The Dead Page #9

"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.

• Children

								

supper-room by many of the other guests and renewed time after time,
Freddy Malins acting as officer with his fork on high.

The piercing morning air came into the hall where they were standing so
that Aunt Kate said:

“Close the door, somebody. Mrs Malins will get her death of cold.”

“Browne is out there, Aunt Kate,” said Mary Jane.

“Browne is everywhere,” said Aunt Kate, lowering her voice.

Mary Jane laughed at her tone.

“Really,” she said archly, “he is very attentive.”

“He has been laid on here like the gas,” said Aunt Kate in the same
tone, “all during the Christmas.”

She laughed herself this time good-humouredly and then added quickly:

“But tell him to come in, Mary Jane, and close the door. I hope to
goodness he didn’t hear me.”

At that moment the hall-door was opened and Mr Browne came in from the
doorstep, laughing as if his heart would break. He was dressed in a
long green overcoat with mock astrakhan cuffs and collar and wore on
his head an oval fur cap. He pointed down the snow-covered quay from
where the sound of shrill prolonged whistling was borne in.

“Teddy will have all the cabs in Dublin out,” he said.

Gabriel advanced from the little pantry behind the office, struggling
into his overcoat and, looking round the hall, said:

“Gretta not down yet?”

“She’s getting on her things, Gabriel,” said Aunt Kate.

“Who’s playing up there?” asked Gabriel.

“Nobody. They’re all gone.”

“O no, Aunt Kate,” said Mary Jane. “Bartell D’Arcy and Miss O’Callaghan
aren’t gone yet.”

“Someone is fooling at the piano anyhow,” said Gabriel.

Mary Jane glanced at Gabriel and Mr Browne and said with a shiver:

“It makes me feel cold to look at you two gentlemen muffled up like
that. I wouldn’t like to face your journey home at this hour.”

“I’d like nothing better this minute,” said Mr Browne stoutly, “than a
rattling fine walk in the country or a fast drive with a good spanking
goer between the shafts.”

“We used to have a very good horse and trap at home,” said Aunt Julia
sadly.

“The never-to-be-forgotten Johnny,” said Mary Jane, laughing.

Aunt Kate and Gabriel laughed too.

“Why, what was wonderful about Johnny?” asked Mr Browne.

“The late lamented Patrick Morkan, our grandfather, that is,” explained
Gabriel, “commonly known in his later years as the old gentleman, was a
glue-boiler.”

“O now, Gabriel,” said Aunt Kate, laughing, “he had a starch mill.”

“Well, glue or starch,” said Gabriel, “the old gentleman had a horse by
the name of Johnny. And Johnny used to work in the old gentleman’s
mill, walking round and round in order to drive the mill. That was all
very well; but now comes the tragic part about Johnny. One fine day the
old gentleman thought he’d like to drive out with the quality to a
military review in the park.”

“The Lord have mercy on his soul,” said Aunt Kate compassionately.

“Amen,” said Gabriel. “So the old gentleman, as I said, harnessed
Johnny and put on his very best tall hat and his very best stock collar
and drove out in grand style from his ancestral mansion somewhere near
Back Lane, I think.”

Everyone laughed, even Mrs Malins, at Gabriel’s manner and Aunt Kate
said:

“O now, Gabriel, he didn’t live in Back Lane, really. Only the mill was
there.”

“Out from the mansion of his forefathers,” continued Gabriel, “he drove
with Johnny. And everything went on beautifully until Johnny came in
sight of King Billy’s statue: and whether he fell in love with the
horse King Billy sits on or whether he thought he was back again in the
mill, anyhow he began to walk round the statue.”

Gabriel paced in a circle round the hall in his goloshes amid the
laughter of the others.

“Round and round he went,” said Gabriel, “and the old gentleman, who
was a very pompous old gentleman, was highly indignant. ‘Go on, sir!
What do you mean, sir? Johnny! Johnny! Most extraordinary conduct!
Can’t understand the horse!’”

The peal of laughter which followed Gabriel’s imitation of the incident
was interrupted by a resounding knock at the hall door. Mary Jane ran
to open it and let in Freddy Malins. Freddy Malins, with his hat well
back on his head and his shoulders humped with cold, was puffing and
steaming after his exertions.

“I could only get one cab,” he said.

“O, we’ll find another along the quay,” said Gabriel.

“Yes,” said Aunt Kate. “Better not keep Mrs Malins standing in the
draught.”

Mrs Malins was helped down the front steps by her son and Mr Browne
and, after many manœuvres, hoisted into the cab. Freddy Malins
clambered in after her and spent a long time settling her on the seat,
Mr Browne helping him with advice. At last she was settled comfortably
and Freddy Malins invited Mr Browne into the cab. There was a good deal
of confused talk, and then Mr Browne got into the cab. The cabman
settled his rug over his knees, and bent down for the address. The
confusion grew greater and the cabman was directed differently by
Freddy Malins and Mr Browne, each of whom had his head out through a
window of the cab. The difficulty was to know where to drop Mr Browne
along the route, and Aunt Kate, Aunt Julia and Mary Jane helped the
discussion from the doorstep with cross-directions and contradictions
and abundance of laughter. As for Freddy Malins he was speechless with
laughter. He popped his head in and out of the window every moment to
the great danger of his hat, and told his mother how the discussion was
progressing, till at last Mr Browne shouted to the bewildered cabman
above the din of everybody’s laughter:

“Do you know Trinity College?”

“Yes, sir,” said the cabman.

“Well, drive bang up against Trinity College gates,” said Mr Browne,
“and then we’ll tell you where to go. You understand now?”

“Yes, sir,” said the cabman.

“Make like a bird for Trinity College.”

“Right, sir,” said the cabman.

The horse was whipped up and the cab rattled off along the quay amid a
chorus of laughter and adieus.

Gabriel had not gone to the door with the others. He was in a dark part
of the hall gazing up the staircase. A woman was standing near the top
of the first flight, in the shadow also. He could not see her face but
he could see the terracotta and salmon-pink panels of her skirt which
the shadow made appear black and white. It was his wife. She was
leaning on the banisters, listening to something. Gabriel was surprised
at her stillness and strained his ear to listen also. But he could hear
little save the noise of laughter and dispute on the front steps, a few
chords struck on the piano and a few notes of a man’s voice singing.

He stood still in the gloom of the hall, trying to catch the air that
the voice was singing and gazing up at his wife. There was grace and
mystery in her attitude as if she were a symbol of something. He asked
himself what is a woman standing on the stairs in the shadow, listening

								Rate this book:0.0 / 0 votes