THESISTERS
Therewasnohopeforhimthistime:
itwasthe
terzo
thirdstroke.NightafternightIhad
passato
passedthehouse(itwasvacationtime)andstudiato
studiedthelightedsquareoffinestra
window:andnightafternightIhadfounditlightedinthesameway,faintlyandevenly.
Ifhewasdead,Ithought,Iwouldseethereflectionofcandlesonthedarkened
cieco
blindforIknewthattwocandlesmustbesetattheheadofacorpse.Hehad
spesso
oftensaidtome:“Iamnotlongforthisworld,”andIhadthoughthiswordsidle.
NowIknewtheyweretrue.
EverynightasIgazedupatthe
finestra
windowIsaidsoftlytomyselfthewordparalysis.Ithadalwayssoundedstrangelyinmyears,likethewordgnomonintheEuclidandthewordsimonyintheCatechism.
Butnowitsoundedtomelikethenameofsomemaleficentandsinfulbeing.
Itfilledmewith
paura
fear,andyetIlongedtobenearertoitandtolookuponitsdeadlywork.OldCotterwassittingatthefire,
fumare
smoking,whenIcamedownstairstosupper.Whilemy
zia
auntwasladlingoutmystirabouthesaid,asifreturningtosomeformerremarkofhis:.“No,Iwouldn’tsayhewasexactly...
buttherewassomethingqueer...
therewassomethinguncannyabouthim.
I’lltellyoumyopinion....”
He
cominciò
begantopuffathispipe,nodubbio
doubtarranginghisopinioninhismind.Tiresomeoldfool!
Whenweknewhimfirstheusedtobe
piuttosto
ratherinteresting,talkingoffaintsandworms;butIsoongrewtiredofhimandhisendlessstoriesaboutthedistillery.
“Ihavemyowntheoryaboutit,”hesaid.
“Ithinkitwasoneofthose...
peculiarcases....
Butit’shardtosay....”
He
cominciò
begantopuffagainathispipewithoutgivingushistheory.Myunclesawmestaringandsaidtome:.
“Well,soyouroldfriendisgone,you’llbesorrytohear.”
“Who?”
saidI.
“FatherFlynn.”
“Ishedead?”
“MrCotterherehasjusttoldus.
Hewas
passando
passingbythehouse.”IknewthatIwasunderobservationsoI
continuai
continuedeatingasifthenewshadnotinteressato
interestedme.MyuncleexplainedtooldCotter.
“Theyoungsterandheweregreatfriends.
Theoldchap
insegnato
taughthimagreatdeal,mindyou;andtheysayhehadagreatwishforhim.”
“Godhavemercyonhissoul,”saidmy
zia
auntpiously.OldCotterlookedatmeforawhile.
IfeltthathislittlebeadyblackeyeswereexaminingmebutIwouldnotsatisfyhimbylookingupfrommyplate.
Hereturnedtohispipeandfinallyspatrudelyintothegrate.
“Iwouldn’tlikechildrenofmine,”hesaid,“tohavetoomuchtosaytoamanlikethat.”
“Howdoyoumean,MrCotter?”
askedmy
zia
aunt.“WhatImeanis,”saidoldCotter,“it’sbadforchildren.
Myideais:
letayoungladrunaboutandplaywithyoungladsofhisown
età
ageandnotbe....AmIright,Jack?”
“That’smyprinciple,too,”saidmyuncle.
“Lethim
impari
learntoboxhiscorner.That’swhatI’malwayssayingtothatRosicrucianthere:
takeexercise.
Why,whenIwasanippereverymorningofmylifeIhadacoldbath,winterand
estate
summer.Andthat’swhatstandstomenow.
Educationisallveryfineand
grande
large....MrCottermighttakeapickofthat
gamba
legmutton,”headdedtomyzia
aunt.“No,no,notforme,”saidoldCotter.
My
zia
auntbroughtthedishfromthesafeandputitonthetavolo
table.“Butwhydoyouthinkit’snotgoodforchildren,MrCotter?”
sheasked.
“It’sbadforchildren,”saidoldCotter,“becausetheirmindsaresoimpressionable.
Whenchildrenseethingslikethat,youknow,ithasaneffect....”
Icrammedmy
bocca
mouthwithstiraboutforfearImightgiveutterancetomyanger.Tiresomeoldred-nosedimbecile!
