THESISTERS
Therewasnohopeforhimthistime:
itwasthethird
derrame cerebral
stroke.NightafternightIhadpassedthehouse(itwasvacationtime)andstudiedthelightedsquareofwindow:
andnightafternightIhadfounditlightedinthesameway,faintlyand
uniformemente
evenly.Ifhewasdead,Ithought,Iwouldseethe
reflejo
reflectionofcandlesonthedarkenedblindforIknewthattwocandlesmustbesetattheheadofacadáver
corpse.Hehadoftensaidtome:
“Iamnotlongforthisworld,”andIhadthoughthiswordsidle.
NowIknewtheyweretrue.
EverynightasIgazedupatthewindowIsaidsoftlytomyselftheword
parálisis
paralysis.Ithadalwayssoundedstrangelyinmyears,likethewordgnomonintheEuclidandthewordsimonyintheCatechism.
Butnowitsoundedtomelikethenameofsomemaleficentand
pecaminoso
sinfulbeing.Itfilledmewithfear,andyetIlongedtobenearertoitandtolookuponits
mortal
deadlywork.OldCotterwassittingatthefire,smoking,whenIcamedownstairsto
cenar
supper.Whilemyauntwasladlingoutmystirabouthesaid,asifreturningtosomeformer
observación
remarkofhis:.“No,Iwouldn’tsayhewasexactly...
buttherewassomethingqueer...
therewassomethinguncannyabouthim.
I’lltellyoumyopinion....”
Hebegantopuffathis
pipa
pipe,nodoubtarranginghisopinioninhismind.Agotador
Tiresomeoldfool!Whenweknewhimfirstheusedtoberatherinteresting,talkingoffaintsandworms;
butIsoongrewtiredofhimandhisendlessstoriesaboutthedistillery.
“Ihavemyowntheoryaboutit,”hesaid.
“Ithinkitwasoneofthose...
peculiarcases....
Butit’shardtosay....”
Hebegantopuffagainathis
pipa
pipewithoutgivingushistheory.Myunclesawmestaringandsaidtome:.
“Well,soyouroldfriendisgone,you’llbesorrytohear.”
“Who?”
saidI.
“FatherFlynn.”
“Ishedead?”
“MrCotterherehasjusttoldus.
Hewaspassingbythehouse.”
IknewthatIwasunder
observación
observationsoIcontinuedeatingasifthenewshadnotinterestedme.MyuncleexplainedtooldCotter.
“The
joven
youngsterandheweregreatfriends.Theoldchaptaughthimagreatdeal,mindyou;
andtheysayhehadagreatwishforhim.”
“Godhavemercyonhissoul,”saidmyauntpiously.
OldCotterlookedatmeforawhile.
Ifeltthathislittlebeadyblackeyeswere
examinando
examiningmebutIwouldnotsatisfyhimbylookingupfrommyplate.Hereturnedtohis
pipa
pipeandfinallyspatrudelyintothegrate.“Iwouldn’tlikechildrenofmine,”hesaid,“tohavetoomuchtosaytoamanlikethat.”
“Howdoyoumean,MrCotter?”
askedmyaunt.
“WhatImeanis,”saidoldCotter,“it’sbadforchildren.
Myideais:
letayoungladrunaboutandplaywithyoungladsofhisownageandnotbe....
AmIright,Jack?”
“That’smy
principio
principle,too,”saidmyuncle.“Lethimlearntoboxhiscorner.
That’swhatI’malwayssayingtothatRosicrucianthere:
takeexercise.
Why,whenIwasanippereverymorningofmylifeIhadacoldbath,winterandsummer.
Andthat’swhatstandstomenow.
Educationisallveryfineandlarge....
MrCottermighttakeapickofthatlegmutton,”headdedtomyaunt.
“No,no,notforme,”saidoldCotter.
Myauntbroughtthe
plato
dishfromthesafeandputitonthetable.“Butwhydoyouthinkit’snotgoodforchildren,MrCotter?”
sheasked.
“It’sbadforchildren,”saidoldCotter,“becausetheirmindsaresoimpressionable.
