Портрет художника в юності
Chapter 5
Itwasajestingnamebetweenthem,buttheyoungpeasantborewithitlightly:
—Goon,Stevie,Ihaveahardhead,youtellme.Callmewhatyouwill.
ThehomelyversionofhischristiannameonthelipsofhisfriendhadtouchedStephenpleasantlywhenfirstheardforhewasasformalinspeechwithothersastheywerewithhim.Often,ashesatinDavin’sroomsinGranthamStreet,wonderingathisfriend’swell-madebootsthatflankedthewallpairbypairandrepeatingforhisfriend’ssimpleeartheversesandcadencesofotherswhichweretheveilsofhisownlonginganddejection,therudeFirbolgmindofhislistenerhaddrawnhismindtowardsitandflungitbackagain,drawingitbyaquietinbredcourtesyofattentionorbyaquaintturnofoldEnglishspeechorbytheforceofitsdelightinrudebodilyskill—forDavinhadsatatthefeetofMichaelCusack,theGael—repellingswiftlyandsuddenlybyagrossnessofintelligenceorbyabluntnessoffeelingorbyadullstareofterrorintheeyes,theterrorofsoulofastarvingIrishvillageinwhichthecurfewwasstillanightlyfear.
SidebysidewithhismemoryofthedeedsofprowessofhisuncleMatDavin,theathlete,theyoungpeasantworshippedthesorrowfullegendofIreland.Thegossipofhisfellow-studentswhichstrovetorendertheflatlifeofthecollegesignificantatanycostlovedtothinkofhimasayoungfenian.HisnursehadtaughthimIrishandshapedhisrudeimaginationbythebrokenlightsofIrishmyth.
