Maggie Now

by Betty Smith

adamant. All names, she stated, except the Irish ones, had

  to be Americanized. That was the first step in

  Americanization. ManN a poor fellow won a new name

  that night.

  The name taking took lip most of the session but there

  was time for a short lesson. "Now, gentlemen," said Miss

  McCarthy, "we'll

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  start with a topic of current importance. The protective

  tariff." She explained the tariff as something the

  Republicans in Congress were devising to ruin the

  country. She used the proposed tariff on tin as an

  example. "Tomorrow, you can go into a certain store and

  buy a the cup for five cents. Next year, if Mr. McKinley

  has his way, the same tin cup, in the same store, will cost

  you twenty-five cents."

  "Pst, Mick Mack," whispered Patsy across the aisle.

  "What store does she mean?"

  "Why, the certain store what sells tin cups," said Mick

  Mack.

  Patsy gave him a contemptuous look as he thought: Why

  the durtee little showoff of a Unseen!

  He spoke to me! thought Mick Mack rapturously. Now I

  have a friend!

  Patsy liked to go to night school. He liked to dress up

  and have Mary wave to him from the parlor window as he

  left. He liked the admiring glances the girls walking on the

  street gave him. He liked his teacher and he liked to

  despise Mick Mack. It made him glow all over

  It was coming on Christmas and Miss McCarthy made

  an announcement. "Tomorrow will be our last class before

  the Christmas vacation. No one of you is to bring me a

  Christmas present of any sort whatever. Is that clear?"

  The next night, the last session, she came in lugging a

  large suitcase. "What's that for?" Patsy whispered to Mick

  Mack.

  "Christmas presents."

  "What Christmas presents?"

  "What we all is going to give her."

  True, there was a Christmas-wrapped package on every

  desk but his. He was the only one who had taken her

  literally. He was embarrassed. He liked his teacher and

  would have liked to give her a present.

  "But why did she say nobody was supposed to give her

  a present? "

  " 'Tis the style in Amtrica," said Mick Mack, "to say you

  don't want no presents, it being a hint that means don't

  forget to give me a present."

  "Someday," said Patsy, grinding his teeth, "you're going to

  get

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  Bucked right in the nose because YOU think YOU know so

  much." "And you, me friend, will be at me side to lick hell

  out of the man what tries it."

  It was June and school was over. Patsy escorted Miss

  McCarthy home to avoid walking with Mick Mack. He

  knew the little man would get sentimental, want to

  exchange addresses, to plan other meetings, and Patsy

  wanted none of that.

  Patsy missed the classes. He was sorry he hadn't

  obtained Mick Mack's address. Not that he liked the man.

  Oh, no! It was just that Patsy had a couple ol things to say

  to him that he, Mick Mack, wouldn't like at all. He felt he

  hadn't put Mick Mack in his place. He still had a thing or

  two he'd like to tell him.

  :t CHAPTER SEVEN V

  PATSY had been in Armerica a year. His steamship

  passage was paid in full and he owed nothing more on his

  clothes. He had about thirty dollars saved. He'd heard

  from his mother twice in the year. Both letters told him

  his had been received and hoped more would follow. She

  wrote no news of Maggie Rose or of the people he knew;

  of the village or of herself. Both letters were copied from

  Bertie's book with no personal interpolations.

  Patsy felt he ought to leave Moriarity and get a better

  job but he didn't know how to go about it. Then he

  reasoned that a nev. job might be worse than the old.

  Eventually, he decided it was better to put up with the

  drawbacks he had become used to than to take on

  unknown ones. Besides, in a Ray, he would have missed

  Mary. He was not at all in love with her but he had come

  to depend on her kindness and her understanding ways.

