James Joyce Short Story: Evelyn

She sat in front of the window and stared at the night that covered the street. Her head rested against the curtains, and there was a smell of dusty calico curtains in her nostrils. She looked very tired.

The streets are sparsely populated. A man came out of the last house and passed by on his way home, and she heard his footsteps rattling along the concrete pavement and then creaking down the cinder road in front of the new red house. It used to be an open space, and they used to play there every night with other children. Later a man from Belfast bought the plot of land and built a house on it – not like their little brown house, but a bright brick house with a gleaming roof.

In the past, the children of the street used to play together in the clearing—the Deweins, the Watts, the Dunns, the lame Keeoff, and she and her younger siblings. However, Ernest never played: he was too big. Her father used to chase them out of the clearing with his cane of plumwood, but little Keeuf was always on the lookout for them, and shouted loudly when he saw her father coming. Still, they seemed very happy at the time. Her father wasn't so bad then, and her mother was still alive.

That was a long time ago, and now she and her siblings are grown up, and her mother has died. Tice Dunn is dead, and the Watts have moved to England. Everything has changed. Now she's leaving, like everyone else, leaving her home.

She looked around the room and looked at all the familiar objects in the room, which she had wiped down once a week for years, not knowing where the dust came from. Maybe she would never see those familiar objects again, and she never dreamed of leaving them. For all these years, however, she did not know the priest's name, and his yellowed picture hung on the wall above the broken organ, next to a photochrome print of a vow to the Virgin Margaret Marie Aracock. He was a friend of her father's when he was in school. Whenever her father showed the photographs to the guests, he would always hand them over and say casually:

"Now he lives in Melbourne. ”

She had agreed to run away and leave her home. Is that a wise thing to do? She tried to weigh the issue from every aspect. In any case, she has food and accommodation at home, surrounded by people she has known since childhood. Of course, she had to work hard, both at home and in the store. If they knew she had run away with a young man, what would they say about her in the store? Perhaps, that she was a fool, and that her place would be advertised for a replacement. Miss Gavin would be pleased. She always shows that she is better than her, especially whenever someone is listening.

"Miss Hill, don't you see these ladies waiting?"

"Cheer up, Miss Hill. ”

She doesn't cry when she's sad to leave the shop.

But in her new home, in a distant and unfamiliar country, it wouldn't be like that. That's when she got married—she, Evelyn. At that time, people will respect her. She wouldn't be treated the way her mother had been treated when she was alive. Even now, despite being over 19, she sometimes feels threatened by her father's violence. She knew it was the threat that scared her.

When they were growing up, he had never liked Harry and Ernest as much as he liked her, because she was a girl, but then he began to threaten her with what he would do to her dead mother if it weren't for her sake. Now she has no protection from anyone. Ernest is dead, and Harry is in the church decoration business, almost always running around the country.

In addition, every Saturday night, there was always an argument over money, which also made her feel indescribably bored. She always gave her full salary—seven shillings—and Harry always sent in as much money as she could, but the problem was asking her father for money. He said she used to spend money recklessly, that she had no brains, that he wouldn't throw her his hard-earned money out into the street, and that he was in a bad mood on Saturday nights. Eventually, he would give her the money, but would ask her if she was going to buy Sunday food for the family.

At that time, she had to run out of the house as soon as possible, go to the market to buy, clutch the black leather purse in her hand, squeeze through the bustling crowd, and by the time she returned home with food, it was already late. She worked hard to maintain the family and was responsible for leaving her two young children in her care to go to school and eat on time. It's hard work—a hard life—but she's about to leave it now, and she feels a little nostalgic.

She is about to carve out another life with Frank. Frank is a very kind man, open-minded and quite manly. She was going to leave with him on a night boat, to be his wife, to live with him in Buenos Aires, where he had a home waiting for her. How vividly she remembered the first time she saw him, when he was staying in a house by the road, where she used to go. It seems like a few weeks ago.

He stood in the doorway, his cap pushed behind his head, his hair loose hanging over his bronzed face. Later they got to know each other. He picks her up outside the store every night and takes her home. He took her to see "La Bohème," and she sat with him in the private seating area of the theater, which was unaccustomed but very comfortable. He loves music and sings a few words. They were known to be in love, so he was always fascinated by the joy when he sang about a young girl falling in love with a sailor. He often teased her and called her "Little Swan". At first, she was excited about a young man next to her, but then she grew to like him. He knows the stories of many distant countries.

He started out as a deck sailor, working on a ship sailed to Canada by the Allen Line, earning a pound a month. He told her the names of the ships on which he had worked, and the names of the various jobs. He sailed through the Strait of Magellan and told her the terrible story of the Pattagnians. He said he had survived death in Buenos Aires and that he had come to this ancient country just for a vacation. Of course, her father found out about their relationship and forbade her to have any contact with him.

"I know these boys who are sailors," he said.

One day, her father had a fight with Frank, and since then, she has had to meet her lover secretly.

It's dark on the streets. The whites of the two letters resting on her lap became indistinct. One was for Harry, and the other was for her father. She doted on Ernest, but she also liked Harry. She noticed that her father had been getting older lately; Sometimes he can be very kind. Not long ago, she was sick and lay in bed for a day, and he read her ghost stories and baked her bread over the fire. Another day, when her mother was alive, the family went to Mount Hoth for a picnic. She remembers her father putting on her mother's strap-on hat and making the children laugh.

Her time was getting less and less, but she still sat by the window, her head leaning against the curtains, smelling the scent of the dusty calico curtains. From the far side of the street under the window, she heard the music of a street accordion. She knew the tune. Strangely enough, it came to her very tonight, reminding her of her promise to her mother, who had promised to do everything she could to maintain the family. She remembered the last night of her mother's illness, and when she returned to the dimly lit room in the aisle, she heard a bleak Italian tune outside. The accordion-player was sent away for sixpence. She remembers her father returning to the ward with a huff and saying:

"Damn the Italians!

As she meditated, the pitiful vision of her mother's life weighed on her like a spell—the ordinary and the ordinary exhausted her life, and the dying broke her heart. She trembled as if she heard her mother's voice say stupidly:

"My dear child!

She stood up in horror. Run! She must escape! Frank will save her. He will give her a new life and maybe love. And she needs to live. Why shouldn't she be happy? She has the right to be happy. Frank would hug her and hold her in his arms. He'll save her.

* * * * *

At Northwall Wharf, she stood in the middle of the crowd. He took her hand, and she knew he was talking to her, talking about the voyage over and over again. The docks were crowded with soldiers with brown luggage. Through the wide doorway of the waiting room, she caught a glimpse of the massive black hull, moored against the wall of the dock, with lights on in the portholes. She didn't speak. She felt pale and cold, and because of her inexplicable sadness, she prayed to God for guidance and instructions on what to do. The ship whistled a long, mournful whistle in the fog. If she leaves, she will be at sea with Frank the next day, heading for Buenos Aires. Their berths have been booked. After all this he had done for her, could she retreat? Her grief made her feel like vomiting, so she kept moving her lips and prayed silently.

A jingling bell rang her heart. She felt him grasp his hand:

"Come on!"

The oceans of the world churned and stirred in her heart. He dragged her into the ocean: he would drown her. She gripped the bars tightly with both hands.

"Come on!"

No, no, no! She clutched the bars frantically with both hands. In the midst of the ocean, she let out a cry of pain.

"Evelyn!

He rushed over the fence and shouted for her to follow. Someone shouted at him to go forward, but he was still calling her. She was forced to lift her pale face to him, like a lonely and helpless animal. She looked at him with both eyes, showing no affection or parting, as if she were a passerby.