When he smiled he used to uncover his big discoloured teeth and let his
tongue lie upon his lower lip—a habit which had made me feel uneasy in
the beginning of our acquaintance before I knew him well.
As I walked along in the sun I remembered old Cotter’s words and tried
to remember what had happened afterwards in the dream. I remembered
that I had noticed long velvet curtains and a swinging lamp of antique
fashion. I felt that I had been very far away, in some land where the
customs were strange—in Persia, I thought.... But I could not remember
the end of the dream.
In the evening my aunt took me with her to visit the house of mourning.
It was after sunset; but the window-panes of the houses that looked to
the west reflected the tawny gold of a great bank of clouds. Nannie
received us in the hall; and, as it would have been unseemly to have
shouted at her, my aunt shook hands with her for all. The old woman
pointed upwards interrogatively and, on my aunt’s nodding, proceeded to
toil up the narrow staircase before us, her bowed head being scarcely
above the level of the banister-rail. At the first landing she stopped
and beckoned us forward encouragingly towards the open door of the
dead-room. My aunt went in and the old woman, seeing that I hesitated
to enter, began to beckon to me again repeatedly with her hand.
I went in on tiptoe. The room through the lace end of the blind was
suffused with dusky golden light amid which the candles looked like
pale thin flames. He had been coffined. Nannie gave the lead and we
three knelt down at the foot of the bed. I pretended to pray but I
could not gather my thoughts because the old woman’s mutterings
distracted me. I noticed how clumsily her skirt was hooked at the back
and how the heels of her cloth boots were trodden down all to one side.
The fancy came to me that the old priest was smiling as he lay there in
his coffin.
But no. When we rose and went up to the head of the bed I saw that he
was not smiling. There he lay, solemn and copious, vested as for the
altar, his large hands loosely retaining a chalice. His face was very
truculent, grey and massive, with black cavernous nostrils and circled
by a scanty white fur. There was a heavy odour in the room—the flowers.
We blessed ourselves and came away. In the little room downstairs we
found Eliza seated in his arm-chair in state. I groped my way towards
my usual chair in the corner while Nannie went to the sideboard and
brought out a decanter of sherry and some wine-glasses. She set these
on the table and invited us to take a little glass of wine. Then, at
her sister’s bidding, she filled out the sherry into the glasses and
passed them to us. She pressed me to take some cream crackers also but
I declined because I thought I would make too much noise eating them.
She seemed to be somewhat disappointed at my refusal and went over
quietly to the sofa where she sat down behind her sister. No one spoke:
we all gazed at the empty fireplace.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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