.” And a muttering under my breath, “And thank you for the horseshit you forgot to leave at the fair. I hope to Christ you fall off your wallet,
you miserable country mug!”

Down to the ground floor again. Gates open.

The two other pages looked into the lift and saw the cow shit. “Are you shitting in the lift again?”

I didn’t answer.

“The porter won’t like that. He’ll put you to cleanin’ the spits off the brass radiators.”

“Some vein-popping-faced mug was too damn lazy to lift his farm boots. How about giving me a hand with cleanin’ this dung?”

“Clean it yourself, you got the tip.”

I was as mad as the country maids that cleaned the lavatories. “Them lousy horse-traders wouldn’t give you the steam off their piss.”

Out I go and get the shovel and broom to clean the lift. Seven o’clock.

Time to go off duty.

* * *

Billy Whelan was waiting outside my door when I came home from a long day at work.

“Any sign of John Wayne?” he asked me.

“No.” I got off my bicycle and put it against the window-sill.

“Any movie stars come in?”

“I didn’t see any.”

I could see my mother inside the window behind the curtains. She was cleaning the small statue of the Infant of Prague. There was something special about the statue. I think it was because it
had a crown on its head and because of the robes it was wearing. It looked like a little rich person, maybe a prince or a princess.

Billy’s voice called to me again. “You know what I think?”

The sight of my mother in the window with the statue had made me forget what Billy was talking about. “What?”

“I think they went to the other hotel.”

“Who?”

“The American film stars.”

“What other hotel?”

“The Gresham.”

“How do you know that?”

“I was standin’ outside it today and I saw somebody go in.”

“Who?”

“I think she was an actress.”

“Who?”

“Dorothy Lamour. In
The Hurricane
with Jon Hall?”

“Are you sure?”

“I think I’m sure. Looked just like her.”

“Did she have black hair?”

“No. Blondie.”

“Blondie? Dorothy Lamour has black hair. She’s half-French and half something else.”

“So it wasn’t her? I think you’re right.”

My mother then pulled the curtains across and stuck her face next to the pane of glass. She called out and tapped on the window at the same time.

“Come in out’a that, will ya? Your dinner’s on the table!”

I waved back, indicating I was on my way in.

Billy had a film magazine in his hand and he pointed to a photograph in it. “Look at this!”

“What?”

“Robert Taylor is comin’ here to make a film.”

“What’s it called?”

“
Knights of the Round Table.
”

“I read in the paper it was
Quo Vadis
.”

“What kind of a fuckin’ name is that?”

“It’s Latin. Listen to the priest and you’ll find out.”

Billy then added, “Elizabeth Taylor is in it as well.”

“Where did you get that magazine?”

“Shamie Finnerty gave it to me.”

“Shamie from Keogh Square?”

“Right.”

“Where’d he get it?”

“He stole it.”

“Can I borrow it?”

“Yeah.” Billy gave me the magazine.

I walked into the house.

Billy called after me, “Don’t forget to ask John Wayne for his autograph if he comes in!”

“Okay!” I called back as my mother slammed the door behind me.

I wasn’t in the house but a minute when I heard a knocking on the door. I went to open it and Billy was still standing there.

“I want me magazine back,” he said.

I walked back to the kitchen table and got it for him.

“Shamie will go bleedin’ nuts if I lose this. I’ll let you have it tomorrow,” he said and walked away.

* * *

Blister Dempsey was about two years older than I was. For most of the day we stood next to the lift and waited to be called by the hall porter. When either one of us
wasn’t operating the lift we’d run messages or polish anything that needed polishing in the lobby. Blister didn’t like the fact that I was assigned the responsibility of operating
the lift. He knew the customers who took the lift were the best tippers. Everybody knew that. Whoever operated the lift made the most money. The hall porter didn’t want Blister on the lift
because he had a very pimply face. His face was filled with pimples and half the time they were boiling over and the yellow stuff would drip down his jaw. Nobody ever said that was the reason
Blister wasn’t assigned the lift but it was obvious.

