Complete Works of James Joyce (272 page)

Temple crossed himself and replaced his hat while the audience began to clap their hands together. Just then a policeman moved on the group. Stephen said to Cranly:

 
— Who is this Flanagan?

Cranly did not answer but followed Temple and his companions, walking emphatically and saying “ ‘M, yes” to himself. They could hear Temple bemoaning his poverty to his companions and repeating snatches of his parable.

 
— Who is this Flanagan? said Stephen again to Cranly.

 
— Another bloody fool, said Cranly in a tone which left the comparison open.

A few days later Cranly went to Wicklow. Stephen spent his summer with Maurice. He told his brother what troubles he anticipated when the college term reopened and together they discussed plans for living. Maurice suggested that the verses should be sent to a publisher.

 
— I cannot send them to a publisher, said Stephen, because I have burned them.

 
— Burned them!

 
— Yes, said Stephen curtly, they were romantic.

In the end they decided that it would be best to wait until Mr Fulham made his intentions known. Mrs Daedalus called one day to see Father Butt. She did not report her interview fully but Stephen understood that Father Butt had at first prescribed a clerkship in Guinness’s as a solution of the young man’s difficult case and, when Mrs Daedalus had shaken her head incredulously, he had asked to see Stephen. He had thrown out hints about some new arrangement of the college which would necessitate new appointments. These hints were fed upon by Stephen’s parents. The next day Stephen called to the college to see Father Butt.

 
— O, come in, my dear boy, said Father Butt when Stephen appeared at the door of the little uncarpeted bedroom.

Father Butt began to talk a great deal about general topics, without saying anything definite but asking Stephen over and over again for an expression of opinion which was always studiously withheld. The young man was very much bewildered. At last, after much rubbing of his chin and many blinkings of the eyes, Father Butt asked what were Stephen’s intentions .

 
— Literature, said Stephen.

 
— Yes, yes . . . of course . . . but meanwhile, I mean. . . of course you will continue your course until you have got a degree — that is the important point.

 
— I may not be able, said Stephen, I suppose you know that my father is unable to . . .

 
— Now, said Father Butt joyfully, I’m so glad you’ve come to the point . . . That is just it. The question is whether we can find anything for you to enable you to finish your course here. That is the question.

Stephen said nothing. He was convinced that Father Butt had some offer or suggestion to make but he was determined not to help him in bringing it out. Father Butt continued blinking his eyes and rubbing his chin and murmuring to himself “That is the difficulty, you see.” In the end, as Stephen held his peace sacredly, Father Butt said:

 
— There might be . . . it has just occurred to me . . . an appointment here in the college. One or two hours a day . . . that would be nothing . . . I think, yes . . . we shall be . . . let me see now . . . It would be no trouble to you . . . no teaching or drudgery, just an hour or so in the office here in the morning . . .

Stephen said nothing. Father Butt rubbed his hands together and said:

 
— Otherwise there would be a danger of your perishing . . . by inanition . . . Yes, a capital idea . . . I shall speak to Father Dillon this very night.

Stephen, somewhat taken by surprise though he had anticipated some such proposal, murmured his thanks and Father Butt promised to send him a letter in the course of a day or two.

Stephen did not give a very full account of this interview to his father and mother: he said that Father Butt had been vague and had suggested that he should look for tuitions. Mr. Daedalus thought this a highly practical notion:

 
— If you will only keep your head straight you can get on. Keep in touch with those chaps, I tell you, those Jesuits: they can get you on fast enough. I am a few years older than you.

 
— I am sure they will do their best to help you, said Mrs Daedalus.

 
— I don’t want their help, said Stephen bitterly.

Mr Daedalus put up his eyeglass and stared at his son and at his wife. His wife began an apology:

 
— Give it up, woman, he said. I know the groove he has got into. But he’s not going to fool me nor his godfather, either. With the help of God I won’t be long till I let him know what a bloody nice atheist this fellow has turned out. Hold hard now a moment and leave it to me.

Stephen answered that he did not want his godfather’s help either.

 
— I know the groove you’re in, said his father. Didn’t I see you the morning of your poor sister’s funeral — don’t forget that? Unnatural bloody ruffian. By Christ I was ashamed of you that morning. You couldn’t behave like a gentleman or talk or do a bloody thing only slink over in a corner with the hearsedrivers and mutes by God. Who taught you to drink pints of plain porter, might I ask? Is that considered the proper thing for an a . . . artist to do?

Stephen clasped his hands together and looked across at Maurice who was convulsed with laughter.

 
— What are you laughing at? said his father. Everyone knows you’re only this fellow’s jackal.

 
— Stephen was thirsty, said Maurice.

