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FreeClay
James Joyce
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Matronen hadde gitt henne lov til å gå ut så snart kvinne-teet var over, og Maria gledet seg til kvelden ute. Kjøkkenet var skinnende rent: kokken sa at man kunne se seg selv i de store kobberkjelene. Ilden var fin og lys, og på et av sidebordene stod fire svært store barmbracks. Disse barmbracks så ut til å være usnittede; men hvis man gikk nærmere, ville man se at de var skåret i lange, tykke, jevne skiver og klare til å bli delt ut ved teet. Maria hadde skåret dem selv.
Maria var en svært, svært liten person, men hun hadde en svært lang nese og en svært lang hake. Hun snakket litt gjennom nesen, alltid beroligende: "Ja, vennen min," og "Nei, vennen min." Hun ble alltid tilkalt når kvinnene kranglet om sine badekar, og klarte alltid å skape fred. En dag hadde matronen sagt til henne: "Maria, du er en sann fredsmaker!"
Og under-matronen og to av styrets damer hadde hørt komplimentet. Og Ginger Mooney sa alltid hva hun ville gjøre med den som hadde ansvaret for strykejernet, hvis det ikke var for Maria. Alle var svært glade i Maria.
Kvinnene drakk te klokken seks, og hun kunne dra før klokken syv. Fra Ballsbridge til The Pillar tok det tjue minutter; fra The Pillar til Drumcondra tok det tjue minutter; og tjue minutter til å kjøpe tingene. Hun ville være der før klokken åtte. Hun tok frem vesken med sølvspennene og leste igjen ordene En gave fra Belfast. Hun var svært glad i den vesken, for Joe hadde gitt den til henne fem år tidligere, da han og Alphy hadde reist til Belfast på en tur på pinse-mandag. In the purse were two half-crowns and some coppers. She would have five shillings left after paying the tram fare. What a nice evening they would have, all the children singing! Only she hoped that Joe wouldn't come in drunk. He was so different when he had any drink.
Often he had wanted her to go and live with them; but she would have felt herself in the way (though Joe's wife was ever so nice to her) and she had become accustomed to the life of the laundry. Joe was a good fellow. She had nursed him and Alphy too; and Joe used often to say: "Mamma is mamma but Maria is my proper mother."
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-98f3c5d589454009bd1d20f02067b109
# book_title: Clay
# chapter_id: 1-clay
# chapter_title: Clay
# book_page: 1 / 7
# chapter_page: 1
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
Matronen hadde gitt henne lov til å gå ut så snart kvinne-teet var over, og Maria gledet seg til kvelden ute. Kjøkkenet var skinnende rent: kokken sa at man kunne se seg selv i de store kobberkjelene. Ilden var fin og lys, og på et av sidebordene stod fire svært store barmbracks. Disse barmbracks så ut til å være usnittede; men hvis man gikk nærmere, ville man se at de var skåret i lange, tykke, jevne skiver og klare til å bli delt ut ved teet. Maria hadde skåret dem selv.
Maria var en svært, svært liten person, men hun hadde en svært lang nese og en svært lang hake. Hun snakket litt gjennom nesen, alltid beroligende: _"Ja, vennen min,"_ og _"Nei, vennen min."_ Hun ble alltid tilkalt når kvinnene kranglet om sine badekar, og klarte alltid å skape fred. En dag hadde matronen sagt til henne: "Maria, du er en sann fredsmaker!"
Og under-matronen og to av styrets damer hadde hørt komplimentet. Og Ginger Mooney sa alltid hva hun ville gjøre med den som hadde ansvaret for strykejernet, hvis det ikke var for Maria. Alle var svært glade i Maria.
Kvinnene drakk te klokken seks, og hun kunne dra før klokken syv. Fra Ballsbridge til The Pillar tok det tjue minutter; fra The Pillar til Drumcondra tok det tjue minutter; og tjue minutter til å kjøpe tingene. Hun ville være der før klokken åtte. Hun tok frem vesken med sølvspennene og leste igjen ordene _En gave fra Belfast_. Hun var svært glad i den vesken, for Joe hadde gitt den til henne fem år tidligere, da han og Alphy hadde reist til Belfast på en tur på pinse-mandag. In the purse were two half-crowns and some coppers. She would have five shillings left after paying the tram fare. What a nice evening they would have, all the children singing! Only she hoped that Joe wouldn't come in drunk. He was so different when he had any drink.