ItwaslatewhenIfell
addormentato
asleep.ThoughIwasangrywitholdCotterforalludingtomeasachild,Ipuzzledmyheadtoextractmeaningfromhisunfinishedsentences.
Inthe
buio
darkofmyroomIimmaginavo
imaginedthatIsawagainthepesante
heavygreyfaceoftheparalytic.Idrewtheblanketsovermyheadandtriedtothinkof
Natale
Christmas.Butthegreyfacestillfollowedme.
Itmurmured;
andIunderstoodthatitdesiredtoconfesssomething.
Ifeltmy
anima
soulrecedingintosomepleasantandviciousregion;andthereagainIfounditwaitingforme.
It
cominciò
begantoconfesstomeinamurmuringvoce
voiceandIwonderedwhyitsorrideva
smiledcontinuallyandwhythelipsweresomoistwithspittle.ButthenIrememberedthatithaddiedofparalysisandIfeltthatItoowas
sorridevo
smilingfeeblyasiftoabsolvethesimoniacofhissin.Thenextmorningafter
colazione
breakfastIwentdowntolookatthelittlehouseinGreatBritainStreet.Itwasanunassuming
negozio
shop,registeredunderthevaguenameofDrapery.Thedraperyconsistedmainlyofchildren’sbooteesandumbrellas;
andonordinarydaysa
avviso
noticeusedtohanginthefinestra
window,saying:UmbrellasRe-covered.
No
avviso
noticewasvisiblenowfortheshutterswereup.Acrapebouquetwastiedtothedoor-knockerwithribbon.
Twopoorwomenandatelegramboywerereadingthe
carta
cardpinnedonthecrape.Ialsoapproachedandread:.
July1st,1895TheRev.JamesFlynn(formerlyofS.Catherine’s
Chiesa
Church,MeathStreet),agedsixty-fiveyears.R.I.P.Thereadingofthe
carta
cardpersuadedmethathewasdeadandIwasdisturbedtofindmyselfatcheck.HadhenotbeendeadIwouldhavegoneintothelittledarkroombehindthe
negozio
shoptofindhimsittinginhisarm-chairbythefire,nearlysmotheredinhisgreat-coat.Perhapsmy
zia
auntwouldhavegivenmeapacketofHighToastforhimandthispresentwouldhaverousedhimfromhisstupefieddoze.ItwasalwaysIwho
svuotare
emptiedthepacketintohisblacksnuff-boxforhishandstrembledtoomuchtoallowhimtodothiswithoutspillinghalfthesnuffaboutthepavimento
floor.Evenasheraisedhis
grande
largetremblinghandtohisnaso
noselittlecloudsofsmokedribbledthroughhisfingersoverthefrontofhiscoat.Itmayhavebeentheseconstantshowersofsnuffwhichgavehisancientpriestlygarmentstheir
verde
greenfadedlookfortheredhandkerchief,blackened,asitalwayswas,withthesnuff-stainsofaweek,withwhichhetriedtobrushawaythefallengrains,wasquiteinefficacious.IwishedtogoinandlookathimbutIhadnotthecourageto
bussare
knock.Iwalkedawayslowlyalongthesunnysideofthestreet,readingallthetheatricaladvertisementsintheshop-windowsasIwent.
