Дублінці
A Little Cloud
“Theybelieveinenjoyinglife—anddon’tyouthinkthey’reright?IfyouwanttoenjoyyourselfproperlyyoumustgotoParis.And,mindyou,they’veagreatfeelingfortheIrishthere.WhentheyheardIwasfromIrelandtheywerereadytoeatme,man.”
LittleChandlertookfourorfivesipsfromhisglass.
“Tellme,”hesaid,“isittruethatParisisso...immoralastheysay?”
IgnatiusGallahermadeacatholicgesturewithhisrightarm.
“Everyplaceisimmoral,”hesaid.“OfcourseyoudofindspicybitsinParis.Gotooneofthestudents’balls,forinstance.That’slively,ifyoulike,whenthecocottesbegintoletthemselvesloose.Youknowwhattheyare,Isuppose?”
“I’veheardofthem,”saidLittleChandler.
IgnatiusGallaherdrankoffhiswhiskyandshookhishad.
“Ah,”hesaid,“youmaysaywhatyoulike.There’snowomanliketheParisienne—forstyle,forgo.”
“Thenitisanimmoralcity,”saidLittleChandler,withtimidinsistence—“Imean,comparedwithLondonorDublin?”
“London!”saidIgnatiusGallaher.“It’ssixofoneandhalf-a-dozenoftheother.YouaskHogan,myboy.IshowedhimabitaboutLondonwhenhewasoverthere.He’dopenyoureye....Isay,Tommy,don’tmakepunchofthatwhisky:liquorup.”
“No,really....