Often he had wanted her to go and live with them; but she would have felt herself in the way (though Joe's wife was ever so nice to her) and she had become accustomed to the life of the laundry. Joe was a good fellow. She had nursed him and Alphy too; and Joe used often to say: "Mamma is mamma but Maria is my proper mother."After the break-up at home the boys had got her that position in the Dublin by Lamplight laundry, and she liked it. She used to have such a bad opinion of Protestants but now she thought they were very nice people, a little quiet and serious, but still very nice people to live with. Then she had her plants in the conservatory and she liked looking after them. She had lovely ferns and wax-plants and, whenever anyone came to visit her, she always gave the visitor one or two slips from her conservatory. There was one thing she didn't like and that was the tracts on the walks; but the matron was such a nice person to deal with, so genteel.
When the cook told her everything was ready she went into the women's room and began to pull the big bell. In a few minutes the women began to come in by twos and threes, wiping their steaming hands in their petticoats and pulling down the sleeves of their blouses over their red, steaming arms. They sat down before their huge mugs, which the cook and the dummy filled with hot tea, already mixed with milk and sugar in large tin cans. Maria supervised the distribution of the barmbrack and made sure that every woman got her four slices. There was a great deal of laughing and joking during the meal. Lizzie Fleming said Maria was sure to get the ring, and though Fleming had said that for so many Hallow Eves, Maria had to laugh and say she didn’t want any ring or man either; and when she laughed, her grey-green eyes sparkled with disappointed shyness and the tip of her nose nearly met the tip of her chin.
Then Ginger Mooney lifted up her mug of tea and proposed Maria’s health, while all the other women clanked their mugs on the table, and said she was sorry she didn’t have a sup of porter to drink it in. And Maria laughed again until the tip of her nose nearly met the tip of her chin, and until her tiny body nearly shook itself apart, because she knew that Mooney meant well, though, of course, she had the notions of a common woman.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-98f3c5d589454009bd1d20f02067b109
# book_title: Clay
# chapter_id: 1-clay
# chapter_title: Clay
# book_page: 2 / 7
# chapter_page: 2
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
After the break-up at home the boys had got her that position in the _Dublin by Lamplight_ laundry, and she liked it. She used to have such a bad opinion of Protestants but now she thought they were very nice people, a little quiet and serious, but still very nice people to live with. Then she had her plants in the conservatory and she liked looking after them. She had lovely ferns and wax-plants and, whenever anyone came to visit her, she always gave the visitor one or two slips from her conservatory. There was one thing she didn't like and that was the tracts on the walks; but the matron was such a nice person to deal with, so genteel.
When the cook told her everything was ready she went into the women's room and began to pull the big bell. In a few minutes the women began to come in by twos and threes, wiping their steaming hands in their petticoats and pulling down the sleeves of their blouses over their red, steaming arms. They sat down before their huge mugs, which the cook and the dummy filled with hot tea, already mixed with milk and sugar in large tin cans. Maria supervised the distribution of the barmbrack and made sure that every woman got her four slices. There was a great deal of laughing and joking during the meal. Lizzie Fleming said Maria was sure to get the ring, and though Fleming had said that for so many Hallow Eves, Maria had to laugh and say she didn’t want any ring or man either; and when she laughed, her grey-green eyes sparkled with disappointed shyness and the tip of her nose nearly met the tip of her chin.
