Maggie's Breakfast (19 page)

The woman pressed a button. I went upwards. The lift stopped on the first floor. I got off but I was lost again. I was standing where everything was polished and clean.

I didn’t know which way to turn. I walked down the corridor where two rich-looking English types were stepping into the lift. I followed them into the lift and descended to the main floor.
The doors of the lift opened. The rich-looking couple stepped out. I stayed behind for a few seconds. I sensed I had arrived in a place I wasn’t supposed to be. I thought of pressing the
button and going back up but decided to walk across the main floor. My brown-paper bag was under my arm and everything I was wearing, except my trousers, was worn-out. Apart from the trousers,
nothing I had on me had a memory of newness.

As I walked towards the front door of the hotel I heard a loud “Hey!” I instinctively knew the “Hey” was referring to me. It was the doorman who’d sent me around to
the back of the hotel to ask for a job.

He ran across the lobby and leaped at me. “What in the name of Jaysus are you doin’ here?” he asked with his eyebrows stretched to the ceiling.

I couldn’t answer. I must have looked like a newly electrocuted cat.

“What in the Devil’s arsehole brought you through here?” he blurted out with a shower of spittle.

I’d never heard anyone mention the Devil’s arse before and when he said it I was reminded of Purgatory and the sins that got burnt off the bottoms of the sinners who went there
before they were allowed to enter Heaven.

The man opened his mouth so wide I could see the back of his tongue. “How’d you get here?” he yelled again. His eyebrows were now back in place and he had sucked his tongue
back into his mouth.

“I’m lost,” I said.

“How did you get in there?” he questioned me again, almost whispering this time.

“I went the wrong way.”

“What d’ya have in that bag?”

I opened the bag and showed him the tattered trousers.

He looked baffled and I wondered if he would make the connection with the brand-new trousers I was wearing. He didn’t.

“What d’ya have in your pockets?”

“I’ve nothin’ in my pockets. My pockets are full of holes and they don’t hold anything.”

“Show me what ya have in your pockets this minute!”

I pulled the two hole-infested pockets of my trousers out to show him.

“I did nothin’!” I said and was about to burst out crying.

The man straightened himself up. “You bloody ragged git, slide your dirty arse out of here before I make a holy show of you!”

As I proceeded to walk across the marble floor he made a grab for me.

“Go out the back way!” he yelled.

“I don’t know where it is.”

“I’ll show you the way. And be quick while you’re at it. Don’t let me see your filthy arse around here ever again.”

I continued to walk towards the front door.

“You’re goin’ the wrong way!” he yelled at me.

But it was too late. I had reached the swinging doors and walked out onto the street with the rest of the swanks, feeling a bit different already.

In the dressing-room after a day’s work the waiters who were stiff and formal while on duty would soon descend into a mad ragtag group who talked about the customers they
had just served.

“That bitch! Did ya see her? She wanted more gravy! Her prick of a husband with his sun-baked face wanted more brandy!”

“And who was the creep next to her who kept telling me to watch me elbow whenever I served him peas and carrots? I had to bend down to serve him, didn’t I? If I served him standing
up I’da poured the mashed potatoes on his greasy head that smelled like a whorehouse. I was almost into a fit of sneezin’ by the smell of piss from his trousers. And the two who kept
sending everything back because the beef was too hot or too much or they had changed their minds over and over!”

“And what about that bastard with the big fat cigar stuck to his lips? He was a fuckin’ Arab or Egyptian. King Baldy Farouk. He’s no Farouk. Or maybe he was French. Fuck him
whoever he was. He kept askin’ me for a light. I’m holdin’ two hot dishes of veg and he’s asking me for a light as well! I shoulda burnt his moustache. If he had come over
to light up his cigar I’da been lagged in for murderin’ the bastard. He kept puffing and puffing the smoke in me eyes. I wanted to stick that stub of ash up his arse. Me feet was wore
out runnin’ back and forth gettin’ him cigars and cigarettes. Every brand in the world he had on the table in front of him. The smell was horrible.”

