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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Портрет художника в юности
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- Стр. 69/241
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--
Damn
me
,
said
Mr
Dedalus
frankly
,
if
I
know
how
you
can
smoke
such
villainous
awful
tobacco
.
It
's
like
gunpowder
,
by
God
.
--
It
's
very
nice
,
Simon
,
replied
the
old
man
.
Very
cool
and
mollifying
.
Every
morning
,
therefore
,
uncle
Charles
repaired
to
his
outhouse
but
not
before
he
had
greased
and
brushed
scrupulously
his
back
hair
and
brushed
and
put
on
his
tall
hat
.
While
he
smoked
the
brim
of
his
tall
hat
and
the
bowl
of
his
pipe
were
just
visible
beyond
the
jambs
of
the
outhouse
door
.
His
arbour
,
as
he
called
the
reeking
outhouse
which
he
shared
with
the
cat
and
the
garden
tools
,
served
him
also
as
a
sounding-box
:
and
every
morning
he
hummed
contentedly
one
of
his
favourite
songs
:
O
,
TWINE
ME
A
BOWER
or
BLUE
EYES
AND
GOLDEN
HAIR
or
THE
GROVES
OF
BLARNEY
while
the
grey
and
blue
coils
of
smoke
rose
slowly
from
his
pipe
and
vanished
in
the
pure
air
.
During
the
first
part
of
the
summer
in
Blackrock
uncle
Charles
was
Stephen
's
constant
companion
.
Uncle
Charles
was
a
hale
old
man
with
a
well
tanned
skin
,
rugged
features
and
white
side
whiskers
.
On
week
days
he
did
messages
between
the
house
in
Carysfort
Avenue
and
those
shops
in
the
main
street
of
the
town
with
which
the
family
dealt
.
Stephen
was
glad
to
go
with
him
on
these
errands
for
uncle
Charles
helped
him
very
liberally
to
handfuls
of
whatever
was
exposed
in
open
boxes
and
barrels
outside
the
counter
.
He
would
seize
a
handful
of
grapes
and
sawdust
or
three
or
four
American
apples
and
thrust
them
generously
into
his
grandnephew
's
hand
while
the
shopman
smiled
uneasily
;
and
,
on
Stephen
's
feigning
reluctance
to
take
them
,
he
would
frown
and
say
:
--
Take
them
,
sir
.
Do
you
hear
me
,
sir
?
They
're
good
for
your
bowels
.
When
the
order
list
had
been
booked
the
two
would
go
on
to
the
park
where
an
old
friend
of
Stephen
's
father
,
Mike
Flynn
,
would
be
found
seated
on
a
bench
,
waiting
for
them
.
Then
would
begin
Stephen
's
run
round
the
park
.
Mike
Flynn
would
stand
at
the
gate
near
the
railway
station
,
watch
in
hand
,
while
Stephen
ran
round
the
track
in
the
style
Mike
Flynn
favoured
,
his
head
high
lifted
,
his
knees
well
lifted
and
his
hands
held
straight
down
by
his
sides
.
When
the
morning
practice
was
over
the
trainer
would
make
his
comments
and
sometimes
illustrate
them
by
shuffling
along
for
a
yard
or
so
comically
in
an
old
pair
of
blue
canvas
shoes
.
A
small
ring
of
wonderstruck
children
and
nursemaids
would
gather
to
watch
him
and
linger
even
when
he
and
uncle
Charles
had
sat
down
again
and
were
talking
athletics
and
politics
.
Though
he
had
heard
his
father
say
that
Mike
Flynn
had
put
some
of
the
best
runners
of
modern
times
through
his
hands
Stephen
often
glanced
at
his
trainer
's
flabby
stubble-covered
face
,
as
it
bent
over
the
long
stained
fingers
through
which
he
rolled
his
cigarette
,
and
with
pity
at
the
mild
lustreless
blue
eyes
which
would
look
up
suddenly
from
the
task
and
gaze
vaguely
into
the
blue
distance
while
the
long
swollen
fingers
ceased
their
rolling
and
grains
and
fibres
of
tobacco
fell
back
into
the
pouch
.
On
the
way
home
uncle
Charles
would
often
pay
a
visit
to
the
chapel
and
,
as
the
font
was
above
Stephen
's
reach
,
the
old
man
would
dip
his
hand
and
then
sprinkle
the
water
briskly
about
Stephen
's
clothes
and
on
the
floor
of
the
porch
.
While
he
prayed
he
knelt
on
his
red
handkerchief
and
read
above
his
breath
from
a
thumb
blackened
prayer
book
wherein
catchwords
were
printed
at
the
foot
of
every
page
.
Stephen
knelt
at
his
side
respecting
,
though
he
did
not
share
,
his
piety
.
He
often
wondered
what
his
grand-uncle
prayed
for
so
seriously
.
Perhaps
he
prayed
for
the
souls
in
purgatory
or
for
the
grace
of
a
happy
death
or
perhaps
he
prayed
that
God
might
send
him
back
a
part
of
the
big
fortune
he
had
squandered
in
Cork
.
On
Sundays
Stephen
with
his
father
and
his
grand-uncle
took
their
constitutional
.
The
old
man
was
a
nimble
walker
in
spite
of
his
corns
and
often
ten
or
twelve
miles
of
the
road
were
covered
.
The
little
village
of
Stillorgan
was
the
parting
of
the
ways
.
