THESISTERS
Therewasnohopeforhimthistime:
itwasthethirdstroke.
NightafternightIhadpassedthehouse(itwasvacationtime)andstudiedthelightedsquareofwindow:
andnightafternightIhadfounditlightedinthesameway,faintlyand
uniformemente
evenly.Ifhewasdead,Ithought,Iwouldseethe
riflesso
reflectionofcandlesonthedarkenedblindforIknewthattwocandlesmustbesetattheheadofacadavere
corpse.Hehadoftensaidtome:
“Iamnotlongforthisworld,”andIhadthoughthiswordsidle.
NowIknewtheyweretrue.
EverynightasIgazedupatthewindowIsaidsoftlytomyselftheword
paralisi
paralysis.Ithadalwayssoundedstrangelyinmyears,likethewordgnomonintheEuclidandthewordsimonyintheCatechism.
Butnowitsoundedtomelikethenameofsomemaleficentandsinfulbeing.
Itfilledmewithfear,andyetIlongedtobe
vicino
nearertoitandtolookuponitsmortale
deadlywork.OldCotterwassittingatthefire,smoking,whenIcamedownstairstosupper.
Whilemyauntwasladlingoutmystirabouthesaid,asifreturningtosomeformer
osservazione
remarkofhis:.“No,Iwouldn’tsayhewasexactly...
buttherewassomethingqueer...
therewassomethinguncannyabouthim.
I’lltellyoumyopinion....”
Hebegantopuffathispipe,nodoubtarranginghisopinioninhismind.
Tiresomeoldfool!
Whenweknewhimfirstheusedtoberatherinteresting,talkingoffaintsandworms;
butIsoongrewtiredofhimandhis
interminabili
endlessstoriesaboutthedistillery.“Ihavemyowntheoryaboutit,”hesaid.
“Ithinkitwasoneofthose...
peculiarcases....
Butit’shardtosay....”
Hebegantopuffagainathispipewithoutgivingushistheory.
Myunclesawme
fissare
staringandsaidtome:.“Well,soyouroldfriendisgone,you’llbesorrytohear.”
“Who?”
saidI.
“FatherFlynn.”
“Ishedead?”
“MrCotterherehasjusttoldus.
Hewaspassingbythehouse.”
IknewthatIwasunder
osservazione
observationsoIcontinuedeatingasifthenewshadnotinterestedme.MyuncleexplainedtooldCotter.
“The
giovane
youngsterandheweregreatfriends.Theoldchaptaughthimagreatdeal,mindyou;
andtheysayhehadagreatwishforhim.”
“Godhavemercyonhissoul,”saidmyauntpiously.
OldCotterlookedatmeforawhile.
Ifeltthathislittlebeadyblackeyeswere
esaminando
examiningmebutIwouldnotsatisfyhimbylookingupfrommyplate.Hereturnedtohispipeandfinallyspatrudelyintothegrate.
“Iwouldn’tlikechildrenofmine,”hesaid,“tohavetoomuchtosaytoamanlikethat.”
“Howdoyoumean,MrCotter?”
askedmyaunt.
“WhatImeanis,”saidoldCotter,“it’sbadforchildren.
Myideais:
letayoung
ragazzo
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
piatto
dishfromthesafeandputitonthetable.“Butwhydoyouthinkit’snotgoodforchildren,MrCotter?”
sheasked.
“It’sbadforchildren,”saidoldCotter,“becausetheirmindsaresoimpressionable.
Whenchildrenseethingslikethat,youknow,ithasaneffect....”
IcrammedmymouthwithstiraboutforfearImightgiveutterancetomyanger.
Tiresomeoldred-nosedimbecile!
ItwaslatewhenIfellasleep.
ThoughIwasangrywitholdCotterforalludingtomeasachild,Ipuzzledmyheadto
estrarre
extractmeaningfromhisunfinishedsentences.InthedarkofmyroomIimaginedthatIsawagaintheheavygreyfaceoftheparalytic.
IdrewtheblanketsovermyheadandtriedtothinkofChristmas.
Butthegreyfacestillfollowedme.
Itmurmured;
andIunderstoodthatitdesiredto
confessare
confesssomething.Ifeltmysoulrecedingintosome
piacevole
pleasantandviciousregion;andthereagainIfounditwaitingforme.
ItbegantoconfesstomeinamurmuringvoiceandIwonderedwhyitsmiled
continuamente
continuallyandwhythelipsweresomoistwithspittle.ButthenIrememberedthatithaddiedof
paralisi
paralysisandIfeltthatItoowassmilingfeeblyasiftoabsolvethesimoniacofhissin.ThenextmorningafterbreakfastIwentdowntolookatthelittlehouseinGreatBritainStreet.
Itwasanunassumingshop,
registrato
registeredunderthevaguenameofDrapery.Thedraperyconsisted
principalmente
mainlyofchildren’sbooteesandumbrellas;andonordinarydaysanoticeusedtohanginthewindow,saying:
UmbrellasRe-covered.
