THESISTERS
Therewasnohopeforhimthistime:
itwasthe
tercer
thirdstroke.NightafternightIhad
pasado
passedthehouse(itwasvacationtime)andestudió
studiedthelightedsquareofventana
window:andnightafternightIhadfounditlightedinthesameway,faintlyandevenly.
Ifhewasdead,Ithought,Iwouldseethereflectionofcandlesonthedarkened
ciego
blindforIknewthattwocandlesmustbesetattheheadofacorpse.Hehadoftensaidtome:
“Iamnotlongforthisworld,”andIhadthoughthiswordsidle.
NowIknewtheyweretrue.
EverynightasIgazedupatthe
ventana
windowIsaidsoftlytomyselfthewordparalysis.Ithadalwayssoundedstrangelyinmyears,likethewordgnomonintheEuclidandthewordsimonyintheCatechism.
Butnowitsoundedtomelikethenameofsomemaleficentandsinfulbeing.
Itfilledmewith
miedo
fear,andyetIlongedtobenearertoitandtolookuponitsdeadlywork.OldCotterwassittingatthefire,
fumando
smoking,whenIcamedownstairstosupper.Whilemy
tía
auntwasladlingoutmystirabouthesaid,asifreturningtosomeformerremarkofhis:.“No,Iwouldn’tsayhewasexactly...
buttherewassomethingqueer...
therewassomethinguncannyabouthim.
I’lltellyoumyopinion....”
He
comenzó
begantopuffathispipe,noduda
doubtarranginghisopinioninhismind.Tiresomeoldfool!
Whenweknewhimfirstheusedtobe
bastante
ratherinteresting,talkingoffaintsandworms;butIsoongrewtiredofhimandhisendlessstoriesaboutthedistillery.
“Ihavemyowntheoryaboutit,”hesaid.
“Ithinkitwasoneofthose...
peculiarcases....
Butit’shardtosay....”
He
comenzó
begantopuffagainathispipewithoutgivingushistheory.Myunclesawmestaringandsaidtome:.
“Well,soyouroldfriendisgone,you’llbesorrytohear.”
“Who?”
saidI.
“FatherFlynn.”
“Ishedead?”
“MrCotterherehasjusttoldus.
Hewas
pasando
passingbythehouse.”IknewthatIwasunderobservationsoI
continué
continuedeatingasifthenewshadnotinteresado
interestedme.MyuncleexplainedtooldCotter.
“Theyoungsterandheweregreatfriends.
Theoldchap
enseñó
taughthimagreatdeal,mindyou;andtheysayhehadagreatwishforhim.”
“Godhavemercyonhissoul,”saidmy
tía
auntpiously.OldCotterlookedatmeforawhile.
IfeltthathislittlebeadyblackeyeswereexaminingmebutIwouldnotsatisfyhimbylookingupfrommyplate.
Hereturnedtohispipeand
finalmente
finallyspatrudelyintothegrate.“Iwouldn’tlikechildrenofmine,”hesaid,“tohavetoomuchtosaytoamanlikethat.”
“Howdoyoumean,MrCotter?”
askedmy
tía
aunt.“WhatImeanis,”saidoldCotter,“it’sbadforchildren.
Myideais:
letayoungladrunaboutandplaywithyoungladsofhisownageandnotbe....
AmIright,Jack?”
“That’smyprinciple,too,”saidmyuncle.
“Lethim
aprenda
learntoboxhiscorner.That’swhatI’malwayssayingtothatRosicrucianthere:
takeexercise.
Why,whenIwasanippereverymorningofmylifeIhadacoldbath,winterand
verano
summer.Andthat’swhatstandstomenow.
Educationisallveryfineand
grande
large....MrCottermighttakeapickofthat
pierna
legmutton,”headdedtomytía
aunt.“No,no,notforme,”saidoldCotter.
My
tía
auntbroughtthedishfromthesafeandputitonthemesa
table.“Butwhydoyouthinkit’snotgoodforchildren,MrCotter?”
sheasked.
“It’sbadforchildren,”saidoldCotter,“becausetheirmindsaresoimpressionable.
Whenchildrenseethingslikethat,youknow,ithasaneffect....”
Icrammedmy
boca
mouthwithstiraboutforfearImightgiveutterancetomyanger.Tiresomeoldred-nosedimbecile!
