She eavesdropped on her father at the bar because he didnt talk much at home. When he did, it was to lay out basic principles as he speared a piece of meat. A man should never go without something he wants just because he doesnt want to work for it. Everyone should have a second job. Money is made to be spent. (On this last point he was firm; he had no patience for American-born people with no cash in their pocket to spring for a round.)
As for his second job, it was tending bar, at Dohertys, at Hartnetts, at Leitrim Castle a night a week at each. Whenever Big Mike Tumulty was the one pulling the taps and filling the tumblers, the bar filled up to the point of hazard and made tons of money, as though he were a touring thespian giving limited-run performances. Schaefer didnt suffer either; everyone knew he was a Schaefer man. He worked at keeping the brogue her mother worked to lose; it was professionally useful.
If Eileen scrubbed up the courage to ask about her roots, he silenced her with a wave of the hand. Im an American, he said, as if it settled the question, and in a sense it did.
By the time Eileen was born, in November of 1941, some traces remained of the sylvan scenes suggested in her neighborhoods name, but the balance of Woodsides verdancy belonged to the cemeteries that bordered it. The natural order was inverted there, the asphalt, clapboard, and brick breathing with life and the dead holding sway over the grass.
Her father came from twelve and her mother from thirteen, but Eileen had no brothers or sisters. In a four-story building set among houses planted in close rows by the river of the elevated 7 train, the three of them slept in twin beds in a room that resembled an army barracks. The other bedroom housed a lodger, Henry Kehoe, who slept like a king in exchange for offsetting some of the monthly expenses. Mr. Kehoe ate his meals elsewhere, and when he was home he sat in his room with the door closed, playing the clarinet quietly enough that Eileen had to press an ear to the door to hear it. She only saw him when he came and went or used the bathroom. It might have been strange to suffer his spectral presence if shed ever known anything else, but as it was, it comforted her to know he was behind that door, especially on nights her father came home after drinking whiskey.
Her father didnt always drink. Nights he tended bar, he didnt touch a drop, and every Lent he gave it up, to prove he could except, of course, for St. Patricks Day and the days bookending it.
Nights her father tended bar, Eileen and her mother turned in early and slept soundly. Nights he didnt, though, her mother kept her up later, the two of them giving a going-over to all the little extras the good silver, the figurines, the chandelier crystals, the picture frames. Whatever chaos might ensue upon her fathers arrival, there prevailed beforehand a palpable excitement, as if they were throwing a party for a single guest. When there was nothing left to clean or polish, her mother sent her to bed and waited on the couch. Eileen kept the bedroom door cracked.
Her father was fine when he drank beer. He hung his hat and slid his coat down deliberately onto the hook in the wall. Then he slumped on the couch like a big bear on a leash, soft and grumbling, his pipe firmly in the grip of his teeth. She could hear her mother speaking quietly to him about household matters; he would nod and press the splayed fingers of his hands together, making a steeple and collapsing it.
Some nights he even walked in dancing and made her mother laugh despite her intention to ignore him. He lifted her up from the couch and led her around the room in a slow box step. He had a terrible charisma; she wasnt immune to it.
When he drank whiskey, though, which was mostly on paydays, the leash came off. He slammed his coat on the vestibule table and stalked the place looking for things to throw, as if the accumulated pressure of expectations at the bar could only be driven off by physical acts. It was well known what a great quantity of whiskey her father could drink without losing his composure shed heard the men brag about it at Dohertys and one night, in response to her mothers frank and defeated question, he explained that when he was set up with a challenge, a string of rounds, he refused to disappoint the mens faith in him, even if he had to exhaust himself concentrating on keeping his back stiff and his words sharp and clear. Everyone needed something to believe in.
When he drank whiskey, though, which was mostly on paydays, the leash came off. He slammed his coat on the vestibule table and stalked the place looking for things to throw, as if the accumulated pressure of expectations at the bar could only be driven off by physical acts. It was well known what a great quantity of whiskey her father could drink without losing his composure shed heard the men brag about it at Dohertys and one night, in response to her mothers frank and defeated question, he explained that when he was set up with a challenge, a string of rounds, he refused to disappoint the mens faith in him, even if he had to exhaust himself concentrating on keeping his back stiff and his words sharp and clear. Everyone needed something to believe in.
