Дублинцы
A Little Cloud
Helookedcoldlyintotheeyesofthephotographandtheyansweredcoldly.Certainlytheywereprettyandthefaceitselfwaspretty.Buthefoundsomethingmeaninit.Whywasitsounconsciousandladylike?Thecomposureoftheeyesirritatedhim.Theyrepelledhimanddefiedhim:therewasnopassioninthem,norapture.HethoughtofwhatGallaherhadsaidaboutrichJewesses.ThosedarkOrientaleyes,hethought,howfulltheyareofpassion,ofvoluptuouslonging!...Whyhadhemarriedtheeyesinthephotograph?
Hecaughthimselfupatthequestionandglancednervouslyroundtheroom.Hefoundsomethingmeanintheprettyfurniturewhichhehadboughtforhishouseonthehiresystem.Anniehadchosenitherselfanditremindedhiofher.Ittoowasprimandpretty.Adullresentmentagainsthislifeawokewithinhim.Couldhenotescapefromhislittlehouse?WasittoolateforhimtotrytolivebravelylikeGallaher?CouldhegotoLondon?Therewasthefurniturestilltobepaidfor.Ifhecouldonlywriteabookandgetitpublished,thatmightopenthewayforhim.
AvolumeofByron’spoemslaybeforehimonthetable.Heopeneditcautiouslywithhislefthandlestheshouldwakenthechildandbegantoreadthefirstpoeminthebook:
Hushedarethewindsandstilltheeveninggloom,
Note’enaZephyrwandersthroughthegrove,
WhilstIreturntoviewmyMargaret’stomb
AndscatterflowersontbedustIlove.
