THESISTERS
Therewasnohopeforhimthistime:
itwasthethirdstroke.
NightafternightIhadpassedthehouse(itwasvacationtime)andstudiedthelightedsquareofwindow:
andnightafternightIhadfounditlightedinthesameway,faintlyand
jevnt
evenly.Ifhewasdead,Ithought,IwouldseethereflectionofcandlesonthedarkenedblindforIknewthattwocandlesmustbesetattheheadofa
lik
corpse.Hehadoftensaidtome:
“Iamnotlongforthisworld,”andIhadthoughthiswordsidle.
NowIknewtheyweretrue.
EverynightasI
stirret
gazedupatthewindowIsaidsoftlytomyselfthewordlammelse
paralysis.Ithadalwayssounded
merkelig
strangelyinmyears,likethewordgnomonintheEuclidandthewordsimonyintheCatechism.Butnowitsoundedtomelikethenameofsomemaleficentandsinfulbeing.
Itfilledmewithfear,andyetIlongedtobe
nærmere
nearertoitandtolookuponitsdeadlywork.OldCotterwassittingatthefire,smoking,whenIcamedownstairsto
middag
supper.Whilemyauntwasladlingoutmystirabouthesaid,asifreturningtosomeformer
bemerkning
remarkofhis:.“No,Iwouldn’tsayhewasexactly...
buttherewassomethingqueer...
therewassomethinguncannyabouthim.
I’lltellyoumyopinion....”
Hebegantopuffathispipe,nodoubtarranginghisopinioninhismind.
Tiresomeoldfool!
Whenweknewhimfirstheusedtoberatherinteresting,talkingoffaintsandworms;
butIsoongrewtiredofhimandhis
endeløse
endlessstoriesaboutthedistillery.“Ihavemyowntheoryaboutit,”hesaid.
“Ithinkitwasoneofthose...
peculiarcases....
Butit’shardtosay....”
Hebegantopuffagainathispipewithoutgivingushistheory.
Myunclesawme
stirre
staringandsaidtome:.“Well,soyouroldfriendisgone,you’llbesorrytohear.”
“Who?”
saidI.
“FatherFlynn.”
“Ishedead?”
“MrCotterherehasjusttoldus.
Hewaspassingbythehouse.”
IknewthatIwasunder
observasjon
observationsoIcontinuedeatingasifthenewshadnotinterestedme.MyuncleexplainedtooldCotter.
“Theyoungsterandheweregreatfriends.
Theoldchaptaughthimagreatdeal,mindyou;
andtheysayhehadagreatwishforhim.”
“Godhavemercyonhissoul,”saidmyauntpiously.
OldCotterlookedatmeforawhile.
Ifeltthathislittlebeadyblackeyeswere
undersøkte
examiningmebutIwouldnottilfredsstille
satisfyhimbylookingupfrommyplate.Hereturnedtohispipeandfinallyspatrudelyintothegrate.
“Iwouldn’tlikechildrenofmine,”hesaid,“tohavetoomuchtosaytoamanlikethat.”
“Howdoyoumean,MrCotter?”
askedmyaunt.
“WhatImeanis,”saidoldCotter,“it’sbadforchildren.
Myideais:
letayoung
gutt
ladrunaboutandplaywithyoungladsofhisownageandnotbe....AmIright,Jack?”
“That’smy
prinsipp
principle,too,”saidmyuncle.“Lethimlearntoboxhiscorner.
That’swhatI’malwayssayingtothatRosicrucianthere:
takeexercise.
Why,whenIwasanippereverymorningofmylifeIhadacoldbath,winterandsummer.
Andthat’swhatstandstomenow.
Educationisallveryfineandlarge....
MrCottermighttakeapickofthatlegmutton,”headdedtomyaunt.
“No,no,notforme,”saidoldCotter.
Myauntbroughtthedishfromthesafeandputitonthetable.
“Butwhydoyouthinkit’snotgoodforchildren,MrCotter?”
sheasked.
“It’sbadforchildren,”saidoldCotter,“becausetheirmindsaresoimpressionable.
Whenchildrenseethingslikethat,youknow,ithasaneffect....”
