Дублинцы

           FromthefrontwindowIsawmycompanionsplayingbelowinthestreet.Theircriesreachedmeweakenedandindistinctand,leaningmyforeheadagainstthecoolglass,Ilookedoveratthedarkhousewhereshelived.Imayhavestoodthereforanhour,seeingnothingbutthebrown-cladfigurecastbymyimagination,toucheddiscreetlybythelamplightatthecurvedneck,atthehandupontherailingsandattheborderbelowthedress.

           WhenIcamedownstairsagainIfoundMrs.Mercersittingatthefire.Shewasanoldgarrulouswoman,apawnbroker’swidow,whocollectedusedstampsforsomepiouspurpose.Ihadtoendurethegossipofthetea-table.Themealwasprolongedbeyondanhourandstillmyuncledidnotcome.Mrs.Mercerstooduptogo:shewassorryshecouldn’twaitanylonger,butitwasaftereighto’clockandshedidnotliketobeoutlateasthenightairwasbadforher.WhenshehadgoneIbegantowalkupanddowntheroom,clenchingmyfists.Myauntsaid:

           “I’mafraidyoumayputoffyourbazaarforthisnightofOurLord.”

           Atnineo’clockIheardmyuncle’slatchkeyinthehalldoor.Iheardhimtalkingtohimselfandheardthehallstandrockingwhenithadreceivedtheweightofhisovercoat.Icouldinterpretthesesigns.WhenhewasmidwaythroughhisdinnerIaskedhimtogivemethemoneytogotothebazaar.Hehadforgotten.

           “Thepeopleareinbedandaftertheirfirstsleepnow,”hesaid.

           Ididnotsmile.