The Collected Works in Verse and Prose of William Butler Yeats, Vol. 5 (of 8): The Celtic Twilight and Stories of Red HanrahanYeats, W. B. (William Butler)
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The Collected Works in Verse and Prose of William Butler Yeats, Vol. 5 (of 8): The Celtic Twilight and Stories of Red Hanrahan
Yeats, W. B. (William Butler)
English literature -- Irish authors
There was a cold wind creeping among the rushes, and Hanrahan began to
shiver, and he rose up to go to some house where there would be a fire
on the hearth. But instead of turning down the hill as he was used, he
went on up the hill, along the little track that was maybe a road and
maybe the dry bed of a stream. It was the same way Winny had gone, and
it led to the little cabin where she stopped when she stopped in any
place at all. He walked very slowly up the hill as if he had a great
load on his back, and at last he saw a light a little to the left, and
he thought it likely it was from Winny’s house it was shining, and he
turned from the path to go to it. But clouds had come over the sky,
and he could not well see his way, and after he had gone a few steps
his foot slipped and he fell into a bog drain, and though he dragged
himself out of it, holding on to the roots of the heather, the fall
had given him a great shake, and he felt better fit to lie down than
to go travelling. But he had always great courage, and he made his way
on, step by step, till at last he came to Winny’s cabin, that had no
window, but the light was shining from the door. He thought to go into
it and to rest for a while, but when he came to the door he did not see
Winny inside it, but what he saw was four old grey-haired women playing
cards, but Winny herself was not among them. Hanrahan sat down on a
heap of turf beside the door, for he was tired out and out, and had no
wish for talking or for card-playing, and his bones and his joints
aching the way they were. He could hear the four women talking as they
played, and calling out their hands. And it seemed to him that they
were saying, like the strange man in the barn long ago: ‘Spades and
Diamonds, Courage and Power. Clubs and Hearts, Knowledge and Pleasure.’
And he went on saying those words over and over to himself; and whether
or not he was in his dreams, the pain that was in his shoulder never
left him. And after a while the four women in the cabin began to
quarrel, and each one to say the other had not played fair, and their
voices grew from loud to louder, and their screams and their curses,
till at last the whole air was filled with the noise of them around and
above the house, and Hanrahan, hearing it between sleep and waking,
said: ‘That is the sound of the fighting between the friends and the
ill-wishers of a man that is near his death. And I wonder,’ he said,
‘who is the man in this lonely place that is near his death.’
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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