Портрет художника в юності

           Washenotholyenoughorwhycouldhenotcatchupontheothers?

           Thereweretwobedsintheroomandinonebedtherewasafellow:andwhentheywentinhecalledout:

           —Hello!It’syoungDedalus!What’sup?

           —Theskyisup,BrotherMichaelsaid.

           Hewasafellowoutofthethirdofgrammarand,whileStephenwasundressing,heaskedBrotherMichaeltobringhimaroundofbutteredtoast.

           —Ah,do!hesaid.

           —Butteryouup!saidBrotherMichael.You’llgetyourwalkingpapersinthemorningwhenthedoctorcomes.

           —WillI?thefellowsaid.I’mnotwellyet.

           BrotherMichaelrepeated:

           —You’llgetyourwalkingpapers.Itellyou.

           Hebentdowntorakethefire.Hehadalongbacklikethelongbackofatramhorse.Heshookthepokergravelyandnoddedhisheadatthefellowoutofthirdofgrammar.

           ThenBrotherMichaelwentawayandafterawhilethefellowoutofthirdofgrammarturnedintowardsthewallandfellasleep.

           Thatwastheinfirmary.Hewassickthen.Hadtheywrittenhometotellhismotherandfather?Butitwouldbequickerforoneoftheprieststogohimselftotellthem.Orhewouldwritealetterforthepriesttobring.

           DearMother,

           Iamsick.Iwanttogohome.Pleasecomeandtakemehome.Iamintheinfirmary.