THESISTERS
Therewasnohopeforhimthistime:
itwasthe
terceiro
thirdstroke.NightafternightIhadpassedthehouse(itwasvacationtime)and
estudou
studiedthelightedsquareofjanela
window:andnightafternightIhadfounditlightedinthesameway,faintlyandevenly.
Ifhewasdead,Ithought,Iwouldseethereflectionofcandlesonthedarkened
cego
blindforIknewthattwocandlesmustbesetattheheadofacorpse.Hehadoftensaidtome:
“Iamnotlongforthisworld,”andIhadthoughthiswordsidle.
NowIknewtheyweretrue.
EverynightasIgazedupatthe
janela
windowIsaidsoftlytomyselfthewordparalysis.Ithadalwayssoundedstrangelyinmyears,likethewordgnomonintheEuclidandthewordsimonyintheCatechism.
Butnowitsoundedtomelikethenameofsomemaleficentandsinfulbeing.
Itfilledmewith
medo
fear,andyetIlongedtobenearertoitandtolookuponitsdeadlywork.OldCotterwassittingatthefire,
fumar
smoking,whenIcamedownstairstosupper.Whilemy
tia
auntwasladlingoutmystirabouthesaid,asifreturningtosomeformerremarkofhis:.“No,Iwouldn’tsayhewasexactly...
buttherewassomethingqueer...
therewassomethinguncannyabouthim.
I’lltellyoumyopinion....”
He
começou
begantopuffathispipe,nodúvida
doubtarranginghisopinioninhismind.Tiresomeoldfool!
Whenweknewhimfirstheusedtobe
bastante
ratherinteresting,talkingoffaintsandworms;butIsoongrewtiredofhimandhisendlessstoriesaboutthedistillery.
“Ihavemyowntheoryaboutit,”hesaid.
“Ithinkitwasoneofthose...
peculiarcases....
Butit’shardtosay....”
He
começou
begantopuffagainathispipewithoutgivingushistheory.Myunclesawmestaringandsaidtome:.
“Well,soyouroldfriendisgone,you’llbesorrytohear.”
“Who?”
saidI.
“FatherFlynn.”
“Ishedead?”
“MrCotterherehasjusttoldus.
Hewas
passando
passingbythehouse.”IknewthatIwasunderobservationsoI
continuei
continuedeatingasifthenewshadnotinterestedme.Myuncle
explicou
explainedtooldCotter.“Theyoungsterandheweregreatfriends.
Theoldchap
ensinou
taughthimagreatdeal,mindyou;andtheysayhehadagreatwishforhim.”
“Godhavemercyonhissoul,”saidmy
tia
auntpiously.OldCotterlookedatmeforawhile.
IfeltthathislittlebeadyblackeyeswereexaminingmebutIwouldnotsatisfyhimbylookingupfrommyplate.
Hereturnedtohispipeand
finalmente
finallyspatrudelyintothegrate.“Iwouldn’tlikechildrenofmine,”hesaid,“tohavetoomuchtosaytoamanlikethat.”
“Howdoyoumean,MrCotter?”
askedmy
tia
aunt.“WhatImeanis,”saidoldCotter,“it’sbadforchildren.
Myideais:
letayoungladrunaboutandplaywithyoungladsofhisown
idade
ageandnotbe....AmIright,Jack?”
“That’smyprinciple,too,”saidmyuncle.
“Lethim
aprender
learntoboxhiscorner.That’swhatI’malwayssayingtothatRosicrucianthere:
takeexercise.
Why,whenIwasanippereverymorningofmylifeIhadacoldbath,winterand
verão
summer.Andthat’swhatstandstomenow.
Educationisallveryfineand
grande
large....MrCottermighttakeapickofthat
perna
legmutton,”headdedtomytia
aunt.“No,no,notforme,”saidoldCotter.
My
tia
auntbroughtthedishfromthesafeandputitonthemesa
table.“Butwhydoyouthinkit’snotgoodforchildren,MrCotter?”
sheasked.
“It’sbadforchildren,”saidoldCotter,“becausetheirmindsaresoimpressionable.
Whenchildrenseethingslikethat,youknow,ithasaneffect....”
Icrammedmy
boca
mouthwithstiraboutforfearImightgiveutterancetomyanger.Tiresomeoldred-nosedimbecile!
ItwaslatewhenIfellasleep.
