15 - The Dead, part 1

and helped him off with his overcoat. Than the wheezy hall door bell clanged again, and she had to scamper along the bare hallway to let in another guest. It was well for her. She had not to attend to the ladies also, but Miss Kate and Miss Julia had thought of that and had converted the bathroom upstairs into

a ladies dressing room. Miss Kate and Miss Julia were there, gossiping and laughing and fussing, walking after each other to the head of the stairs, peering down over the banisters and calling down to Lily to ask her who had come. It was always a great affair the missus Morcan's annual dance. Everybody who knew them, came to it. Members of the family, old friends of the family, the members of Julia's choir, any of Kate's pupils that were grown up enough, and

some of Mary Jane's pupils too. Never once had had fallen flat. For years and years it had gone off in splendid style as long as anyone could remember, ever since Kate and Julia, after the death of their brother Pat, had left the house in Stony Batter and taken Mary Jane, their only niece, to live with them in the dark gaunt house on Usher's Island, the upper part of which they had rented from mister Fulham, the corn factor on the ground floor. That was a good thirty years years ago,

if it was a day. Mary Jane, who was then a little girl in short clothes, was now the main prop of the household, for she had the organ in Haddington Road, She had been through the Academy and gave a pupils concert every year in the upper room of the antient concert rooms. Many of her pupils belonged to the better class families on the Kingstown and Dalkey line,

old as they were. Her aunts also did their share. Julia, though she was quite gray, was still the leading soprano in Adam and Eves, and Kate, being too feeble to go about much, gave music lessons to beginners on the old square piano in the back room. Lily, the caretaker's daughter, did housemaids work for them. Though their life was modest, they believed in eating well, the best of everything, diamond bone,

Sirloin's three shilling tea and the best bottled stout. But Lily seldom made a mistake in the orders, so that she got on well with her three mistresses. They were fussy, that was all. But the only thing they would not stand was back answers. Of course, they had good reason to be fussy on such a night, and then it was long after ten o'clock, and yet there was no sign of Gabrielle and his wife. Besides, they were dreadfully

afraid that Freddy Malins might turn up screwed. They would not wish for worlds that any of Mary Jane's pupils should see him under the influence, and when he was like that, it was sometimes very hard to manage him. Freddy Malins always came late, but they wondered what could be keeping Gabriel, and that was what brought them every two minutes to the banisters to ask Lily, had Gabriel or Freddy come? Oh, mister Conroy, said Lily to gabrielle When she opened the door for him, Miss Kate and

Miss Julia thought you were never were coming. Good night, Missus Conroy. I'll engage, they did, said Gabriel, But they forget that my wife here takes three mortal hours to dress herself. He stood on the mat, scraping the snow from his galoshes, while Lily led his wife to the foot of the stairs and called out, miss Kate, here's Missus Conroy. Kate and Julia came toddling down the dark stairs.

At once both of them kissed. Gabriel's wife said she must be perished alive, and asked, was Gabriel with her here? I am right as the mail, Aunt Kate, go on up, I'll follow, called out Gabriel from the dark. He continued scraping his feet vigorously while the three women went upstairs, laughing to the ladies dressing room. A light fringe of snow lay like a cape on the shoulders of his overcoat, and like toe caps on the toes of his galoshes, and as the buttons of his overcoat boat slipped with

a squeaking noise through the snow stiffened frieze. A cold, fragrant air from out of doors escaped from crevices and folds. Is it snowing again? Mister Conroy asked Lily. She had preceded him into the pantry to help him off with his overcoat. Gabriel smiled at the three syllables she had given his surname, and glanced at her. She was a slim, growing girl, pale in complexion, with hay colored hair. The

gas in the pantry made her look still paler. Gabriel had known her when she was a child and used to sit on the lowest step nursing and ragged all. Yes, Lily, he answered, and I think we're in for a night of it. He looked up at the pantry ceiling, which was shaking with the stamping and shuffling of feet on the floor above, listened for a moment to the piano, and then glanced at the girl who was folding his overcoat carefully at the end of a shelf. Tell me, Lily,

he said, in a friendly tone. Do you still go to school? Oh, no, sir, she answered, I'm done schooling this year and more. Oh, then said Gabriel gaily, I suppose we'll be going to your wedding one of these fine days with your young man. Eh. The girl glanced back at him over her shoulder and said, with great bitterness, the men that is now is only all palaver and

