MOTHER

Narrated by: James Joyce
Translated by: Erion Kristo

Mr Holohan, the secretary of the Eire Abu Society, had been wandering up and down Dublin for almost a month, with his hands and pockets full of papers, trying to organize a series of concerts. He was lame and that's why his friends called him Chalashi Holohan. He walked constantly and stood for hours on street corners, discussing his views and taking notes, but in the end it was Mrs. Kerney who organized everything.

Miss Devlin had become Mrs. Kerney out of spite. He was educated at an excellent college, where he studied French and music. Since she was pale by nature and cut in character, she had no friends at school. After she reached marriageable age, she was sent to many homes, where her way of playing music and her virtuous behavior were welcomed. She sat in the middle of the cold with the crown of her talents, waiting for some suitor to approach her and offer her a great life, but the young men she knew were ordinary and she didn't like them at all, so she comforted the desires her romance, secretly eating a large amount of sweets. However, when she approached the age limit and the tongues of her friends began to be untied, she silenced them by marrying Mr. Kearney, a shoemaker of the neighborhood of Ormond.

He was much older than her. His serious conversation took place at intervals in his great chestnut beard. After the first year of married life, Mrs. Kerney had realized that such a man would endure more than a romantic person. He was sober, thrifty and pious. He went to pray every Friday, sometimes with her, but more often alone. During parties at foreign houses, when she raised her eyebrows invisibly, he would get up to run away, and when he coughed, she would throw him a feather quilt and make him a rum poncho. He was a model father. By paying a society a modest sum each week, he had secured both daughters a dowry of £100. He had taken the eldest daughter, Kathleen, to a good convent, where she had learned French and music, and then paid for her lessons at the conservatory.

When the Irish Revival began to be felt, Mrs. Kearney decided to take advantage of her maiden name and brought an Irish teacher into the house. Kathleen and her sister sent illustrated Irish postcards to their friends, and their friends also sent them illustrated Irish postcards. On Sundays, when Mr. Kearney went with his family to the cathedral, after mass, a small crowd of people would gather at the corner of Cathedral Street. They were all Kern's friends, music lovers or patriots. After all the gossip was over, they shook hands with each other all together and greeted each other in their own language, laughing at the crossing of so many hands. Soon, Katlin Kern's name began to be on people's lips. People said she was a good musician and a very loving girl, and apart from these, she believed in the language movement. Mrs. Kearney was very pleased. Therefore, she was not surprised when one day Mr. Holohan approached her with the proposal that his daughter be an accompanist in a series of four concerts that his company would give in the Ancient Concert Hall. He escorted her into the living room, sat her down and brought out a teapot with a box of biscuits. He entered with flesh and soul into the details of the initiative, advised and encouraged, and in the end a contract was drawn up, where Katlini would receive eight guineas for her services as a piano accompanist in the four big concerts.

Since Mr. Holohan was new to such work, Ms. Kerni helped him prepare the numbers for the program. He had tact. He knew which artist should be shown in uppercase and which artist in lowercase. He knew the first tenor would not like to go on stage after a Mr. Mid sketch. To keep the public entertained, he inserted some uncertain numbers among the old hits. Mr. Holohan visited him every day for advice. He was always cordial and full of advice. A true friend. Pushing the teapot towards him, saying:

"Drink, Mr. Holohan! Don't worry!"

Everything went smoothly. Mrs. Kearney bought a gorgeous red dress for Kathleen at Brown Thomas. It cost a lot, but there are times when you can spend a little. He got a dozen two-shilling tickets for the final concert and sent them to those friends who didn't come otherwise. She did not forget anything and thanks to her, everything that could be done was done.

The concerts would be given from Wednesday to Saturday. When Mrs. Kearney went with her daughter to the Antique Hall on Wednesday evening, she did not like what she saw. A few young men, with blue badges on their jackets, were standing idly in the dressing room, and no one was wearing an evening suit. She walked on with her daughter and with a quick glance through the open gate, she realized why the porters were so lazy. At first he asked if he had got the clock wrong. No, it was 20 minutes before eight o'clock.

In the dressing room, behind the stage, I met the other secretary of the society, Mr. Fitzpatrick. He smiled and shook her hand. It was a white-faced man. He noticed that he carefully wore a flashy brown hat on top of his head and had a thick accent. He was holding a program in his hand, and while he was talking, he tore a piece from the program. He seemed to take the disappointments with gusto. Mr. Holohan came in every minute, bringing news from the ticket seller. The artists talked anxiously among themselves, glancing from time to time in the mirror and collecting the scores. When it was half past eight, the few people in the hall began to show a desire to be entertained.

Lord Fitzpatrick entered, smiled faintly at the hall, and said:

"Ladies and gentlemen. I believe that it is better to start with dances".

Mrs. Kearney accompanied the last syllable with a look of disdain, then said to her daughter in an encouraging voice:

"Are you ready dear?"

When the opportunity came, he took Mr. Holohan aside and demanded an explanation. He told him that the committee had made a mistake with the four concerts; four was too many.

"While artists, of course, do what is possible, but in reality they are worth nothing."

Mr. Holohan admitted that the artists were worthless, but the committee had decided that the first three concerts would go to waste in order to preserve talent for the final concert on Saturday. Mrs. Kearney said nothing, but as the mediocre numbers continued on the stage and the audience steadily dwindled, she began to regret the expense she had incurred for such a concert. There was something wrong with the way things presented themselves, and Mr. Fitzpatrick's tepid smile irritated him exceedingly. However, he said nothing and waited to see how it would end. The concert ended shortly before ten o'clock and everyone hurried to their homes.

