He had wandered into a maze of narrow and dirty streets.
From the foul laneways he heard bursts of hoarse riot
and wrangling and the drawling of drunken singers.
He walked onward, dismayed, wondering whether he had
strayed into the quarter of the Jews. Women and
girls dressed in long vivid gowns traversed the street
from house to house. They were leisurely and
perfumed. A trembling seized him and his eyes
grew dim. The yellow gas-flames arose before
his troubled vision against the vapoury sky, burning
as if before an altar. Before the doors and in
the lighted halls groups were gathered arrayed as
for some rite. He was in another world:
he had awakened from a slumber of centuries.
He stood still in the middle of the roadway, his heart
clamouring against his bosom in a tumult. A young
woman dressed in a long pink gown laid her hand on
his arm to detain him and gazed into his face.
She said gaily:
—Good night, Willie dear!
Her room was warm and lightsome. A huge doll
sat with her legs apart in the copious easy-chair
beside the bed. He tried to bid his tongue speak
that he might seem at ease, watching her as she undid
her gown, noting the proud conscious movements of
her perfumed head.
As he stood silent in the middle of the room she came
over to him and embraced him gaily and gravely.
Her round arms held him firmly to her and he, seeing
her face lifted to him in serious calm and feeling
the warm calm rise and fall of her breast, all but
burst into hysterical weeping. Tears of joy and
relief shone in his delighted eyes and his lips parted
though they would not speak.
She passed her tinkling hand through his hair, calling
him a little rascal.
—Give me a kiss, she said.
His lips would not bend to kiss her. He wanted
to be held firmly in her arms, to be caressed slowly,
slowly, slowly. In her arms he felt that he had
suddenly become strong and fearless and sure of himself.
But his lips would not bend to kiss her.
With a sudden movement she bowed his head and joined
her lips to his and he read the meaning of her movements
in her frank uplifted eyes. It was too much for
him. He closed his eyes, surrendering himself
to her, body and mind, conscious of nothing in the
world but the dark pressure of her softly parting
lips. They pressed upon his brain as upon his
lips as though they were the vehicle of a vague speech;
and between them he felt an unknown and timid pressure,
darker than the swoon of sin, softer than sound or
odour.
The swift December dusk had come tumbling clownishly
after its dull day and, as he stared through the dull
square of the window of the schoolroom, he felt his
belly crave for its food. He hoped there would
be stew for dinner, turnips and carrots and bruised
potatoes and fat mutton pieces to be ladled out in
thick peppered flour-fattened sauce. Stuff it
into you, his belly counselled him.