  Each time he thought of Biddy, however, he thought a

  new job couldn't be worse than the one he had. She was

  a nuisance. He suffered many indignities from her. She

  made him run trivial errands and help with the dishes. She

  made him listen to her tire

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  some views on life, love, drinking, religion and w hat not. When he showed his

  lack of interest, she had a way of getting close to him and nudging him with her

  big, hard bust until she had him backed into a corner. There she held him with

  her barrier bust and made him listen to her homilies. Jessie, one of the mares,

  had the same trick of nudging him into a corner and leaning against him when

  he tried to curry her.

  Biddy was also getting what he called forward. She was the kind that, had he

  made advances to her, she'd have cracked his head open. But she was also the

  type who would crack his head open if he intimated that she wasn't worth

  making advances to.

  She had him nudged into a corner one afternoon, trying to get him to agree

  with her that Teddy Roosevelt had false teeth. He thought otherwise but was on

  the point of agreeing with her in order to get away, when she suddenly dropped

  the argument and, in plain earthy words, made him a point-blank proposition.

  Now Patrick Dennis was not one to refuse any bounty that came his way, but

  he liked his bounty young and fresh and softly yielding and not ~ron-bound like

  Biddy.

  "I could not do so," he blurted out, ''witll you."

  "So you think you could do better, eh?" she said ominously.

  " 'Tis not that," he said placatingly, "but 'twould have to be with marrying."

  God forgive the lie, he thought, but what a grand, good way to get out of this

  sitchee,~sh?~n.

  "I got to marry you for that?" she gasped. "Why you're the last man I'd think

  of marrying."

  "Who was asking you?" he said. "If I couldn't do better . . ."

  "What'd you say?" she growled.

  "Nothing," he said hastily. "And take me apology for it if I did. Sure and

  you'd make me a fine wife, the way you work hard and the way you're

  healthy...."

  "Oh, Paddy, dear!" She fluttered her eyes.

  "Only," he continued, "I would want a younger woman . . . not too young,"

  he added hastily, afraid of insulting her again.

  "Someone about Miss Mary's age?" she asked.

  "I do not think about her that way--as me wife," he said.

  "You think right," she said. "She'd never marry a stable boy."

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  "She could go farther and do worse," said Patsy, stung.

  "Why, she wouldn't even spit on the likes of you!"

  "She would so," cried Patsy indignantly.

  The argument went on.
>
  Because of Biddy's forever saying that Mary wouldn't

  spit Oil him and that he wasn't fit to clean her shoes and

  because MoriaritNwas always warning him not to get

  "idears" about his daughter, Patsy gave more and more

  thought to Mary.

  I don't want her, he thought, and the Lord knows she don

  t want me and not because I'm a stable boy either. This is

  not the old country where the stable boy does not marry the

  lord's daughter. This is America, where 'tis the style, like

  Mick Mack would say, f or the poor working man to marry

  the boss's daughter. Then, books she gives me to read: All

  about poor boys what marries the rich boss's daughter and

  the poor boy then owns the factory when the old man

  croaks. A thought struck him. Did she ask me to read that

  book thinking that I'd get the hint, marry her and . . . ah,

  no, he decided; she ain't tricky the way women is.

  Is she far above me like Biddy says? Sure, she has the

  grand education sitting in school till she was twenty studying

  to be a teacher. and meself? Six years of schooling I had.

  But did I not learn Latin good the way Father hit me on me

  head with his shillelagh (at ter Mass, to give him his due)

  when I didn't say it right when I was his altar boy?

  She plays the piano to be sure. But do l not have the ear

  for music the way I can . . . the way I could, keep time to

  any tune was played the while I Jigged?

  She's rich and I'm poor. And that's the God's truth. But

  all her father's money couldn't buy for her what I do have

  for nothing: me youth. I'm twenty-one and she's

  twenty-seven. And that's old old for a woman not yet

  married.

  When I go walking, I could walk with a girl on each arm

  fat the asking. But poor Miss .lIary! Sure and she's never had

  a man make up to her. Then there is looks. She is sweet?

  but ah, she's plain in her face. So plain. And where is her

  shape? And me? I'd be Iying to meself did I not tell meself

  I'm good looking and I'll say an Act of Contrition for I've

  pride in me looks before I sleep this night.

