Hunger, page 5
I would have paid better attention to this girl’s blather under other circumstances—because, in fact, the dollies were grander than grand—but the smell of the food was making me salivate. There was nothing on the plates in front of the dollies. Of course not. No one wasted people food on dollies. This girl was either teasing me or truly daft. “Does Alexandra really have a share?”
“Absolutely.”
“Where?”
“Just take it. Off the serving plate.”
A throbbing started in my temples. Her dolly actually had a share of this grand food. “How much?”
“However much you want.”
It couldn’t be true. No one was allowed to eat as much as they wanted.
I put a finger on the hare and looked at the girl. She was watching me, but she didn’t stop me. I couldn’t bear it a moment longer. I yanked a joint off and took a bite fast. The girl was still silent. I chewed. It was delicious. Dense and rich. Nearly as good as spuds. I ate and ate till there was nothing in my hand but two bones.
“You don’t have the best etiquette.”
“What’s that?”
“Table manners. If you eat with your fingers, you should use only the first three.”
I looked at my greasy fingers, then licked them.
She wrinkled her nose. “Clean up properly.”
With what? I held my hand over the cover and looked at her. She frowned. My hand hovered over the lacy square cloth. She frowned again. Her eyes pointed toward a little folded cloth beside the dolly’s plate. Amazing. I wiped my hand on that cloth. She nodded approval.
“That’s a serviette,” she said cheerily, but with a strange precision, like people used when they talked with folk who had no brains. “It’s what polite people use to wipe fingers and lips.”
Polite people. Did she think she was polite? I stared at her.
She stared back.
“So,” I said, “what’s your name?”
“Sue. But you should call me Miss Susanna.”
“Why?”
“Long names feel more handsome.”
“You don’t need a long name,” I said. “You are handsome.”
“You think so? In what way?”
“You have pretty hair,” I said.
“Ringlets.” She brightened up and patted the bottom of her hair so it bounced. “I have so many ringlets. The hair-curling tongs make them.” She smiled. “I curl Geraldine’s hair too.”
I smiled back. I couldn’t help it; that’s how I was built. And after all, she was talking to me at a normal pace again, not like I was a dunce. Maybe admiring her ringlets meant I’d passed her test for intelligence.
“So you liked the hare. Want to try the salmon?”
Salmon? There was only one other food on the table that I didn’t recognize. It was pinkish and shiny, and it sat beside a plate of cookies. I nodded.
“Help yourself again. It was baked for the midday meal, but it’s as cold as the hare now.”
I grabbed a hunk of salmon before she could change her mind. My fingers went right through the flesh. I nibbled at it. It was delicious—a fantasy. I ate it all. Then I wiped my fingers carefully on the serviette.
“Well, at least you learn fast,” said Miss Susanna. “But you have the strangest habits.”
I blinked.
“Not just the way you eat. You dress as though the weather is hot. And your hair is a mess. You’re plain old filthy.”
I would normally have reacted to such an attack. To the stupidity of it—she actually thought I chose to have bare arms in this frigid air. I would have given her a tongue lash, I would, especially since I knew Ma would be mortified at what she’d said—even though I was in truth manky as a mudball, given all my tramping to the bog with Da. Oh, I would have, but my stomach had suddenly decided to flop around. I thought I might heave right there. I put my hands on my belly and leaned over my crossed legs.
“Your tummy hurts? You’re not still hungry, are you?”
I shook my head.
“Good. Dad says all Irish exaggerate about being hungry. Even the prime minister says that. It was in the newspaper. Everyone knows you can always eat seaweed and field grasses if you want.”
“We ate field grasses once last spring. We were sick for days after.” The memory made me feel off-balance, as if I’d tip over if I weren’t sitting. “You wouldn’t know. You have everything.”
“I don’t have everything! That’s a stupid thing to say! You have things I don’t have.”
“Like what?” I asked, but weakly. My heart wasn’t in it. I felt too bad to really fight.