what they can get out of you. Gabriel colored as if he felt he had made a mistake, and without looking at her, kicked off his gloshes and flicked actively with his muffler and his pat leather shoes. He was a stout, tallish young man. The high color of his cheeks pushed upwards even to his forehead, where it scattered itself in a few formless patches of pale red and on his hairless face. There scintillated restlessly the polished lenses and the bright gilt rims of the glasses which screened

his delicate and restless eyes. His glossy black hair was parted in the middle and brushed in a long curve behind his ears, where it curled slightly beneath the groove left by his hat. When he had flicked luster into his shoes. He stood up and pulled his waistcoat down more tightly on his plump body. Then he took a coin rapidly from his pocket. Oh, lily, he said, thrusting it into her hands. It's Christmas time, isn't it. Er? Just here's a little He walked rapidly towards the door.

Oh no, sir, cried the girl, following after him. Really, sir, I wouldn't take it. Christmas time, Christmas time, said Gabriel, almost trotting to the stairs and waving his hand to her in depreciation. The girl, seeing that he had gained the stairs, called out after him, well, thank you, sir. He waited outside the drawing room until the waltz should finish, listening to the skirts that swept against it, and to the shuffling of feet. He was still discomposed by the

girl's bitter and sudden retort. It had cast a gloom over him, which he tried to dispel by arranging his cuffs and the bows of his tie. He then took from his waistcoat pocket a little paper and glanced at the headings he had made for his speech. He was undecided about the lines from Robert Browning, for he feared they should be above the heads of his hearers. Some quotation that they would recognize from Shakespeare or from the

melodies would be better. The indelicate clacking of men's heels and shuffling of their souls reminded him that their grade of culture differed from his. He would only make himself ridiculous by quoting poetry to them which they could not understand. They would think that he was airing his superior education. He would fail with them, just as he had failed with the girl in the pantry. He had taken up a wrong tone. His whole speech was a mistake from them,

first to last, an utter failure. Just then, his aunts and his wife came out of the ladies dressing room. His aunts were two small, plainly dressed old women, and Julia was an inch or so the taller. Her hair drawn low over the top of her ears, was gray and gray. Also with darker shadows was her large, flaccid face. Though she was stout in build and stood erect, her slow eyes and parted lips gave her the appearance of a woman who did not know where she was or

where she was going. Aunt Kate was more vivacious, her face healthier than her sister's, was all puckers and creases like a shriveled red apple, and her hair, braided in the same old fashioned way, had not lost its ripe nut color. They both kissed Gabriel frankly. He was their favorite nephew, the son of their dead elder sister Ellen, who had married T. J. Conroy of the Ports and Docks. Gretta tells me you're not going to take a cab

back to Monkstown tonight, Gabriel said, Aunt Kate. No, said Gabriel, turning to his wife. We had quite enough of that last year, hadn't we. Don't you remember, Aunt Kate, what a cold Gretta got out of it, cab windows rattling all the way, and the east wind blowing in after we passed Marian. Very jolly it was. Greta caught a dreadful cold. Aunt Kate frowned severely and nodded her head at every word. Quite right, Gabriel, Quite right, she said, you can't be too careful. But as for Greta, there,

said Gabriel. She'd walk home in the snow if she were. Let missus Conroy laughed. Don't mind him, Aunt Kate, She said, he's really an awful bother, what with green shades for Tom's eyes at night, and making him do the dumb bells, and forcing Eva to eat the stir about the poor child, and she simply hates the sight of it. Oh but you'll never guess what he makes me wear now. She broke out into a peal of laughter and glanced at her husband, whose admiring and happy eyes had been wandering

from her dress to her face and hair. The two aunts laughed heartily too, for Gabriel's solicitude was a standing joke with them. Galoshes, said Missus Conroy, that's the latest. Whenever it's wet underfoot, I must put on my goloshes tonight. Even he wanted me to put them on, but I wouldn't. The next thing you'll buy me will be a diving suit. Gabriel laughed nervously and patted his tie reassuringly, while Aunt Kate nearly doubled herself so heartily did she enjoy the joke.