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  SO, Patsy came to his conclusion. She wouldn't lie so

  lead oJJ marrying me. But I will not think of it for do I not

  love Maggie Rose and I could never love another. And does

  she not wait for me with love? 'Tis a lie she has another

  feller. She could love no one else after me. And when I get

  ore thousand dollars saved up, I'll go flack. I'll tell her the

  plaiting time is over and . . .

  And so he dreamed.

  It was September of his second year in America. After

  supper now, Patsy sat on the stone bench in the paved

  areaway onto which the iron-grilled door of the basement

  dining room opened. He'd sit there and smoke an

  after-supper pipe, trying to put off the time when he'd

  have to go back to his miserable little room.

  He watched the comings and goings of the people on

  the street and stared at the folk who climbed the step to

  ring Moriarity's bell. He wasn't at all interested. He was

  curious.

  On Friday nights, many policemen, in and out of

  uniform, came to the door. The procedure was always the

  same. A cop rang the bell. Moriarity appeared and put

  out his hand. Instead of shaking it, the cop put something

  in it. The Boss put some of it back into the cop's hand

  and the cop went down the stoop, saluting another cop

  who was on the way up.

  Eventually, his curiosity made him ask Biddy what it was

  all about. She was appalled at his ignorance.

  "And you living in the yard this year or more past and

  you don't know? Why 'tis graft, yes, it is, what The Boss

  is collecting. From the aitch houses. They can't run

  without paying. The madams pay the cops so the cops

  won't run them in. She cops pay our Boss so he won't

  snitch on them to the Big Cheese."

  "And who is the Big Cheese?"

  "The feller what takes half the graft The Boss collects

  from the cops what collects from the madams."

  "Can't The Boss be arrested for that?"

  "And who would artist him?"

  "A cop.,'

  "They can't because all the cops is in on the graft, too,

  and who would arrest them?"

  One October night, Patsy was sitting on the stone bench

  smok

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  ing his stub-stem clay pipe when he saw a big cop heft

  himself up the stoop. He was used to the cops coming but

  this was different. This was a cop coming on Wednesday

  night. The other cops came on Friday night.

  The big cop pressed the button. Moriarity opened the

  door and put out his hand. Instead of putting something

  into it, the cop shook it warmly. The Boss, surprised,

  pulled his hand away and wiped it on his coat.

  "Excuse me," said the Cop. "t live in East New York but

  me beat is in Manhattan."

  Patsy was alerted. There was something about that voice

  . . .

  "What the hell are you doing here then, in my precinct?

  Go see the commissioner if you want a transfer."

  "I came to see about . . ." Patsy lost the rest because the

  big cop's voice dropped to a w Lisper. But he vitas sure

  he heard his name mentioned. "And this is his address,"

  concluded the cop in his normal voice. The Boss leaned

  down over the stoop.

  "Boy?" Patsy looked up. The Boss waited. Patsy got to

  his feet. Still The Boss waited. Patsy took the pipe from

  his mouth. Then Moriarity spoke. "Patrick, the officer

  wants to see you. Take him to your room."

  Patsy was up the ladder in a htlrry. He lit the kerosene

  lamp while the big cop, with many a sigh and a wheeze,

  hefted himself up the ladder. The cop removed his

  helmet. There was that nimbus of red around his 'ribald

  head.... The cop looked around for a place to sit. His feet

  hurt so. But there was only one chair in the room and he

  was too polite to take it without an invitation. Finally

  Patsy sat on the cot and the'r,ig man took the chair. He

  sighed in relief.

  He introduced himself: 'I'm the feller vv hat licked you

  back in County Kilkenny nearly two years ago." yes, Patsy

  had known it was Big Red. And what did he want of him

  now, Patsy wondered.

  "I don't hold it against meself that I licked you. I

  thought it was right at the time. And I'm hoping that

  you'll let bygones be bygones being's everything turned

  out fine in the end."

