THESISTERS
Therewasnohopeforhimthistime:
itwasthethird
beroerte
stroke.NightafternightIhadpassedthehouse(itwasvacationtime)andstudiedthelightedsquareofwindow:
andnightafternightIhadfounditlightedinthesameway,faintlyand
gelijkmatig
evenly.Ifhewasdead,Ithought,Iwouldseethe
weerspiegeling
reflectionofcandlesonthedarkenedblindforIknewthattwocandlesmustbesetattheheadofalijk
corpse.Hehadoftensaidtome:
“Iamnotlongforthisworld,”andIhadthoughthiswordsidle.
NowIknewtheyweretrue.
EverynightasIgazedupatthewindowIsaidsoftlytomyselftheword
verlamming
paralysis.Ithadalwayssoundedstrangelyinmyears,likethewordgnomonintheEuclidandthewordsimonyintheCatechism.
Butnowitsoundedtomelikethenameofsomemaleficentand
zondig
sinfulbeing.Itfilledmewithfear,andyetIlongedtobenearertoitandtolookuponits
dodelijke
deadlywork.OldCotterwassittingatthefire,smoking,whenIcamedownstairstosupper.
Whilemyauntwasladlingoutmystirabouthesaid,asifreturningtosomeformerremarkofhis:.
“No,Iwouldn’tsayhewasexactly...
buttherewassomethingqueer...
therewassomethinguncannyabouthim.
I’lltellyoumyopinion....”
Hebegantopuffathis
pijp
pipe,nodoubtarranginghisopinioninhismind.Tiresomeoldfool!
Whenweknewhimfirstheusedtoberatherinteresting,talkingoffaintsandworms;
butIsoongrewtiredofhimandhis
eindeloze
endlessstoriesaboutthedistillery.“Ihavemyowntheoryaboutit,”hesaid.
“Ithinkitwasoneofthose...
peculiarcases....
Butit’shardtosay....”
Hebegantopuffagainathis
pijp
pipewithoutgivingushistheory.Myunclesawme
staren
staringandsaidtome:.“Well,soyouroldfriendisgone,you’llbesorrytohear.”
“Who?”
saidI.
“FatherFlynn.”
“Ishedead?”
“MrCotterherehasjusttoldus.
Hewaspassingbythehouse.”
IknewthatIwasunder
observatie
observationsoIcontinuedeatingasifthenewshadnotinterestedme.MyuncleexplainedtooldCotter.
“Theyoungsterandheweregreatfriends.
Theoldchaptaughthimagreatdeal,mindyou;
andtheysayhehadagreatwishforhim.”
“Godhavemercyonhissoul,”saidmyauntpiously.
OldCotterlookedatmeforawhile.
Ifeltthathislittlebeadyblackeyeswere
onderzochten
examiningmebutIwouldnotbevredigen
satisfyhimbylookingupfrommyplate.Hereturnedtohis
pijp
pipeandfinallyspatrudelyintothegrate.“Iwouldn’tlikechildrenofmine,”hesaid,“tohavetoomuchtosaytoamanlikethat.”
“Howdoyoumean,MrCotter?”
askedmyaunt.
“WhatImeanis,”saidoldCotter,“it’sbadforchildren.
Myideais:
letayoung
jongen
ladrunaboutandplaywithyoungladsofhisownageandnotbe....AmIright,Jack?”
“That’smyprinciple,too,”saidmyuncle.
“Lethimlearntoboxhiscorner.
That’swhatI’malwayssayingtothatRosicrucianthere:
takeexercise.
Why,whenIwasanippereverymorningofmylifeIhadacoldbath,winterandsummer.
Andthat’swhatstandstomenow.
Educationisallveryfineandlarge....
MrCottermighttakeapickofthatlegmutton,”headdedtomyaunt.
“No,no,notforme,”saidoldCotter.
Myauntbroughtthe
schotel
dishfromthesafeandputitonthetable.“Butwhydoyouthinkit’snotgoodforchildren,MrCotter?”
sheasked.
“It’sbadforchildren,”saidoldCotter,“becausetheirmindsaresoimpressionable.
Whenchildrenseethingslikethat,youknow,ithasaneffect....”
IcrammedmymouthwithstiraboutforfearImightgiveutterancetomyanger.
Tiresomeoldred-nosedimbecile!
ItwaslatewhenIfellasleep.
