THESISTERS
Therewasnohopeforhimthistime:
itwasthe
tredje
thirdstroke.NightafternightIhad
passerat
passedthehouse(itwasvacationtime)andstuderade
studiedthelightedsquareoffönstret
window:andnightafternightIhadfounditlightedinthesameway,faintlyandevenly.
Ifhewasdead,Ithought,IwouldseethereflectionofcandlesonthedarkenedblindforIknewthattwocandlesmustbesetattheheadofacorpse.
Hehad
ofta
oftensaidtome:“Iamnotlongforthisworld,”andIhadthoughthiswordsidle.
NowIknewtheyweretrue.
EverynightasIgazedupatthe
fönstret
windowIsaidsoftlytomyselfthewordparalysis.Ithadalwayssoundedstrangelyinmyears,likethewordgnomonintheEuclidandthewordsimonyintheCatechism.
Butnowitsoundedtomelikethenameofsomemaleficentandsinfulbeing.
Itfilledmewith
rädsla
fear,andyetIlongedtobenearertoitandtolookuponitsdeadlywork.OldCotterwassittingatthefire,
rökte
smoking,whenIcamedownstairstosupper.Whilemy
moster
auntwasladlingoutmystirabouthesaid,asifreturningtosomeformerremarkofhis:.“No,Iwouldn’tsayhewasexactly...
buttherewassomethingqueer...
therewassomethinguncannyabouthim.
I’lltellyoumyopinion....”
He
började
begantopuffathispipe,notvivel
doubtarranginghisopinioninhismind.Tiresomeoldfool!
Whenweknewhimfirstheusedtobe
ganska
ratherinteresting,talkingoffaintsandworms;butIsoongrew
trött
tiredofhimandhisendlessstoriesaboutthedistillery.“Ihavemyowntheoryaboutit,”hesaid.
“Ithinkitwasoneofthose...
peculiarcases....
Butit’shardtosay....”
He
började
begantopuffagainathispipewithoutgivingushistheory.Myunclesawmestaringandsaidtome:.
“Well,soyouroldfriendisgone,you’llbesorrytohear.”
“Who?”
saidI.
“FatherFlynn.”
“Ishedead?”
“MrCotterherehasjusttoldus.
Hewaspassingbythehouse.”
IknewthatIwasunderobservationsoI
fortsatte
continuedeatingasifthenewshadnotinterestedme.Myuncle
förklarade
explainedtooldCotter.“Theyoungsterandheweregreatfriends.
Theoldchap
lärde
taughthimagreatdeal,mindyou;andtheysayhehadagreatwishforhim.”
“Godhavemercyonhissoul,”saidmy
moster
auntpiously.OldCotterlookedatmeforawhile.
IfeltthathislittlebeadyblackeyeswereexaminingmebutIwouldnotsatisfyhimbylookingupfrommyplate.
Hereturnedtohispipeand
slutligen
finallyspatrudelyintothegrate.“Iwouldn’tlikechildrenofmine,”hesaid,“tohavetoomuchtosaytoamanlikethat.”
“Howdoyoumean,MrCotter?”
askedmy
moster
aunt.“WhatImeanis,”saidoldCotter,“it’sbadforchildren.
Myideais:
letayoungladrunaboutandplaywithyoungladsofhisown
ålder
ageandnotbe....AmIright,Jack?”
“That’smyprinciple,too,”saidmyuncle.
“Lethim
lära sig
learntoboxhiscorner.That’swhatI’malwayssayingtothatRosicrucianthere:
takeexercise.
Why,whenIwasanippereverymorningofmylifeIhadacoldbath,winterand
sommaren
summer.Andthat’swhatstandstomenow.
Educationisallveryfineand
stort
large....MrCottermighttakeapickofthatlegmutton,”headdedtomy
moster
aunt.“No,no,notforme,”saidoldCotter.
My
moster
auntbroughtthedishfromthesafeandputitonthebordet
table.“Butwhydoyouthinkit’snotgoodforchildren,MrCotter?”
sheasked.
“It’sbadforchildren,”saidoldCotter,“becausetheirmindsaresoimpressionable.
Whenchildrenseethingslikethat,youknow,ithasaneffect....”
Icrammedmy
mun
mouthwithstiraboutforfearImightgiveutterancetomyanger.Tiresomeoldred-nosedimbecile!
ItwaslatewhenIfellasleep.