ItwaslatewhenIfell
dormido
asleep.ThoughIwasangrywitholdCotterforalludingtomeasachild,Ipuzzledmyheadtoextractmeaningfromhisunfinishedsentences.
Inthe
oscuridad
darkofmyroomIimaginé
imaginedthatIsawagainthepesado
heavygreyfaceoftheparalytic.Idrewtheblanketsovermyheadandtriedtothinkof
Navidad
Christmas.Butthegreyfacestillfollowedme.
Itmurmured;
andIunderstoodthatitdesiredtoconfesssomething.
Ifeltmy
alma
soulrecedingintosomepleasantandviciousregion;andthereagainIfounditwaitingforme.
It
comenzó
begantoconfesstomeinamurmuringvoz
voiceandIwonderedwhyitsonreía
smiledcontinuallyandwhythelipsweresomoistwithspittle.ButthenIrememberedthatithaddiedofparalysisandIfeltthatItoowas
sonriendo
smilingfeeblyasiftoabsolvethesimoniacofhissin.Thenextmorningafter
desayuno
breakfastIwentdowntolookatthelittlehouseinGreatBritainStreet.Itwasanunassuming
tienda
shop,registeredunderthevaguenameofDrapery.Thedraperyconsistedmainlyofchildren’sbooteesandumbrellas;
andonordinarydaysa
aviso
noticeusedtohangintheventana
window,saying:UmbrellasRe-covered.
No
aviso
noticewasvisiblenowfortheshutterswereup.Acrapebouquetwastiedtothedoor-knockerwithribbon.
Twopoorwomenandatelegramboywerereadingthe
tarjeta
cardpinnedonthecrape.Ialsoapproachedandread:.
July1st,1895TheRev.JamesFlynn(formerlyofS.Catherine’s
Iglesia
Church,MeathStreet),agedsixty-fiveyears.R.I.P.Thereadingofthe
tarjeta
cardpersuadedmethathewasdeadandIwasdisturbedtofindmyselfatcheck.HadhenotbeendeadIwouldhavegoneintothelittledarkroombehindthe
tienda
shoptofindhimsittinginhisarm-chairbythefire,nearlysmotheredinhisgreat-coat.Perhapsmy
tía
auntwouldhavegivenmeapacketofHighToastforhimandthispresentwouldhaverousedhimfromhisstupefieddoze.ItwasalwaysIwho
vaciaba
emptiedthepacketintohisblacksnuff-boxforhishandstrembledtoomuchtopermitirle
allowhimtodothiswithoutspillinghalfthesnuffaboutthesuelo
floor.Evenasheraisedhis
gran
largetremblinghandtohisnariz
noselittlecloudsofsmokedribbledthroughhisfingersoverthefrontofhiscoat.Itmayhavebeentheseconstantshowersofsnuffwhichgavehisancientpriestlygarmentstheir
verde
greenfadedlookfortheredhandkerchief,blackened,asitalwayswas,withthesnuff-stainsofaweek,withwhichhetriedtobrushawaythefallengrains,wasquiteinefficacious.IwishedtogoinandlookathimbutIhadnotthecourageto
llamar
knock.Iwalkedawayslowlyalongthesunnysideofthestreet,readingallthetheatricaladvertisementsintheshop-windowsasIwent.