ThoughIwasangrywitholdCotterforalludingtomeasachild,Ipuzzledmyheadto
extraheren
extractmeaningfromhisunfinishedsentences.InthedarkofmyroomIimaginedthatIsawagaintheheavygreyfaceoftheparalytic.
IdrewtheblanketsovermyheadandtriedtothinkofChristmas.
Butthegreyfacestillfollowedme.
Itmurmured;
andIunderstoodthatitdesiredto
bekennen
confesssomething.Ifeltmysoulrecedingintosome
aangename
pleasantandviciousregion;andthereagainIfounditwaitingforme.
Itbeganto
bekennen
confesstomeinamurmuringvoiceandIwonderedwhyitsmiledvoortdurend
continuallyandwhythelipsweresovochtig
moistwithspittle.ButthenIrememberedthatithaddiedof
verlamming
paralysisandIfeltthatItoowassmilingfeeblyasiftoabsolvethesimoniacofhissin.ThenextmorningafterbreakfastIwentdowntolookatthelittlehouseinGreatBritainStreet.
Itwasanunassumingshop,
geregistreerd
registeredunderthevaguenameofDrapery.Thedraperyconsisted
voornamelijk
mainlyofchildren’sbooteesandumbrellas;andonordinarydaysanoticeusedtohanginthewindow,saying:
UmbrellasRe-covered.
Nonoticewasvisiblenowfortheshutterswereup.
Acrapebouquetwastiedtothedoor-knockerwith
lint
ribbon.Twopoorwomenanda
telegram
telegramboywerereadingthecardpinnedonthecrape.Ialsoapproachedandread:.
Juli
July1st,1895TheRev.JamesFlynn(formerlyofS.Catherine’sChurch,MeathStreet),agedsixty-fiveyears.R.I.P.Thereadingofthecard
overtuigde
persuadedmethathewasdeadandIwasdisturbedtofindmyselfatcheck.HadhenotbeendeadIwouldhavegoneintothelittledarkroombehindtheshoptofindhimsittinginhisarm-chairbythefire,nearlysmotheredinhisgreat-coat.
Perhapsmyauntwouldhavegivenmea
pakje
packetofHighToastforhimandthispresentwouldhaverousedhimfromhisstupefieddoze.ItwasalwaysIwhoemptiedthe
pakje
packetintohisblacksnuff-boxforhishandsbeefde
trembledtoomuchtoallowhimtodothiswithoutmorsen
spillinghalfthesnuffaboutthefloor.Evenasheraisedhislargetremblinghandtohisnoselittlecloudsofsmokedribbledthroughhisfingersoverthefrontofhiscoat.
Itmayhavebeenthese
voortdurende
constantshowersofsnuffwhichgavehisancientpriestlygarmentstheirgreenvervaagde
fadedlookfortheredzakdoek
handkerchief,blackened,asitalwayswas,withthesnuff-stainsofaweek,withwhichhetriedtobrushawaythefallengrains,wasquiteinefficacious.IwishedtogoinandlookathimbutIhadnotthecouragetoknock.
Iwalkedawayslowlyalongthe
zonnige
sunnysideofthestreet,readingallthetheatrale
theatricaladvertisementsintheshop-windowsasIwent.IfounditstrangethatneitherInorthedayseemedinamourningmoodandIfelteven
geïrriteerd
annoyedatdiscoveringinmyselfagevoel
sensationoffreedomasifIhadbeenfreedfromsomethingbyhisdeath.Iwonderedatthisfor,asmyunclehadsaidthenightbefore,hehadtaughtmeagreatdeal.
HehadstudiedintheIrishcollegeinRomeandhehadtaughtmeto
spreken
pronounceLatinproperly.HehadtoldmestoriesaboutthecatacombsandaboutNapoleonBonaparte,andhehadexplainedtomethemeaningofthedifferentceremoniesoftheMassandofthedifferentvestmentswornbythepriest.