ThoughIwas
zangado
angrywitholdCotterforalludingtomeasachild,Ipuzzledmyheadtoextractmeaningfromhisunfinishedsentences.Inthe
escuro
darkofmyroomIimaginei
imaginedthatIsawagainthepesado
heavygreyfaceoftheparalytic.Idrewtheblanketsovermyheadandtriedtothinkof
Natal
Christmas.Butthegreyfacestillfollowedme.
Itmurmured;
andIunderstoodthatitdesiredtoconfesssomething.
Ifeltmy
alma
soulrecedingintosomepleasantandviciousregion;andthereagainIfounditwaitingforme.
It
começou
begantoconfesstomeinamurmuringvoz
voiceandIwonderedwhyitsorria
smiledcontinuallyandwhythelipsweresomoistwithspittle.ButthenIrememberedthatithaddiedofparalysisandIfeltthatItoowas
sorrindo
smilingfeeblyasiftoabsolvethesimoniacofhissin.Thenextmorningafter
almoço
breakfastIwentdowntolookatthelittlehouseinGreatBritainStreet.Itwasanunassuming
loja
shop,registeredunderthevaguenameofDrapery.Thedraperyconsistedmainlyofchildren’sbooteesandumbrellas;
andonordinarydaysanoticeusedtohanginthe
janela
window,saying:UmbrellasRe-covered.
No
aviso
noticewasvisiblenowfortheshutterswereup.Acrapebouquetwastiedtothedoor-knockerwithribbon.
Twopoorwomenandatelegramboywerereadingthe
cartão
cardpinnedonthecrape.Ialsoapproachedandread:.
July1st,1895TheRev.JamesFlynn(formerlyofS.Catherine’s
Igreja
Church,MeathStreet),agedsixty-fiveyears.R.I.P.Thereadingofthe
cartão
cardpersuadedmethathewasdeadandIwasdisturbedtofindmyselfatcheck.HadhenotbeendeadIwouldhavegoneintothelittledarkroombehindthe
loja
shoptofindhimsittinginhisarm-chairbythefire,nearlysmotheredinhisgreat-coat.Perhapsmy
tia
auntwouldhavegivenmeapacketofHighToastforhimandthispresente
presentwouldhaverousedhimfromhisstupefieddoze.ItwasalwaysIwho
esvaziou
emptiedthepacketintohisblacksnuff-boxforhishandstrembledtoomuchtopermitir
allowhimtodothiswithoutspillinghalfthesnuffaboutthechão
floor.Evenasheraisedhis
grande
largetremblinghandtohisnariz
noselittlecloudsofsmokedribbledthroughhisfingersoverthefrontofhiscoat.Itmayhavebeentheseconstantshowersofsnuffwhichgavehisancientpriestlygarmentstheir
verde
greenfadedlookfortheredhandkerchief,blackened,asitalwayswas,withthesnuff-stainsofaweek,withwhichhetriedtobrushawaythefallengrains,wasquiteinefficacious.IwishedtogoinandlookathimbutIhadnotthecourageto
bater
knock.Iwalkedawayslowlyalongthesunnysideofthestreet,readingallthetheatricaladvertisementsintheshop-windowsasIwent.
Ifoundit
estranho
strangethatneitherInorthedayparecesse
seemedinamourningmoodandIfeltevenannoyedatdiscoveringinmyselfasensationoffreedomasifIhadbeenfreedfromsomethingbyhisdeath.Iwonderedatthisfor,asmyunclehadsaidthenightbefore,hehadtaughtmeagreatdeal.
