An Encounter Page #3

"An Encounter" is a short story by James Joyce, appearing in the collection of stories titled "Dubliners". It follows the youthful adventures of the narrator and his friend Mahony, skipping school to explore Dublin. Their sense of freedom and excitement is tempered by an unexpected and somewhat disturbing encounter with a strange man in the park, who forces them into uncomfortable conversations and makes implications of a disturbing nature. The story explores the themes of loss of innocence, the grim realities beneath surface appearances, and the limitations of freedom.

• Children

								


As I neither answered nor raised my eyes Mahony exclaimed again:

“I say.... He’s a queer old josser!”

“In case he asks us for our names,” I said, “let you be Murphy and I’ll
be Smith.”

We said nothing further to each other. I was still considering whether
I would go away or not when the man came back and sat down beside us
again. Hardly had he sat down when Mahony, catching sight of the cat
which had escaped him, sprang up and pursued her across the field. The
man and I watched the chase. The cat escaped once more and Mahony began
to throw stones at the wall she had escaladed. Desisting from this, he
began to wander about the far end of the field, aimlessly.

After an interval the man spoke to me. He said that my friend was a
very rough boy and asked did he get whipped often at school. I was
going to reply indignantly that we were not National School boys to be
whipped, as he called it; but I remained silent. He began to speak on
the subject of chastising boys. His mind, as if magnetised again by his
speech, seemed to circle slowly round and round its new centre. He said
that when boys were that kind they ought to be whipped and well
whipped. When a boy was rough and unruly there was nothing would do him
any good but a good sound whipping. A slap on the hand or a box on the
ear was no good: what he wanted was to get a nice warm whipping. I was
surprised at this sentiment and involuntarily glanced up at his face.
As I did so I met the gaze of a pair of bottle-green eyes peering at me
from under a twitching forehead. I turned my eyes away again.

The man continued his monologue. He seemed to have forgotten his recent
liberalism. He said that if ever he found a boy talking to girls or
having a girl for a sweetheart he would whip him and whip him; and that
would teach him not to be talking to girls. And if a boy had a girl for
a sweetheart and told lies about it then he would give him such a
whipping as no boy ever got in this world. He said that there was
nothing in this world he would like so well as that. He described to me
how he would whip such a boy as if he were unfolding some elaborate
mystery. He would love that, he said, better than anything in this
world; and his voice, as he led me monotonously through the mystery,
grew almost affectionate and seemed to plead with me that I should
understand him.

I waited till his monologue paused again. Then I stood up abruptly.
Lest I should betray my agitation I delayed a few moments pretending to
fix my shoe properly and then, saying that I was obliged to go, I bade
him good-day. I went up the slope calmly but my heart was beating
quickly with fear that he would seize me by the ankles. When I reached
the top of the slope I turned round and, without looking at him, called
loudly across the field:

“Murphy!”

My voice had an accent of forced bravery in it and I was ashamed of my
paltry stratagem. I had to call the name again before Mahony saw me and
hallooed in answer. How my heart beat as he came running across the
field to me! He ran as if to bring me aid. And I was penitent; for in
my heart I had always despised him a little.
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