Дублинцы
Araby
Ifoundmyselfinabighallgirdledathalfitsheightbyagallery.Nearlyallthestallswereclosedandthegreaterpartofthehallwasindarkness.Irecognisedasilencelikethatwhichpervadesachurchafteraservice.Iwalkedintothecentreofthebazaartimidly.Afewpeopleweregatheredaboutthestallswhichwerestillopen.Beforeacurtain,overwhichthewordsCafeChantantwerewrittenincolouredlamps,twomenwerecountingmoneyonasalver.Ilistenedtothefallofthecoins.
RememberingwithdifficultywhyIhadcomeIwentovertooneofthestallsandexaminedporcelainvasesandfloweredtea—sets.Atthedoorofthestallayoungladywastalkingandlaughingwithtwoyounggentlemen.IremarkedtheirEnglishaccentsandlistenedvaguelytotheirconversation.
“O,Ineversaidsuchathing!”
“O,butyoudid!”
“O,butIdidn’t!”
“Didn’tshesaythat?”
“Yes.Iheardher.”
“0,there’sa...fib!”
ObservingmetheyoungladycameoverandaskedmedidIwishtobuyanything.Thetoneofhervoicewasnotencouraging;sheseemedtohavespokentomeoutofasenseofduty.Ilookedhumblyatthegreatjarsthatstoodlikeeasternguardsateithersideofthedarkentrancetothestallandmurmured:
“No,thankyou.”
Theyoungladychangedthepositionofoneofthevasesandwentbacktothetwoyoungmen