HehadstudiedintheIrish
colégio
collegeinRomeandhehadensinado
taughtmetopronounceLatinproperly.HehadtoldmestoriesaboutthecatacombsandaboutNapoleonBonaparte,andhehad
explicou
explainedtomethemeaningofthedifferentceremoniesoftheMassandofthedifferentvestmentswornbythepriest.Sometimeshehadamusedhimselfbyputtingdifficultquestionstome,askingmewhatoneshoulddoin
certas
certaincircumstancesorwhethersuchandsuchsinsweremortalorvenialoronlyimperfections.Hisquestionsshowedmehowcomplexandmysteriouswere
certas
certaininstitutionsoftheChurchwhichIhadalwaysregardedasthesimplestacts.ThedutiesofthepriesttowardstheEucharistandtowardsthesecrecyoftheconfessional
pareciam
seemedsogravetomethatIwonderedhowanybodyhadeverfoundinhimselfthecouragetoundertakethem;andIwasnotsurprisedwhenhetoldmethatthefathersofthe
Igreja
ChurchhadwrittenbooksasthickasthePostOfficeDirectoryandascloselyprintedasthelawnoticesinthenewspaper,elucidatingalltheseintricatequestions.Muitas vezes
OftenwhenIthoughtofthisIcouldmakenoansweroronlyaveryfoolishandhaltingoneuponwhichheusedtosorrir
smileandnodhisheadtwiceorthrice.SometimesheusedtoputmethroughtheresponsesoftheMasswhichhehadmademe
aprender
learnbyheart;and,asIpattered,heusedto
sorrir
smilepensivelyandnodhishead,nowandthenempurrando
pushinghugepinchesofsnuffupeachnostrilalternately.Whenhe
sorria
smiledheusedtouncoverhisbigdiscolouredteethandlethistonguelieuponhislowerlip—ahabitwhichhadmademefeeluneasyintheinício
beginningofouracquaintancebeforeIknewhimwell.AsIwalkedalonginthe
sol
sunIrememberedoldCotter’swordsandtriedtorememberwhathadhappenedafterwardsinthedream.IrememberedthatIhad
notado
noticedlongvelvetcurtainsandaswinginglampofantiquefashion.IfeltthatIhadbeenveryfaraway,insome
terra
landwherethecustomswerestrange—inPersia,Ithought....ButIcouldnotremembertheendofthedream.
Intheeveningmy
tia
aunttookmewithhertovisitar
visitthehouseofmourning.Itwasaftersunset;
butthewindow-panesofthehousesthatlookedtothe
oeste
westreflectedthetawnygoldofagreatbanco
bankofclouds.Nanniereceivedusinthehall;
and,asitwouldhavebeenunseemlytohaveshoutedather,my
tia
auntshookhandswithherforall.Theoldwomanpointedupwardsinterrogativelyand,onmyaunt’snodding,proceededtotoilupthenarrowstaircasebeforeus,herbowedheadbeingscarcelyabovethe
nível
levelofthebanister-rail.Atthefirstlandingshestoppedandbeckonedus
frente
forwardencouraginglytowardstheopendoorofthedead-room.My
tia
auntwentinandtheoldwoman,seeingthatIhesitatedtoenter,começou
begantobeckontomeagainrepeatedlywithherhand.Iwentinontiptoe.
Theroomthroughthelaceendoftheblindwassuffusedwithduskygoldenlightamidwhichthecandleslookedlikepalethinflames.
Hehadbeencoffined.
Nanniegavethe
liderança
leadandwethreekneltdownatthepé
footofthebed.Ipretendedto
orando
praybutIcouldnotgathermythoughtsbecausetheoldwoman’smutteringsdistractedme.I
notei
noticedhowclumsilyherskirtwashookedatthebackandhowtheheelsofherclothbootsweretroddendownalltooneside.Thefancycametomethattheoldpriestwas
sorrindo
smilingashelaythereinhiscoffin.Butno.WhenweroseandwentuptotheheadofthebedIsawthathewasnot
sorrindo
smiling.Therehelay,solemnandcopious,vestedasforthealtar,hislargehandslooselyretainingachalice.
Hisfacewasverytruculent,greyandmassive,withblackcavernousnostrilsandcircledbyascantywhitefur.
Therewasa
pesado
heavyodourintheroom—theflowers.Weblessedourselvesandcameaway.
InthelittleroomdownstairswefoundElizaseatedinhisarm-chairin
estado
state.IgropedmywaytowardsmyusualchairinthecornerwhileNanniewenttothesideboardandbroughtoutadecanterofsherryandsomewine-glasses.
Shesettheseonthe
mesa
tableandinvitedustotakealittlecopo
glassofwine.Then,athersister’sbidding,shefilledoutthesherryintotheglassesand
passou
passedthemtous.She
pressionou
pressedmetotakesomecreamcrackersalsobutIdeclinedbecauseIthoughtIwouldmaketoomuchnoiseeatingthem.She
parecia
seemedtobesomewhatdisappointedatmyrefusalandwentoverquietlytothesofawhereshesatdownbehindhersister.Noonespoke:
weallgazedattheemptyfireplace.
