The Gambling Man

‘When are you goin’ to build your own boat?’

‘That’ll be the day, but I will sometime.’ Jimmy nodded now. Then catching Rory’s eye, he smiled widely. ‘I said I will, an’ I will, won’t I, Rory?’ The boy appealed to his older brother as to one in authority.

Rory, shuffling the cards, glanced sideways at Jimmy and there was a softness in his expression that wasn’t usual except when perhaps he looked at Janie.

‘You’ll soon be out of your time, won’t you, Jimmy?’

Jimmy now turned towards Bill Waggett, answering, ‘Aye, beginnin’ of the year, Mr Waggett. And that’s what I’m feared of. They turn you out, you know, once your time’s up.’

‘Aw, they won’t turn you out.’ Bill Waggett pursed his lips. You hear things around the docks you know; there’s more things come up on the tide than rotten cabbages. I hear tell you’re the best ‘prentice Baker’s ever had in his yard; a natural they say you are, Jimmy; mould a bit of wood with your hands, they say.’

‘Aw, go on with you.’ Jimmy turned his head to the side, his lips pressed tight but his whole face failing to suppress his pleasure at the compliment. Then looking at Bill Waggett again and his expression changing, he said, ‘But I’ll tell you somethin’, I wouldn’t be able to finish me time if old Baker saw what I was doin’ at this minute.’

‘You mean havin’ a game?’ Rory had stopped shuffling the pack and Jimmy nodded at him, saying, ‘Aye. Well, you know what some of them’s like. But now there’s a notice come out. Didn’t I tell you?’

‘No, you didn’t. A notice? What kind of a notice?’

‘Well it says that anybody that’s found playin’ cards on a Sunday’ll lose their jobs, an’ if you know about somebody having a game an’ don’t let on, why then you’ll lose your job an’ all.’

Rory slapped his hand of cards on to the table. ‘Is that a fact?’

‘Aye, Rory.’

‘My God!’ Rory now looked round at the rest of the men, and they stared back at him without speaking until his father said, ‘You don’t know you’re born, lad.’ There was a slight touch of resentment in the tone and the look they exchanged had no friendliness in it. Then Paddy, nodding towards Bill Waggett, said, ‘What did you tell me the other day about when you worked in the soda works, Bill?’

‘Oh that. Well’—Bill brought his eyes to rest on Rory— ‘couldn’t breathe there. If you were a few minutes late you were fined, and if it was a quarter of an hour, like it might be in winter when you couldn’t your way through the snow, why man, they stopped a quarter day’s pay. And if you dared to talk about your work outside you were fined ten bob the first time, then given the push if it happened twice. That’s a fact. It is, it is. An’ you might be sayin’ covered of any account. And if anybody covered up for you when you were late . . . oh my God! they were in it for it. You know what? They had to pay the fine, the same fine as you paid. You were treated like a lot of bairns: back-chat the foreman and it was half a dollar fine. My God! I had to get out of there. You see, Rory, as your da says, you don’t know you’re born being, a rent collector. Your da did something for you lettin’ you learn to read. By! aye, he did. It’s somethin’ when you can earn your livin’ without dirtyin’ your hands.’

Rory v was flicking the cards over the flowered oilcloth that covered the wooden table. His head was lowered and his lids were lowered, the expression in his eyes was hidden, but his lips were set straight.

Jimmy, as always sensing his brother’s mood, turned to Collum Leary and said, ‘It’s a pity our Rory isn’t in America along with your Michael and James and one of them boats that ply the river, like Michael said, where they can gamble in the open.’

‘Aye, it is that, Jimmy,’ Collum laughed at him. ‘He’d make his fortune.’ He turned and pushed Rory in the shoulder with his doubled fist, adding, ‘Why don’t you go to America, Rory, now why don’t you?’

‘I just might, I just might.’ Rory was now fanning out the cards in his hand. It would suit me that, down to the ground it would. A gamblin’ boat . . . .’

‘Gamblin’, cards, fortunes made in America, that’s all you hear.’ With the exception of Rory the men turned and looked towards Lizzie O’Dowd, where she had risen from her chair, and she nodded at them, continuing, ‘Nobody is ever satisfied. Take what God sends an’ be thankful.’ Then her tone changing, she laughed as she added, ‘He’s gona send you cold brisket this minute. Who wants pickled onions with it?’

There were gabbled answers and laughter from the table and when she turned away and walked down the room past the chiffonier, past the dess-bed that stood in an alcove, and into the scullery, Janie, too, turned and followed her into the cluttered cramped space and closed the door after her.

Hunching her shoulders upwards against the cold, Janie picked up a knife and began cutting thick slices off a large crusty loaf. She had almost finished cutting the bread before she spoke. Her head still bent, she said quietly, ‘Don’t worry, Lizzie, he won’t go to America.’