IcrammedmymouthwithstiraboutforfearImightgiveutterancetomyanger.
Tiresomeoldred-nosedimbecile!
ItwaslatewhenIfellasleep.
ThoughIwasangrywitholdCotterforalludingtomeasachild,Ipuzzledmyheadtoextractmeaningfromhisunfinishedsentences.
InthedarkofmyroomIimaginedthatIsawagaintheheavy
grå
greyfaceoftheparalytic.IdrewtheblanketsovermyheadandtriedtothinkofChristmas.
Butthe
grå
greyfacestillfollowedme.Itmurmured;
andIunderstoodthatitdesiredto
bekjenne
confesssomething.Ifeltmysoulrecedingintosome
behagelig
pleasantandviciousregion;andthereagainIfounditwaitingforme.
Itbeganto
bekjenne
confesstomeinamurmuringvoiceandIwonderedwhyitsmiledkontinuerlig
continuallyandwhythelipsweresofuktig
moistwithspittle.ButthenIrememberedthatithaddiedof
lammelse
paralysisandIfeltthatItoowassmilingfeeblyasiftoabsolvethesimoniacofhissin.ThenextmorningafterbreakfastIwentdowntolookatthelittlehouseinGreatBritainStreet.
Itwasanunassumingshop,
registrert
registeredunderthevaguenameofDrapery.Thedraperyconsisted
hovedsakelig
mainlyofchildren’sbooteesandumbrellas;andonordinarydaysanoticeusedtohanginthewindow,saying:
UmbrellasRe-covered.
Nonoticewas
synlig
visiblenowfortheshutterswereup.Acrape
bukett
bouquetwastiedtothedoor-knockerwithbånd
ribbon.Twopoorwomenanda
telegram
telegramboywerereadingthecardpinnedonthecrape.Ialsoapproachedandread:.
Juli
July1st,1895TheRev.JamesFlynn(formerlyofS.Catherine’sChurch,MeathStreet),agedsixty-fiveyears.R.I.P.Thereadingofthecard
overtalte
persuadedmethathewasdeadandIwasforstyrret
disturbedtofindmyselfatcheck.HadhenotbeendeadIwouldhavegoneintothelittledarkroombehindtheshoptofindhimsittinginhisarm-chairbythefire,nearlysmotheredinhisgreat-coat.
Perhapsmyauntwouldhavegivenmea
pakke
packetofHighToastforhimandthispresentwouldhaverousedhimfromhisstupefieddoze.ItwasalwaysIwhoemptiedthepacketintohisblacksnuff-boxforhishands
skjelvet
trembledtoomuchtoallowhimtodothiswithoutspillinghalfthesnus
snuffaboutthefloor.Evenasheraisedhislargetremblinghandtohisnoselittlecloudsofsmokedribbledthroughhisfingersoverthefrontofhiscoat.
Itmayhavebeentheseconstantshowersof
snus
snuffwhichgavehisancientpriestlygarmentstheirgreenfadedlookfortheredlommetørkle
handkerchief,blackened,asitalwayswas,withthesnuff-stainsofaweek,withwhichhetriedtobørste
brushawaythefallengrains,wasquiteinefficacious.IwishedtogoinandlookathimbutIhadnotthecouragetoknock.
Iwalkedawayslowlyalongthe
solfylte
sunnysideofthestreet,readingalltheteater
theatricaladvertisementsintheshop-windowsasIwent.IfounditstrangethatneitherInorthedayseemedinamourningmoodandIfelteven
irritert
annoyedatdiscoveringinmyselfafølelse
sensationoffreedomasifIhadbeenfreedfromsomethingbyhisdeath.Iwonderedatthisfor,asmyunclehadsaidthenightbefore,hehadtaughtmeagreatdeal.
HehadstudiedintheIrishcollegeinRomeandhehadtaughtmeto
uttale
pronounceLatinproperly.HehadtoldmestoriesaboutthecatacombsandaboutNapoleonBonaparte,andhehadexplainedtomethemeaningofthedifferentceremoniesoftheMassandofthedifferentvestmentswornbythepriest.