My
tia
auntwaiteduntilElizasighedandthensaid:.“Ah,well,he’sgonetoabetterworld.”
Elizasighedagainandbowedherheadinassent.
My
tia
auntfingeredthestemofherwine-glassbeforesippingalittle.“Didhe...
peacefully?”
sheasked.
“Oh,quitepeacefully,ma’am,”saidEliza.
“Youcouldn’ttellwhenthebreathwentoutofhim.
Hehadabeautifuldeath,Godbepraised.”
“Andeverything...?”
“FatherO’RourkewasinwithhimaTuesdayandanointedhimandpreparedhimandall.”
“Heknewthen?”
“Hewasquiteresigned.”
“Helooksquiteresigned,”saidmy
tia
aunt.“That’swhatthewomanwehadinto
lavou
washhimsaid.Shesaidhejustlookedasifhewasasleep,helookedthatpeacefulandresigned.
Noonewouldthinkhe’dmakesuchabeautifulcorpse.”
“Yes,indeed,”saidmy
tia
aunt.Shesippedalittlemorefromher
copo
glassandsaid:.“Well,MissFlynn,atanyrateitmustbeagreatcomfortforyoutoknowthatyoudidallyoucouldforhim.
Youwerebothverykindtohim,Imustsay.”
Elizasmoothedher
vestido
dressoverherknees.“Ah,poorJames!”
shesaid.
“Godknowswedoneallwecould,aspoorasweare—wewouldn’tseehimwantanythingwhilehewasinit.”
Nanniehadleanedherheadagainstthesofa-pillowand
parecia
seemedabouttofallasleep.“There’spoorNannie,”saidEliza,lookingather,“she’sworeout.
Alltheworkwehad,sheandme,gettinginthewomantowashhimandthenlayinghimoutandthenthecoffinandthenarrangingabouttheMassinthechapel.
OnlyforFatherO’RourkeIdon’tknowwhatwe’dhavedoneatall.
Itwashimbroughtusallthemflowersandthemtwocandlesticksoutofthechapelandwroteoutthe
aviso
noticefortheFreeman’sGeneralandtookchargeofallthepapersforthecemeteryandpoorJames’sinsurance.”“Wasn’tthatgoodofhim?”
saidmy
tia
aunt.Elizaclosedhereyesandshookherheadslowly.
“Ah,there’snofriendsliketheoldfriends,”shesaid,“whenallissaidanddone,nofriendsthatabodycantrust.”
“Indeed,that’strue,”saidmy
tia
aunt.“AndI’msurenowthathe’sgonetohiseternalrewardhewon’tforgetyouandallyourkindnesstohim.”
“Ah,poorJames!”
saidEliza.
“Hewasnogreattroubletous.
Youwouldn’thearhiminthehouseanymorethannow.
Still,Iknowhe’sgoneandalltothat....”
“It’swhenit’salloverthatyou’llmisshim,”saidmy
tia
aunt.“Iknowthat,”saidEliza.
“Iwon’tbebringinghiminhis
chávena
cupofbeef-teaanymore,nem
noryou,ma’am,sendinghimhissnuff.Ah,poorJames!”
Shestopped,asifshewerecommuningwiththepastandthensaidshrewdly:.
“Mindyou,I
notei
noticedtherewassomethingqueercomingoverhimlatterly.WheneverI’dbringinhissouptohimthereI’dfindhimwithhisbreviaryfallentothe
chão
floor,lyingbackinthechairandhisboca
mouthopen.”Shelaidafingeragainsther
nariz
noseandfrowned:thenshe
continuou
continued:.“Butstillandallhekeptonsayingthatbeforethe
verão
summerwasoverhe’dgooutforadriveonefinedayjusttoseetheoldhouseagainwherewewereallnascemos
borndowninIrishtownandtakemeandNanniewithhim.Ifwecouldonlygetoneofthemnew-fangledcarriagesthatmakesnonoisethatFatherO’Rourketoldhimabout,themwiththerheumaticwheels,forthedaycheap—hesaid,atJohnnyRush’soverthewaythereanddriveoutthethreeofustogetherofaSundayevening.
Hehadhismindsetonthat....
PoorJames!”
“TheLordhavemercyonhissoul!”
saidmy
tia
aunt.Elizatookoutherhandkerchiefandwipedhereyeswithit.
Thensheputitbackagaininherpocketandgazedintotheemptygrateforsometimewithoutspeaking.