Whenchildrenseethingslikethat,youknow,ithasaneffect....”
IcrammedmymouthwithstiraboutforfearImightgiveutterancetomyanger.
Agotador
Tiresomeoldred-nosedimbecile!ItwaslatewhenIfellasleep.
ThoughIwasangrywitholdCotterforalludingtomeasachild,Ipuzzledmyheadto
extraer
extractmeaningfromhisunfinishedsentences.InthedarkofmyroomIimaginedthatIsawagaintheheavy
gris
greyfaceoftheparalytic.IdrewtheblanketsovermyheadandtriedtothinkofChristmas.
Butthe
gris
greyfacestillfollowedme.Itmurmured;
andIunderstoodthatitdesiredto
confesar
confesssomething.Ifeltmysoulrecedingintosome
agradable
pleasantandviciousregion;andthereagainIfounditwaitingforme.
ItbegantoconfesstomeinamurmuringvoiceandIwonderedwhyitsmiled
continuamente
continuallyandwhythelipsweresomoistwithspittle.ButthenIrememberedthatithaddiedof
parálisis
paralysisandIfeltthatItoowassmilingfeeblyasiftoabsolvethesimoniacofhissin.ThenextmorningafterbreakfastIwentdowntolookatthelittlehouseinGreatBritainStreet.
Itwasanunassumingshop,registeredunderthe
vago
vaguenameofDrapery.Thedraperyconsisted
principalmente
mainlyofchildren’sbooteesandumbrellas;andonordinarydaysanoticeusedtohanginthewindow,saying:
UmbrellasRe-covered.
Nonoticewasvisiblenowfortheshutterswereup.
Acrape
ramo
bouquetwastiedtothedoor-knockerwithcinta
ribbon.Twopoorwomenanda
telegrama
telegramboywerereadingthecardpinnedonthecrape.Ialsoapproachedandread:.
Julio
July1st,1895TheRev.JamesFlynn(formerlyofS.Catherine’sChurch,MeathStreet),agedsixty-fiveyears.R.I.P.Thereadingofthecard
convenció
persuadedmethathewasdeadandIwasmolestó
disturbedtofindmyselfatcheck.HadhenotbeendeadIwouldhavegoneintothelittledarkroombehindtheshoptofindhimsittinginhisarm-chairbythefire,nearlysmotheredinhisgreat-coat.
Perhapsmyauntwouldhavegivenmea
paquete
packetofHighToastforhimandthispresentwouldhaverousedhimfromhisstupefieddoze.ItwasalwaysIwhoemptiedthe
paquete
packetintohisblacksnuff-boxforhishandstemblaban
trembledtoomuchtoallowhimtodothiswithoutderramar
spillinghalfthesnuffaboutthefloor.Evenasheraisedhislargetremblinghandtohisnoselittlecloudsofsmokedribbledthroughhisfingersoverthefrontofhiscoat.
Itmayhavebeentheseconstantshowersof
tabaco
snuffwhichgavehisancientpriestlygarmentstheirgreendesvanecido
fadedlookfortheredpañuelo
handkerchief,blackened,asitalwayswas,withthesnuff-stainsofaweek,withwhichhetriedtobrushawaythefallengrains,wasquiteinefficacious.IwishedtogoinandlookathimbutIhadnotthecouragetoknock.
Iwalkedawayslowlyalongthe
soleado
sunnysideofthestreet,readingallthetheatricaladvertisementsintheshop-windowsasIwent.IfounditstrangethatneitherInorthedayseemedinamourningmoodandIfelteven
molesto
annoyedatdiscoveringinmyselfasensación
sensationoffreedomasifIhadbeenfreedfromsomethingbyhisdeath.Iwonderedatthisfor,asmyunclehadsaidthenightbefore,hehadtaughtmeagreatdeal.
HehadstudiedintheIrishcollegeinRomeandhehadtaughtmeto
pronunciar
pronounceLatinproperly.HehadtoldmestoriesaboutthecatacombsandaboutNapoleonBonaparte,andhehadexplainedtomethemeaningofthedifferentceremoniesoftheMassandofthedifferentvestmentswornbythepriest.
