Портрет художника в юности
Chapter 2
Thenhehadbeensentawayfromhometoacollege,hehadmadehisfirstcommunionandeatenslimjimoutofhiscricketcapandwatchedthefirelightleapinganddancingonthewallofalittlebedroomintheinfirmaryanddreamedofbeingdead,ofmassbeingsaidforhimbytherectorinablackandgoldcope,ofbeingburiedtheninthelittlegraveyardofthecommunityoffthemainavenueoflimes.Buthehadnotdiedthen.Parnellhaddied.Therehadbeennomassforthedeadinthechapelandnoprocession.Hehadnotdiedbuthehadfadedoutlikeafilminthesun.Hehadbeenlostorhadwanderedoutofexistenceforhenolongerexisted.Howstrangetothinkofhimpassingoutofexistenceinsuchaway,notbydeathbutbyfadingoutinthesunorbybeinglostandforgottensomewhereintheuniverse!Itwasstrangetoseehissmallbodyappearagainforamoment:alittleboyinagreybeltedsuit.Hishandswereinhisside-pocketsandhistrousersweretuckedinatthekneesbyelasticbands.
OntheeveningofthedayonwhichthepropertywassoldStephenfollowedhisfathermeeklyaboutthecityfrombartobar.Tothesellersinthemarket,tothebarmenandbarmaids,tothebeggarswhoimportunedhimforalobMrDedalustoldthesametale—thathewasanoldCorkonian,thathehadbeentryingforthirtyyearstogetridofhisCorkaccentupinDublinandthatPeterPickackafaxbesidehimwashiseldestsonbutthathewasonlyaDublinjackeen.