Nonoticewas
visibile
visiblenowfortheshutterswereup.Acrape
bouquet
bouquetwastiedtothedoor-knockerwithnastro
ribbon.Twopoorwomenandatelegramboywerereadingthecardpinnedonthecrape.
Ialsoapproachedandread:.
Luglio
July1st,1895TheRev.JamesFlynn(formerlyofS.Catherine’sChurch,MeathStreet),agedsixty-fiveyears.R.I.P.Thereadingofthecard
convinto
persuadedmethathewasdeadandIwasdisturbato
disturbedtofindmyselfatcheck.HadhenotbeendeadIwouldhavegoneintothelittledarkroombehindtheshoptofindhimsittinginhisarm-chairbythefire,nearlysmotheredinhisgreat-coat.
Perhapsmyauntwouldhavegivenmea
pacchetto
packetofHighToastforhimandthispresentwouldhaverousedhimfromhisstupefieddoze.ItwasalwaysIwhoemptiedthe
pacchetto
packetintohisblacksnuff-boxforhishandstremavano
trembledtoomuchtoallowhimtodothiswithoutrovesciare
spillinghalfthesnuffaboutthefloor.Evenasheraisedhislarge
tremante
tremblinghandtohisnoselittlecloudsofsmokedribbledthroughhisfingersoverthefrontofhiscoat.Itmayhavebeentheseconstantshowersofsnuffwhichgavehisancientpriestlygarmentstheirgreen
sbiadito
fadedlookfortheredfazzoletto
handkerchief,blackened,asitalwayswas,withthesnuff-stainsofaweek,withwhichhetriedtobrushawaythefallengrains,wasquiteinefficacious.IwishedtogoinandlookathimbutIhadnotthecouragetoknock.
Iwalkedawayslowlyalongthe
soleggiato
sunnysideofthestreet,readingallthetheatricaladvertisementsintheshop-windowsasIwent.IfounditstrangethatneitherInorthedayseemedina
lutto
mourningmoodandIfelteveninfastidito
annoyedatdiscoveringinmyselfasensazione
sensationoffreedomasifIhadbeenfreedfromsomethingbyhisdeath.Iwonderedatthisfor,asmyunclehadsaidthenightbefore,hehadtaughtmeagreatdeal.
HehadstudiedintheIrishcollegeinRomeandhehadtaughtmeto
pronunciare
pronounceLatinproperly.HehadtoldmestoriesaboutthecatacombsandaboutNapoleonBonaparte,andhehadexplainedtomethemeaningofthedifferentceremoniesoftheMassandofthedifferentvestmentswornbythepriest.
Sometimeshehad
divertiva
amusedhimselfbyputtingdifficultquestionstome,askingmewhatoneshoulddoincertaincircumstancesorwhethersuchandsuchsinsweremortalorvenialoronlyimperfections.HisquestionsshowedmehowcomplexandmysteriouswerecertaininstitutionsoftheChurchwhichIhadalways
considerato
regardedasthesimplestacts.ThedutiesofthepriesttowardstheEucharistandtowardsthesecrecyoftheconfessionalseemedsogravetomethatIwonderedhowanybodyhadeverfoundinhimselfthecouragetoundertakethem;
andIwasnotsurprisedwhenhetoldmethatthefathersoftheChurchhadwrittenbooksasthickasthePostOfficeDirectoryandascloselyprintedasthelawnoticesinthenewspaper,elucidatingalltheseintricatequestions.
OftenwhenIthoughtofthisIcouldmakenoansweroronlyaveryfoolishandhaltingoneuponwhichheusedtosmileand
annuiva
nodhisheadtwiceortre volte
thrice.SometimesheusedtoputmethroughtheresponsesoftheMasswhichhehadmademelearnbyheart;
and,asIpattered,heusedtosmilepensivelyand
annuiva
nodhishead,nowandthenpushinghugepinchesofsnuffupeachnostrilalternately.Whenhesmiledheusedto
scopriva
uncoverhisbigdiscolouredteethandlethistonguelieuponhislowerlip—ahabitwhichhadmademefeeluneasyinthebeginningofourconoscenza
acquaintancebeforeIknewhimwell.AsIwalkedalonginthesunIrememberedoldCotter’swordsandtriedtorememberwhathadhappenedafterwardsinthedream.
IrememberedthatIhadnoticedlong
velluto
velvetcurtainsandaswinginglampada
lampofantiquefashion.IfeltthatIhadbeenveryfaraway,insomelandwherethecustomswerestrange—inPersia,Ithought....
ButIcouldnotremembertheendofthedream.
Intheeveningmyaunttookmewithhertovisitthehouseof
lutto
mourning.Itwasaftersunset;
butthewindow-panesofthehousesthatlookedtothewest
riflettevano
reflectedthetawnygoldofagreatbankofclouds.Nanniereceivedusinthehall;
and,asitwouldhavebeenunseemlytohaveshoutedather,myauntshookhandswithherforall.
Theoldwomanpointedupwardsinterrogativelyand,onmyaunt’snodding,
proceduto
proceededtotoilupthenarrowstaircasebeforeus,herbowedheadbeingscarcelyabovethelevelofthebanister-rail.Atthefirstlandingshestoppedandbeckonedusforwardencouraginglytowardstheopendoorofthedead-room.
