At the end of the set the man playing the saxophone took up the microphone and, in an Irish accent, explained that the best part of the evening was ahead, in fact was about to start now, since they were going to play some céilí tunes as they had the previous weeks. They were going to ask those who knew the dance steps to take the floor first, and, he added to cheers and whistles, he hoped they would not all be from County Clare. When he gave the signal, he said, everyone else could join in; then it would be the same free-for-all that they had enjoyed the previous weeks.
"Are you from County Clare?" her companion asked her.
"No."
"I saw you the first week but you didn't stay until the end so you missed the free-for-all and you weren't here last week."
"How do you know?"
"I looked for you and didn't see you."
Suddenly a tune began; when she glanced at the stage she saw that the band had transformed itself. The two saxophone players had become a banjo player and an accordion player and there were two fiddle players as well as a woman playing an upright piano. There was also the same drummer. A number of dancers moved into the centre of the hall and now became the focus of attention as they managed a set of intricate movements with immense confidence and speed. Soon, they were joined by others, equally skilful, to the sound of whoops and cheers from the crowd. The music grew faster; all the instruments together were led by the accordion player; the dancers made a loud noise with their shoes against the wooden floor.
When the accordion player announced that they were going to do "The Siege of Ennis" more dancers took to the floor, and they began to change from ordered dancing towards the free-for-all the man had mentioned earlier. As Tony suggested they take the floor also, Eilis quickly agreed, even though she did not know how to do the steps. They found a group who were standing in two lines facing each other, with a man giving instructions through a microphone on what should happen next. A dancer from each end-a man and a woman-moved into the centre and swung around before returning to their original place. Then it was the turn of the next dancer until each had had a moment in the centre. The two lines of dancers then came forward to confront one another and, once that was done, one line put their arms in the air and let the other through, thus finding themselves opposite a new line of dancers. As the playing went on, the shouting and laughing and roaring instructions grew louder and more intense. Great energy was put into the whirling and turning in the centre and banging the floor with their shoes. By the time the last tunes were played and everyone seemed to understand the basic steps and movements, Eilis could see that Tony loved this and put as much effort as he could into getting it right while making sure also that he did not do more than she did. She felt that he was holding himself back for her.
As soon as the music stopped he asked her where she lived; when she told him he said that it was on his way home. There was something about him now, something so innocent and eager and shiny, that she almost laughed out loud as she said yes, that he could walk her home. She told him that she would meet him outside when she had fetched her coat. When she went to the cloakroom, she watched out for any sign of Dolores in the queue.
It was freezing outside; they moved slowly through the streets huddled against each other, hardly speaking at all. When they came close to Clinton Street, however, he stopped and turned and faced her.
"There's something you've got to know," he said. "I'm not Irish."
"You don't sound Irish," she said.
"I mean I'm not Irish at all."
"None of you?" She laughed.
"Not a single bit."
"So where are you from?"
"I'm from Brooklyn," he said, "but my mom and dad are from Italy."
"And what were you doing-"
"I know," he interrupted. "I heard about the Irish dance and I thought I'd go and look at it and I liked it."
"Do the Italians not have dances?"
"I knew you were going to ask me that."
"I'm sure they're wonderful."
"I could take you some night but you would have to be warned. They behave like Italians all night."
"Is that good or bad?"
"I don't know, but bad because if I had gone to an Italian dance I wouldn't be walking you home now."
They continued in silence until they reached the front of Mrs. Kehoe's house.
"Can I collect you next week? Maybe get something to eat first?"
Eilis realized that this invitation would mean that she could go to the dance without having to take the feelings of any of her fellow lodgers into account. Even for Mrs. Kehoe, she thought, it would serve as an excuse not to have to accompany Dolores.
Later, during the week, as she was making her way from Bartocci's to Brooklyn College, she forgot what she was looking forward to; sometimes she actually believed that she was looking forward to thinking about home, letting images of home roam freely in her mind, but it came to her now with a jolt that, no, the feeling she had was only about Friday night and being collected from the house by a man she had met and going to the dance with him in the hall, knowing that he would be walking her back to Mrs. Kehoe's afterwards. She had been keeping the thought of home out of her mind, letting it come to her only when she wrote or received letters or when she woke from a dream in which her mother or father or Rose or the rooms of the house on Friary Street or the streets of the town had appeared. She thought it was strange that the mere sensation of savouring the prospect of something could make her think for a while that it must be the prospect of home.
Around Mrs. Kehoe's table, Eilis's ditching of Dolores, which Patty, having fully witnessed, informed the others about before breakfast on Saturday morning, meant that they were all speaking to her again, including Dolores herself, who viewed being ditched, since it had resulted in Eilis meeting a man, as eminently reasonable. In return for this view, Dolores wanted only to know about the boyfriend himself, his name, for example, and his occupation, and when Eilis intended to see him again. All of the other lodgers had scrutinized him carefully as well; they thought him handsome, they said, although Miss McAdam might have wished him taller, and Patty did not like his shoes. All of them presumed that he was Irish, or of Irish origin, and all of them begged Eilis to tell them about him, what he had said to her that made her dance the second set with him and if she was going to the dance the following Friday night and if she expected to see him there.
The following Thursday evening, when she went downstairs to make herself a cup of tea, she met Mrs. Kehoe in the kitchen.
"There's a lot of giddiness in the house at the moment," Mrs. Kehoe said. "That Diana has a terrible voice, God help her. If she squeals once more, I'll have to get the doctor or the vet to give her something to calm her down."
"It's the dancing is doing it to them," Eilis said drily.
"Well, I'm going to ask Father Flood to preach a sermon on the evils of giddiness," Mrs. Kehoe said. "And maybe he might mention a few more things in his sermon."