Sometimeshehad
divertía
amusedhimselfbyputtingdifficultquestionstome,askingmewhatoneshoulddoincertaincircumstancesorwhethersuchandsuchsinsweremortalorvenialoronlyimperfections.HisquestionsshowedmehowcomplexandmysteriouswerecertaininstitutionsoftheChurchwhichIhadalwaysregardedasthesimplestacts.
ThedutiesofthepriesttowardstheEucharistandtowardsthe
secreto
secrecyoftheconfessionalseemedsogravetomethatIwonderedhowanybodyhadeverfoundinhimselfthecouragetoundertakethem;andIwasnotsurprisedwhenhetoldmethatthefathersoftheChurchhadwrittenbooksasthickasthePostOffice
Directorio
Directoryandascloselyprintedasthelawnoticesinthenewspaper,elucidatingalltheseintricatequestions.OftenwhenIthoughtofthisIcouldmakenoansweroronlyaveryfoolishandhaltingoneuponwhichheusedtosmileandnodhisheadtwiceorthrice.
SometimesheusedtoputmethroughtheresponsesoftheMasswhichhehadmademelearnbyheart;
and,asIpattered,heusedtosmilepensivelyandnodhishead,nowandthenpushinghugepinchesof
tabaco
snuffupeachnostrilalternately.Whenhesmiledheusedto
descubrir
uncoverhisbigdiscolouredteethandlethistonguelieuponhislowerlip—ahábito
habitwhichhadmademefeelincómodo
uneasyinthebeginningofouracquaintancebeforeIknewhimwell.AsIwalkedalonginthesunIrememberedoldCotter’swordsandtriedtorememberwhathadhappenedafterwardsinthedream.
IrememberedthatIhadnoticedlong
terciopelo
velvetcurtainsandaswinginglámpara
lampofantiquefashion.IfeltthatIhadbeenveryfaraway,insomelandwherethecustomswerestrange—inPersia,Ithought....
ButIcouldnotremembertheendofthedream.
Intheeveningmyaunttookmewithhertovisitthehouseofmourning.
Itwasaftersunset;
butthewindow-panesofthehousesthatlookedtothewest
reflejaban
reflectedthetawnygoldofagreatbankofclouds.Nanniereceivedusinthehall;
and,asitwouldhavebeenunseemlytohaveshoutedather,myauntshookhandswithherforall.
Theoldwomanpointedupwardsinterrogativelyand,onmyaunt’snodding,
procedió
proceededtotoilupthenarrowstaircasebeforeus,herbowedheadbeingscarcelyabovethelevelofthebanister-rail.Atthefirstlandingshestoppedandbeckonedusforwardencouraginglytowardstheopendoorofthedead-room.
Myauntwentinandtheoldwoman,seeingthatI
dudaba
hesitatedtoenter,begantobeckontomeagainrepetidamente
repeatedlywithherhand.Iwentinontiptoe.
Theroomthroughthe
encaje
laceendoftheblindwassuffusedwithduskygoldenlighten medio de
amidwhichthecandleslookedlikepalethinllamas
flames.Hehadbeencoffined.
Nanniegavetheleadandwethree
arrodillamos
kneltdownatthefootofthebed.IpretendedtopraybutIcouldnotgathermythoughtsbecausetheoldwoman’smutterings
distraían
distractedme.Inoticedhowclumsilyher
falda
skirtwashookedatthebackandhowtheheelsofhertela
clothbootsweretroddendownalltooneside.Thefancycametomethattheoldpriestwassmilingashelaythereinhis
ataúd
coffin.Butno.WhenweroseandwentuptotheheadofthebedIsawthathewasnotsmiling.
Therehelay,
solemne
solemnandcopious,vestedasforthealtar
altar,hislargehandslooselyretainingachalice.Hisfacewasverytruculent,
gris
greyandmassive,withblackcavernousnostrilsandcircledbyascantywhitepelaje
fur.Therewasaheavyodourintheroom—theflowers.
Weblessedourselvesandcameaway.
