THESISTERS
Therewasnohopeforhimthistime:
itwasthethirdstroke.
NightafternightIhadpassedthehouse(itwas
ferie
vacationtime)andstudiedthelightedfirkantet
squareofwindow:andnightafternightIhadfounditlightedinthesameway,faintlyandevenly.
Ifhewasdead,Ithought,IwouldseethereflectionofcandlesonthedarkenedblindforIknewthattwocandlesmustbesetattheheadofacorpse.
Hehadoftensaidtome:
“Iamnotlongforthisworld,”andIhadthoughthiswordsidle.
NowIknewtheyweretrue.
EverynightasIgazedupatthewindowIsaidsoftlytomyselfthewordparalysis.
Ithadalwayssoundedstrangelyinmyears,likethewordgnomonintheEuclidandthewordsimonyintheCatechism.
Butnowitsoundedtomelikethenameofsomemaleficentandsinfulbeing.
It
fylte
filledmewithfear,andyetIlongedtobenearertoitandtolookuponitsdeadlywork.OldCotterwassittingatthefire,smoking,whenIcamedownstairstosupper.
Whilemyauntwasladlingoutmystirabouthesaid,asifreturningtosome
tidligere
formerremarkofhis:.“No,Iwouldn’tsayhewasexactly...
buttherewassomethingqueer...
therewassomethinguncannyabouthim.
I’lltellyoumyopinion....”
Hebegantopuffathispipe,nodoubt
arrangere
arranginghisopinioninhismind.Tiresomeoldfool!
Whenweknewhimfirstheusedtoberatherinteresting,talkingoffaintsandworms;
butIsoongrewtiredofhimandhisendlessstoriesaboutthedistillery.
“Ihavemyown
teori
theoryaboutit,”hesaid.“Ithinkitwasoneofthose...
peculiarcases....
Butit’shardtosay....”
Hebegantopuffagainathispipewithoutgivingushis
teori
theory.Myunclesawmestaringandsaidtome:.
“Well,soyouroldfriendisgone,you’llbesorrytohear.”
“Who?”
saidI.
“FatherFlynn.”
“Ishedead?”
“MrCotterherehasjusttoldus.
Hewaspassingbythehouse.”
IknewthatIwasunderobservationsoIcontinuedeatingasifthenewshadnotinterestedme.
MyuncleexplainedtooldCotter.
“Theyoungsterandheweregreatfriends.
Theoldchaptaughthimagreatdeal,mindyou;
andtheysayhehadagreatwishforhim.”
“Godhavemercyonhissoul,”saidmyauntpiously.
OldCotterlookedatmeforawhile.
IfeltthathislittlebeadyblackeyeswereexaminingmebutIwouldnotsatisfyhimbylookingupfrommyplate.
Hereturnedtohispipeandfinally
spyttet
spatrudelyintothegrate.“Iwouldn’tlikechildrenofmine,”hesaid,“tohavetoomuchtosaytoamanlikethat.”
“Howdoyoumean,MrCotter?”
askedmyaunt.
“WhatImeanis,”saidoldCotter,“it’sbadforchildren.
Myideais:
letayoungladrunaboutandplaywithyoungladsofhisownageandnotbe....
AmIright,Jack?”
“That’smyprinciple,too,”saidmyuncle.
“Lethimlearntoboxhis
hjørne
corner.That’swhatI’malwayssayingtothatRosicrucianthere:
take
mosjon
exercise.Why,whenIwasanippereverymorningofmylifeIhadacold
bad
bath,winterandsummer.Andthat’swhatstandstomenow.
Utdanning
Educationisallveryfineandlarge....MrCottermighttakeapickofthatlegmutton,”he
la
addedtomyaunt.“No,no,notforme,”saidoldCotter.
Myauntbroughtthedishfromthesafeandputitonthetable.
“Butwhydoyouthinkit’snotgoodforchildren,MrCotter?”
sheasked.
“It’sbadforchildren,”saidoldCotter,“becausetheirmindsaresoimpressionable.
Whenchildrenseethingslikethat,youknow,ithasaneffect....”