Sometimeshehad
underholdt
amusedhimselfbyputtingdifficultquestionstome,askingmewhatoneshoulddoincertaincircumstancesorwhethersuchandsuchsinsweredødelig
mortalorvenialoronlyimperfections.Hisquestionsshowedmehow
komplekse
complexandmysteriouswerecertaininstitutionsoftheChurchwhichIhadalwaysregardedasthesimplestacts.ThedutiesofthepriesttowardstheEucharistandtowardsthesecrecyoftheconfessionalseemedsogravetomethatIwonderedhowanybodyhadeverfoundinhimselfthecourageto
påta
undertakethem;andIwasnotsurprisedwhenhetoldmethatthefathersoftheChurchhadwrittenbooksasthickasthePostOfficeDirectoryandas
nøye
closelyprintedasthelawnoticesinthenewspaper,elucidatingalltheseintricatequestions.OftenwhenIthoughtofthisIcouldmakenoansweroronlyavery
tåpelig
foolishandhaltingoneuponwhichheusedtosmileandnikke
nodhisheadtwiceorthrice.SometimesheusedtoputmethroughtheresponsesoftheMasswhichhehadmademelearnbyheart;
and,asIpattered,heusedtosmilepensivelyand
nikke
nodhishead,nowandthenpushinghugepinchesofsnus
snuffupeachnostrilalternately.Whenhesmiledheusedto
avdekke
uncoverhisbigdiscolouredteethandlethistonguelieuponhislowerlip—avane
habitwhichhadmademefeeluneasyinthebeginningofourbekjentskap
acquaintancebeforeIknewhimwell.AsIwalkedalonginthesunIrememberedoldCotter’swordsandtriedtorememberwhathadhappenedafterwardsinthedream.
IrememberedthatIhadnoticedlong
fløyel
velvetcurtainsandaswinginglampe
lampofantiquefashion.IfeltthatIhadbeenveryfaraway,insomelandwherethecustomswerestrange—inPersia,Ithought....
ButIcouldnotremembertheendofthedream.
Intheeveningmyaunttookmewithhertovisitthehouseofmourning.
Itwasafter
solnedgang
sunset;butthewindow-panesofthehousesthatlookedtothewest
reflektert
reflectedthetawnygoldofagreatbankofclouds.Nanniereceivedusinthehall;
and,asitwouldhavebeenunseemlytohaveshoutedather,myauntshookhandswithherforall.
Theoldwomanpointedupwardsinterrogativelyand,onmyaunt’s
nikker
nodding,proceededtotoilupthesmale
narrowstaircasebeforeus,herbowedheadbeingknapt
scarcelyabovethelevelofthebanister-rail.Atthefirstlandingshestoppedandbeckonedusforwardencouraginglytowardstheopendoorofthedead-room.
Myauntwentinandtheoldwoman,seeingthatI
nølte
hesitatedtoenter,begantobeckontomeagaingjentatte ganger
repeatedlywithherhand.Iwentinontiptoe.
Theroomthroughthelaceendoftheblindwassuffusedwithduskygoldenlight
midt
amidwhichthecandleslookedlikeblek
palethinflames.Hehadbeencoffined.
Nanniegavetheleadandwethree
knelte
kneltdownatthefootofthebed.IpretendedtopraybutIcouldnotgathermythoughtsbecausetheoldwoman’smutterings
distraherte
distractedme.Inoticedhowclumsilyher
skjørt
skirtwashookedatthebackandhowtheheelsofherclothbootsweretroddendownalltooneside.Thefancycametomethattheoldpriestwassmilingashelaythereinhis
kisten
coffin.Butno.WhenweroseandwentuptotheheadofthebedIsawthathewasnotsmiling.
Therehelay,
høytidelig
solemnandcopious,vestedasforthealteret
altar,hislargehandslooselybeholder
retainingachalice.Hisfacewasverytruculent,
grå
greyandmassive,withblackcavernousnostrilsandcircledbyascantywhitepels
fur.Therewasaheavyodourintheroom—theflowers.
Weblessedourselvesandcameaway.
InthelittleroomdownstairswefoundElizaseatedinhisarm-chairinstate.
IgropedmywaytowardsmyusualchairinthecornerwhileNanniewenttothesideboardandbroughtoutadecanterofsherryandsomewine-glasses.
