A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce Read Free Book Online

toast.
    —Ah, do! he said.
    —Butter you up! said Brother Michael. You’ll get your walking papers in the morning when the doctor comes.
    —Will I? the fellow said. I’m not well yet.
    Brother Michael repeated:
    —You’ll get your walking papers, I tell you.
    He bent down to rake the fire. He had a long back like the long back of a tramhorse. He shook the poker gravely and nodded his head at the fellow out of third of grammar.
    Then Brother Michael went away and after a while the fellow out of third of grammar turned in towards the wall and fell asleep.
    That was the infirmary. He was sick then. Had they written home to tell his mother and father? But it would be quicker for one of the priests to go himself to tell them. Or he would write a letter for the priest to bring.
    Dear Mother
    I am sick. I want to go home. Please come and take me home. I am in the infirmary.
    Your fond son,
    Stephen
    How far away they were! There was cold sunlight outside the window. He wondered if he would die. You could die just the same on a sunny day. He might die before his mother came. Then he would have a dead mass in the chapel like the way the fellows had told him it was when Little had died. All the fellows would be at the mass, dressed in black, all with sad faces. Wells too would be there but no fellow would look at him. The rector would be there in a cope of black and gold and there would be tall yellow candles on the altar and round the catafalque. And they would carry the coffin out of the chapel slowly and he would be buried in the little graveyard of the community off the main avenue of limes. And Wells would be sorry then for what he had done. And the bell would toll slowly.
    He could hear the tolling. He said over to himself the song that Brigid had taught him.
Dingdong! The castle bell !
Farewell, my mother !
Bury me in the old churchyard
Beside my eldest brother .
My coffin shall be black ,
Six angels at my back ,
Two to sing and two to pray
And two to carry my soul away .
    How beautiful and sad that was! How beautiful the words were where they said Bury me in the old churchyard ! A tremor passed over his body. How sad and how beautiful! He wanted to cry quietly but not for himself: for the words, so beautiful and sad, like music. The bell! The bell! Farewell! O farewell!
    The cold sunlight was weaker and Brother Michael was standing at his bedside with a bowl of beeftea. He was glad for his mouth was hot and dry. He could hear them playing on the playgrounds. And the day was going on in the college just as if he were there.
    Then Brother Michael was going away and the fellow out of third of grammar told him to be sure and come back and tell him all the news in the paper. He told Stephen that his name was Athy and that his father kept a lot of racehorses that were spiffing jumpers and that his father would give a good tip to Brother Michael any time he wanted it because Brother Michael was very decent and always told him the news out of the paper they got every day up in the castle. There was every kind of news in the paper: accidents, shipwrecks, sports and politics.
    —Now it is all about politics in the paper, he said. Do your people talk about that too?
    —Yes, Stephen said.
    —Mine too, he said.
    Then he thought for a moment and said:
    —You have a queer name, Dedalus, and I have a queer name too, Athy. My name is the name of a town. Your name is like Latin.
    Then he asked:
    —Are you good at riddles?
    Stephen answered:
    —Not very good.
    Then he said:
    —Can you answer me this one? Why is the county Kildare like the leg of a fellow’s breeches?
    Stephen thought what could be the answer and then said:
    —I give it up.
    —Because there is a thigh in it, he said. Do you see the joke? Athy is the town in the county Kildare and a thigh is the other thigh.
    —O, I see, Stephen said.
    —That’s an old riddle, he said.
    After a moment he said:
    —I say!
    —What? asked Stephen.
    —You know, he said, you can ask