“And did ya see the English pisser dressed in his jodhpurs and the horse shite still on the heels of his boots? The white silk shirt with the brandy stains on it? He walked across the
carpet and left a trail of dung that made the place smell like a stable. The fuckin’ Frenchman almost grew hair when he saw what was on the carpet. ‘
Mon dieu, mon dieu, mon shite!
Parlez-vous beaucoup?’
Monsieur Tripe doesn’t even speak English, or he won’t.”

“And No Knickers Lizzie O’Rourke with her bleedin’ vacuum! Buzzin’ all over the place when she was told only to vacuum the spot near the door! She just came down to see
who was eatin’ what and how we were all doin’ on the job. I think she’s been screwin’ too many old men up there on the fourth floor.”

“What was the name of that film star that was here a coupla years ago?”

“What film star?”

“The big black-headed fella from Hollywood.”

“They’re all from Hollywood. Rock Gibraltar Hudson?”

“Was that him?”

“The fella who was playin’ the part of Captain Lightfoot?”

“Him? That was years ago!”

“I know it was. He was a good tipper. I think he fancied you, Barney. Did you give him a bit of your Lightfoot?”

“Ah, shut up and go off with yourself!”

“And him a symbol of cockology the world over!”

“Who’d want me anyway? Me own wife only wants me money.”

“I’ve got lounge duty today! Tea and toast! Tea and biscuits! The brandy guys who sit around all day wearin’ out the newspaper with their eyes! Y’ever see them with the
newspaper? They read it and they read it. Then they turn the page and then they turn it again and again. Then they bend the fuckin’ thing and soon it’s lookin’ like a small
notebook. The whole fuckin’ paper vanishes right before your eyes. I think then they eat it. I swear to Jesus.”

“Another brandy! Another pot of tea and more sliced tomato and cheese sandwiches, please! Lyin’ around all afternoon readin’ the newspaper! Are they not all duly elected
officials we nominate to govern us down there in Parliament House on Kildare Street? Some are politicians. I know that. They’re all politicians. This is where they talk about the destiny of
our beloved little nation. My past, present and future is spelled out and bothered up there in the lounge every day at four o’clock. Can you imagine? I’d a read ten fuckin’ books
by the time they read the newspaper!”

“I think they’re lookin’ to see if their pictures are in it. When they can’t find themselves they can’t believe it. They just go back and forth and almost eat the
bleedin’ pages lookin’ for a snap of themselves standing next to somebody important.”

“How much did we make today?”

“It was a good day. A lot of finance!”

“We’ll have a good payday Friday when it’s all divvied up.”

“What about these young goats from the breakfast shift? How much will they get?”

“Ah, we’ll give ’em something. They’ve earned it. Jesus, they work fast. It’s all that quick breakfast-servin’ they do early in the mornin’s.
They’ve done a day’s work while we’re still in bed. I’m glad I don’t have to ride that hard-arsed saddle on me son’s bicycle. Give me the bus any
time!”

“You’re too old to ride a bicycle.”

“Piss off with yourself! You’re too old to ride your wife.”

“Shut up! Keep me missus out of it. She’ll be happy when I tell her Friday’s pay is goin’ to be good. I’m always in the mood to throw a good ride into her when the
pay packet is big. I get big like me pay packet.”

“Stop boastin’.”

“I’m not boastin’. I’m braggin’.”

“Ha!”

“Good Christ!”

“What is it?”

“Someone stole me fuckin’ white collar! I left it on the top of my locker this mornin’! Anybody see a white collar? I only got me laundry back before I went on duty. Who took
it? Who took it? Check everybody’s hard neck! Laugh your arse off if you want but that collar was brand new. I bought the fuckin’ thing in Cleary’s.”

“You went to the sale there on Saturday?”

“I didn’t go, me sister did.”

“Your sister?”

“Yes, me sister.”

“I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“I got five sisters.”

“Well, which one went to the sale for you?”

“What the fuck do you care?”

“I don’t care. I’m only askin’.”