He didnt throw anything at her mother, and he only threw what didnt break: couch pillows, books. Her mother went silent and still until he was done. If he saw Eileen peeking at him through the sliver in the bedroom door, he stopped abruptly, like an actor whod forgotten his line, and went into the bathroom. Her mother slid into bed. In the morning, he glowered over a cup of tea, blinking his eyes slowly like a lizard.
Sometimes Eileen could hear the Gradys or the Longs fighting. She found succor in the sound of that anger; it meant her family wasnt the only troubled one in the building. Her parents shared moments of dark communion over it too, raising brows at each other across the kitchen table or exchanging wan smiles when the voices started up.
Once, over dinner, her father gestured toward Mr. Kehoes room. We wont have him here forever, he said to her mother. As Eileen was struck by sadness at the thought of life without Mr. Kehoe, her father added, Lord willing.
No matter how often she strained to hear Mr. Kehoe through the walls, the only sounds were the squeaks of bedsprings, the low scratching of a pen when he sat at the little desk, or the quiet rasp of the clarinet.
They were at the dinner table when her mother stood and left the room in a hurry. Her father followed, pulling the bedroom door closed behind him. Their voices were hushed, but Eileen could hear the straining energy in them. She inched closer.
Ill get it back.
Youre a damned idiot.
Ill make it right.
How? Big Mike doesnt borrow a penny from any man, she sneered.
Therell be a way.
How could you let it get so out of hand?
You think I want my wife and daughter living in this place?
Oh, thats just grand. Its our fault now, is it?
Im not saying that.
In the living room, the wind shifted the bedroom door against Eileens hands, making her heart beat faster.
You love the horses and numbers, her mother said. Dont make it into something it wasnt.
It was in the back of my mind, her father said. I know you dont want to be here.
I once believed you could wind up being mayor of New York, her mother said. But youre satisfied being mayor of Dohertys. Not even owner of Dohertys. Mayor of Dohertys. She paused. I should never have taken that damn thing off my finger.
Ill get it back. I promise.
You wont, and you know it. Her mother had been stifling her shouts, practically hissing, but now she sounded merely sad. You chip away and chip away. One day there wont be anything left.
Thats enough now, her father said, and in the silence that followed Eileen pictured them standing in the mysterious knowledge that passed between them, like two stone figures whose hearts she would never fathom.
The next time she was alone in the house, she went to the bureau drawer where her mother had stashed her engagement ring for safekeeping ever since the time shed almost lost it down the drain while doing dishes. From time to time, Eileen had observed her opening the box. Shed thought her mother had been letting its facets catch the light for a spell, but now that she saw the empty space where the box had been, she realized her mother had been making sure it was still there.
A week before her tenth birthday, Eileen walked in with her father and saw that her mother wasnt in the kitchen. She wasnt in the bedroom either, or the bathroom, and she hadnt left a note.
Her father heated up a can of beans, fried some bacon, and put out a few slices of bread.
Her mother came home while they were eating. Congratulate me, she said as she hung up her coat.
Her father waited until he finished chewing. For what?
Her mother slapped some papers on the table and looked at him intently in that way she sometimes did when she was trying to get a rise out of him. He bit another piece of bacon and picked the papers up as he worked the meat in his jaw. His brow furrowed as he read. Then he put them down.
How could you do this? he asked quietly. How could you let it not be me?
If Eileen didnt know better, she would have said he sounded hurt, but nothing on earth was capable of hurting her father.
Her mother looked almost disappointed not to be yelled at. She gathered the papers and went into the bedroom. A few minutes later, her father took his hat off the hook and left.
Eileen went in and sat on her own bed. Her mother was at the window, smoking.
What happened? I dont understand.
Those are naturalization papers. Her mother pointed to the dresser. Go ahead, take a look. Eileen walked over and picked them up. As of today, Im a citizen of the United States. Congratulate me.
Congratulations, Eileen said.
Her mother produced a sad little grin between drags. I started this months ago, she said. I didnt tell your father. I was going to surprise him, bring him along. It would have meant something to him to be my sponsor at the swearing in. Then I decided to hurt him. I brought my cousin Danny Glasheen instead.
Eileen nodded; there was Dannys name. The papers looked like the kind that would be kept in a file for hundreds of years, for as long as civilization lasted.