Then Ginger Mooney lifted up her mug of tea and proposed Maria’s health, while all the other women clanked their mugs on the table, and said she was sorry she didn’t have a sup of porter to drink it in. And Maria laughed again until the tip of her nose nearly met the tip of her chin, and until her tiny body nearly shook itself apart, because she knew that Mooney meant well, though, of course, she had the notions of a common woman.But wasn’t Maria glad when the women had finished their tea and the cook and the dummy had begun to clear away the tea things! She went into her little bedroom and, remembering that the next morning was a mass morning, changed the hand of the alarm from seven to six. Then she took off her working skirt and her house-boots and laid out her best skirt on the bed and her tiny dress-boots beside the foot of the bed. She changed her blouse too and, as she stood before the mirror, she thought of how she used to dress for mass on Sunday morning when she was a young girl; and she looked with quaint affection at the diminutive body which she had so often adorned. Despite its years, she found it a nice, tidy little body.
When she got outside, the streets were shining with rain and she was glad of her old brown waterproof. The tram was full and she had to sit on the little stool at the end of the car, facing all the people, with her toes barely touching the floor. She arranged in her mind all she was going to do and thought how much better it was to be independent and to have your own money in your pocket. She hoped they would have a nice evening. She was sure they would, but she could not help thinking what a pity it was that Alphy and Joe were not speaking. They were always falling out now, but when they were boys together they used to be the best of friends: but such was life.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-98f3c5d589454009bd1d20f02067b109
# book_title: Clay
# chapter_id: 1-clay
# chapter_title: Clay
# book_page: 3 / 7
# chapter_page: 3
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
But wasn’t Maria glad when the women had finished their tea and the cook and the dummy had begun to clear away the tea things! She went into her little bedroom and, remembering that the next morning was a mass morning, changed the hand of the alarm from seven to six. Then she took off her working skirt and her house-boots and laid out her best skirt on the bed and her tiny dress-boots beside the foot of the bed. She changed her blouse too and, as she stood before the mirror, she thought of how she used to dress for mass on Sunday morning when she was a young girl; and she looked with quaint affection at the diminutive body which she had so often adorned. Despite its years, she found it a nice, tidy little body.
When she got outside, the streets were shining with rain and she was glad of her old brown waterproof. The tram was full and she had to sit on the little stool at the end of the car, facing all the people, with her toes barely touching the floor. She arranged in her mind all she was going to do and thought how much better it was to be independent and to have your own money in your pocket. She hoped they would have a nice evening. She was sure they would, but she could not help thinking what a pity it was that Alphy and Joe were not speaking. They were always falling out now, but when they were boys together they used to be the best of friends: but such was life.She got off her tram at the Pillar and ferreted her way quickly among the crowds. She went into Downes's cake-shop, but the shop was so full of people that it was a long time before she could get herself attended to. She bought a dozen of mixed penny cakes, and at last came out of the shop laden with a big bag. Then she thought about what else she would buy: she wanted to buy something really nice. They would surely have plenty of apples and nuts. It was hard to know what to buy, and all she could think of was cake. She decided to buy some plumcake, but Downes's plumcake did not have enough almond icing on top, so she went over to a shop in Henry Street. Here she spent a long time trying to find the right cake, and the stylish young lady behind the counter, who was evidently a little annoyed by her, asked her if she wanted to buy wedding cake.
That made Maria blush and smile at the young lady; but the young lady took it all very seriously and finally cut a thick slice of plumcake, wrapped it up, and said: "Two-and-four, please."
She thought she would have to stand in the Drumcondra tram because none of the young men seemed to notice her, but an elderly gentleman made room for her. He was a stout gentleman and wore a brown hard hat; he had a square red face and a greyish moustache. Maria thought he looked like a colonel, and she reflected how much more polite he was than the young men who simply stared straight ahead. The gentleman began to chat with her about Hallow Eve and the rainy weather. He supposed the bag was full of good things for the little ones and said it was only right that the youngsters should enjoy themselves while they were young. Maria agreed with him and rewarded him with demure nods and smiles.