Ifoundit
extraño
strangethatneitherInorthedayseemedinamourningmoodandIfeltevenannoyedatdiscoveringinmyselfasensationoffreedomasifIhadbeenfreedfromsomethingbyhisdeath.I
preguntaba
wonderedatthisfor,asmyunclehadsaidthenightbefore,hehadenseñado
taughtmeagreatdeal.Hehad
estudiado
studiedintheIrishcollegeinRomeandhehadenseñado
taughtmetopronounceLatinproperly.HehadtoldmestoriesaboutthecatacombsandaboutNapoleonBonaparte,andhehad
explicado
explainedtomethemeaningofthedifferentceremoniesoftheMassandofthedifferentvestmentsllevaba
wornbythepriest.Sometimeshehadamusedhimselfbyputtingdifficultquestionstome,askingmewhatoneshoulddoincertaincircumstancesor
si
whethersuchandsuchsinsweremortalorvenialoronlyimperfections.Hisquestionsshowedmehowcomplexandmysteriouswerecertaininstitutionsofthe
Iglesia
ChurchwhichIhadalwaysregardedasthesimplestacts.ThedutiesofthepriesttowardstheEucharistandtowardsthesecrecyoftheconfessional
parecían
seemedsogravetomethatIpreguntaba
wonderedhowanybodyhadeverfoundinhimselfthecouragetoundertakethem;andIwasnot
sorprendió
surprisedwhenhetoldmethatthefathersoftheIglesia
ChurchhadwrittenbooksasthickasthePostOfficeDirectoryandascloselyprintedasthelawnoticesinthenewspaper,elucidatingalltheseintricatequestions.OftenwhenIthoughtofthisIcouldmakenoansweroronlyaveryfoolishandhaltingoneuponwhichheusedto
sonreír
smileandnodhisheadtwiceorthrice.SometimesheusedtoputmethroughtheresponsesoftheMasswhichhehadmademe
aprender
learnbyheart;and,asIpattered,heusedto
sonreír
smilepensivelyandnodhishead,nowandthenempujando
pushinghugepinchesofsnuffupeachnostrilalternately.Whenhe
sonreía
smiledheusedtouncoverhisbigdiscolouredteethandlethistonguelieuponhislowerlip—ahabitwhichhadmademefeeluneasyinthecomienzo
beginningofouracquaintancebeforeIknewhimwell.AsIwalkedalonginthe
sol
sunIrememberedoldCotter’swordsandtriedtorememberwhathadhappenedafterwardsinthedream.IrememberedthatIhad
notado
noticedlongvelvetcurtainsandaswinginglampofantiquefashion.IfeltthatIhadbeenveryfaraway,insome
tierra
landwherethecustomswerestrange—inPersia,Ithought....ButIcouldnotremembertheendofthedream.
Intheeveningmy
tía
aunttookmewithhertovisitar
visitthehouseofmourning.Itwasaftersunset;
butthewindow-panesofthehousesthatlookedtothe
oeste
westreflectedthetawnygoldofagreatbanco
bankofclouds.Nanniereceivedusinthehall;
and,asitwouldhavebeenunseemlytohaveshoutedather,my
tía
auntshookhandswithherforall.Theoldwomanpointedupwardsinterrogativelyand,onmyaunt’snodding,proceededtotoilupthenarrowstaircasebeforeus,herbowedheadbeingscarcelyabovethe
nivel
levelofthebanister-rail.Atthefirstlandingshestoppedandbeckonedus
adelante
forwardencouraginglytowardstheopendoorofthedead-room.My
tía
auntwentinandtheoldwoman,seeingthatIhesitatedtoenter,comenzó
begantobeckontomeagainrepeatedlywithherhand.Iwentinontiptoe.
Theroomthroughthelaceendofthe
persiana
blindwassuffusedwithduskygoldenlightamidwhichthecandleslookedlikepalethinflames.Hehadbeencoffined.
Nanniegavetheleadandwethreekneltdownatthe
pie
footofthebed.Ipretendedto
orar
praybutIcouldnotgathermythoughtsbecausetheoldwoman’smutteringsdistractedme.I
noté
noticedhowclumsilyherskirtwashookedatthebackandhowtheheelsofherclothbootsweretroddendownalltooneside.Thefancycametomethattheoldpriestwas
sonriendo
smilingashelaythereinhiscoffin.Butno.WhenweroseandwentuptotheheadofthebedIsawthathewasnot
sonriendo
smiling.Therehelay,solemnandcopious,vestedasforthealtar,hislargehandslooselyretainingachalice.
Hisfacewasverytruculent,greyandmassive,withblackcavernousnostrilsandcircledbyascantywhitefur.
Therewasa
fuerte
heavyodourintheroom—theflowers.Weblessedourselvesandcameaway.
InthelittleroomdownstairswefoundElizaseatedinhisarm-chairin
estado
state.IgropedmywaytowardsmyusualchairinthecornerwhileNanniewenttothesideboardandbroughtoutadecanterofsherryandsomewine-glasses.
Shesettheseonthe
mesa
tableandinvitedustotakealittlevaso
glassofwine.Then,athersister’sbidding,shefilledoutthesherryintotheglassesand
pasó
passedthemtous.ShepressedmetotakesomecreamcrackersalsobutIdeclinedbecauseIthoughtIwouldmaketoomuchnoiseeatingthem.
She
parecía
seemedtobesomewhatdisappointedatmyrefusalandwentoverquietlytothesofawhereshesatdownbehindhersister.Noonespoke:
weallgazedatthe
vacía
emptyfireplace.MyauntwaiteduntilElizasighedandthensaid:.