 
— By God, he’ll be hungry as well as thirsty one of these days, if you ask me.

Stephen gave details of his interview to Maurice:

 
— Don’t you think they are trying to buy me? he asked.

 
— Yes, that’s evident. But I’m surprised at one thing . . .

 
— What is that?

 
— That the priest lost his temper when speaking to Mother. You must have annoyed the good man a great deal.

 
— How do you know he lost his temper?

 
— O, he must have when he suggested to her to put you on the books of a brewery. That gave the show away. Anyhow we can see what right these men have to call themselves spiritual counsellors of their flocks . . .

 
— Yes?

 
— They can do nothing for a case like yours which presents certain difficulties of temperament. You might as well apply to a policeman.

 
— Perhaps his notion was that my mind was in such a state of disorder that even routine would do it good.

 
— I don’t think that was his notion. Besides they must all be liars in that case for they have all expressed great admiration for your clearness in argument. A man’s mind is not in intellectual disorder because it refuses assent to the doctrine of the Blessed Trinity.

 
— By the way, said Stephen, do you notice what understanding and sympathy exist between me and my parents?

 
— Isn’t it charming?

 
— Yet, there are plenty of people who would consider them my best friends for having advised me as they have done. It seems absurd to call them enemies or to denounce them. They want me to secure what they consider happiness. They would like me to accept anything in the way of money at whatever a cost to myself.

 
— And will you accept?

 
— If Cranly were here I know how he would put that question.

 
— How?

—”Of course, you will accept?”

 
— I have already told you my opinion of that young gentleman, said Maurice tartly.

 
— Lynch, too, would say “You’d be a damn fool if you didn’t take it.”

 
— And what will you do?

 
— Refuse it, of course.

 
— I expected you would.

 
— How could I take it? asked Stephen in astonishment.

 
— Not well, I suppose.

The following day a letter arrived for Stephen:

Dear Mr Daedalus,

I have spoken to our President re what we discussed a few days

ago. He is greatly interested in your case and would like to see

you at the College any day this week between 2 and 3. He thinks

it may be possible to find something for you such as I suggested

 
— a few hours or so daily — to enable you to

studies>. That is the main point.

Sincerely Yours

D. Butt SJ.

 
Stephen did not call to see the President but replied to Father Butt by letter:

Dear Father Butt,

Allow me to thank you for your kindness. I am afraid, however,

that I cannot accept your offer. I am sure you will understand

that in declining it I am acting as seems best to me and with

 
every appreciation of the interest you have shown in me.

Sincerely Yours

Stephen Daedalus.

 
Stephen spent the great part of his summer on the rocks of the North Bull. Maurice spent the day there, stretching idly on the rocks or plunging into the water. Stephen was now on excellent terms with his brother who seemed to have forgotten their estrangement. At times Stephen would half clothe himself and cross to the shallow side of the Bull, where he would wander up and down looking at the children and the nurses. He used to stand to stare at them sometimes until the ash of his cigarette fell on to his coat but, though he saw all that was intended, he met no other Lucy: and he usually returned to the Liffey side, somewhat amused at his dejection and thinking that if he had made his proposal to Lucy instead of to Emma he might have met with better luck. But as often as not he encountered dripping Christian Brothers or disguised policemen, apparitions which assured him that whether Lucy or Emma was in question the answer was all one. The two brothers walked home from Dollymount together. They were both a little ragged-looking but they did not envy the trim dressed clerks [that] who passed them on their way home. When they came to Mr Wilkinson’s house they both paused outside to listen for [the] sounds of wrangling and even when all seemed peaceful Maurice’s first questions to his mother when she opened the door was “Is he in?” When the answer was “No” they both went down to the kitchen together but when the answer was “Yes” Stephen only went down, Maurice listening over the banisters to judge from his father’s tones whether he was sober or not. If his father was drunk Maurice retired to his bedroom but Stephen, who was untroubled, discoursed gaily with his father. Their conversation always began:

 
— Well (in a tone of extreme sarcasm) might I ask where were you all day?

 
— At the Bull.

 
— O (in a mollified tone) . Had a dip?

 
— Yes.

 
— Well, there’s some sense in that. I like to see that. So long as you keep away from those (in a suspicious tone). Sure you weren’t with Knickerbockers or some of those noblemen?

 
— Quite sure.

 
— That’s all right. That’s all I want. Keep away from them . . . Was Maurice with you?

 
— Yes.

 
— Where is he?

 
— Upstairs, I think.

 
— Why doesn’t he come down here?

 
— I don’t know.

 
— Hm . . . (again in a tone of ruminative sarcasm). By God, you’re a loving pair of sons, you and your brother!