Ifoundit
strano
strangethatneitherInorthedaysembrava
seemedinamourningmoodandIfeltevenannoyedatdiscoveringinmyselfasensationoffreedomasifIhadbeenfreedfromsomethingbyhisdeath.I
chiedevo
wonderedatthisfor,asmyunclehadsaidthenightbefore,hehadinsegnato
taughtmeagreatdeal.Hehad
studiato
studiedintheIrishcollegeinRomeandhehadinsegnato
taughtmetopronounceLatinproperly.HehadtoldmestoriesaboutthecatacombsandaboutNapoleonBonaparte,andhehad
spiegato
explainedtomethemeaningofthedifferentceremoniesoftheMassandofthedifferentvestmentsindossate
wornbythepriest.Sometimeshehadamusedhimselfbyputtingdifficultquestionstome,askingmewhatoneshoulddoincertaincircumstancesor
se
whethersuchandsuchsinsweremortalorvenialoronlyimperfections.Hisquestionsshowedmehowcomplexandmysteriouswerecertaininstitutionsofthe
Chiesa
ChurchwhichIhadalwaysregardedasthesimplestacts.ThedutiesofthepriesttowardstheEucharistandtowardsthesecrecyoftheconfessional
sembravano
seemedsogravetomethatIchiedevo
wonderedhowanybodyhadeverfoundinhimselfthecouragetoundertakethem;andIwasnot
sorprese
surprisedwhenhetoldmethatthefathersoftheChiesa
ChurchhadwrittenbooksasthickasthePostOfficeDirectoryandascloselyprintedasthelawnoticesinthenewspaper,elucidatingalltheseintricatequestions.Spesso
OftenwhenIthoughtofthisIcouldmakenoansweroronlyaveryfoolishandhaltingoneuponwhichheusedtosorrideva
smileandnodhisheadtwiceorthrice.SometimesheusedtoputmethroughtheresponsesoftheMasswhichhehadmademe
imparare
learnbyheart;and,asIpattered,heusedto
sorrideva
smilepensivelyandnodhishead,nowandthenspingendo
pushinghugepinchesofsnuffupeachnostrilalternately.Whenhe
sorrideva
smiledheusedtouncoverhisbigdiscolouredteethandlethistonguelieuponhislowerlip—ahabitwhichhadmademefeeluneasyinthebeginningofouracquaintancebeforeIknewhimwell.AsIwalkedalonginthe
sole
sunIrememberedoldCotter’swordsandtriedtorememberwhathadhappenedafterwardsinthedream.IrememberedthatIhad
notato
noticedlongvelvetcurtainsandaswinginglampofantiquefashion.IfeltthatIhadbeenveryfaraway,insome
terra
landwherethecustomswerestrange—inPersia,Ithought....ButIcouldnotremembertheendofthedream.
Intheeveningmy
zia
aunttookmewithhertovisitare
visitthehouseofmourning.Itwasaftersunset;
butthewindow-panesofthehousesthatlookedtothe
ovest
westreflectedthetawnygoldofagreatbankofclouds.Nanniereceivedusinthehall;
and,asitwouldhavebeenunseemlytohaveshoutedather,my
zia
auntshookhandswithherforall.Theoldwomanpointedupwardsinterrogativelyand,onmyaunt’snodding,proceededtotoilupthenarrowstaircasebeforeus,herbowedheadbeingscarcely
sopra
abovethelevelofthebanister-rail.Atthefirstlandingshestoppedandbeckonedusforwardencouraginglytowardstheopendoorofthedead-room.
My
zia
auntwentinandtheoldwoman,seeingthatIhesitatedtoenter,iniziato
begantobeckontomeagainrepeatedlywithherhand.Iwentinontiptoe.
Theroomthroughthelaceendofthe
cieco
blindwassuffusedwithduskygoldenlightamidwhichthecandleslookedlikepalethinflames.Hehadbeencoffined.
Nanniegavetheleadandwethreekneltdownatthefootofthebed.
Ipretendedto
pregare
praybutIcouldnotgathermythoughtsbecausetheoldwoman’smutteringsdistractedme.I
notato
noticedhowclumsilyherskirtwashookedatthebackandhowtheheelsofherclothbootsweretroddendownalltooneside.Thefancycametomethattheoldpriestwas
sorridendo
smilingashelaythereinhiscoffin.Butno.WhenweroseandwentuptotheheadofthebedIsawthathewasnot
sorridendo
smiling.Therehelay,solemnandcopious,vestedasforthealtar,hislargehandslooselyretainingachalice.
Hisfacewasverytruculent,greyandmassive,withblackcavernousnostrilsandcircledbyascantywhitefur.
Therewasaheavyodourintheroom—theflowers.
Weblessedourselvesandcameaway.
InthelittleroomdownstairswefoundElizaseatedinhisarm-chairin
stato
state.IgropedmywaytowardsmyusualchairinthecornerwhileNanniewenttothesideboardandbroughtoutadecanterofsherryandsomewine-glasses.
Shesettheseonthe
tavolo
tableandinvitedustotakealittlebicchiere
glassofwine.Then,athersister’sbidding,shefilledoutthesherryintotheglassesand
passati
passedthemtous.ShepressedmetotakesomecreamcrackersalsobutIdeclinedbecauseIthoughtIwouldmaketoomuchnoiseeatingthem.
She
sembrava
seemedtobesomewhatdisappointedatmyrefusalandwentoverquietlytothesofawhereshesatdownbehindhersister.Noonespoke:
weallgazedatthe
vuoto
emptyfireplace.MyauntwaiteduntilElizasighedandthensaid:.
