Дублінці
Araby
FromthefrontwindowIsawmycompanionsplayingbelowinthestreet.Theircriesreachedmeweakenedandindistinctand,leaningmyforeheadagainstthecoolglass,Ilookedoveratthedarkhousewhereshelived.Imayhavestoodthereforanhour,seeingnothingbutthebrown-cladfigurecastbymyimagination,toucheddiscreetlybythelamplightatthecurvedneck,atthehandupontherailingsandattheborderbelowthedress.
WhenIcamedownstairsagainIfoundMrs.Mercersittingatthefire.Shewasanoldgarrulouswoman,apawnbroker’swidow,whocollectedusedstampsforsomepiouspurpose.Ihadtoendurethegossipofthetea-table.Themealwasprolongedbeyondanhourandstillmyuncledidnotcome.Mrs.Mercerstooduptogo:shewassorryshecouldn’twaitanylonger,butitwasaftereighto’clockandshedidnotliketobeoutlateasthenightairwasbadforher.WhenshehadgoneIbegantowalkupanddowntheroom,clenchingmyfists.Myauntsaid:
“I’mafraidyoumayputoffyourbazaarforthisnightofOurLord.”
Atnineo’clockIheardmyuncle’slatchkeyinthehalldoor.Iheardhimtalkingtohimselfandheardthehallstandrockingwhenithadreceivedtheweightofhisovercoat.Icouldinterpretthesesigns.WhenhewasmidwaythroughhisdinnerIaskedhimtogivemethemoneytogotothebazaar.Hehadforgotten.
“Thepeopleareinbedandaftertheirfirstsleepnow,”hesaid.
Ididnotsmile.