  Patsy's heart leaped up. Everything turned out fine, Big

  Red said. Could that mean that Maggie Rose was in

  America now with

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  her big brother and Big Red had come to ask Patsy to

  marry his sister? Yes. That's what he must have come for.

  And he'd marry Maggie Rose. Yes, he would!

  "Yes. It all turned out fine for you and
for me sister.

  You've got a good job and me baby sister . . ."

  Eagerly, Patsy leaned forward and put his hand on Big

  Red's knee. He was so happy he could hardly speak.

  "Maggie Rose! Where is she? How is she?"

  "She's happy as a lark." He smiled tenderly. "She's

  expecting."

  "Expecting? Expecting what?"

  "Sure and you must have heard? She married a few

  months after you left."

  "Who . . . who married?" croaked Patsy.

  "Me sister. 'Twas from her husband I got your address."

  "What husband?"

  "Hers. You know him. The feller what sold you the

  ticket to run away from me to America?" Big Red

  laughed. "He was quite a ketch, :[ hear, the wav he came

  ten miles on his bicycle twice a week to court her."

  "He married her on me own wheel?" said Patsy,

  bewildered. "And the money given me for it stolen?"

  "How's that?" asked Big Red, equally perplexed.

  "The I,iverpool sport?"

  "I can't tell you what make 'twas."

  "So she is married," said Patsy drearily.

  "That she is. And happy, she writes me. Ah, I did you

  wrong," said Big Red humbly, 'crossing the sea to come

  between you. Many's the Novena I did for it. Ach, why

  was we all against you? I was the worst. But me own

  mother did her best to make the trouble and your mother,

  God rest her sotll, wouldn't listen to me. ..."

  "Me mother?,' interrupted Patsy. "You said, 'God rest . .

  .'?"

  That's how Patsy found out his mother had died. It was

  almost too much to bear. In a few minutes he knew he'd

  lost his Maggie Rose and his mother forever. Big Red

  kept talking, hoping to get him over the first shock.

  He assured the boy his mother had not died alone. Her

  oldest boy, Neeley, who had gone to Australia before

  Patsy was born,

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  had returned to her a few months before her death;

  Neeley's wife having died and his children long since

  scattered or married.

  Patsy held in his grief. He didn't want Big Red to see

  him weep. Men wept only before women; not before other

  men. When Patsy could hold back his grief no longer, he

  excused himself to Big Red, saying he needed to w ash his

  face. He went down and washed in the horse trough. His

  tears mingled freely with the water from the tap. He

  thought as he wept:

  Had I but stayed a while longer, he thought in anguish, l

  could have held Maggie Rose to me and now with me mother

  gone, the way would have been clear f or Maggie Rose and

  me. Not that I'd have me mother die. But if she had to go .

  . .

  He dried his face with the rough towel that had been

  issued him at the house and knelt before the trough to say

  his prayer for the dead. The horses shifted weight in the

  dark stable and made the straw rustle and Patsy was glad

  for the company of the sound. The big yellow cat weaved

  toward him, arched its back and leaned against his thigh

  for an instant, then sat close to him, lifted a paw and

  started to wash itself. Patsy felt less alone for the closeness

  of the cat.

  When he got back to his room, Big Red had Patsy's suit

  and shirt, tie, socks and shoes laid out. He urged Patsy to

  dress up.

  "'Tis not right you spend the evening alone," said Big

  Red. "The last thing me Lottie said to me when I left the

  house was: 'You bring him home with you, hear? Don't let

  the poor boy stay alone with his sorrow the night long.'

  Ah, you'll like me Lottie," said Big Red. "She'll take your

  mother's place in a way."

  Patsy went because he didn't want to be alone. Big Red

  held his arm. He thought the awareness of another human

  being would help Patsy a little. He held him the only way

  he knew how: the way he held a man he was arresting his

  right hand clasped firmly about Patsy's upper left arm,

  Patsy pulled close to him and propelled to walk a few

  steps before Big Red. It looked like an arrest, Big Red