Портрет художника в юності
Chapter 5
Hebroodedsourlyonhisjudgementandrepeatedwiththesameflatforce:
—Aflamingbloodysugar,that’swhatheis!
ItwashisepitaphforalldeadfriendshipsandStephenwonderedwhetheritwouldeverbespokeninthesametoneoverhismemory.Theheavylumpishphrasesankslowlyoutofhearinglikeastonethroughaquagmire.Stephensawitsinkashehadseenmanyanother,feelingitsheavinessdepresshisheart.Cranly’sspeech,unlikethatofDavin,hadneitherrarephrasesofElizabethanEnglishnorquaintlyturnedversionsofIrishidioms.ItsdrawlwasanechoofthequaysofDublingivenbackbyableakdecayingseaport,itsenergyanechoofthesacredeloquenceofDublingivenbackflatlybyaWicklowpulpit.
TheheavyscowlfadedfromCranly’sfaceasMacCannmarchedbrisklytowardsthemfromtheothersideofthehall.
—Hereyouare!saidMacCanncheerily.
—HereIam!saidStephen.
—Lateasusual.Canyounotcombinetheprogressivetendencywitharespectforpunctuality?
—Thatquestionisoutoforder,saidStephen.Nextbusiness.Hissmilingeyeswerefixedonasilver-wrappedtabletofmilkchocolatewhichpeepedoutofthepropagandist’sbreast-pocket.Alittleringoflistenersclosedroundtohearthewarofwits.