ThoughIwas
arg
angrywitholdCotterforalludingtomeasachild,Ipuzzledmyheadtoextractmeaningfromhisunfinishedsentences.Inthe
mörkret
darkofmyroomIimaginedthatIsawagainthetunga
heavygreyfaceoftheparalytic.Idrewtheblanketsovermyheadandtriedtothinkof
Julen
Christmas.Butthegreyfacestillfollowedme.
Itmurmured;
andIunderstoodthatitdesiredtoconfesssomething.
Ifeltmy
själ
soulrecedingintosomepleasantandviciousregion;andthereagainIfounditwaitingforme.
It
började
begantoconfesstomeinamurmuringröst
voiceandIwonderedwhyitlog
smiledcontinuallyandwhythelipsweresomoistwithspittle.ButthenIrememberedthatithaddiedofparalysisandIfeltthatItoowas
log
smilingfeeblyasiftoabsolvethesimoniacofhissin.Thenextmorningafter
frukost
breakfastIwentdowntolookatthelittlehouseinGreatBritainStreet.Itwasanunassuming
butik
shop,registeredunderthevaguenameofDrapery.Thedraperyconsistedmainlyofchildren’sbooteesandumbrellas;
andonordinarydaysanoticeusedtohanginthe
fönstret
window,saying:UmbrellasRe-covered.
Nonoticewasvisiblenowfortheshutterswereup.
Acrapebouquetwastiedtothedoor-knockerwithribbon.
Twopoorwomenandatelegramboywerereadingthe
kortet
cardpinnedonthecrape.Ialsoapproachedandread:.
July1st,1895TheRev.JamesFlynn(formerlyofS.Catherine’sChurch,MeathStreet),agedsixty-fiveyears.R.I.P.
Thereadingofthe
kortet
cardpersuadedmethathewasdeadandIwasdisturbedtofindmyselfatcheck.HadhenotbeendeadIwouldhavegoneintothelittle
mörka
darkroombehindtheshoptofindhimsittinginhisarm-chairbythefire,nearlysmotheredinhisgreat-coat.Perhapsmy
moster
auntwouldhavegivenmeapacketofHighToastforhimandthispresentwouldhaverousedhimfromhisstupefieddoze.ItwasalwaysIwho
tömde
emptiedthepacketintohisblacksnuff-boxforhishandstrembledtoomuchtotillåta
allowhimtodothiswithoutspillinghalfthesnuffaboutthegolvet
floor.Evenasheraisedhis
stora
largetremblinghandtohisnäsan
noselittlecloudsofsmokedribbledthroughhisfingersoverthefrontofhiscoat.Itmayhavebeentheseconstantshowersofsnuffwhichgavehisancientpriestlygarmentstheir
gröna
greenfadedlookfortheredhandkerchief,blackened,asitalwayswas,withthesnuff-stainsofaweek,withwhichhetriedtobrushawaythefallengrains,wasquiteinefficacious.IwishedtogoinandlookathimbutIhadnotthecourageto
knacka
knock.Iwalkedawayslowlyalongthesunnysideofthestreet,readingallthetheatricaladvertisementsintheshop-windowsasIwent.
Ifoundit
konstigt
strangethatneitherInorthedayverkade
seemedinamourningmoodandIfeltevenannoyedatdiscoveringinmyselfasensationoffreedomasifIhadbeenfreedfromsomethingbyhisdeath.I
undrade
wonderedatthisfor,asmyunclehadsaidthenightbefore,hehadlärt
taughtmeagreatdeal.Hehad
studerat
studiedintheIrishcollegeinRomeandhehadlärt
taughtmetopronounceLatinproperly.HehadtoldmestoriesaboutthecatacombsandaboutNapoleonBonaparte,andhehad
förklarat
explainedtomethemeaningofthedifferentceremoniesoftheMassandofthedifferentvestmentsbar
wornbythepriest.Sometimeshehadamusedhimselfbyputting
svåra
difficultquestionstome,askingmewhatoneshoulddoinvissa
certaincircumstancesorwhethersuchandsuchsinsweremortalorvenialoronlyimperfections.Hisquestionsshowedmehowcomplexandmysteriouswere
vissa
certaininstitutionsoftheChurchwhichIhadalwaysregardedasthesimplestacts.ThedutiesofthepriesttowardstheEucharistandtowardsthesecrecyoftheconfessional
verkade
seemedsogravetomethatIundrade
wonderedhowanybodyhadeverfoundinhimselfthecouragetoundertakethem;andIwasnotsurprisedwhenhetoldmethatthefathersoftheChurchhadwrittenbooksasthickasthePostOfficeDirectoryandascloselyprintedasthelawnoticesinthenewspaper,elucidatingalltheseintricatequestions.