Sometimeshehad
vermaakt
amusedhimselfbyputtingdifficultquestionstome,askingmewhatoneshoulddoincertaincircumstancesorwhethersuchandsuchsinsweremortalorvenialoronlyimperfections.Hisquestionsshowedmehowcomplexand
mysterieus
mysteriouswerecertaininstitutionsoftheChurchwhichIhadalwaysbeschouwd
regardedasthesimplestacts.ThedutiesofthepriesttowardstheEucharistandtowardsthesecrecyoftheconfessionalseemedsogravetomethatIwonderedhowanybodyhadeverfoundinhimselfthecouragetoundertakethem;
andIwasnotsurprisedwhenhetoldmethatthefathersoftheChurchhadwrittenbooksasthickasthePostOffice
Directory
Directoryandascloselyprintedasthelawnoticesinthenewspaper,elucidatingalltheseintricatequestions.OftenwhenIthoughtofthisIcouldmakenoansweroronlyavery
dwaas
foolishandhaltingoneuponwhichheusedtosmileandknikte
nodhisheadtwiceorthrice.SometimesheusedtoputmethroughtheresponsesoftheMasswhichhehadmademelearnbyheart;
and,asIpattered,heusedtosmilepensivelyand
knikte
nodhishead,nowandthenpushinghugepinchesofsnuffupeachnostrilalternately.Whenhesmiledheusedto
onthulde
uncoverhisbigdiscolouredteethandlethistonguelieuponhislowerlip—agewoonte
habitwhichhadmademefeelongemakkelijk
uneasyinthebeginningofourkennismaking
acquaintancebeforeIknewhimwell.AsIwalkedalonginthesunIrememberedoldCotter’swordsandtriedtorememberwhathadhappenedafterwardsinthedream.
IrememberedthatIhadnoticedlong
fluweel
velvetcurtainsandaswinginglamp
lampofantiquefashion.IfeltthatIhadbeenveryfaraway,insomelandwherethecustomswerestrange—inPersia,Ithought....
ButIcouldnotremembertheendofthedream.
Intheeveningmyaunttookmewithhertovisitthehouseof
rouw
mourning.Itwasaftersunset;
butthewindow-panesofthehousesthatlookedtothewest
weerspiegelden
reflectedthetawnygoldofagreatbankofclouds.Nanniereceivedusinthehall;
and,asitwouldhavebeenunseemlytohaveshoutedather,myauntshookhandswithherforall.
Theoldwomanpointedupwardsinterrogativelyand,onmyaunt’s
knikken
nodding,proceededtotoilupthesmalle
narrowstaircasebeforeus,herbowedheadbeingnauwelijks
scarcelyabovethelevelofthebanister-rail.Atthefirstlandingshestoppedandbeckonedusforwardencouraginglytowardstheopendoorofthedead-room.
Myauntwentinandtheoldwoman,seeingthatI
aarzelde
hesitatedtoenter,begantobeckontomeagainherhaaldelijk
repeatedlywithherhand.Iwentinontiptoe.
Theroomthroughthelaceendoftheblindwassuffusedwithduskygoldenlight
te midden van
amidwhichthecandleslookedlikebleke
palethinflames.Hehadbeencoffined.
Nanniegavetheleadandwethree
knielden
kneltdownatthefootofthebed.IpretendedtopraybutIcouldnotgathermythoughtsbecausetheoldwoman’smutteringsdistractedme.
Inoticedhowclumsilyher
rok
skirtwashookedatthebackandhowtheheelsofherdoek
clothbootsweretroddendownalltooneside.Thefancycametomethattheoldpriestwassmilingashelaythereinhis
kist
coffin.Butno.WhenweroseandwentuptotheheadofthebedIsawthathewasnotsmiling.
Therehelay,
plechtig
solemnandcopious,vestedasforthealtaar
altar,hislargehandslooselyretainingachalice.Hisfacewasverytruculent,
grijs
greyandmassive,withblackcavernousnostrilsandcircledbyascantywhitefur.Therewasaheavyodourintheroom—theflowers.
Weblessedourselvesandcameaway.
InthelittleroomdownstairswefoundElizaseatedinhisarm-chairinstate.
IgropedmywaytowardsmyusualchairinthecornerwhileNanniewenttothesideboardandbroughtoutadecanterofsherryandsomewine-glasses.
Shesettheseonthetableandinvitedustotakealittleglassofwine.
Then,athersister’sbidding,shefilledoutthesherryintotheglassesandpassedthemtous.
ShepressedmetotakesomecreamcrackersalsobutIdeclinedbecauseIthoughtIwouldmaketoomuchnoiseeatingthem.
Sheseemedtobesomewhatdisappointedatmy
weigering
refusalandwentoverquietlytothebank
sofawhereshesatdownbehindhersister.Noonespoke:
weallgazedattheemptyfireplace.