InthelittleroomdownstairswefoundElizaseatedinhisarm-chairinstate.
IgropedmywaytowardsmyusualchairinthecornerwhileNanniewenttothesideboardandbroughtoutadecanterofsherryandsomewine-glasses.
Shesettheseonthetableandinvitedustotakealittleglassofwine.
Then,athersister’sbidding,shefilledoutthesherryintotheglassesandpassedthemtous.
ShepressedmetotakesomecreamcrackersalsobutIdeclinedbecauseIthoughtIwouldmaketoomuchnoiseeatingthem.
Sheseemedtobesomewhatdisappointedatmy
negativa
refusalandwentoverquietlytothesofá
sofawhereshesatdownbehindhersister.Noonespoke:
weallgazedattheempty
chimenea
fireplace.MyauntwaiteduntilEliza
suspiró
sighedandthensaid:.“Ah,well,he’sgonetoabetterworld.”
Eliza
suspiró
sighedagainandbowedherheadinassent.Myauntfingeredthe
tallo
stemofherwine-glassbeforesippingalittle.“Didhe...
peacefully?”
sheasked.
“Oh,quite
pacíficamente
peacefully,ma’am,”saidEliza.“Youcouldn’ttellwhenthebreathwentoutofhim.
Hehadabeautifuldeath,Godbepraised.”
“Andeverything...?”
“FatherO’RourkewasinwithhimaTuesdayandanointedhimandpreparedhimandall.”
“Heknewthen?”
“Hewasquiteresigned.”
“Helooksquiteresigned,”saidmyaunt.
“That’swhatthewomanwehadintowashhimsaid.
Shesaidhejustlookedasifhewasasleep,helookedthat
pacífico
peacefulandresigned.Noonewouldthinkhe’dmakesuchabeautifulcorpse.”
“Yes,indeed,”saidmyaunt.
Shesippedalittlemorefromherglassandsaid:.
“Well,MissFlynn,atanyrateitmustbeagreat
consuelo
comfortforyoutoknowthatyoudidallyoucouldforhim.Youwerebothverykindtohim,Imustsay.”
Elizasmoothedherdressoverherknees.
“Ah,poorJames!”
shesaid.
“Godknowswedoneallwecould,aspoorasweare—wewouldn’tseehimwantanythingwhilehewasinit.”
Nanniehadleanedherheadagainstthesofa-pillowandseemedabouttofallasleep.
“There’spoorNannie,”saidEliza,lookingather,“she’sworeout.
Alltheworkwehad,sheandme,gettinginthewomantowashhimandthenlayinghimoutandthenthe
ataúd
coffinandthenarrangingabouttheMassinthecapilla
chapel.OnlyforFatherO’RourkeIdon’tknowwhatwe’dhavedoneatall.
Itwashimbroughtusallthemflowersandthemtwocandlesticksoutofthe
capilla
chapelandwroteoutthenoticefortheFreeman’sGeneralandtookchargeofallthepapersforthecementerio
cemeteryandpoorJames’sinsurance.”“Wasn’tthatgoodofhim?”
saidmyaunt.
Elizaclosedhereyesandshookherheadslowly.
“Ah,there’snofriendsliketheoldfriends,”shesaid,“whenallissaidanddone,nofriendsthatabodycantrust.”
“Indeed,that’strue,”saidmyaunt.
“AndI’msurenowthathe’sgonetohiseternalrewardhewon’tforgetyouandallyour
bondad
kindnesstohim.”“Ah,poorJames!”
saidEliza.
“Hewasnogreattroubletous.
Youwouldn’thearhiminthehouseanymorethannow.
Still,Iknowhe’sgoneandalltothat....”
“It’swhenit’salloverthatyou’llmisshim,”saidmyaunt.
“Iknowthat,”saidEliza.
“Iwon’tbebringinghiminhiscupofbeef-teaanymore,noryou,ma’am,sendinghimhis
tabaco
snuff.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
pañuelo
handkerchiefandwipedhereyeswithit.Thensheputitbackagaininherpocketandgazedintotheemptygrateforsometimewithoutspeaking.