“You have tons of brothers and sisters. All Irish do.”
“I don’t.”
“Oh.” Miss Susanna gave a slight smile. “I better go back now.”
I didn’t ask where back was. My stomach was twisting like a live thing.
“Will you come again?”
I pressed both hands hard on my belly to stop the twisting.
“You will. Come soon.” She set the serving plate on the ground. “Cook’s going to be happy when she sees how much has been eaten. Dad made her promise to fatten me up.” Then she collected the dollies’ plates and the serviettes and stood. She carried them to a carriage that I hadn’t noticed before. She folded the lacy white cloth and put it in the carriage. Then she put the three dollies in the carriage. “You have to stand, silly.”
I blinked.
“How can I put the cover in my baby carriage if you’re sitting on it?”
I managed to stand and step off the cover.
And now I realized Miss Susanna was taller than me. Just barely, but enough. And fatter, of course. She seemed powerful. She folded the cover and put it in the carriage. “When you come again, I’ll bring more food. What would you like?”
Really? Maybe she wasn’t so horrible after all. “Spuds.”
“Well, I don’t know what that is, but I’ll ask Cook to make it. Come tomorrow.”
“I will,” I said. “I’ll bring Paddy. He’s my brother.”
“You said you didn’t have brothers and sisters.”
“I don’t. He’s the only one. I’ll bring him. I’ll bring all of them. All my friends.”
“No.”
No? “Why not?”
“I said so.”
What kind of answer was that? All haughty, like some sort of princess. But we needed that food. “Just the girls, then,” I said as agreeably as I could. “And Paddy.”
“No. How on earth could I control a pack of you?”
“We’re not animals. We don’t run in packs.”
“You know what I meant.”
I was sure I did. But I had to be careful and not say anything too harsh; I had to think of the food. “We’re good girls. Grand, even. Deirdre would let you hold Nola, I bet. She’s a baby. Her skin is so soft.”
“No one. You have to come alone.”
I looked at the serving dish, which was still sitting on the ground. “What are you going to do with the rest of that food?”
“You can’t take it, if that’s what you’re thinking.” She picked up the serving dish and put it into the baby carriage. “Pay attention. We need some rules. You must come alone. And you can’t tell anyone about me. Those are the rules. That’s all.”
“You’d like Paddy.” Please, I thought. Paddy, at least.
“If you show up with anyone else, I’ll tell Dad. And he’ll sic the dogs on you. He says you’re all ragamuffins.”
“You’re not nice.”
“I am too. You just don’t know me well enough yet. I fed you, didn’t I?”
My stomach wanted to empty. I clamped my lips shut hard.
“Come tomorrow and I’ll have Cook make spuds and you’ll see how nice I am.”
I shook my head. “I can’t come without Paddy. He’s little. I have to take care of him.”
“What about your nanny?”
“What?”
“Oh. Well. You don’t have a nanny. I can see that. I don’t have one right now myself. Dad fired my nanny and then I begged him to take me to Ireland with him, so he’s not hiring a new one till I get back.” She frowned. “Well, so, your brother needs care. But you came today without him.”
“That was special.”
“Well, surely you don’t have to take care of him on Sunday. Even Catholics don’t work on Sunday. Your parents can take care of him. So come on Sunday. That’s not too long to wait. In the afternoon, like today. I’ll bring the leftovers from our midday meal. It’ll be better food than you’ve ever tasted.”
I bristled, no matter that it was true. “How do you know that?”
“I’m not blind.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Indigestion
I groaned. My belly had been ruined by that feast. It was two days later, and I was still sick. At this rate, I’d fill the pit under our bog stool and Da would have to dig a new one. Normally he did that nasty job in summer. He’d be cranky about doing it when the cold ground was solid as rock.
I cleaned my bottom with a handful of mullein leaves from the pile. That pile would run out at this rate too. Then everyone would be cranky.
