Araby Page #2

								

to read. The syllables of the word Araby were called to me through
the silence in which my soul luxuriated and cast an Eastern enchantment
over me. I asked for leave to go to the bazaar on Saturday night. My
aunt was surprised and hoped it was not some Freemason affair. I
answered few questions in class. I watched my master’s face pass from
amiability to sternness; he hoped I was not beginning to idle. I could
not call my wandering thoughts together. I had hardly any patience with
the serious work of life which, now that it stood between me and my
desire, seemed to me child’s play, ugly monotonous child’s play.

On Saturday morning I reminded my uncle that I wished to go to the
bazaar in the evening. He was fussing at the hallstand, looking for the
hat-brush, and answered me curtly:

“Yes, boy, I know.”

As he was in the hall I could not go into the front parlour and lie at
the window. I left the house in bad humour and walked slowly towards
the school. The air was pitilessly raw and already my heart misgave me.

When I came home to dinner my uncle had not yet been home. Still it was
early. I sat staring at the clock for some time and, when its ticking
began to irritate me, I left the room. I mounted the staircase and
gained the upper part of the house. The high cold empty gloomy rooms
liberated me and I went from room to room singing. From the front
window I saw my companions playing below in the street. Their cries
reached me weakened and indistinct and, leaning my forehead against the
cool glass, I looked over at the dark house where she lived. I may have
stood there for an hour, seeing nothing but the brown-clad figure cast
by my imagination, touched discreetly by the lamplight at the curved
neck, at the hand upon the railings and at the border below the dress.

When I came downstairs again I found Mrs Mercer sitting at the fire.
She was an old garrulous woman, a pawnbroker’s widow, who collected
used stamps for some pious purpose. I had to endure the gossip of the
tea-table. The meal was prolonged beyond an hour and still my uncle did
not come. Mrs Mercer stood up to go: she was sorry she couldn’t wait
any longer, but it was after eight o’clock and she did not like to be
out late as the night air was bad for her. When she had gone I began to
walk up and down the room, clenching my fists. My aunt said:

“I’m afraid you may put off your bazaar for this night of Our Lord.”

At nine o’clock I heard my uncle’s latchkey in the halldoor. I heard
him talking to himself and heard the hallstand rocking when it had
received the weight of his overcoat. I could interpret these signs.
When he was midway through his dinner I asked him to give me the money
to go to the bazaar. He had forgotten.

“The people are in bed and after their first sleep now,” he said.

I did not smile. My aunt said to him energetically:

“Can’t you give him the money and let him go? You’ve kept him late
enough as it is.”

My uncle said he was very sorry he had forgotten. He said he believed
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