IcrammedmymouthwithstiraboutforfearImightgiveutterancetomy
vrede
anger.Tiresomeoldred-nosedimbecile!
ItwaslatewhenIfellasleep.
ThoughIwasangrywitholdCotterforalludingtomeasachild,Ipuzzledmyheadtoextractmeaningfromhisunfinishedsentences.
InthedarkofmyroomIimaginedthatIsawagaintheheavygreyfaceoftheparalytic.
I
trakk
drewtheblanketsovermyheadandtriedtothinkofChristmas.Butthegreyfacestillfollowedme.
Itmurmured;
andIunderstoodthatit
ønsket
desiredtoconfesssomething.Ifeltmysoulrecedingintosomepleasantandviciousregion;
andthereagainIfounditwaitingforme.
ItbegantoconfesstomeinamurmuringvoiceandIwonderedwhyitsmiledcontinuallyandwhythelipsweresomoistwithspittle.
ButthenIrememberedthatithaddiedofparalysisandIfeltthatItoowassmilingfeeblyasiftoabsolvethesimoniacofhis
synd
sin.ThenextmorningafterbreakfastIwentdowntolookatthelittlehouseinGreatBritainStreet.
Itwasanunassumingshop,registeredunderthevaguenameofDrapery.
Thedraperyconsistedmainlyofchildren’sbooteesandumbrellas;
andon
vanlige
ordinarydaysanoticeusedtohanginthewindow,saying:UmbrellasRe-covered.
Nonoticewasvisiblenowfortheshutterswereup.
Acrapebouquetwas
bundet
tiedtothedoor-knockerwithribbon.Twopoorwomenandatelegramboywerereadingthecardpinnedonthecrape.
Ialso
nærmet
approachedandread:.July1st,1895TheRev.JamesFlynn(formerlyofS.Catherine’sChurch,MeathStreet),agedsixty-fiveyears.R.I.P.
ThereadingofthecardpersuadedmethathewasdeadandIwasdisturbedtofindmyselfatcheck.
HadhenotbeendeadIwouldhavegoneintothelittledarkroombehindtheshoptofindhimsittinginhisarm-chairbythefire,
nesten
nearlysmotheredinhisgreat-coat.PerhapsmyauntwouldhavegivenmeapacketofHigh
Toast
Toastforhimandthispresentwouldhaverousedhimfromhisstupefieddoze.ItwasalwaysIwhoemptiedthepacketintohisblacksnuff-boxforhishandstrembledtoomuchtoallowhimtodothiswithoutspillinghalfthesnuffaboutthefloor.
Evenasheraisedhislargetremblinghandtohisnoselittlecloudsofsmokedribbledthroughhisfingersoverthefrontofhiscoat.
Itmayhavebeentheseconstantshowersofsnuffwhichgavehis
gamle
ancientpriestlygarmentstheirgreenfadedlookfortheredhandkerchief,blackened,asitalwayswas,withthesnuff-stainsofaweek,withwhichhetriedtobrushawaythefallengrains,wasquiteinefficacious.IwishedtogoinandlookathimbutIhadnotthe
motet
couragetoknock.Iwalkedaway
sakte
slowlyalongthesunnysideofthestreet,readingallthetheatricaladvertisementsintheshop-windowsasIwent.IfounditstrangethatneitherInorthedayseemedinamourning
humør
moodandIfeltevenannoyedatdiscoveringinmyselfasensationoffrihet
freedomasifIhadbeenfreedfromsomethingbyhisdeath.Iwonderedatthisfor,asmyunclehadsaidthenightbefore,hehadtaughtmeagreatdeal.
HehadstudiedintheIrishcollegeinRomeandhehadtaughtmetopronounceLatin
riktig
properly.HehadtoldmestoriesaboutthecatacombsandaboutNapoleonBonaparte,andhehadexplainedtomethemeaningofthedifferentceremoniesoftheMassandofthedifferentvestmentswornbythepriest.
Sometimeshehadamusedhimselfbyputtingdifficultquestionstome,askingmewhatoneshoulddoincertaincircumstancesorwhethersuchandsuchsinsweremortalorvenialoronlyimperfections.