But the thing that would make them the crankiest would be finding out I ate that feast and didn’t bring back anything for them—not a single bite. I walked slowly to our cottage, weighed down by this secret. I hated it.
And everyone was extra cranky these days, because every day either Da or Ma had missed a night of sleep. They were now taking turns guarding our kitchen garden at night. They’d been doing that ever since the beggar man put the idea into Ma’s head that people might come in the night and steal our turnips.
“Lorraine!”
The sound came so sudden and sharp, I stumbled backward. “What, Ma?”
“Just look at you. My mind’s already heavy with your da acting like he doesn’t think straight anymore—I can’t have you off wasting time, fussing about and getting nothing done. Not you too.”
I never fooster over anything. Little Paddy does, not me. “I was only out back at the bog, Ma.”
“Again?” She squinted at me. “You look like you didn’t sleep a wink. Totally shattered.”
I was. I wanted to drop onto the mat I shared with little Paddy and go right back to sleep.
“You’re as bad off as Paddy. And here I was thinking you were stronger.” Ma put her hand in her hair and shook her head sadly. “You’re not eating enough, don’t think I haven’t noticed. You barely touched your food yesterday.”
I would have laughed if my belly hadn’t been cramping so hard. I’d eaten too much. It was the rest of them who hadn’t eaten enough. And despite all that eating, I felt hungry again. That’s how stomachs were. Greedy. Greedy and weak to temptation. What a bad person I was.
“Go get yourself ready and we’re off to church. Praying is one thing we can do, at least.”
Church? It was Sunday? So soon. I cringed. Miss Susanna had said to come back on Sunday. My jaw tightened. Miss Susanna had more food than she needed. But if I ate her food when everyone else was hungry, how could I face them? I couldn’t let myself do it again. I wouldn’t let myself think about Miss Susanna. I vowed never to visit her again.
I looked at Ma. She was tying on a bonnet, but her feet were bare and they’d stay that way. Her shoes had worn away entirely. When? A long time ago now. And I had no shoes either. What did it mean to get ready for church, then? We had nothing to put on. But I didn’t say that. And, of course, I did have a kerchief to cover my head with. At least I still had that.
I fought off the image of Miss Susanna’s shoes. Her shawl. Her bonnet.
I went inside and tied my kerchief on. Then I searched all around our sleeping mat, all around Ma and Da’s sleeping mat. I walked through the cottage, stepping everywhere, pushing things aside, including Muc, who squealed indignantly but obliged me by moving. Nothing there. I looked under the stool Da was sitting on. He was staring off into space.
“What are you doing?” Little Paddy sat on the dirt near the hearth playing with his stone collection. He had arranged them in a big circle with little circles inside. I didn’t recognize the game.
“I’m looking for Margaret.”
“Margaret? Oh, Margaret! Your dolly. I like her. She’s nice.”
“Where is she?”
“How should I know?”
“Where’s who?” Ma stood in the doorway.
“Lorraine wants Margaret. Her dolly.”
Ma’s eyes clouded.
Da somehow came alert. “You’re too old for a dolly.”
“I am not.”
“I say you are,” he barked.
Why was Da being harsh? He was the one who made me Margaret in the first place. From one of his old playing bones.
“Let her be, Francis,” said Ma. “We could all use an extra friend these days. And I don’t think Margaret’s going to get any more use from anyone else. In fact, I hope not. We can’t feed the mouths we already have.” Ma went over to a high shelf and ran her fingers along it till she grabbed on to something. She handed me Margaret.
And I realized: I was holding the doll of the little sister I’d never have. So Da hadn’t been acting harsh with me; he’s been acting protective of Ma and that little sister.
I thought about baby Nola. Deirdre got to hold her almost all the time. She was a big-eyed, squirmy, and silent bundle. Every now and then Deirdre let me hold her. I loved her hot, milky breath. But I didn’t really want a sister. I didn’t. No more babies for us. I agreed with Ma. Hunger changed everything. I rubbed the dust off Margaret’s funny face.