The smile soon faded from Aunt Julia's face, and her mirthless eyes were directed towards her nephew's face. After a pause, she asked, and what our galoshes? Gabriel ushes Julia exclaimed, your sister, goodness me, don't you know what goloshes are? You wear them over? You're over your boots, Greta, isn't it? Yes, said missus Conroy. Got a percha things. We both have a pair now. Gabriel says, everyone wears them on the continent. Oh, on the continent, murmured Aunt Julia, nodding her head slowly.

Gabriel knitted his brows and said, as if he were slightly angered. It's nothing very wonderful. But Greta thinks it is very funny because she says the word reminds her of Christy minstrels. But tell me, Gabriel, said Aunt Kate, with brisk tact. Of course, you've seen about the room. Greta was saying, Oh, the room is all right, replied Gabriel. I've taken one in Gresham, to be sure, said Aunt Kate.

By far the best thing to do. And the children, Greta, you're not anxious about them, oh for one night, said Missus Conroy. Besides, Bessie will look after them, to be sure, said Aunt Kate again, what a comfort it is to have a girl like that, one you can depend on. There's that Lily. I'm sure I don't know what has come over her lately. She's not the girl she was

at all. Gabriel was about to ask his aunt some questions on this point, but she broke off suddenly to gaze after her sister, who had wandered down the stairs and was craning her neck over the banisters. Now I ask you, she said, almost testily, where is Julia going, Julia, Julia, where are you going? Julia, who had gone half way down one flight, came back and announced, blandly, here's Freddy.

At the same moment, a clapping of hands and a final flourish of the pianist told that the waltz had ended. The drawing room door was opened from within, and some couples came out. Aunt Kate drew Gabriel aside hurriedly and whispered into his ear. Slip down Gabriel like a good fellow, and see if he's all right, and don't let him off if he's screwed. I'm sure he's screwed. I'm sure he is. Gabriel went to the stairs and listened over the banisters. He could hear two persons talking in the pantry.

Then he recognized Freddy Mullins's laugh. He went down the stairs noisily. It's such a relief, said Aunt Kate to missus Conroy that Gabriel is here. I always feel easier in my mind when he's here. Julia, there's Miss Daly and Miss Power. Will take some refreshments. Thanks for your

beautiful waltz, Miss Daly, it made lovely time. A tall, wizen faced man with a stiff, grizzled mustache and swarthy skin, who was passing out with his partner, said, and may we have some refreshment too, Miss Morgan, Julia, said Aunt Kate summarily. And here's mister Brown and Miss Furlong. Take them in, Julia, with Miss Daly and miss Power. I'm the man for the ladies, said mister Brown, pursing his lips into his mustache, bristled and smiling in all his wrinkles.

You know, Miss Morkan, the reason they are so fond of me is he did not finish his sentence, but seeing that Aunt Kate was out of earshot, at once led the three young ladies into the back room. The middle of the room was occupied by two square tables placed end to end, and on these Aunt Julia and the caretaker were straightening and smoothing a large cloth. On the sideboard were arrayed dishes and plates and glasses, and

bundles of knives and forks and spoons. The top of the closed square piano served also as a sideboard for yans and sweets. At a smaller sideboard in one corner, two young men were standing drinking hot bitters. Mister Brown led his charges thither and invited them all in jest to some lady's punch hot strong and sweet. As they said they never took anything strong. He opened three bottles of lemonade for them. Then he asked one of the young men to move aside, and taking hold of the decanter,

filled out for himself a goodly measure of whisky. The young man eyed him respectfully while he took a trial's sip. God help me, he said, smiling, it's the doctor's orders. His wizened face broke into a broader smile, and the three young ladies laughed in a musical echo to his pleasantry, swaying their bodies to and fro with nervous jerks of their shoulders. The boldest said, oh, now, mister Brown, I'm

sure the doctrine never ordered anything of the kind. Mister Brown took another sip of his whisky and said, with sidling mimicry. Well, you see, I'm like the famous Missus Cassidy, who's reported to have said, now, Merry Grimes, if I don't take it, make me take it, for I feel I want it. His hot face had leaned forward a little too confidently, and he had assumed a very low dublin accent, so that the young ladies, with one instinct,