Mrs. Kehoe left the room.
On Friday evening at eight thirty Tony rang on the front door bell, and, before Eilis could escape from the basement door and alert him to the impending danger, the door was answered by Mrs. Kehoe. By the time Eilis reached the front door, as Tony told her later, Mrs. Kehoe had asked him several questions, including his full name, his address and his profession.
"That's what she called it," he said. "My profession."
He grinned as though nothing as amusing had ever occurred to him in his life.
"Is she your mom?" he asked.
"I told you that my mom, as you call her, is in Ireland."
"So you did, but that woman looked like she owned you."
"She's my landlady."
"She's a lady all right. A lady with loads of questions to ask."
"And, incidentally, what is your full name?"
"You want what I told your mom?"
"She's not my mom."
"You want my real name?"
"Yes, I want your real name."
"My real full name is Antonio Giuseppe Fiorello."
"What name did you give my landlady when she asked you?"
"I told her my name is Tony McGrath. Because there's a guy at work called Billo McGrath."
"Oh, for God's sake. And what did you tell her your profession was?"
"My real one?"
"If you don't answer me properly-"
"I told her I'm a plumber and that's because I am."
"Tony?"
"Yeah?"
"In future, if I ever allow you to call again, you will come quietly to the basement door."
"And say nothing to no one?"
"Correct."
"Suits me."
He took her to a diner where they had supper and then they walked together towards the dancehall. She told him about her fellow lodgers and her job at Bartocci's. He told her, in turn, that he was the oldest of four boys and that he still lived at home in Bensonhurst with his parents.
"And my mom made me promise not to laugh too much, or make jokes," he said. "She said Irish girls aren't like Italian girls. They're serious."
"You told your mom you were meeting me?"
"No, but my brother guessed that I was meeting a girl and he told her. I think they all guessed. I think I was smiling too much. And I had to tell them it was an Irish girl in case they thought it was some family they knew."
Eilis could not understand him. By the end of the night as he walked her home she knew only that she liked dancing close to him and that he was funny. But she would not have been surprised if everything he told her was untrue, instead just part of the joke he made out of most things or, in fact, she decided in the days that followed when she went over all he had said, out of everything.
In the house there was much discussion about her boyfriend the plumber. She told them, once Mrs. Kehoe had left the room, once Patty and Diana began to wonder why none of their friends had ever seen him before, that Tony was Italian and not Irish. She had made a point of not introducing him to any of them at the dance and now regretted, as the conversation began, that she had said anything at all about him.
"I hope that dancehall is not going to be inundated with Italians now," Miss McAdam said.
"What do you mean?" Eilis asked.
"Now they realize what is to be had."
The others were silent for a moment. It was after supper on the Friday night and Eilis wished that Mrs. Kehoe, who had left the room some time before, would return.
"And what is to be had?" she asked.
"That's all they have to do, it seems." Miss McAdam snapped her finger. "I don't have to say the rest."
"I think we have to be very careful about men we don't know coming into the hall," Sheila Heffernan said.
"Maybe if we got rid of some of the wallflowers, Sheila," Eilis said, "with the sour look on their faces."
Diana began to shriek with laughter as Sheila Heffernan quickly left the room.
Suddenly Mrs. Kehoe arrived back in the kitchen.
"Diana, if I hear you squeal again," she said, "I will call the Fire Brigade to douse you with water. Did someone say something rude to Miss Heffernan?"
"We were giving Eilis here advice, that's all," Miss McAdam said. "Just to beware of strangers."
"Well, I thought he was very nice, her caller," Mrs. Kehoe said. "With nice old-fashioned Irish manners. And we will have no further comment about him in this house. Do you hear, Miss McAdam?"
"I was only saying-"
"You were only refusing to mind your own business, Miss McAdam. It's a trait I notice in people from Northern Ireland."
As Diana shrieked again she put her hand over her mouth in mock shame.
"I'll have no more talk about men at this table," Mrs. Kehoe said, "except to say to you, Diana, that the man that gets you will be nicely hoped up with you. The hard knocks that life gives you will put a sorry end to that smirk on your face."
One by one they crept out of the kitchen, leaving Mrs. Kehoe with Dolores.
Tony asked Eilis if she would come to a movie with him some night in the middle of the week. In everything she had told him she had left out the fact that she had classes at Brooklyn College. He had not asked her what she did every evening, and she had kept it to herself almost deliberately as a way of holding him at a distance. She had enjoyed being collected by him on a Friday night at Mrs. Kehoe's up to now, and she looked forward to his company, especially in the diner before the dance. He was bright and funny as he spoke about baseball, his brothers, his work and life in Brooklyn. He had quickly learned the names of her fellow lodgers and of her bosses at work and he managed to allude to them regularly in a way that made her laugh.
"Why didn't you tell me about the college?" he asked her as they sat in the diner before the dance.
"You didn't ask."
"I don't have anything more to tell you." He shrugged, feigning depression.
"No secrets?"
"I could make up some, but they wouldn't sound true."
"Mrs. Kehoe believes that you're Irish. And you could be a native of Tipperary for all I know and just be putting on the rest. How come I met you at an Irish dance?"
"Okay. I do have a secret."
"I knew it. You come from Bray."
"What? Where's that?"
"What's your secret?"
"You want to know why I came to an Irish dance?"
"All right. I'll ask you: why did you come to an Irish dance?"
"Because I like Irish girls."
"Would any one do?"
"No, I like you."
"Yes, but if I wasn't there? Would you just pick another?"
"No, if you weren't there, I would walk home all sad looking at the ground."