“Ah,well,he’sgonetoabetterworld.”
Elizasighedagainandbowedherheadinassent.
My
tía
auntfingeredthestemofherwine-glassbeforesippingalittle.“Didhe...
peacefully?”
sheasked.
“Oh,quitepeacefully,ma’am,”saidEliza.
“Youcouldn’ttellwhenthebreathwentoutofhim.
Hehadabeautifuldeath,Godbepraised.”
“Andeverything...?”
“FatherO’RourkewasinwithhimaTuesdayandanointedhimandpreparedhimandall.”
“Heknewthen?”
“Hewasquiteresigned.”
“Helooksquiteresigned,”saidmy
tía
aunt.“That’swhatthewomanwehadintowashhimsaid.
Shesaidhejustlookedasifhewas
dormido
asleep,helookedthatpeacefulandresigned.Noonewouldthinkhe’dmakesuchabeautifulcorpse.”
“Yes,indeed,”saidmy
tía
aunt.Shesippedalittlemorefromher
vaso
glassandsaid:.“Well,MissFlynn,atanyrateitmustbeagreatcomfortforyoutoknowthatyoudidallyoucouldforhim.
Youwerebothverykindtohim,Imustsay.”
Elizasmoothedher
vestido
dressoverherknees.“Ah,poorJames!”
shesaid.
“Godknowswedoneallwecould,aspoorasweare—wewouldn’tseehimwantanythingwhilehewasinit.”
Nanniehadleanedherheadagainstthesofa-pillowand
parecía
seemedabouttofallasleep.“There’spoorNannie,”saidEliza,lookingather,“she’sworeout.
Alltheworkwehad,sheandme,gettinginthewomantowashhimandthenlayinghimoutandthenthecoffinandthenarrangingabouttheMassinthechapel.
OnlyforFatherO’RourkeIdon’tknowwhatwe’dhavedoneatall.
Itwashimbroughtusallthemflowersandthemtwocandlesticksoutofthechapelandwroteoutthe
aviso
noticefortheFreeman’sGeneralandtookchargeofallthepapersforthecemeteryandpoorJames’sinsurance.”“Wasn’tthatgoodofhim?”
saidmy
tía
aunt.Elizaclosedhereyesandshookherheadslowly.
“Ah,there’snofriendsliketheoldfriends,”shesaid,“whenallissaidanddone,nofriendsthatabodycantrust.”
“Indeed,that’strue,”saidmy
tía
aunt.“AndI’msurenowthathe’sgonetohiseternalrewardhewon’tforgetyouandallyourkindnesstohim.”
“Ah,poorJames!”
saidEliza.
“Hewasnogreattroubletous.
Youwouldn’thearhiminthehouseanymorethannow.
Still,Iknowhe’sgoneandalltothat....”
“It’swhenit’salloverthatyou’llmisshim,”saidmy
tía
aunt.“Iknowthat,”saidEliza.
“Iwon’tbebringinghiminhis
taza
cupofbeef-teaanymore,ni
noryou,ma’am,sendinghimhissnuff.Ah,poorJames!”
Shestopped,asifshewerecommuningwiththepastandthensaidshrewdly:.
“Mindyou,Inoticedtherewassomethingqueercomingoverhimlatterly.
WheneverI’dbringinhissouptohimthereI’dfindhimwithhisbreviaryfallentothe
suelo
floor,lyingbackinthechairandhisboca
mouthopen.”Shelaidafingeragainsther
nariz
noseandfrowned:thenshe
continuó
continued:.“Butstillandallhekeptonsayingthatbeforethe
verano
summerwasoverhe’dgooutforadriveonefinedayjusttoseetheoldhouseagainwherewewereallnacimos
borndowninIrishtownandtakemeandNanniewithhim.Ifwecouldonlygetoneofthemnew-fangledcarriagesthatmakesnonoisethatFatherO’Rourketoldhimabout,themwiththerheumaticwheels,forthedaycheap—hesaid,atJohnnyRush’soverthewaythereanddriveoutthethreeofustogetherofaSundayevening.
Hehadhismindsetonthat....
PoorJames!”
“TheLordhavemercyonhissoul!”
saidmy
tía
aunt.Elizatookoutherhandkerchiefandwipedhereyeswithit.
Thensheputitbackagaininherpocketandgazedintothe
vacía
emptygrateforsometimewithoutspeaking.