received his speech in silence. Miss Furlong, who is one of Mary Jane's pupils, asked Miss Daly what was the name of the pretty waltz she had played, and mister Brown, seeing that he was ignored, turned promptly to the two young men who were more appreciative. A red faced young woman dressed in pansy came into the room excitedly, clapping her hands and crying, quadrilles, quadrilles. Close on her heels came Aunt Kate, crying. Two gentlemen and three ladies Mary Jane, Oh,

here's mister Burgan and mister Kerrigan, said Mary Jane. Mister Kerrigan, will you take miss Power, Miss Furlong, May I get you a partner mister Burgan. Oh that'll just do now, three ladies, Mary Jane, said Aunt Kate. The two young gentlemen asked the lady as if they might have the pleasure, and Mary Jane turned to Miss Daly. Oh, Miss Daly, you're really awfully good after playing for the last two dances.

But really we're so short of ladies tonight. I don't mind in the least Miss Morgan, but I've a nice partner for you, mister Bartell Darcy the tenor. I'll get him to sing later on All Dublin is raving about him. Lovely voice, lovely voice, said Aunt Kate. As the piano had twice begun the prelude to the first figure. Mary Jane led her recruits quickly from the room. They had hardly gone when Aunt Julia wandered slowly into the room, looking behind her at something. What is the matter, Julia

asked Aunt Kate anxiously. Who is it? Julia, who was carrying in a column of table napkins, turned to her sister and said simply, as if the question had surprised her. It's only Freddy Kate and Gabriel with him. In fact, right behind her, Gabriel could be seen piloting Freddy Malins across the landing. The latter, a young man of about forty, was of Gabriel's size and build, with very round shoulders.

His face was fleshy and pallid, touched with color only at the thick hanging lobes of his ears and at the wide wings of his nose. He had coarse features, a blunt nose, a convex and receding brow, tumid and protruded lips, His heavy lidded eyes, and the disorder of his scanty hair made him look sleepy. He was laughing heartily in the high key at a story which he had been telling Gabriel on the stairs, and at the same time rubbing the knuckles of his left fist backwards

and forwards into his left eye. Good evening, Freddy, said, Aunt Julia. Freddy Malins bade the Missus Morcan good evening in what seemed an offhand fashion by reason of the habitual catch in his voice, and then seeing that mister Brown, was grin at him from the sideboard, crossed the room on rather shaky legs, and began to repeat in an undertone the story he had just told Gabriel. He's not

so bad as he said, Aunt Kate to Gabriel. Gabriel's brows were dark, but he raised them quickly and answered, oh no, hardly noticeable. Now, isn't he a terrible fellow? She said, and his poor mother made him take the pledge on New Year's Eve. But come on, Gabriel into the drawing room. Before leaving the room with Gabriel, she signaled to mister Brown by frowning and shaking her forefinger

and warning to and fro. Mister Brown nodded in answer, and when she had gone, said to Freddy Malins, now, then, Teddy, I'm going to fill you out a good glass of lemonade, just to buck you up. Freddy Malins, who was nearing the climax of his story, waved the offer aside impatiently, but mister Brown, having first called Freddy Malins's attention to a disarray in his dress, philed out and handed him

a glass full of lemonade. Freddy Malins's left hand accepted the glass mechanically, his right hand being engaged in the

mechanical readjustment of his dress. Mister Brown, whose face was once more wrinkled with mirth, poured out for himself a glass of whisky, while Freddy Malins exploded before he had well reached the climax of his story in a kink of high pitched, bronchitic laughter, and setting down his untasted and overflowing glass, began to rub the knuckles of his left fists backwards and forwards into his left eye, repeating words of his last phrase as well as his fit

of laughter would allow him. Gabriel could not listen while Mary Jane was playing her academy piece full of runs and difficult passages to the hushed drawing room. He liked music, but the piece she was playing had no melody for him, and he doubted whether it had any malady for the other listeners, though they had begged Mary Jane to play something. Four young men who had come from the refreshment room to stand in the doorway at the sound of the

piano had gone away quietly in couples. After a few minutes. The only persons who seemed to follow the music were Mary Jane herself, her hands racing along the keyboard or lifted from it at the pauses like those of a priestess in momentary impreciation, and Aunt Kate standing at her elbow to turn the page. Gabriel's eyes, irritated by the floor which glittered with beeswax under the heavy chandelier, wandered

