Turnips. 
Baby vomit. 
I wished my mother was there. 

“God forgive the whole lot of you,” Nana said. 
We looked at each other.  I swung my legs and my heels hit 
against the rung that stretched between the legs of the chair. 
At Christmas Chrissie had tied a string around the cat’s neck 
once and then tied the free end onto the rung of a chair. 
“Like huskies,” she’d said when our mother shouted at her, “If 
dogs can pull people and big heavy sleighs then the cat can pull a 
stupid chair.” 

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” our mother said, pushing her fingers 
inside the string around the cat’s neck. 

“You’ll be glad when it snows,” Chrissie said. 

Our mother looked at the cat who was making a noise like a crinkled 
plastic bag. 

“God give me patience!  Get me a knife,” she said. 

“Don’t kill her,” I said, “Please Mammy, don’t kill Chrissie.  She 
won’t do it again.  Give her one more chance, she’ll be good, 
won’t you Chrissie.” 

Our mother looked at me.  She had a golden fleck in one of her eyes.  Once, when she was in a good mood she told me it was gold-dust sprinkled into her eyes by the fairies.  The cat coughed a rough, chokey kind of cough.  Mammy rubbed her face with her free hand. 

“A knife to free the cat, Sheila,” she said quietly - “I want a knife to 
free the cat - NOW!” she roared. 

I ran to the drawer and got the brown handled knife. 

Mammy cut the cat free.  The baby cried upstairs and Mammy 
cursed as she sawed at the string.  It snapped and the cat ran out 
of the room without looking back at Chrissie. 

“Stay away from the animals, Chrissie,” Mammy said, standing up. 

“She will,” I said. 

Chrissie looked at the floor and she was keeping her mouth shut 
tight like it was full of water that she wanted to spit. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Mammy called to the baby as she left 
the room.  Chrissie made a face at Mammy’s back and stuck out 
the tip of her tongue between her lips.  Chrissie always had red lips. 
Like she had just eaten an ice-pop. 

I hated when Mammy was cross, even when she was cross with 
Chrissie because sometimes it would be like a big flood and she 
would get cross with me as well even though I hadn’t done anything. 
 I hated that.  But even so it wasn’t as bad as Nana.  Mammy was 
only mad at me sometimes.  Mostly she was nice to me.  Nana was 
different.  Nana was always mad.  And it was like ice-water.  It felt 
like it might freeze your insides until you died.  Faced with the shiny 
turnips I wanted my Mammy.  I closed my eyes and tried wishing. 

“Let Daddy come in now and tell us that Mammy is coming home 
from hospital today and we have to go home.  Now.  Before we
finish our dinner.” 

I opened my eyes.  Everything looked just the same.  I stared at the
door.  No sign of Daddy.  Then I remembered.  I closed my eyes 
again. Please, God,” I said in my head, “Please let it happen now and I 
won’t forget to thank you.  I won’t be like those ungrateful lepers, I
swear.  I’ll thank you.  I’ll remember, I promise.  I’ll even try to be 
good if you let it happen.” I squeezed my eyes tightly together to 
make my wish fly faster.  I could smell the turnip on my plate and it
made me feel sick. Chrissie kicked me under the table and I opened 
my eyes.  She made a face as she pointed to the mound of yellow
turnip on her plate.  Nana made rattling noises with the range.  I
looked at the door.  It was closed and quiet. 

“Ashamed of yourselves, that’s what you should be,” Nana said,
stuffing turf and broken sticks into the round hole on the top of the
range. 

“The starving children in Africa,” my cousin Máiréad mouthed
putting on her Nana face.  We all giggled.  I filled my mouth with
mashed potato.  Máiréad smiled and cut her bacon with her knife. 
Máiréad was good at cutting because she was eight.  I stuck my fork
in a piece of bacon and nibbled around the edges.  It wasn’t too bad.
There was a bit of a smell of turnip but not too much. 

I looked down at the turnip.  It looked bigger.  Nana had stopped
rattling. 