HisquestionsshowedmehowcomplexandmysteriouswerecertaininstitutionsoftheChurchwhichIhadalwaysregardedasthesimplestacts.
ThedutiesofthepriesttowardstheEucharistandtowardsthesecrecyoftheconfessionalseemedsogravetomethatIwonderedhowanybodyhadeverfoundinhimselfthe
motet
couragetoundertakethem;andIwasnotsurprisedwhenhetoldmethatthefathersoftheChurchhadwrittenbooksas
tykk
thickasthePostOfficeDirectoryandascloselyprintedasthelawnoticesinthenewspaper,elucidatingalltheseintricatequestions.OftenwhenIthoughtofthisIcouldmakenoansweroronlyaveryfoolishandhaltingoneuponwhichheusedtosmileandnodhisheadtwiceorthrice.
SometimesheusedtoputmethroughtheresponsesoftheMasswhichhehadmademelearnbyheart;
and,asIpattered,heusedtosmilepensivelyandnodhishead,nowandthenpushinghugepinchesofsnuffupeachnostrilalternately.
Whenhesmiledheusedtouncoverhisbigdiscolouredteethandlethis
tungen
tonguelieuponhislowerlip—ahabitwhichhadmademefeeluneasyinthebeginningofouracquaintancebeforeIknewhimwell.AsIwalkedalonginthesunIrememberedoldCotter’swordsandtriedtorememberwhathadhappened
etterpå
afterwardsinthedream.IrememberedthatIhadnoticedlongvelvetcurtainsandaswinginglampofantique
mote
fashion.IfeltthatIhadbeenveryfaraway,insomelandwherethecustomswerestrange—inPersia,Ithought....
ButIcouldnotremembertheendofthedream.
Intheeveningmyaunttookmewithhertovisitthehouseofmourning.
Itwasaftersunset;
butthewindow-panesofthehousesthatlookedtothewestreflectedthetawnygoldofagreatbankofclouds.
Nannie
mottok
receivedusinthehall;and,asitwouldhavebeenunseemlytohaveshoutedather,myauntshookhandswithherforall.
Theoldwomanpointedupwardsinterrogativelyand,onmyaunt’snodding,proceededtotoilupthenarrowstaircasebeforeus,her
bøyde
bowedheadbeingscarcelyabovethelevelofthebanister-rail.Atthefirstlandingshestoppedandbeckonedusforwardencouragingly
mot
towardstheopendoorofthedead-room.Myauntwentinandtheoldwoman,seeingthatIhesitatedtoenter,begantobeckontomeagainrepeatedlywithherhand.
Iwentinontiptoe.
Theroomthroughthelaceendoftheblindwassuffusedwithdusky
gylden
goldenlightamidwhichthecandleslookedlikepaletynne
thinflames.Hehadbeencoffined.
Nanniegavetheleadandwethreekneltdownatthefootofthebed.
I
lot
pretendedtopraybutIcouldnotsamle
gathermythoughtsbecausetheoldwoman’smutteringsdistractedme.Inoticedhowclumsilyherskirtwashookedatthebackandhowtheheelsofherclothbootsweretroddendownalltooneside.
Thefancycametomethattheoldpriestwassmilingashelaythereinhiscoffin.
Butno.WhenweroseandwentuptotheheadofthebedIsawthathewasnotsmiling.
Therehelay,solemnandcopious,vestedasforthealtar,hislargehandslooselyretainingachalice.
Hisfacewasverytruculent,greyandmassive,withblackcavernousnostrilsandcircledbyascantywhitefur.
Therewasaheavyodourintheroom—theflowers.
We
velsignet
blessedourselvesandcameaway.Inthelittleroom
nedenunder
downstairswefoundElizaseatedinhisarm-chairinstate.Igropedmyway
mot
towardsmyusualchairinthecornerwhileNanniewenttothesideboardandbroughtoutadecanterofsherryandsomewine-glasses.Shesettheseonthetableand
inviterte
invitedustotakealittleglassofwine.Then,athersister’sbidding,she
fylte
filledoutthesherryintotheglassesandpassedthemtous.Shepressedmetotakesome
fløte
creamcrackersalsobutIdeclinedbecauseIthoughtIwouldmaketoomuchstøy
noiseeatingthem.Sheseemedtobesomewhat
skuffet
disappointedatmyrefusalandwentoverstille
quietlytothesofawhereshesatdownbehindhersister.Noonespoke:
weallgazedattheemptyfireplace.
