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DUBLINERS
by James Joyce
Contents
The Sisters
An Encounter
Araby
Eveline
After the Race
Two Gallants
The Boarding House
A Little Cloud
Counterparts
Clay
A Painful Case
Ivy Day in the Committee Room
A Mother
Grace
The Dead
THE SISTERS
There was no hope for him this time: it was the third stroke. Night
after night I had passed the house (it was vacation time) and studied
the lighted square of window: and night after night I had found it
lighted in the same way, faintly and evenly. If he was dead, I thought,
I would see the reflection of candles on the darkened blind for I knew
that two candles must be set at the head of a corpse. He had often said
to me: “I am not long for this world,” and I had thought his words
idle. Now I knew they were true. Every night as I gazed up at the
window I said softly to myself the word paralysis. It had always
sounded strangely in my ears, like the word gnomon in the Euclid and
the word simony in the Catechism. But now it sounded to me like the
name of some maleficent and sinful being. It filled me with fear, and
yet I longed to be nearer to it and to look upon its deadly work.
Old Cotter was sitting at the fire, smoking, when I came downstairs to
supper. While my aunt was ladling out my stirabout he said, as if
returning to some former remark of his:
“No, I wouldn’t say he was exactly ... but there was something queer
... there was something uncanny about him. I’ll tell you my
opinion....”
He began to puff at his pipe, no doubt arranging his opinion in his
mind. Tiresome old fool! When we knew him first he used to be rather
interesting, talking of faints and worms; but I soon grew tired of him
and his endless stories about the distillery.
“I have my own theory about it,” he said. “I think it was one of those
... peculiar cases.... But it’s hard to say....”
He began to puff again at his pipe without giving us his theory. My
uncle saw me staring and said to me:
“Well, so your old friend is gone, you’ll be sorry to hear.”
“Who?” said I.
“Father Flynn.”
“Is he dead?”
“Mr Cotter here has just told us. He was passing by the house.”
I knew that I was under observation so I continued eating as if the
news had not interested me. My uncle explained to old Cotter.
“The youngster and he were great friends. The old chap taught him a
great deal, mind you; and they say he had a great wish for him.”
“God have mercy on his soul,” said my aunt piously.
Old Cotter looked at me for a while. I felt that his little beady black
eyes were examining me but I would not satisfy him by looking up from
my plate. He returned to his pipe and finally spat rudely into the
grate.
“I wouldn’t like children of mine,” he said, “to have too much to say
to a man like that.”
“How do you mean, Mr Cotter?” asked my aunt.
“What I mean is,” said old Cotter, “it’s bad for children. My idea is:
let a young lad run about and play with young lads of his own age and
not be.... Am I right, Jack?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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