Портрет художника в юності
Chapter 1
HedrankanothercupofhotteaandFlemingsaid:
—What’sup?Haveyouapainorwhat’supwithyou?
—Idon’tknow,Stephensaid.
—Sickinyourbreadbasket,Flemingsaid,becauseyourfacelookswhite.Itwillgoaway.
—Oyes,Stephensaid.
Buthewasnotsickthere.Hethoughtthathewassickinhisheartifyoucouldbesickinthatplace.Flemingwasverydecenttoaskhim.Hewantedtocry.Heleanedhiselbowsonthetableandshutandopenedtheflapsofhisears.Thenheheardthenoiseoftherefectoryeverytimeheopenedtheflapsofhisears.Itmadearoarlikeatrainatnight.Andwhenheclosedtheflapstheroarwasshutofflikeatraingoingintoatunnel.ThatnightatDalkeythetrainhadroaredlikethatandthen,whenitwentintothetunnel,theroarstopped.Heclosedhiseyesandthetrainwenton,roaringandthenstopping;roaringagain,stopping.Itwasnicetohearitroarandstopandthenroaroutofthetunnelagainandthenstop.
Thenthehigherlinefellowsbegantocomedownalongthemattinginthemiddleoftherefectory,PaddyRathandJimmyMageeandtheSpaniardwhowasallowedtosmokecigarsandthelittlePortuguesewhoworethewoollycap.Andthenthelowerlinetablesandthetablesofthethirdline.Andeverysinglefellowhadadifferentwayofwalking.