to the wall above the piano. A picture of the balcony scene in Romeo and Juliette hung there, and beside it was a picture of the two murdered princes in the Tower, which Aunt Julia had worked in red, blue and brown woolves when she was a girl, probably in the school they had gone to. His girls that kind of work had been taught for one year. His mother had worked for him as a birthday present, waistcoat of purple tabinet with little foxes heads upon it, lined with

brown satin, and having round mulberry buttons. It was strange that his mother had no musical talent, though Aunt Kate used to call her the brains carrier of the Morkan family. Both she and Julia had always seemed a little proud of their serious and matronly sister. Her photographs stood before the pier glass. She held an open book on her knee and was pointing out something in it to Constantine, who dressed in a man O war suit, lay at

her feet. It was she who had chosen the name of her sons, for she was very sensible of the dignity of family life. Thanks to her, Constantine was now senior Curate in Balbrigan, and thanks to her, Gabriel himself had taken his degree in the Royal University. A shadow passed over his face as he remembered her sullen opposition to his marriage. Some slighting phrases she had used still rankled in his memory. She had once spoken of Greta as being country cute, and that was not true of

Greta at all. It was Greta who had nursed her during all her last long illness in their house in Monkstown. He knew that Mary Jane must be near the end of her piece, for she was playing again the opening melody, with runs of scales after every bar, and while he waited for the end, the resentment died down in his heart. The piece ended with a trill of octaves in the treble, and finally a deep octave in the bass. Great applause greeted Mary Jane As, blushing and rolling up her music nervously,

she escaped from the room. The most vigorous clapping came from the four young men in the doorway, who had gone away to the refreshment room at the beginning of the piece, but had come back when the piano had stopped. Lance were arranged. Gabriel found himself partnered with Miss Ivers. She was a frank mannered, talkative young lady with a freckled face and prominent brown eyes. She did not wear a low cut bodice in the large brooch which was fixed in the front of her collar, born Irish device

and motto. When they had taken their places, she said abruptly, I have a crow to pluck with you. With me, said Gabriel. She nodded her head gravely. What is it, asked Gabriel, smiling at her solemn manner. Who is g c answered Miss Ivers, turning her eyes upon him. Gabriel colored and was about to knit his brows as if he did not understand, when she said, bluntly, O innocent Amy, I have found out that you write for the Daily Express. Now aren't you ashamed of yourself? Why should I be

ashamed of myself? Asked Gabriel, blinking his eyes and trying to smile. Well, I'm ashamed of you, said miss I, frankly to say you'd write for a paper like that. I didn't think you were a West Britain. A look of perplexity appeared on Gabriel's face. It was true that he wrote a literary column every Wednesday in the Daily Express, for which he was paid fifteen shillings, but that did

not make him a West Britain. Surely, the books he received for review were almost more welcome than the paltry check. He loved to feel the covers and turn over the pages of newly printed books. Nearly every day when his teaching in the college was ended, he used to wander down the keys to the second hand bookstellers to Hickey's on Bachelor's Walk to Webb's, or Massy's on Aston's Key, or a Clauchey's in the Bye Street. He did not know how to meet her charge. He wanted to say

that literature was above politics. But they were friends of many years standing, and their careers had been parallel. First at the university, and then his teachers. He could not risk a grandiose phrase with her. He continued, blinking his eyes and trying to smile, and murmured lamely that he saw nothing political in writing reviews of books. When their turn to cross had come, he was still perplexed and inattentive.

Miss Ivers promptly took his hand in a warm grasp and said, in a soft, friendly tone, of course, I was only joking. Come we crossed now. When they were together again, she spoke of the university, questioned, and Gabriel felt more at ease. A friend of hers had shown her his review of Browning's poems. That was how she had found out the secret. But she liked the review immensely. Then she said suddenly, oh, mister Conroy, will you come for an excursion to the Aron Isles this summer. We're

going to stay there a whole month. It will be splendid out in the Atlantic. You ought to come. Mister Clancy is coming, and mister Kilkelly and Kathleen Kearney. It would be blended for Greta too if she'd come. She's from Connaught, isn't she. Her people are said Gabriel shortly. But you will come, won't you, said miss Ivers, laying her arm hand eagerly on his arm. The fact is, said Gabriel. I've just arranged to go. Go where, said

Miss Ivers. Well, you know every year I go for a cycling tour with some fellows and so, but where, asked Miss Ivers. Well we usually go to France or Belgium, or perhaps Germany, said Gabriel awkwardly. And why do you go to France and Belgium, said Miss iverys instead of visiting your own land? Well, said Gabriel. It's partly to keep in touch with the language, and partly for change. And haven't you your own language to keep in touch with? Irish?