MyauntwaiteduntilElizasighedandthensaid:.
“Ah,well,he’sgonetoabetterworld.”
Elizasighedagainand
bøyde
bowedherheadinassent.Myauntfingeredthestemofherwine-glassbeforesippingalittle.
“Didhe...
peacefully?”
sheasked.
“Oh,quitepeacefully,ma’am,”saidEliza.
“Youcouldn’ttellwhenthe
pusten
breathwentoutofhim.Hehadabeautifuldeath,Godbepraised.”
“Andeverything...?”
“FatherO’Rourkewasinwithhima
Tirsdag
Tuesdayandanointedhimandforberedte
preparedhimandall.”“Heknewthen?”
“Hewasquiteresigned.”
“Helooksquiteresigned,”saidmyaunt.
“That’swhatthewomanwehadintowashhimsaid.
Shesaidhejustlookedasifhewasasleep,helookedthatpeacefulandresigned.
Noonewouldthinkhe’dmakesuchabeautifulcorpse.”
“Yes,indeed,”saidmyaunt.
Shesippedalittlemorefromherglassandsaid:.
“Well,MissFlynn,atanyrateitmustbeagreatcomfortforyoutoknowthatyoudidallyoucouldforhim.
Youwerebothverykindtohim,Imustsay.”
Elizasmoothedherdressoverherknees.
“Ah,poorJames!”
shesaid.
“Godknowswedoneallwecould,aspoorasweare—wewouldn’tseehimwantanythingwhilehewasinit.”
Nanniehadleanedherheadagainstthesofa-pillowandseemedabouttofallasleep.
“There’spoorNannie,”saidEliza,lookingather,“she’sworeout.
Alltheworkwehad,sheandme,gettinginthewomantowashhimandthenlayinghimoutandthenthecoffinandthen
arrangere
arrangingabouttheMassinthechapel.OnlyforFatherO’RourkeIdon’tknowwhatwe’dhavedoneatall.
ItwashimbroughtusallthemflowersandthemtwocandlesticksoutofthechapelandwroteoutthenoticefortheFreeman’sGeneralandtookchargeofallthepapersforthecemeteryandpoorJames’sinsurance.”
“Wasn’tthatgoodofhim?”
saidmyaunt.
Elizaclosedhereyesandshookherhead
sakte
slowly.“Ah,there’snofriendsliketheoldfriends,”shesaid,“whenallissaidanddone,nofriendsthatabodycantrust.”
“Indeed,that’strue,”saidmyaunt.
“AndI’msurenowthathe’sgonetohiseternal
belønning
rewardhewon’tforgetyouandallyourkindnesstohim.”“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’dbringinhis
suppe
souptohimthereI’dfindhimwithhisbreviaryfallentothefloor,lyingbackinthechairandhismouthopen.”Shelaida
finger
fingeragainsthernoseandfrowned:thenshecontinued:.
“Butstillandallhekeptonsayingthatbeforethesummerwasoverhe’dgooutforadriveonefinedayjusttoseetheoldhouseagainwherewewereallborndowninIrishtownandtakemeandNanniewithhim.
Ifwecouldonlygetoneofthemnew-fangledcarriagesthatmakesno
støy
noisethatFatherO’Rourketoldhimabout,themwiththerheumaticwheels,forthedaycheap—hesaid,atJohnnyRush’soverthewaythereanddriveoutthethreeofustogetherofaSøndag
Sundayevening.Hehadhismindsetonthat....
PoorJames!”
“TheLordhave
barmhjertighet
mercyonhissoul!”saidmyaunt.
Elizatookoutherhandkerchiefand
tørket
wipedhereyeswithit.Thensheputitbackagaininherpocketandgazedintotheemptygrateforsometimewithoutspeaking.