“Mind your own business. Y’can’t leave a damn thing around any more. What’s happenin’ to this hotel? Last week it was me shoes. Now it’s me white collar. It
was a brand-new nylon collar.”

“Why did ya’ leave that collar on the top of your locker anyway? Aren’t ya supposed to be lockin’ it up? Isn’t that why you got a fuckin’ lock? Isn’t
it? Maybe somebody thought you threw it away.”

“Who’d be that stupid?”

“Look in the wastebasket. That’s where you throw your dirty stockings and shorts.”

“Some of the new fellas can’t afford shite.”

A silence for about a minute. Talk again.

“Where in the name of Jesus does that poufter manager find these fellas?”

“He advertises in the newspaper.”

“That’s the parts the politicians skip when they read the papers.”

“What would you do if you didn’t have a penny to buy yourself a white shirt?”

“Don’t be askin’ me questions like that. I’m too old to be answering. I’m almost retired. I left a shirt out last week and the other day I saw one of them commis
waiters from the breakfast shift wearing it.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothin’! What could I do? It was my own fault. I forgot to lock it up. Anyway I couldn’t really prove it was me white shirt. And by the way if you leave shoe polish out
don’t be surprised if it goes too. Don’t forget how many people work here with black shoes. Me feet are killin’ me.”

“What time does the laundry open?”

“An hour before dinner. Pick up me clean laundry for me tomorrow, will ya?”

“Who?”

“You!”

“Y’takin’ the day off?”

“I’m not takin’ the day off – it
is
me day off. I worked last Sunda’, remember?”

“What’ll you do tomorrow?”

“Fuck all. I’ll sleep. A few pints then I’ll sleep again. I wouldn’t mind takin’ Fifth Floor Mary home with me. Did ya see her?”

“The one from Kerry? Is that where she’s from?”

“Cork!”

“I heard she’s from Kerry. Good Christ, she’s some heifer. She carries more milk than a herd of cows. I’d like to be the farmer who milks her. I’d love to get a
ride off her. Has anybody got any from her yet? She’s up on the fifth floor. Ask one of the fellas from the breakfast shift.”

“Hey, Twohig? Twohig?”

“Twohig’s not here. The Welsh fella is here.”

“Who?”

“Welsh!”

“Welsh?”

“Who’s been clearin’ away your station all day?”

“That little fella?”

“Him.”

“Holy Christ, I’m sorry. I forgot to ask him his name. Hey, young fella, what’s your name?”

“Walsh.”

“What your first name?”

“Gabriel.”

“Gabriel? That’s a girl’s name.”

“No, it’s not.”

“It’s a fuckin’ angel’s name if you ask me.”

“Nobody asked you.”

“No kidding. Is that your real name?”

“Yes.”

“Where you from?”

“Inchicore.”

“Inchicore? ‘
Sure there’s nothin’ like the Pride of Inchicore!’
Isn’t that the song?”

“No.”

“It goes somethin’ like that. Where’s Inchicore?”

“If you knew anybody who worked in the C.I.E. you’d know where bleedin’ Inchicore is.”

“Up by Kilmainham? Saint Pat’s? They play up there, don’t they? You ever see Shay Gibbons play? He played for Ireland an’ I heard he always had a few pints before he
walked onto the pitch. I only heard that now, mind ya. I don’t know how true it is. What does your father do?”

“Nothin’.”

“Unemployed?”

“Yes.”

“You like this hotel?”

“I do.”

“Don’t mind all the blabber you hear here.”

“I don’t mind it. They don’t talk that much when they’re workin’.”

“You were so good today I didn’t notice you. I didn’t have to tell you anything. That’s a good sign. You kept the station clean and neat an’ you took them dishes
away in a hurry.” He then turned back to the other older waiter. “I know who has your collar.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“Me.”

“You?”

“I saw it on top of the locker and I thought it was thrown out. I’m wearin’ it now. I didn’t know you wanted it. Y’can have it back. I’m sorry.”

“No. Never mind. It’s yours – you can have it. I shouldn’t have left it up there. It’s yours. I mean that. Keep the damn thing. Thanks for tellin’
me.”