Blister and I often talked about leaving the hotel and going away to England or even some other more exotic place. It might have been because we had very little to do sometimes. On a slow day we
would talk for hours. Blister had a great head of hair but it was so caked with oil the back of his neck looked like a wheel axle. Blister sometimes took over the lift when I went to lunch and
supper. His mother worked in the hotel kitchen mopping up the gravy and soup that fell out of the large boiling pots. He wasn’t happy having charge of the lift part-time. He wanted to operate
it all day. He was very hungry for the tips. When rich-looking customers entered the hallway he rushed to operate the lift, but I always beat him to it. I managed to get my hand on the handle that
controlled it. He also knew the hall porter wanted me to do the operating.

One day he told me about a plan he had. He was going to go away on a ship. He said he had found out all the information from a friend of his. A shipping company in England, the Orient Line, was
hiring waiters for service on board their ships that sailed all over the world. Blister said he had made arrangements to go to Tilbury in England to be hired as a waiter on one of the luxury
liners. The ship was to sail to Trinidad and places like that. He told me I could go with him. At first I didn’t believe him, but then he told me to go down to the kitchen and check with his
mother. If his mother knew about it I would believe him. I turned over the lift to him and went downstairs to the hot kitchen to see his mother.

I was very excited about the idea of leaving on a ship. Mrs. Dempsey was scrubbing the concrete kitchen floor when I got there. The smell of chicken soup was all over her. Somebody had knocked
over one of the large cooking pots and spilled the soup. Mrs. Dempsey was mopping, and the sweat was flowing from her forehead. I walked up to her, avoiding stepping in the spilled soup.

“What d’ya want?”

“Can I ask you a question, Mrs. Dempsey?”

“What?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“
What?
”

“Is Blister going away on a ship?” I asked her.

She looked up at me and began to drink the beads of sweat that poured from her forehead into her mouth. “A ship?” she said, suspicious of my question. She squeezed the rag she was
wiping the floor with into the bucket. “Blister said that?”

“Yes.”

“A ship?” she said again.

“Yes, he just told me he filled out the papers with the Orient Line, in Tilbury, England.”

“England?”

“Tilbury. It’s the docks near London.”

“Blister said them things?”

“That’s what he told me.”

“When did he say them things?”

“A few minutes ago. Is he goin’ away to work on the Orient Line?”

“He is. He’s goin’. Isn’t that what he told you?”

I nodded my head, turned away and let her continue with her work. Back up in the front hall I told Blister I believed him. We then talked and made plans. We were both to go to the hall porter
and tell him we were finished with working. We decided to go together.

Blister stopped me as we were halfway across the floor.

“Look, why don’t we do it one at a time?” he said to me.

“Okay.”

“You go tell him first, I’ll follow you.”

He was bigger and older than I was and I wondered why I should be first. When I told him to go first, he reminded me that he was the one with the plan and papers. I finally got up my nerves and
held them tight. I walked over to the head porter.

“I want to hand in my notice.”

Larry the hall porter looked down at me.

“Your what?”

“My notice. I’m not goin’ to be working here any longer.”

“Where you goin’?”

“I’m goin’ to England.”

“For what?”

“To work.”

“Where?”

“I’m gettin’ a job on the Orient Line.”

“Doin’ what?”

“A waiter. A steward. Servin’.”

“You’ve no experience.”

“Well, how’s it goin’ to matter? I’m able to do it.”

“Who told you all this?”

“Blister.”

“Blister?”

“Yes. He’s got all papers and info.”

“Blister?”

“Yes.”

“Does your mother know about this?”

“No.”

“You’re too young.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You have to be eighteen. Does your father know?”

“My father doesn’t talk to me.”

“You better tell him.”

“He won’t care.”

“Who knows about this?”

“Nobody knows about it. I’m going away. I’m leavin’ Dublin.”

The hall porter turned away as if to ignore me. Hoping that I’d leave him alone and go back to the lift.

I just stood there.

“What?” he asked me impatiently.

“I’m givin’ in me notice. I’m goin’ away.”

“You’re talkin’ through your arse, Walsh. Go back to the lift.”

“I’m leavin’. It’s the truth.”

“You the same fella who didn’t know if Inchicore is up or down? You don’t have a trade and your father doesn’t have a trade.”

“Leave my father out of it!”

“I’m sayin’ if your father doesn’t have a trade the likelihood is that you’ll be down on the balls of your feet walkin’ around Dublin lookin’ for a
job.”