Ofta
OftenwhenIthoughtofthisIcouldmakenoansweroronlyaveryfoolishandhaltingoneuponwhichheusedtole
smileandnodhisheadtwiceorthrice.SometimesheusedtoputmethroughtheresponsesoftheMasswhichhehadmademe
lära
learnbyheart;and,asIpattered,heusedto
le
smilepensivelyandnodhishead,nowandthentrycka
pushinghugepinchesofsnuffupeachnostrilalternately.Whenhe
log
smiledheusedtouncoverhisbigdiscolouredteethandlethistonguelieuponhislowerlip—ahabitwhichhadmademefeeluneasyinthebörjan
beginningofouracquaintancebeforeIknewhimwell.AsIwalkedalonginthe
solen
sunIrememberedoldCotter’swordsandtriedtorememberwhathadhappenedafterwardsinthedream.IrememberedthatIhadnoticedlongvelvetcurtainsandaswinginglampofantiquefashion.
IfeltthatIhadbeenveryfaraway,insome
land
landwherethecustomswerestrange—inPersia,Ithought....ButIcouldnotremembertheendofthedream.
Intheeveningmy
moster
aunttookmewithhertobesöka
visitthehouseofmourning.Itwasaftersunset;
butthewindow-panesofthehousesthatlookedtothewestreflectedthetawnygoldofagreatbankofclouds.
Nanniereceivedusinthehall;
and,asitwouldhavebeenunseemlytohaveshoutedather,my
moster
auntshookhandswithherforall.Theoldwomanpointedupwardsinterrogativelyand,onmyaunt’snodding,proceededtotoilupthenarrowstaircasebeforeus,herbowedheadbeingscarcely
över
abovethelevelofthebanister-rail.Atthefirstlandingshestoppedandbeckonedus
framåt
forwardencouraginglytowardstheopendoorofthedead-room.My
moster
auntwentinandtheoldwoman,seeingthatIhesitatedtoenter,började
begantobeckontomeagainrepeatedlywithherhand.Iwentinontiptoe.
Theroomthroughthelaceendofthe
blind
blindwassuffusedwithduskygoldenlightamidwhichthecandleslookedlikepalethinflames.Hehadbeencoffined.
Nanniegavetheleadandwethreekneltdownatthe
foten
footofthebed.Ipretendedto
be
praybutIcouldnotgathermythoughtsbecausetheoldwoman’smutteringsdistractedme.I
märkte
noticedhowclumsilyherskirtwashookedatthebackandhowtheheelsofherclothbootsweretroddendownalltooneside.Thefancycametomethattheoldpriestwas
log
smilingashelaythereinhiscoffin.Butno.WhenweroseandwentuptotheheadofthebedIsawthathewasnot
log
smiling.Therehelay,solemnandcopious,vestedasforthealtar,his
stora
largehandslooselyretainingachalice.Hisfacewasverytruculent,greyandmassive,withblackcavernousnostrilsandcircledbyascantywhitefur.
Therewasaheavyodourintheroom—theflowers.
Weblessedourselvesandcameaway.
InthelittleroomdownstairswefoundElizaseatedinhisarm-chairin
tillstånd
state.IgropedmywaytowardsmyusualchairinthecornerwhileNanniewenttothesideboardandbroughtoutadecanterofsherryandsomewine-glasses.
Shesettheseonthe
bordet
tableandinvitedustotakealittleglas
glassofwine.Then,athersister’sbidding,shefilledoutthesherryintotheglassesandpassedthemtous.
ShepressedmetotakesomecreamcrackersalsobutIdeclinedbecauseIthoughtIwouldmaketoomuchnoiseeatingthem.
She
verkade
seemedtobesomewhatdisappointedatmyrefusalandwentoverquietlytothesofawhereshesatdownbehindhersister.Noonespoke:
weallgazedatthe
tomma
emptyfireplace.MyauntwaiteduntilElizasighedandthensaid:.
“Ah,well,he’sgonetoabetterworld.”