Asked Miss Ivers. Well, said Gabriel. If it comes to that, you know, Irish is not my language. Their neighbors had turned to listen to the cross examination. Gabriel glanced right and left nervously and tried to keep his good humor under the ordeal, which was making a blush, and bade his forehead. And haven't you your own land visit, continued Miss Ivers, that you know nothing of your own people

and your own country. Oh, to tell the truth, retorted Gabriel. Suddenly, I'm sick of my own country, sick of it, why, asked miss Ivers. Gabriel did not answer for his retort had heeded him? Why, repeated miss Ivers. They had to go visiting together, And as he had not answered her, miss Ivers said warmly, of course, you've no answer. Gabriel tried to cover his agitation by taking part in the

dance with great energy. He avoided her eyes, for he had seen a sour expression on her face, But when they met in the long chain, he was surprised to feel his hand firmly pressed. She looked at him from under her brows for a moment and quizzically until he smiled. Then, just as the chain was about to start again, she stood on tiptoe and whispered into his ear West Britain. When the lancers were over, Gabriel went away to a remote corner of the room where Freddie Malins's mother was sitting.

She was a stout, feeble old woman with white hair. Her voice had a catch in it, like her son's, and she stuttered slightly. She had been told that Freddie had come and that he was nearly all right. Gabriel asked her whether she had a good crossing. She lived with her married daughter in Glasgow and came to Dublin on a visit once a year. She answered placidly that she had had a beautiful crossing, and that the captain

had been most attentive to her. She spoke also of the beautiful house her daughter kept in Glasgow, and of all the friends they had there. While her tongue rambled on, Gabriel tried to banish from his mind all memory of the unpleasant incident with Miss Ivers. Of course, the girl or woman or whatever she was, was an enthusiast, but there was a time for all things. Perhaps he ought not to have answered her like that, but she had no right to call him a West Britain before people,

even in joke. She had tried to make him ridiculous before people, heckling him and staring at him with her rabbit's eyes. He saw his wife making her way towards him through the waltzing couples. When she reached him, she said into his ear, Gabriel, Aunt Kate wants to know. Won't you carve the goose as usual? Miss Daly will carve the ham, and I'll do the pudding. All right, said Gabriel. She's sending in the younger ones first as soon as this waltz is over, so that we'll have

the table to ourselves. Were you dancing, asked Gabriel. Of course I was. Didn't you see me? What row? Had you with? Molly Ivers? No? Raw? Why did she say so something like that. I'm trying to get that mister Darcy to sing. He's full of conceit. I think there is no row, said Gabriel moodily. Only she wanted me to go for a trip to the west of Ireland, and I said I wouldn't. His wife clasped her hands excitedly and gave a little jump. Oh do go, Gabriel,

she cried, I'd love to see Galway again. You can go if you like, said Gabriel coldly. She looked at him for a moment, then turned to Missus Mallins and said, there's a nice husband for you, Missus Mallins. While she was threading her way back across the room, Missus Mallins, without averting to interruption, went on to tell Gabriel what beautiful places there were in Scotland and beautiful scenery. Her son in law brought them every year to the lakes, and they used to go fishing. Her son in law

was a splendid fisher. One day he caught a beautiful big fish, and the man in the hotel cooked it for their dinner. Gabriel hardly heard what she said. Now that supper was coming near, he began to think again about his speech and about the quotation. When he saw Freddy Malins coming across the room to visit his mother. Gabriel left the chair free for him and retired into the embrasure of the window. The room had already cleared, and from the back room came the clatter of plates

and knives. Those who still remained in the drawing room seemed tired of dancing and were conversing quietly in little groups. Gabriel's warm, trembling fingers tapped the cold pane of the window. How cool it must be outside, How pleasant it would be to walk out alone, first along by the river and then through the park. The snow would be lying on the branches of the trees and forming a bright

cap on top of the Wellington Monument. How much more pleasant it would be there than at the supper table. And of part one of the Dead by James Joyce