“Stop pushing your food around your plates.  Eat it up and get on
with your business.  We haven’t all day.  I wonder what the starving
children in Africa would say if they were handed a dinner like that?” 
I looked up from my plate and there they were.  The starving
children from Africa.  Big bellies.  Big eyes.  They crowded
around the kitchen table looking at our bacon and turnip and 
mashed potatoes.  And it was Nana’s fault.  Every time we were
eating she talked about them - the starving children - and every
time she talked about them in they came. 

I felt bad for them that they were starving - I hated being hungry
myself - but I still wished they didn’t have to come every day and
watch us eat.  It was horrible being watched by starving children
and when they were there I found it hard to swallow even things
that I liked.  I wanted them to go away but I didn’t like to say
anything in case they heard me and it hurt their feelings. 

Sometimes I thought that even if they would only come once in a
while that would do.  But I didn’t know how to tell them and
anyway I thought they were probably afraid of Nana and so
they wouldn’t want to make her mad by not coming when she 
called them.  It looked like they were obedient children who 
came straight away when Nana called and I could see why Nana 
would like them - they did what they were told and would never
turn up their noses at good food. 

The real problem was the watching.   Standing around the table 
slowly blinking their big eyes at me and my sister, Chrissie, and
my cousins - Máiréad, Phyllis and Brendan - tried to eat our dinner.
 I didn’t say it but I thought maybe they weren’t as well behaved 
as Nana thought because they did a lot of staring and I was always
being told it was rude to stare.  But I didn’t know how to stop
them staring without getting them into trouble with Nana so I kept
my eyes on my plate.  That way I wouldn’t have to look into their 
starving faces. 

I wished there was a way I could give them  my dinner but I knew
there wasn’t.  I knew they weren’t real so they couldn’t really eat
bacon and turnip.  Sometimes I thought they were ghosts.  Ghosts
of children who had died from starvation who had nothing much to 
do now that they were dead so they hung around my cousins’
house waiting for Nana to call them in to watch us eat.  I thought
that would be lousy if was true.  A very boring way to spend forever. 

The back door opened and my aunt walked past carrying a huge 
plastic basket overflowing with laundry.  It smelled lovely.  Better
than turnip, anyway.  Nana tutted.  I looked up at her to see if my
aunt had done something wrong but Nana was still looking at us. 
I looked back at my plate and forked some mashed potato into
my mouth.  I could hear my aunt unwinding the rope that held up 
the clothes horse and the squeaking noise as the pulleys let it fall
low.  I wondered if it was called a horse because of the squeaking
noise.  If it was they were wrong, they should have called it a 
clothes mouse. Horses didn’t squeak.  They made a hot, blowy
noise through their noses. 

Nana moved closer to the table.  I watched her from underneath
my eyebrows without lifting my head.  She shuffled closer and 
closer, thumping her walking stick in front of her.  The sound of
the rubber end of the stick landing on the floor made us all jump.
 Brendan started to eat his dinner faster.  I could hear him chewing.
 Nana stopped about a foot from the end of the table.  Some of 
the African children had to move to make room for her. 

“Did even one of you,” Nana said in a quiet voice that made the
hairs on my arms stand up, “Even one...just one of you think to 
ask your mother if she had a bite to eat before you sat down?” 

I was confused for a minute because my mother was in hospital and
I thought that the nurses gave you your dinner in hospital.  Then I
realised Nana meant my Aunt Emer.  Had even one of us asked
Auntie Emer if she had had her dinner?  I looked at my sister and
cousins, they were all eating.  I doubted that they had asked and
I knew I hadn’t asked.  I could see Nana’s point.  I could see that 
we were being selfish.  Nana was right.  Auntie Emer had loads of
children and people said that that made you tired and we never
even asked her if she had had her dinner.  I felt a bit ashamed. 

Then I had an idea and I suddenly felt much better.  Auntie Emer
was alive and could eat bacon and turnip - not like the starving
children from Africa.  So, if we did this thing maybe the starving 
children would be able to go away and haunt the table of some
other children who were too selfish to be bothered asking or 
caring or anything.  I filled my mouth with turnip and though it 
made me want to vomit it also made me feel good to be doing
something to make up for being such a selfish six year old.  I
chewed it and tried not to think about what it was until I had
forced it to slide down my throat.   Once I stopped wanting to
be sick I was glad.  Proud of myself.  It seemed like a good time
to keep going. 