Elizasighedagainandbowedherheadinassent.
My
moster
auntfingeredthestemofherwine-glassbeforesippingalittle.“Didhe...
peacefully?”
sheasked.
“Oh,quitepeacefully,ma’am,”saidEliza.
“Youcouldn’ttellwhenthebreathwentoutofhim.
Hehadabeautifuldeath,Godbepraised.”
“Andeverything...?”
“FatherO’RourkewasinwithhimaTuesdayandanointedhimandpreparedhimandall.”
“Heknewthen?”
“Hewasquiteresigned.”
“Helooksquiteresigned,”saidmy
moster
aunt.“That’swhatthewomanwehadinto
tvätta
washhimsaid.Shesaidhejustlookedasifhewas
sov
asleep,helookedthatpeacefulandresigned.Noonewouldthinkhe’dmakesuchabeautifulcorpse.”
“Yes,indeed,”saidmy
moster
aunt.Shesippedalittlemorefromher
glas
glassandsaid:.“Well,MissFlynn,atanyrateitmustbeagreatcomfortforyoutoknowthatyoudidallyoucouldforhim.
Youwerebothverykindtohim,Imustsay.”
Elizasmoothedher
klänning
dressoverherknees.“Ah,poorJames!”
shesaid.
“Godknowswedoneallwecould,aspoorasweare—wewouldn’tseehimwantanythingwhilehewasinit.”
Nanniehadleanedherheadagainstthesofa-pillowand
verkade
seemedabouttofallasleep.“There’spoorNannie,”saidEliza,lookingather,“she’sworeout.
Alltheworkwehad,sheandme,gettinginthewomanto
tvätta
washhimandthenlayinghimoutandthenthecoffinandthenarrangingabouttheMassinthechapel.OnlyforFatherO’RourkeIdon’tknowwhatwe’dhavedoneatall.
ItwashimbroughtusallthemflowersandthemtwocandlesticksoutofthechapelandwroteoutthenoticefortheFreeman’sGeneralandtookchargeofallthepapersforthecemeteryandpoorJames’sinsurance.”
“Wasn’tthatgoodofhim?”
saidmy
moster
aunt.Elizaclosedhereyesandshookherheadslowly.
“Ah,there’snofriendsliketheoldfriends,”shesaid,“whenallissaidanddone,nofriendsthatabodycantrust.”
“Indeed,that’strue,”saidmy
moster
aunt.“AndI’msurenowthathe’sgonetohiseternalrewardhewon’tforgetyouandallyourkindnesstohim.”
“Ah,poorJames!”
saidEliza.
“Hewasnogreattroubletous.
Youwouldn’thearhiminthehouseanymorethannow.
Still,Iknowhe’sgoneandalltothat....”
“It’swhenit’salloverthatyou’llmisshim,”saidmy
moster
aunt.“Iknowthat,”saidEliza.
“Iwon’tbebringinghiminhis
kopp
cupofbeef-teaanymore,inte heller
noryou,ma’am,sendinghimhissnuff.Ah,poorJames!”
Shestopped,asifshewerecommuningwiththepastandthensaidshrewdly:.
“Mindyou,I
märkt
noticedtherewassomethingqueercomingoverhimlatterly.WheneverI’dbringinhissouptohimthereI’dfindhimwithhisbreviaryfallentothe
golvet
floor,lyingbackinthechairandhismunnen
mouthopen.”Shelaidafingeragainsther
näsan
noseandfrowned:thenshe
fortsatte
continued:.“Butstillandallhekeptonsayingthatbeforethe
sommaren
summerwasoverhe’dgooutforadriveonefinedayjusttoseetheoldhouseagainwherewewereallborndowninIrishtownandtakemeandNanniewithhim.Ifwecouldonlygetoneofthemnew-fangledcarriagesthatmakesnonoisethatFatherO’Rourketoldhimabout,themwiththerheumaticwheels,forthedaycheap—hesaid,atJohnnyRush’soverthewaythereanddriveoutthethreeofustogetherofaSunday
kväll
evening.Hehadhismindsetonthat....
PoorJames!”
“TheLordhavemercyonhissoul!”
saidmy
moster
aunt.Elizatookoutherhandkerchiefandwipedhereyeswithit.
Thensheputitbackagaininherpocketandgazedintothe
tomma
emptygrateforsometimewithoutspeaking.