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- Джеймс Джойс
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I
had
never
spoken
to
her
,
except
for
a
few
casual
words
,
and
yet
her
name
was
like
a
summons
to
all
my
foolish
blood
.
Her
image
accompanied
me
even
in
places
the
most
hostile
to
romance
.
On
Saturday
evenings
when
my
aunt
went
marketing
I
had
to
go
to
carry
some
of
the
parcels
.
We
walked
through
the
flaring
streets
,
jostled
by
drunken
men
and
bargaining
women
,
amid
the
curses
of
labourers
,
the
shrill
litanies
of
shop-boys
who
stood
on
guard
by
the
barrels
of
pigs
'
cheeks
,
the
nasal
chanting
of
street-singers
,
who
sang
a
come-all-you
about
O'Donovan
Rossa
,
or
a
ballad
about
the
troubles
in
our
native
land
.
These
noises
converged
in
a
single
sensation
of
life
for
me
:
I
imagined
that
I
bore
my
chalice
safely
through
a
throng
of
foes
.
Her
name
sprang
to
my
lips
at
moments
in
strange
prayers
and
praises
which
I
myself
did
not
understand
.
My
eyes
were
often
full
of
tears
(
I
could
not
tell
why
)
and
at
times
a
flood
from
my
heart
seemed
to
pour
itself
out
into
my
bosom
.
I
thought
little
of
the
future
.
I
did
not
know
whether
I
would
ever
speak
to
her
or
not
or
,
if
I
spoke
to
her
,
how
I
could
tell
her
of
my
confused
adoration
.
But
my
body
was
like
a
harp
and
her
words
and
gestures
were
like
fingers
running
upon
the
wires
.
One
evening
I
went
into
the
back
drawing-room
in
which
the
priest
had
died
.
It
was
a
dark
rainy
evening
and
there
was
no
sound
in
the
house
.
Through
one
of
the
broken
panes
I
heard
the
rain
impinge
upon
the
earth
,
the
fine
incessant
needles
of
water
playing
in
the
sodden
beds
.
Some
distant
lamp
or
lighted
window
gleamed
below
me
.
I
was
thankful
that
I
could
see
so
little
.
All
my
senses
seemed
to
desire
to
veil
themselves
and
,
feeling
that
I
was
about
to
slip
from
them
,
I
pressed
the
palms
of
my
hands
together
until
they
trembled
,
murmuring
:
"
O
love
!
O
love
!
"
many
times
.
At
last
she
spoke
to
me
.
When
she
addressed
the
first
words
to
me
I
was
so
confused
that
I
did
not
know
what
to
answer
.
She
asked
me
was
I
going
to
Araby
.
I
forgot
whether
I
answered
yes
or
no
.
It
would
be
a
splendid
bazaar
,
she
said
she
would
love
to
go
.
"
And
why
ca
n't
you
?
"
I
asked
.
While
she
spoke
she
turned
a
silver
bracelet
round
and
round
her
wrist
.
She
could
not
go
,
she
said
,
because
there
would
be
a
retreat
that
week
in
her
convent
.
Her
brother
and
two
other
boys
were
fighting
for
their
caps
and
I
was
alone
at
the
railings
.
She
held
one
of
the
spikes
,
bowing
her
head
towards
me
.
The
light
from
the
lamp
opposite
our
door
caught
the
white
curve
of
her
neck
,
lit
up
her
hair
that
rested
there
and
,
falling
,
lit
up
the
hand
upon
the
railing
.
It
fell
over
one
side
of
her
dress
and
caught
the
white
border
of
a
petticoat
,
just
visible
as
she
stood
at
ease
.
"
It
's
well
for
you
,
"
she
said
.
"
If
I
go
,
"
I
said
,
"
I
will
bring
you
something
.
"
What
innumerable
follies
laid
waste
my
waking
and
sleeping
thoughts
after
that
evening
!
I
wished
to
annihilate
the
tedious
intervening
days
.
I
chafed
against
the
work
of
school
.