He was very nice to her, and when she got out at the Canal Bridge she thanked him and bowed, and he bowed to her and raised his hat and smiled agreeably, and while she was walking up the terrace, bending her tiny head under the rain, she thought how easy it was to recognize a gentleman, even when he had had a drop to drink.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-98f3c5d589454009bd1d20f02067b109
# book_title: Clay
# chapter_id: 1-clay
# chapter_title: Clay
# book_page: 4 / 7
# chapter_page: 4
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
She got off her tram at the Pillar and ferreted her way quickly among the crowds. She went into Downes's cake-shop, but the shop was so full of people that it was a long time before she could get herself attended to. She bought a dozen of mixed penny cakes, and at last came out of the shop laden with a big bag. Then she thought about what else she would buy: she wanted to buy something really nice. They would surely have plenty of apples and nuts. It was hard to know what to buy, and all she could think of was cake. She decided to buy some plumcake, but Downes's plumcake did not have enough almond icing on top, so she went over to a shop in Henry Street. Here she spent a long time trying to find the right cake, and the stylish young lady behind the counter, who was evidently a little annoyed by her, asked her if she wanted to buy wedding cake.
That made Maria blush and smile at the young lady; but the young lady took it all very seriously and finally cut a thick slice of plumcake, wrapped it up, and said: "Two-and-four, please."
She thought she would have to stand in the Drumcondra tram because none of the young men seemed to notice her, but an elderly gentleman made room for her. He was a stout gentleman and wore a brown hard hat; he had a square red face and a greyish moustache. Maria thought he looked like a colonel, and she reflected how much more polite he was than the young men who simply stared straight ahead. The gentleman began to chat with her about Hallow Eve and the rainy weather. He supposed the bag was full of good things for the little ones and said it was only right that the youngsters should enjoy themselves while they were young. Maria agreed with him and rewarded him with demure nods and smiles.
He was very nice to her, and when she got out at the Canal Bridge she thanked him and bowed, and he bowed to her and raised his hat and smiled agreeably, and while she was walking up the terrace, bending her tiny head under the rain, she thought how easy it was to recognize a gentleman, even when he had had a drop to drink.Everyone said, "Oh, here's Maria!" when she came to Joe's house. Joe was there, having come home from business, and all the children were wearing their Sunday dresses. Two big girls from next door were there too, and games were going on. Maria gave the bag of cakes to the eldest boy, Alphy, to divide, and Mrs Donnelly said it was very kind of her to bring such a big bag of cakes and made all the children say, "Thanks, Maria."
But Maria said she had brought something special for Papa and Mama, something they would be sure to like, and she began to look for her plumcake. She tried in Downes's bag, then in the pockets of her waterproof coat, and then on the hallstand, but she couldn't find it anywhere. Then she asked all the children if any of them had eaten it—by mistake, of course—but the children all said no and looked as if they didn't like to eat cakes if they were to be accused of stealing. Everyone had a solution to the mystery, and Mrs Donnelly said it was obvious that Maria had left it behind her on the tram. Maria, remembering how confused the gentleman with the grayish mustache had made her, blushed with shame, vexation, and disappointment. At the thought of the failure of her little surprise and of the two and fourpence she had thrown away for nothing, she nearly cried outright.
But Joe said it didn't matter and made her sit down by the fire. He was very kind to her. He told her everything that went on in his office, repeating for her a clever answer he had given to the manager. Maria didn't understand why Joe laughed so much at the answer he had given, but she said that the manager must have been a very overbearing person to deal with. Joe said he wasn't so bad once you knew how to handle him; he was a decent sort as long as you didn't rub him the wrong way. Mrs Donnelly played the piano for the children, and they danced and sang. Then the two girls next door passed around the nuts. Nobody could find the nutcrackers, and Joe was nearly getting angry about it, asking how they expected Maria to crack nuts without a nutcracker. But Maria said she didn't like nuts and that they shouldn't bother about her.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-98f3c5d589454009bd1d20f02067b109
# book_title: Clay
# chapter_id: 1-clay
# chapter_title: Clay
# book_page: 5 / 7
# chapter_page: 5
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
Everyone said, "Oh, here's Maria!" when she came to Joe's house. Joe was there, having come home from business, and all the children were wearing their Sunday dresses. Two big girls from next door were there too, and games were going on. Maria gave the bag of cakes to the eldest boy, Alphy, to divide, and Mrs Donnelly said it was very kind of her to bring such a big bag of cakes and made all the children say, "Thanks, Maria."