Shesettheseonthetableandinvitedustotakealittleglassofwine.
Then,athersister’sbidding,shefilledoutthesherryintotheglassesandpassedthemtous.
ShepressedmetotakesomecreamcrackersalsobutIdeclinedbecauseIthoughtIwouldmaketoomuchnoiseeatingthem.
Sheseemedtobesomewhatdisappointedatmy
avslag
refusalandwentoverquietlytothesofaen
sofawhereshesatdownbehindhersister.Noonespoke:
weall
stirret
gazedattheemptyfireplace.MyauntwaiteduntilElizasighedandthensaid:.
“Ah,well,he’sgonetoabetterworld.”
Elizasighedagainandbowedherheadinassent.
Myauntfingeredthe
stammen
stemofherwine-glassbeforesippingalittle.“Didhe...
peacefully?”
sheasked.
“Oh,quite
fredelig
peacefully,ma’am,”saidEliza.“Youcouldn’ttellwhenthebreathwentoutofhim.
Hehadabeautifuldeath,Godbepraised.”
“Andeverything...?”
“FatherO’RourkewasinwithhimaTuesdayandanointedhimandpreparedhimandall.”
“Heknewthen?”
“Hewasquiteresigned.”
“Helooksquiteresigned,”saidmyaunt.
“That’swhatthewomanwehadintowashhimsaid.
Shesaidhejustlookedasifhewasasleep,helookedthat
fredelig
peacefulandresigned.Noonewouldthinkhe’dmakesuchabeautifulcorpse.”
“Yes,indeed,”saidmyaunt.
Shesippedalittlemorefromherglassandsaid:.
“Well,MissFlynn,atanyrateitmustbeagreat
trøst
comfortforyoutoknowthatyoudidallyoucouldforhim.Youwerebothverykindtohim,Imustsay.”
Elizasmoothedherdressoverherknees.
“Ah,poorJames!”
shesaid.
“Godknowswedoneallwecould,aspoorasweare—wewouldn’tseehimwantanythingwhilehewasinit.”
Nanniehadleanedherheadagainstthesofa-pillowandseemedabouttofallasleep.
“There’spoorNannie,”saidEliza,lookingather,“she’sworeout.
Alltheworkwehad,sheandme,gettinginthewomantowashhimandthenlayinghimoutandthenthe
kisten
coffinandthenarrangingabouttheMassinthechapel.OnlyforFatherO’RourkeIdon’tknowwhatwe’dhavedoneatall.
ItwashimbroughtusallthemflowersandthemtwocandlesticksoutofthechapelandwroteoutthenoticefortheFreeman’sGeneralandtookchargeofallthepapersforthe
kirkegården
cemeteryandpoorJames’sinsurance.”“Wasn’tthatgoodofhim?”
saidmyaunt.
Elizaclosedhereyesandshookherheadslowly.
“Ah,there’snofriendsliketheoldfriends,”shesaid,“whenallissaidanddone,nofriendsthatabodycantrust.”
“Indeed,that’strue,”saidmyaunt.
“AndI’msurenowthathe’sgonetohiseternalrewardhewon’tforgetyouandallyour
vennlighet
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.”
Shelaidafingeragainsthernoseand
rynket
frowned:thenshecontinued:.
“Butstillandallhekeptonsayingthatbeforethesummerwasoverhe’dgooutforadriveonefinedayjusttoseetheoldhouseagainwherewewereallborndowninIrishtownandtakemeandNanniewithhim.
Ifwecouldonlygetoneofthemnew-fangledcarriagesthatmakesnonoisethatFatherO’Rourketoldhimabout,themwiththerheumaticwheels,forthedaycheap—hesaid,atJohnnyRush’soverthewaythereanddriveoutthethreeofustogetherofaSundayevening.
Hehadhismindsetonthat....
PoorJames!”
“TheLordhavemercyonhissoul!”
saidmyaunt.
Elizatookouther
lommetørkle
handkerchiefandwipedhereyeswithit.Thensheputitbackagaininherpocketand
stirret
gazedintotheemptygrateforsometimewithoutspeaking.