Портрет художника в юности

Chapter 2

           Thenhehadbeensentawayfromhometoacollege,hehadmadehisfirstcommunionandeatenslimjimoutofhiscricketcapandwatchedthefirelightleapinganddancingonthewallofalittlebedroomintheinfirmaryanddreamedofbeingdead,ofmassbeingsaidforhimbytherectorinablackandgoldcope,ofbeingburiedtheninthelittlegraveyardofthecommunityoffthemainavenueoflimes.Buthehadnotdiedthen.Parnellhaddied.Therehadbeennomassforthedeadinthechapelandnoprocession.Hehadnotdiedbuthehadfadedoutlikeafilminthesun.Hehadbeenlostorhadwanderedoutofexistenceforhenolongerexisted.Howstrangetothinkofhimpassingoutofexistenceinsuchaway,notbydeathbutbyfadingoutinthesunorbybeinglostandforgottensomewhereintheuniverse!Itwasstrangetoseehissmallbodyappearagainforamoment:alittleboyinagreybeltedsuit.Hishandswereinhisside-pocketsandhistrousersweretuckedinatthekneesbyelasticbands.

           OntheeveningofthedayonwhichthepropertywassoldStephenfollowedhisfathermeeklyaboutthecityfrombartobar.Tothesellersinthemarket,tothebarmenandbarmaids,tothebeggarswhoimportunedhimforalobMrDedalustoldthesametalethathewasanoldCorkonian,thathehadbeentryingforthirtyyearstogetridofhisCorkaccentupinDublinandthatPeterPickackafaxbesidehimwashiseldestsonbutthathewasonlyaDublinjackeen.

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