But Maria said she had brought something special for Papa and Mama, something they would be sure to like, and she began to look for her plumcake. She tried in Downes's bag, then in the pockets of her waterproof coat, and then on the hallstand, but she couldn't find it anywhere. Then she asked all the children if any of them had eaten it—by mistake, of course—but the children all said no and looked as if they didn't like to eat cakes if they were to be accused of stealing. Everyone had a solution to the mystery, and Mrs Donnelly said it was obvious that Maria had left it behind her on the tram. Maria, remembering how confused the gentleman with the grayish mustache had made her, blushed with shame, vexation, and disappointment. At the thought of the failure of her little surprise and of the two and fourpence she had thrown away for nothing, she nearly cried outright.
But Joe said it didn't matter and made her sit down by the fire. He was very kind to her. He told her everything that went on in his office, repeating for her a clever answer he had given to the manager. Maria didn't understand why Joe laughed so much at the answer he had given, but she said that the manager must have been a very overbearing person to deal with. Joe said he wasn't so bad once you knew how to handle him; he was a decent sort as long as you didn't rub him the wrong way. Mrs Donnelly played the piano for the children, and they danced and sang. Then the two girls next door passed around the nuts. Nobody could find the nutcrackers, and Joe was nearly getting angry about it, asking how they expected Maria to crack nuts without a nutcracker. But Maria said she didn't like nuts and that they shouldn't bother about her.Then Joe asked if she would take a bottle of stout, and Mrs Donnelly said there was port wine in the house too, if she preferred that. Maria said she would rather they didn't ask her to take anything; but Joe insisted.
So Maria let him have his way, and they sat by the fire talking about old times, and Maria thought she would put in a good word for Alphy. But Joe cried out that God might strike him stone dead if he ever spoke a word to his brother again, and Maria said she was sorry she had mentioned the matter. Mrs Donnelly told her husband it was a great shame for him to speak that way about his own flesh and blood, but Joe said that Alphy was no brother of his, and there was almost a row about it. But Joe said he wouldn't lose his temper on account of the night it was, and asked his wife to open some more stout. The two girls next door had arranged some Halloween games and soon everything was cheerful again. Maria was delighted to see the children so happy and Joe and his wife in such good spirits. The girls next door put some saucers on the table and then led the children up to the table, blindfolded.
One got the prayer book and the other three got the water; and when one of the girls next door got the ring, Mrs Donnelly shook her finger at the blushing girl as if to say: “Oh, I know all about it!” They then insisted on blindfolding Maria and leading her up to the table to see what she would get; and while they were putting on the bandage, Maria laughed and laughed again until the tip of her nose almost met the tip of her chin.
They led her up to the table amid laughter and joking, and she put her hand out into the air as she was told to do. She moved her hand about here and there in the air and descended on one of the saucers. She felt a soft, wet substance with her fingers and was surprised that nobody spoke or took off her bandage. There was a pause for a few seconds; and then a great deal of scuffling and whispering. Somebody said something about the garden, and finally Mrs Donnelly said something very cross to one of the girls next door and told her to throw it out at once: that was no play.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-98f3c5d589454009bd1d20f02067b109
# book_title: Clay
# chapter_id: 1-clay
# chapter_title: Clay
# book_page: 6 / 7
# chapter_page: 6
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
Then Joe asked if she would take a bottle of stout, and Mrs Donnelly said there was port wine in the house too, if she preferred that. Maria said she would rather they didn't ask her to take anything; but Joe insisted.
So Maria let him have his way, and they sat by the fire talking about old times, and Maria thought she would put in a good word for Alphy. But Joe cried out that God might strike him stone dead if he ever spoke a word to his brother again, and Maria said she was sorry she had mentioned the matter. Mrs Donnelly told her husband it was a great shame for him to speak that way about his own flesh and blood, but Joe said that Alphy was no brother of his, and there was almost a row about it. But Joe said he wouldn't lose his temper on account of the night it was, and asked his wife to open some more stout. The two girls next door had arranged some Halloween games and soon everything was cheerful again. Maria was delighted to see the children so happy and Joe and his wife in such good spirits. The girls next door put some saucers on the table and then led the children up to the table, blindfolded.