“I’m gettin’ a job on the Orient Line in England. I don’t want to be standin’ up against the wall over there all my life.”

“Listen to me, will ya? As long as your arsehole faces the ground you won’t do better than what you’ve got here. I’m tellin’ you.”

“I’m leavin’. And this is my week’s notice,” I said back.

“Well, get outta me sight. Go away with yourself. Go down to the office and tell the pay clerk.”

“So it’s official?” I asked.

“Yes, it’s very official. And if you ask me you’re a bit of a nut case. I think you left your brains in the skull of Oliver Plunkett when you went up there to
Drogheda.”

“I never went up to Drogheda!”

“Well, you shoulda. All I can say is, I hope your poor mother knows what you’re up to.”

I turned from the hall porter’s area and went back to Blister.

“I’ve done it, I’m outta here! Go on over! He’s in a good mood.”

Blister was silent. He looked at me, then turned his face the other way. I kept telling him about the good mood the hall porter was in but Blister wasn’t listening. It dawned on me after a
minute that Blister had played a trick on me. His mother had played a trick. I had left my job and now Blister wasn’t going to leave with me. I asked him about the ship and travel plans and
he admitted it was all a joke, just to get me out of the lift. He said his mother needed all the pennies he could get his hands on. He wasn’t making enough tips standing in the hall running
for papers and taxis. For a few seconds I thought about going back to the hall porter and telling him it was a joke but, as I stood there without the sense of having to stay, I kept thinking. I
looked at Blister with all the greasy pimples on his face. He was half-crying.

I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid to back down and tell the hall porter I didn’t know what I was doing. For a minute I wanted to hit Blister in the face but I held back. I had
just pulled the world down on myself and I was getting more frightened by the second.

I was out of the job I loved. I decided that I would leave anyway. I would stick with my plans to go and work on the Orient Line and sail away to Trinidad and Fiji. The thought of travelling so
far away made more and more sense to me. I was feeling freer, even though I knew it would only last till I spent my wages. I turned away from the lift and Blister walked into it. He sat down on my
chair. His face was red. The oil he had in his hair was dripping down on his forehead just like the sweat from his mother’s head.

I passed through the hotel, telling everybody I had finished with my job. Most of them didn’t believe me. I was off to work on the Orient Line. When I passed everybody and faced the gate
of the hotel I realised I was walking out for the last time. I would never be able to get John Wayne’s autograph for Billy Whelan. I felt bad and sorry for myself and was feeling lonely
again. I was already missing my friends and unhappy with what I’d done, but I just wasn’t able to turn back and tell the hall porter I’d made a mistake. Tears came to my eyes. I
began to cry out loud.

I walked out the gate of Jury’s, stepping over sacks of onions, carrots and potatoes. It was raining outside. My brass buttons were gone. No more coal buckets, no more farmers’
horseshit. No more spits on brass radiators. I could see Blister sitting in my chair in the lift. I had allowed my fantasies to take me away from the world I was happy in. I had never thought
Blister Dempsey was smart but he outsmarted me because he knew I would want to sail away to a distant place. I wished I hadn’t been such a fool. I started to walk away and didn’t know
what direction I was going in and I didn’t care. I walked towards O’Connell Street and nearly got run over by a car and a hundred bicycles. I wandered about for hours wondering what my
mother and father would say when they found out about me.

I wandered over to the outdoor stalls on Moore Street. The stalls were laden down with every imaginable kind of meat, fruit, and fish, including fly-covered tripe, cows’ tongues and
pigs’ cheeks. Every once in a while a dog or a cat managed to get hold of the cow’s tongue or the nose of the pig and run away towards Henry Street. If the anxious animal was lucky it
escaped with the food. Usually it was grabbed by the tail and its head ended up with the fish-heads under the stall. Anyone walking on Moore Street got called and coddled into purchasing something.
Even if they didn’t want what they were talked into buying. Often passers-by found a head of cabbage or half a pig’s cheek in their hands when they walked by a stall. The chesty vendors
with charm and determination convinced reluctant customers to buy the food and only asked for whatever they could cadge out of the person who didn’t like cabbage and who couldn’t stand
the sight of half a pig’s head in their hands. The vendors’ voices on Moore Street could be heard streets away. A ‘secret’ on Moore Street would be as rare as an undamaged
apple.