“Auntie Emer,” I said, looking past Nana at my aunt who was
winding the clothes horse back up to the ceiling.  She looked at me. 
“What?” she said and I could see that she was tired and that made
me feel more determined to do what I had to do.  I took a breath
and I could taste turnip on the air that went through my mouth. 

“Have you had your dinner?” I said. 
Auntie Emer tutted and yanked the rope hard into place.  Nana
didn’t speak but I could hear her breathing as it got louder and louder. 

“Well! Did you ever hear the like of it, Emer!  Well, what more
could you expect from the likes of...you bold, bold, strap, you,”
Nana said in a hissing voice like a cat.  I kept my eyes on my dinner. 
The pile of turnip was definitely getting bigger even though I had
already eaten some of it.  It wasn’t fair. 

“Isn’t that just typical, Emer?  What more could you expect from
the likes of her?  God between us and all harm - what kind of a
brazen strap would say something like that.” 

I finished my last piece of potato and began to move some turnip 
onto my fork but I couldn’t see it very well because my eyes were 
stinging and there were tears filling up inside my nose. 

“I don’t know,” Auntie Emer said going out the doorway into the
hallway.  The door clicked as it closed behind her. 

I stuck my fork into the turnip and went to lift it when all of a
sudden something moved inside my head.  It made a loud noise
like the door but I didn’t think anybody else heard it.  I listened
but it was gone and so were the tears in my nose and the pain
in my eyes.  Instead a new thought was there and it was so clear
that I couldn’t believe I had never seen it before.  Like when you
learn to read and you try to imagine what it was like when all the
same letters made no sense. 

The new thought sat inside me like a shiny ornament on a sideboard.
 Clear and bright and making everyone glad it was there.  And all it
said was - “It doesn’t matter.”   That’s all, just - “It doesn’t matter.”
 What we did or said.  If we were good or bold.  If our hair was
straight or curly.  If we took care of our toys or said our prayers or
cared about the world.  It didn’t matter at all.  None of it mattered,
that’s what the thought said.  Nothing would ever make Nana
happy and it was nothing to do with us. 

The new thought was like a friend who had come to let me out of
a dark room.  I let my fork fall onto my plate beside the mound of
turnip and I sat back in my chair and started swinging my legs again. 

“Finish your dinner, young lady,” Nana said. 

I looked up at her but she looked too frightening so I looked at
my knees.  They were brown from the sun.  I shook my head. 

“I hate turnip,” I said in a shaky voice. 

“What?” Nana shouted. 

“I hate turnip,” I said again and this time my voice was steady - like
a gunslingers’ hand.  The new thought grew inside my head like
Jack’s beanstalk and it made me feel good. 

Nana made a noise like the choking cat and inside my head I had
a quick picture of Nana tied to the rung of the chair like the cat.  
Chrissie would be glad to tie Nana to the chair if she got a chance. 

“Finish your dinners and scrape off your plates,” Nana said, turning 
away from the table, “Your father will be in for his dinner in a minute.
 You can’t be sitting around all day.  Hurry up.” 

Nana thumped up the kitchen with her stick as we all stood up
from the table.  I walked to the scrap bucket and scraped my
turnip into the mushy mess inside.  It slid off the plate in a lump 
and splashed out of sight.  I felt really good but a bit sorry for
the hens - though I thought they probably liked turnip better 
than I did.  As I turned around from the scrap bucket I could see
the African children leaving and they looked like they were smiling. 
One of them turned and waved at me.  He had a smooth brown
face with shiny white teeth and he smiled happily at me.  I thought he
looked nice and wished he could stay and play but I understood
he was busy.  I waved back at him and he waved again and then
turned his back and walked away.  I thought that probably meant
they wouldn’t be coming back to us any more.  I hoped they 
would be happy wherever they had to go next.