When Brother Michael took Marti home and banged on the door of the house made of stones all piled up on top of each other right to the roof nobody answered for a very long time and Marti wondered where was Mam, or Aunt Catrin even. Brother Michael said this was no use entirely and it was a journey for nothing through sheets of rain they had had, and then there was the sound of the key going in the door. When Mam opened up she was still wearing the baggy jamas and when they went inside there was no fire going and it was so cold Marti could see Brother Michael’s breath whenever he said a word.
“Tis like an ice box in here, Mrs Driscol. Have ye no house coat?” he said. Mam shook her head and took one of the brother’s cigarettes. “Okay so,” he said, “we will have to get this fire lit I think.