One got the prayer book and the other three got the water; and when one of the girls next door got the ring, Mrs Donnelly shook her finger at the blushing girl as if to say: “Oh, I know all about it!” They then insisted on blindfolding Maria and leading her up to the table to see what she would get; and while they were putting on the bandage, Maria laughed and laughed again until the tip of her nose almost met the tip of her chin.
They led her up to the table amid laughter and joking, and she put her hand out into the air as she was told to do. She moved her hand about here and there in the air and descended on one of the saucers. She felt a soft, wet substance with her fingers and was surprised that nobody spoke or took off her bandage. There was a pause for a few seconds; and then a great deal of scuffling and whispering. Somebody said something about the garden, and finally Mrs Donnelly said something very cross to one of the girls next door and told her to throw it out at once: that was no play.
Maria understood that it was wrong this time, and so she had to do it over again: and this time she got the prayer-book.
After that Mrs Donnelly played Miss McCloud's Reel for the children, and Joe made Maria take a glass of wine. Soon they were all quite merry again and Mrs Donnelly said Maria would enter a convent before the year was out because she had got the prayer-book. Maria had never seen Joe so nice to her as he was that night, so full of pleasant talk and reminiscences. She said they were all very good to her.
At last the children grew tired and sleepy and Joe asked Maria if she would not sing some little song before she went, one of the old songs. Mrs Donnelly said "Do, please, Maria!" and so Maria had to get up and stand beside the piano. Mrs Donnelly bade the children be quiet and listen to Maria's song. Then she played the prelude and said "Now, Maria!" and Maria, blushing very much, began to sing in a tiny, quavering voice. She sang I Dreamt that I Dwelt, and when she came to the second verse she sang again: I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls With vassals and serfs at my side And of all who assembled within those walls That I was the hope and the pride. I had riches too great to count, could boast Of a high ancestral name, But I also dreamt, which pleased me most, That you loved me still the same. But no one tried to show her her mistake; and when she had ended her song Joe was very much moved.
He said that there was no time like the long ago and no music for him like poor old Balfe, whatever other people might say; and his eyes filled up so much with tears that he could not find what he was looking for and in the end he had to ask his wife to tell him where the corkscrew was.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-98f3c5d589454009bd1d20f02067b109
# book_title: Clay
# chapter_id: 1-clay
# chapter_title: Clay
# book_page: 7 / 7
# chapter_page: 7
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
Maria understood that it was wrong this time, and so she had to do it over again: and this time she got the prayer-book.
After that Mrs Donnelly played Miss McCloud's Reel for the children, and Joe made Maria take a glass of wine. Soon they were all quite merry again and Mrs Donnelly said Maria would enter a convent before the year was out because she had got the prayer-book. Maria had never seen Joe so nice to her as he was that night, so full of pleasant talk and reminiscences. She said they were all very good to her.
At last the children grew tired and sleepy and Joe asked Maria if she would not sing some little song before she went, one of the old songs. Mrs Donnelly said _"Do, please, Maria!"_ and so Maria had to get up and stand beside the piano. Mrs Donnelly bade the children be quiet and listen to Maria's song. Then she played the prelude and said _"Now, Maria!"_ and Maria, blushing very much, began to sing in a tiny, quavering voice. She sang _I Dreamt that I Dwelt_, and when she came to the second verse she sang again: _I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls With vassals and serfs at my side And of all who assembled within those walls That I was the hope and the pride. I had riches too great to count, could boast Of a high ancestral name, But I also dreamt, which pleased me most, That you loved me still the same._ But no one tried to show her her mistake; and when she had ended her song Joe was very much moved.
He said that there was no time like the long ago and no music for him like poor old Balfe, whatever other people might say; and his eyes filled up so much with tears that he could not find what he was looking for and in the end he had to ask his wife to tell him where the corkscrew was.
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