The Butcher Boy Page #3

for the day to do the Christmas shopping.

We'd see them in the cafe with their caps

and their boots and their bony arses.

They called it dancing. It looked

more like wading through manure.

What's that dance

they're doing, Francie?

It's called the bogman tango, Joe.

The bogman tango?

Out with the backside, up with the nose.

Well, here's me face

and me arse is coming.

The incredible Joe Purcell,

ladies and gentlemen...

and his partner, Francie Brady.

The bogman tango.

- Francie!

- Ma! Hi, Ma!

Look at you, God!

Ma, by cripes,

that must be some garage, sergeant.

- Back on the road, better than ever, Ma?

- Better than ever.

Come on, I've got something

to show you. Come on, now.

Thank you, sergeant, for taking me home.

Anything we can do for you, Annie.

You know that.

Thank you.

Come on, Ma. Come on.

I've got a surprise for us.

Back from the garage,

there was no holding Ma.

Whiz here one minute, there the next, and

hadn't she bought the bogman record...

they were playing in the cafe,

and that's when the buns began.

Uncle Alo was coming home for Christmas

from his big job in London...

and the house started filling up with

cakes and buns for the Christmas party.

Cakes, cakes, cakes.

Buns, buns, buns.

My ma, the bun woman.

I ask you, Joe,

how many cakes can Uncle Alo eat?

Beats the hell out of me, compadre.

I see what you mean.

- See you, Joe.

- See you, Francie.

Well, if I heard that "Butcher Boy" once,

I heard it a hundred times.

And if she said to me,

"Would you like to hear it again?"...

I know what I would have said:

"No, thank you."

I couldn't even get a ham sandwich!

I'm f***ing starving!

Is that what they do to you

in the garage, Ma?

Turn you into a cake machine?

Alo loves cakes.

If it's one thing your uncle loves,

it's cake.

And butterfly buns.

You're right. I'll make some more.

The men. Hard at it.

- Hard at it, he says.

- He does.

I don't suppose there's room

for an old fellow like myself?

Sure, any amount, Father.

So nothing strange, anyway, lads?

I tell you, if Uncle Alo doesn't

come soon, the house is gonna burst.

How's it going to burst, Francie?

With cakes.

Not to mention butterfly buns.

Oh, nothing but the best for Uncle Alo.

Coming all the way

from his job in London.

Ten men under him.

Ten men under him.

Uncle Alo! F***!

- Merry Christmas, Father.

- God bless you, now.

- See you, Joe.

- See you, Francie.

Aye. I don't know

what they must've thought of us.

A right-looking tribe

to be landing in Bundoran.

Not to mention this man here.

Wasn't he the star of the show?

Playing the trumpet every night

for them below in the parlor.

- Am I right, Annie?

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