We walked across the land, the four of us, following a little country path, a boreen, out to the road, where the cottier families were waiting. We made a procession on the road toward town, the kids trampling the grass strip in the middle, where the wagon wheels didn’t go. It was mostly downhill and the sea breeze actually brought a little relief from the cold today. I could move my free hand from rubbing my arm to rubbing that cramping belly.
“What’s the matter with you?” asked Fiona.
“I ate too much.”
Fiona laughed. “That’s not really funny, though, you know. Remember the days when we could really get full? The good old days.” She laughed again.
Iona wriggled in between us and reached up to touch my doll. She poked her fingers in Margaret’s eyes and mouth. She rubbed Margaret’s nose gently.
“Look!” shouted Corey.
“Oh no!” screamed Deirdre.
Suddenly everyone was crowding forward to see, then crying out, saying, how awful, how sad, how revolting.
Little Paddy grabbed my hand. I tried to free myself, but he clutched even tighter. Well, I wasn’t about to be left out, so if whatever they were shouting about was really bad, he’d just have to see it. I pushed my way forward with little Paddy clinging to me.
And there they were: the man and his snappers. The ones that had come the other day, before I went out and gathered wild celery and watercress. Before I met Miss Susanna. Just a few days ago. My whole face stung and I could hardly see for a moment. It was as though a giant bee was buzzing around inside my head. They were lying dead on the road. I’d never seen people dead on the road before. I’d only seen one dead person who wasn’t yet in a casket—my granny. These people looked much worse than Granny had, though. She’d been dead on her sleeping mat, with a serene face. But their faces showed nothing. They seemed to have just lain down and waited for death together with no more feelings than tree branches. They didn’t seem like people at all. They were as different from Granny as the moon was from the sun; they looked like no one had ever loved them. I could hear a constant whimper.
And, oh no, where was the third child?
“God’s will,” said Fiona’s da. He stood over the bodies, intoning like our priest sometimes did. Then he picked up Aeden and his hand cupped the little boy’s head like a cap, like our da did to little Paddy. “We should bury them.”
“No,” said Ma. “Don’t touch them. It’s not safe.”
“But they can’t just stay here like this,” said Fiona’s ma. “Dogs . . .” She stopped and looked around at us kids, then moved closer to Ma. “You know. We can’t leave them. They deserve a proper burial.”
“They’ll get it,” said Emmet’s da. “Maybe not proper, but a burial, at least. Soldiers will come and take them away.”
“How do you know that?” asked Fiona’s ma.
“It’s what they’ve been doing. These aren’t the only dead bodies by the roadside.” Emmet’s da shook his head. “Leave it to the soldiers.”
“Food for worms,” said Emmet under his breath.
I moved away from Emmet and stared harder at the bodies. I couldn’t see any worms. And that whimper was getting louder.
Where, oh where, was that third child?
But another set of screams had already started. The third body was off in the grasses.
“Something ate his legs!”
“A dog. Like my ma said. She’s always warning us. She calls those packs ravenous. They’re dangerous.”
I looked around. Were the dogs still nearby, lurking? Would they come at us? I tucked Margaret inside my bodice and put my hands over little Paddy’s ears and pulled him to me.
“I saw them before,” said little Paddy. His eyes brimmed with tears. He took my hands off his ears and clutched them hard. “They were outside our home, that man and those children.”
“That’s nothing,” said Riley. “They spent the night in our home.”
Ma was by my side again now, her hand on my shoulder. At Riley’s words, she squeezed so hard I had to bite my lip to keep from yelping. “Your ma let them inside?”
“It’s what you’re supposed to do,” said Deirdre. “There’s always enough for one more.”
“That’s true of food. You can keep dividing it. But . . .” Ma pressed her lips together. “Ah, well, it doesn’t matter at this point.”
“What doesn’t matter?” said Quinlin. “Are you saying it was wrong to let them in?”
