Michael Malone - Weebly

chapter 34
Like a Busby Berkeley chorine, Dawn sprang up to
admire herself in the million mirrors shining on grass and
flowers. The day, announced Sarah MacDermott, was
a real production number, though she couldn't help
supposing it would have been more fitting if it had kept
on raining through the little services for poor Alf Marco
and poor Sister Mary Joseph. "God's tears, Joe. That's
what the Father said when it poured so hard the
morning we buried Mama. I remember he came around
the side of the grave and I was thinking how his nice
shoes were getting all covered with mud and how
Mama was down there in that box wearing her best
shoes too, and he said, 'Sarah, this rain is God's tears
for your mama.'"
But in the night, wind had hurried the rain along
eastward, shirring toward the sea. And now Dingleyans
were cultivating their gardens. Some did so only in a
Voltairean sense, by renouncing unattainable desires
(again). A.A. Hayes, for example, gave up a spasm of
hope that on such a day he could "do something" to give