Myauntwentinandtheoldwoman,seeingthatI
esitato
hesitatedtoenter,begantobeckontomeagainripetutamente
repeatedlywithherhand.Iwentinontiptoe.
Theroomthroughthe
pizzo
laceendoftheblindwassuffusedwithduskygoldenlightamidwhichthecandleslookedlikepalethinfiamme
flames.Hehadbeencoffined.
Nanniegavetheleadandwethree
inginocchiati
kneltdownatthefootofthebed.IpretendedtopraybutIcouldnotgathermythoughtsbecausetheoldwoman’smutterings
distraevano
distractedme.Inoticedhowclumsilyher
gonna
skirtwashookedatthebackandhowtheheelsofherstoffa
clothbootsweretroddendownalltooneside.Thefancycametomethattheoldpriestwassmilingashelaythereinhis
bara
coffin.Butno.WhenweroseandwentuptotheheadofthebedIsawthathewasnotsmiling.
Therehelay,
solenne
solemnandcopious,vestedasforthealtar,hislargehandslooselyretainingachalice.Hisfacewasverytruculent,
grigio
greyandmassive,withblackcavernousnostrilsandcircledbyascantywhitepelliccia
fur.Therewasaheavyodourintheroom—theflowers.
Weblessedourselvesandcameaway.
InthelittleroomdownstairswefoundElizaseatedinhisarm-chairinstate.
IgropedmywaytowardsmyusualchairinthecornerwhileNanniewenttothesideboardandbroughtoutadecanterofsherryandsomewine-glasses.
Shesettheseonthetableandinvitedustotakealittleglassofwine.
Then,athersister’sbidding,shefilledoutthesherryintotheglassesandpassedthemtous.
ShepressedmetotakesomecreamcrackersalsobutI
rifiutato
declinedbecauseIthoughtIwouldmaketoomuchnoiseeatingthem.Sheseemedtobesomewhatdisappointedatmy
rifiuto
refusalandwentoverquietlytothedivano
sofawhereshesatdownbehindhersister.Noonespoke:
weallgazedattheempty
camino
fireplace.MyauntwaiteduntilElizasighedandthensaid:.
“Ah,well,he’sgonetoabetterworld.”
Elizasighedagainandbowedherheadinassent.
Myauntfingeredthe
gambo
stemofherwine-glassbeforesorseggiare
sippingalittle.“Didhe...
peacefully?”
sheasked.
“Oh,quite
pacificamente
peacefully,ma’am,”saidEliza.“Youcouldn’ttellwhenthebreathwentoutofhim.
Hehadabeautifuldeath,Godbepraised.”
“Andeverything...?”
“FatherO’RourkewasinwithhimaTuesdayandanointedhimandpreparedhimandall.”
“Heknewthen?”
“Hewasquiteresigned.”
“Helooksquiteresigned,”saidmyaunt.
“That’swhatthewomanwehadintowashhimsaid.
Shesaidhejustlookedasifhewasasleep,helookedthat
tranquillo
peacefulandresigned.Noonewouldthinkhe’dmakesuchabeautifulcorpse.”
“Yes,indeed,”saidmyaunt.
She
sorseggiato
sippedalittlemorefromherglassandsaid:.“Well,MissFlynn,atanyrateitmustbeagreat
conforto
comfortforyoutoknowthatyoudidallyoucouldforhim.Youwerebothverykindtohim,Imustsay.”
Elizasmoothedherdressoverherknees.
“Ah,poorJames!”
shesaid.
“Godknowswedoneallwecould,aspoorasweare—wewouldn’tseehimwantanythingwhilehewasinit.”
Nanniehadleanedherheadagainstthesofa-pillowandseemedabouttofallasleep.
“There’spoorNannie,”saidEliza,lookingather,“she’sworeout.
Alltheworkwehad,sheandme,gettinginthewomantowashhimandthenlayinghimoutandthenthe
bara
coffinandthenarrangingabouttheMassinthecappella
chapel.OnlyforFatherO’RourkeIdon’tknowwhatwe’dhavedoneatall.
Itwashimbroughtusallthemflowersandthemtwocandlesticksoutofthe
cappella
chapelandwroteoutthenoticefortheFreeman’sGeneralandtookchargeofallthepapersforthecimitero
cemeteryandpoorJames’sinsurance.”“Wasn’tthatgoodofhim?”
saidmyaunt.
Elizaclosedhereyesandshookherheadslowly.
“Ah,there’snofriendsliketheoldfriends,”shesaid,“whenallissaidanddone,nofriendsthatabodycantrust.”
“Indeed,that’strue,”saidmyaunt.
“AndI’msurenowthathe’sgonetohiseternalrewardhewon’tforgetyouandallyour
gentilezza
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
fazzoletto
handkerchiefandwipedhereyeswithit.Thensheputitbackagaininherpocketandgazedintotheemptygrateforsometimewithoutspeaking.