The Dead Page #6

"The Dead" is not a standalone book but is the final short story in James Joyce's collection, "Dubliners". This story follows the protagonist Gabriel Conroy through a Christmas season feast, where he grapples with issues of identity and Irish Nationalism. The narrative culminates with Gabriel's profound emotional epiphany about love, mortality and the continuity of life and death, invoked by hearing about his wife's past lover who died young.

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“Well, isn’t it for the honour of God, Aunt Kate?” asked Mary Jane,
twisting round on the piano-stool and smiling.

Aunt Kate turned fiercely on her niece and said:

“I know all about the honour of God, Mary Jane, but I think it’s not at
all honourable for the pope to turn out the women out of the choirs
that have slaved there all their lives and put little whipper-snappers
of boys over their heads. I suppose it is for the good of the Church if
the pope does it. But it’s not just, Mary Jane, and it’s not right.”

She had worked herself into a passion and would have continued in
defence of her sister for it was a sore subject with her but Mary Jane,
seeing that all the dancers had come back, intervened pacifically:

“Now, Aunt Kate, you’re giving scandal to Mr Browne who is of the other
persuasion.”

Aunt Kate turned to Mr Browne, who was grinning at this allusion to his
religion, and said hastily:

“O, I don’t question the pope’s being right. I’m only a stupid old
woman and I wouldn’t presume to do such a thing. But there’s such a
thing as common everyday politeness and gratitude. And if I were in
Julia’s place I’d tell that Father Healey straight up to his face....”

“And besides, Aunt Kate,” said Mary Jane, “we really are all hungry and
when we are hungry we are all very quarrelsome.”

“And when we are thirsty we are also quarrelsome,” added Mr Browne.

“So that we had better go to supper,” said Mary Jane, “and finish the
discussion afterwards.”

On the landing outside the drawing-room Gabriel found his wife and Mary
Jane trying to persuade Miss Ivors to stay for supper. But Miss Ivors,
who had put on her hat and was buttoning her cloak, would not stay. She
did not feel in the least hungry and she had already overstayed her
time.

“But only for ten minutes, Molly,” said Mrs Conroy. “That won’t delay
you.”

“To take a pick itself,” said Mary Jane, “after all your dancing.”

“I really couldn’t,” said Miss Ivors.

“I am afraid you didn’t enjoy yourself at all,” said Mary Jane
hopelessly.

“Ever so much, I assure you,” said Miss Ivors, “but you really must let
me run off now.”

“But how can you get home?” asked Mrs Conroy.

“O, it’s only two steps up the quay.”

Gabriel hesitated a moment and said:

“If you will allow me, Miss Ivors, I’ll see you home if you are really
obliged to go.”

But Miss Ivors broke away from them.

“I won’t hear of it,” she cried. “For goodness’ sake go in to your
suppers and don’t mind me. I’m quite well able to take care of myself.”

“Well, you’re the comical girl, Molly,” said Mrs Conroy frankly.

“Beannacht libh,” cried Miss Ivors, with a laugh, as she ran down the
staircase.

Mary Jane gazed after her, a moody puzzled expression on her face,
while Mrs Conroy leaned over the banisters to listen for the hall-door.
Gabriel asked himself was he the cause of her abrupt departure. But she
did not seem to be in ill humour: she had gone away laughing. He stared
blankly down the staircase.

At the moment Aunt Kate came toddling out of the supper-room, almost
wringing her hands in despair.

“Where is Gabriel?” she cried. “Where on earth is Gabriel? There’s
everyone waiting in there, stage to let, and nobody to carve the
goose!”

“Here I am, Aunt Kate!” cried Gabriel, with sudden animation, “ready to
carve a flock of geese, if necessary.”

A fat brown goose lay at one end of the table and at the other end, on
a bed of creased paper strewn with sprigs of parsley, lay a great ham,
stripped of its outer skin and peppered over with crust crumbs, a neat
paper frill round its shin and beside this was a round of spiced beef.
Between these rival ends ran parallel lines of side-dishes: two little
minsters of jelly, red and yellow; a shallow dish full of blocks of
blancmange and red jam, a large green leaf-shaped dish with a
stalk-shaped handle, on which lay bunches of purple raisins and peeled
almonds, a companion dish on which lay a solid rectangle of Smyrna
figs, a dish of custard topped with grated nutmeg, a small bowl full of
chocolates and sweets wrapped in gold and silver papers and a glass
vase in which stood some tall celery stalks. In the centre of the table
there stood, as sentries to a fruit-stand which upheld a pyramid of
oranges and American apples, two squat old-fashioned decanters of cut
glass, one containing port and the other dark sherry. On the closed
square piano a pudding in a huge yellow dish lay in waiting and behind
it were three squads of bottles of stout and ale and minerals, drawn up
according to the colours of their uniforms, the first two black, with
brown and red labels, the third and smallest squad white, with
transverse green sashes.

Gabriel took his seat boldly at the head of the table and, having
looked to the edge of the carver, plunged his fork firmly into the
goose. He felt quite at ease now for he was an expert carver and liked
nothing better than to find himself at the head of a well-laden table.

“Miss Furlong, what shall I send you?” he asked. “A wing or a slice of
the breast?”

“Just a small slice of the breast.”

“Miss Higgins, what for you?”

“O, anything at all, Mr Conroy.”

While Gabriel and Miss Daly exchanged plates of goose and plates of ham
and spiced beef Lily went from guest to guest with a dish of hot floury
potatoes wrapped in a white napkin. This was Mary Jane’s idea and she
had also suggested apple sauce for the goose but Aunt Kate had said
that plain roast goose without any apple sauce had always been good
enough for her and she hoped she might never eat worse. Mary Jane
waited on her pupils and saw that they got the best slices and Aunt
Kate and Aunt Julia opened and carried across from the piano bottles of
stout and ale for the gentlemen and bottles of minerals for the ladies.
There was a great deal of confusion and laughter and noise, the noise
of orders and counter-orders, of knives and forks, of corks and
glass-stoppers. Gabriel began to carve second helpings as soon as he
had finished the first round without serving himself. Everyone
protested loudly so that he compromised by taking a long draught of
stout for he had found the carving hot work. Mary Jane settled down
quietly to her supper but Aunt Kate and Aunt Julia were still toddling
round the table, walking on each other’s heels, getting in each other’s
way and giving each other unheeded orders. Mr Browne begged of them to
sit down and eat their suppers and so did Gabriel but they said they
were time enough so that, at last, Freddy Malins stood up and,
capturing Aunt Kate, plumped her down on her chair amid general
laughter.

When everyone had been well served Gabriel said, smiling:

“Now, if anyone wants a little more of what vulgar people call stuffing
let him or her speak.”

A chorus of voices invited him to begin his own supper and Lily came
forward with three potatoes which she had reserved for him.

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