Дублінці

A Little Cloud

           PeopleusedtosaythatIgnatiusGallaherwaswildOfcourse,hedidmixwitharakishsetoffellowsatthattime.drankfreelyandborrowedmoneyonallsides.Intheendhehadgotmixedupinsomeshadyaffair,somemoneytransaction:atleast,thatwasoneversionofhisflight.Butnobodydeniedhimtalent.Therewasalwaysacertain...somethinginIgnatiusGallaherthatimpressedyouinspiteofyourself.Evenwhenhewasoutatelbowsandathiswits’endformoneyhekeptupaboldface.LittleChandlerremembered(andtheremembrancebroughtaslightflushofpridetohischeek)oneofIgnatiusGallaher’ssayingswhenhewasinatightcorner:

           “Halftimenow,boys,”heusedtosaylight-heartedly.“Where’smyconsideringcap?”

           ThatwasIgnatiusGallaherallout;and,damnit,youcouldn’tbutadmirehimforit.

           LittleChandlerquickenedhispace.Forthefirsttimeinhislifehefelthimselfsuperiortothepeoplehepassed.ForthefirsttimehissoulrevoltedagainstthedullineleganceofCapelStreet.Therewasnodoubtaboutit:ifyouwantedtosucceedyouhadtogoaway.YoucoulddonothinginDublin.AshecrossedGrattanBridgehelookeddowntherivertowardsthelowerquaysandpitiedthepoorstuntedhouses.Theyseemedtohimabandoftramps,huddledtogetheralongtheriverbanks,theiroldcoatscoveredwithdustandsoot,stupefiedbythepanoramaofsunsetandwaitingforthefirstchillofnightbidthemarise,shakethemselvesandbegone.

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Roboto Lora
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