“Ah,well,he’sgonetoabetterworld.”
Elizasighedagainandbowedherheadinassent.
My
zia
auntfingeredthestemofherwine-glassbeforesippingalittle.“Didhe...
peacefully?”
sheasked.
“Oh,quitepeacefully,ma’am,”saidEliza.
“Youcouldn’ttellwhenthebreathwentoutofhim.
Hehadabeautifuldeath,Godbepraised.”
“Andeverything...?”
“FatherO’RourkewasinwithhimaTuesdayandanointedhimandpreparedhimandall.”
“Heknewthen?”
“Hewasquiteresigned.”
“Helooksquiteresigned,”saidmy
zia
aunt.“That’swhatthewomanwehadintowashhimsaid.
Shesaidhejustlookedasifhewasasleep,helookedthatpeacefulandresigned.
Noonewouldthinkhe’dmakesuchabeautifulcorpse.”
“Yes,indeed,”saidmy
zia
aunt.Shesippedalittlemorefromher
bicchiere
glassandsaid:.“Well,MissFlynn,atanyrateitmustbeagreatcomfortforyoutoknowthatyoudidallyoucouldforhim.
Youwerebothverykindtohim,Imustsay.”
Elizasmoothedher
vestito
dressoverherknees.“Ah,poorJames!”
shesaid.
“Godknowswedoneallwecould,aspoorasweare—wewouldn’tseehimwantanythingwhilehewasinit.”
Nanniehadleanedherheadagainstthesofa-pillowand
sembrava
seemedabouttofallasleep.“There’spoorNannie,”saidEliza,lookingather,“she’sworeout.
Alltheworkwehad,sheandme,gettinginthewomantowashhimandthenlayinghimoutandthenthecoffinandthenarrangingabouttheMassinthechapel.
OnlyforFatherO’RourkeIdon’tknowwhatwe’dhavedoneatall.
ItwashimbroughtusallthemflowersandthemtwocandlesticksoutofthechapelandwroteoutthenoticefortheFreeman’sGeneralandtookchargeofallthepapersforthecemeteryandpoorJames’sinsurance.”
“Wasn’tthatgoodofhim?”
saidmy
zia
aunt.Elizaclosedhereyesandshookherheadslowly.
“Ah,there’snofriendsliketheoldfriends,”shesaid,“whenallissaidanddone,nofriendsthatabodycantrust.”
“Indeed,that’strue,”saidmy
zia
aunt.“AndI’msurenowthathe’sgonetohiseternalrewardhewon’tforgetyouandallyourkindnesstohim.”
“Ah,poorJames!”
saidEliza.
“Hewasnogreattroubletous.
Youwouldn’thearhiminthehouseanymorethannow.
Still,Iknowhe’sgoneandalltothat....”
“It’swhenit’salloverthatyou’llmisshim,”saidmy
zia
aunt.“Iknowthat,”saidEliza.
“Iwon’tbebringinghiminhis
tazza
cupofbeef-teaanymore,né
noryou,ma’am,sendinghimhissnuff.Ah,poorJames!”
Shestopped,asifshewerecommuningwiththepastandthensaidshrewdly:.
“Mindyou,I
notato
noticedtherewassomethingqueercomingoverhimlatterly.WheneverI’dbringinhissouptohimthereI’dfindhimwithhisbreviaryfallentothefloor,lyingbackinthechairandhis
bocca
mouthopen.”Shelaidafingeragainsther
naso
noseandfrowned:thenshe
continuato
continued:.“Butstillandallhekeptonsayingthatbeforethesummerwasoverhe’dgooutforadriveonefinedayjusttoseetheoldhouseagainwherewewereallborndowninIrishtownandtakemeandNanniewithhim.
Ifwecouldonlygetoneofthemnew-fangledcarriagesthatmakesnonoisethatFatherO’Rourketoldhimabout,themwiththerheumaticwheels,forthedaycheap—hesaid,atJohnnyRush’soverthewaythereanddriveoutthethreeofustogetherofaSundayevening.
Hehadhismindsetonthat....
PoorJames!”
“TheLordhavemercyonhissoul!”
saidmy
zia
aunt.Elizatookoutherhandkerchiefandwipedhereyeswithit.
Thensheputitbackagaininherpocketandgazedintotheemptygrateforsometimewithoutspeaking.