Портрет художника в юності
Chapter 2
ThoughhehadheardhisfathersaythatMikeFlynnhadputsomeofthebestrunnersofmoderntimesthroughhishandsStephenoftenglancedathistrainer’sflabbystubble-coveredface,asitbentoverthelongstainedfingersthroughwhichherolledhiscigarette,andwithpityatthemildlustrelessblueeyeswhichwouldlookupsuddenlyfromthetaskandgazevaguelyintothebluedistancewhilethelongswollenfingersceasedtheirrollingandgrainsandfibresoftobaccofellbackintothepouch.
OnthewayhomeuncleCharleswouldoftenpayavisittothechapeland,asthefontwasaboveStephen’sreach,theoldmanwoulddiphishandandthensprinklethewaterbrisklyaboutStephen’sclothesandontheflooroftheporch.Whileheprayedhekneltonhisredhandkerchiefandreadabovehisbreathfromathumbblackenedprayerbookwhereincatchwordswereprintedatthefootofeverypage.Stephenkneltathissiderespecting,thoughhedidnotshare,hispiety.Heoftenwonderedwhathisgrand-uncleprayedforsoseriously.PerhapsheprayedforthesoulsinpurgatoryorforthegraceofahappydeathorperhapsheprayedthatGodmightsendhimbackapartofthebigfortunehehadsquanderedinCork.
OnSundaysStephenwithhisfatherandhisgrand-uncletooktheirconstitutional.Theoldmanwasanimblewalkerinspiteofhiscornsandoftentenortwelvemilesoftheroadwerecovered.ThelittlevillageofStillorganwasthepartingoftheways.