MyauntwaiteduntilEliza
zuchtte
sighedandthensaid:.“Ah,well,he’sgonetoabetterworld.”
Eliza
zuchtte
sighedagainandbowedherheadinassent.Myauntfingeredthe
stengel
stemofherwine-glassbeforesippingalittle.“Didhe...
peacefully?”
sheasked.
“Oh,quitepeacefully,ma’am,”saidEliza.
“Youcouldn’ttellwhenthebreathwentoutofhim.
Hehadabeautifuldeath,Godbepraised.”
“Andeverything...?”
“FatherO’RourkewasinwithhimaTuesdayandanointedhimandpreparedhimandall.”
“Heknewthen?”
“Hewasquiteresigned.”
“Helooksquiteresigned,”saidmyaunt.
“That’swhatthewomanwehadintowashhimsaid.
Shesaidhejustlookedasifhewasasleep,helookedthatpeacefulandresigned.
Noonewouldthinkhe’dmakesuchabeautifulcorpse.”
“Yes,indeed,”saidmyaunt.
Shesippedalittlemorefromherglassandsaid:.
“Well,MissFlynn,atanyrateitmustbeagreat
troost
comfortforyoutoknowthatyoudidallyoucouldforhim.Youwerebothverykindtohim,Imustsay.”
Elizasmoothedherdressoverherknees.
“Ah,poorJames!”
shesaid.
“Godknowswedoneallwecould,aspoorasweare—wewouldn’tseehimwantanythingwhilehewasinit.”
Nanniehadleanedherheadagainstthesofa-pillowandseemedabouttofallasleep.
“There’spoorNannie,”saidEliza,lookingather,“she’sworeout.
Alltheworkwehad,sheandme,gettinginthewomantowashhimandthenlayinghimoutandthenthe
kist
coffinandthenarrangingabouttheMassinthekapel
chapel.OnlyforFatherO’RourkeIdon’tknowwhatwe’dhavedoneatall.
Itwashimbroughtusallthemflowersandthemtwocandlesticksoutofthe
kapel
chapelandwroteoutthenoticefortheFreeman’sGeneralandtookchargeofallthepapersforthebegraafplaats
cemeteryandpoorJames’sinsurance.”“Wasn’tthatgoodofhim?”
saidmyaunt.
Elizaclosedhereyesandshookherheadslowly.
“Ah,there’snofriendsliketheoldfriends,”shesaid,“whenallissaidanddone,nofriendsthatabodycantrust.”
“Indeed,that’strue,”saidmyaunt.
“AndI’msurenowthathe’sgonetohis
eeuwige
eternalrewardhewon’tforgetyouandallyourvriendelijkheid
kindnesstohim.”“Ah,poorJames!”
saidEliza.
“Hewasnogreattroubletous.
Youwouldn’thearhiminthehouseanymorethannow.
Still,Iknowhe’sgoneandalltothat....”
“It’swhenit’salloverthatyou’llmisshim,”saidmyaunt.
“Iknowthat,”saidEliza.
“Iwon’tbebringinghiminhiscupofbeef-teaanymore,noryou,ma’am,sendinghimhissnuff.
Ah,poorJames!”
Shestopped,asifshewerecommuningwiththepastandthensaidshrewdly:.
“Mindyou,Inoticedtherewassomethingqueercomingoverhimlatterly.
WheneverI’dbringinhissouptohimthereI’dfindhimwithhisbreviaryfallentothefloor,lyingbackinthechairandhismouthopen.”
Shelaidafingeragainsthernoseandfrowned:
thenshecontinued:.
“Butstillandallhekeptonsayingthatbeforethesummerwasoverhe’dgooutforadriveonefinedayjusttoseetheoldhouseagainwherewewereallborndowninIrishtownandtakemeandNanniewithhim.
Ifwecouldonlygetoneofthemnew-fangledcarriagesthatmakesnonoisethatFatherO’Rourketoldhimabout,themwiththerheumaticwheels,forthedaycheap—hesaid,atJohnnyRush’soverthewaythereanddriveoutthethreeofustogetherofaSundayevening.
Hehadhismindsetonthat....
PoorJames!”
“TheLordhavemercyonhissoul!”
saidmyaunt.
Elizatookouther
zakdoek
handkerchiefandwipedhereyeswithit.Thensheputitbackagaininherpocketand
staarde
gazedintotheemptygrateforsometimewithoutspeaking.