Thursday night's concert had more people, but Ms. Kearney realized immediately that the theater was filled with free tickets. The audience behaved indecently, as if the concert was an ordinary rehearsal without responsibility. Mr. Fitzpatrick seemed to be enjoying himself, while Mrs. Kearney was exasperated by his attitude. He stood in the corner of the roof, poking his head out from time to time and exchanging laughs with two friends in the corner of the balcony. In the course of the evening, Mrs. Kearney learned that the Friday concert would not be shown, and that the committee had worked hard to sell all the Saturday tickets. When he heard this, he went to find Mr. Holohan. He caught her limping out, with a glass of lemonade for a young lady, and asked her if it was true. Yes, it was true.

"Of course, this does not change the contract," he said. "The contract was for four concerts."

Mr. Holohan seemed to be in a hurry; advised him to speak to Mr. Fitzpatrick. Mrs. Kearney now began to panic. He called Mr. Fitzpatrick upstairs and told him that his daughter had been engaged for four concerts, and according to the clauses of the contract she was to receive the sum fixed from the beginning, regardless of whether the company gave four concerts or not. Mr. Fitzpatrick, who did not immediately understand what was happening, seemed unable to resolve the matter and said he would submit it to the committee for consideration. Mrs. Kearney's anger began to move quickly across her cheeks and she had to restrain herself from asking:

"And who is the Committee, please?"

But he knew it wasn't graceful, so he kept quiet.

On Friday morning, boys with advertising packets were distributed through the streets of Dublin. Special advertisements appeared in all the evening papers, reminding music lovers what a treat awaited them the following evening. Mrs. Kearney calmed down a little, but told her husband all her doubts. He listened attentively and said that it would be best if he accompanied him on Saturday evening. She agreed. She respected her husband exactly as she respected the central post office, as something spacious, safe and stable; and although he knew him well, he valued him as a man. She was glad he had proposed to come with her.

The evening of the big concert came. Mrs. Kearney, with her husband and daughter, arrived at the Antique Hall three quarters of an hour before the concert began. Fate wanted it to rain that evening. Mrs. Kearney left her daughter's clothes and sheet music with her husband and scoured the building for Mr. Holohan and Mr. Fitzpatrick. He couldn't find either of them. He asked the porters if there were any of the committee in the hall, and after much difficulty a porter brought in a certain woman, Miss Beirn, to whom Mrs. Kearney said she wanted one of the secretaries. Miss Beirn was expecting them momentarily, and asked if there was anything she could do for him. Mrs. Kearney took a penetrating look at her aged face and replied:

"No, thank you!"

Miss Beirn hoped the theater would be full. She saw the rain outside, until the sadness of the wet road wiped all the confidence and enthusiasm from her crooked face. Then he sighed lightly and said:

"Ah, yes! God knows how much we tried."

Mrs. Kearney returned to the dressing room.

The artists were coming. The bass and second tenor had arrived. The bass, Mr. Dugan, was a dry young man with a thinning black moustache, the son of a city office janitor, and as a child he had sung long bass notes in the echoing entrance to his office. From such a humble state he had risen until he had become an artist of the first class. It had appeared in a lyric opera. One evening, after an artist had fallen ill, he had played the part of the king in the opera Maritana, in the Queen's theater. He sang his arias with great feeling and volume and was warmly received by the audience. However, he didn't make a good impression, because he was involuntarily blowing his nose with his gloved hands. He was modest and spoke little. He said you-t and you-t in such a low voice that no one noticed, and he never drank anything stronger than milk, for the sake of his voice. Mr. Bel, the second tenor, was a blond man who competed for the Feis Koil prize every year. In his fourth attempt he won the bronze medal. He was extremely irritable and jealous of other tenors, and hid his jealousy with excessive friendliness. He was inclined by character to explain to people what an ordeal a concert was for him. Therefore, when he saw Mr. Dugan, he approached him and asked:

"Will you sing too?"

"Yes!" said Mr. Dugan.

Lord Bel laughed at his friend, extended his hand and said:

"Give it here!"

Mrs. Kearney walked past the two young men and went to the corner of the window to look at the theater. Seats were filling up fast and people seemed in good spirits. She turned back and started talking to her husband aside. Their conversation was of Catlin, for they often watched her standing talking with one of her patriotic friends, Miss Hayley, the contralto. An unknown and lonely woman, with a pale face, walked around the room. The women followed with strict eyes the blue dress worn tightly on that thin body. Someone said it was Mrs. Glin, the soprano.

"I wonder where they found him," Kathleen said to Miss Haley. "I'm sure I've never heard of it."

Miss Haley had to laugh. Mr. Holohan at that moment limped into the dressing-room, and the two young ladies asked him who the stranger was. Mr. Holohan was said to be Madame Glin from London. Madame Glin sat in a corner of the room, holding a musical score firmly in front of her and changing the direction of her frightened gaze from time to time. The noise in the hall became louder. First tenor and baritone came together. They were well dressed, healthy and content, bringing a spirit of warmth to society.

Mrs. Kearney approached her daughter and began talking sweetly to them. She wanted to be nice, but as she tried to be polite, her eyes followed Mr. Holohan's limp and meandering movements. When he could, he broke away from them and followed them.

"Mr. Holohan, I wanted to talk to you for a minute," he said.

The two headed to a hidden corner of the corridor. Mrs. Kearney asked when they would pay her daughter. Mr. Holohan told him that Mr. Fitzpatrick had such a duty. The daughter had signed a contract of eight guineas and was to be paid. Mr Holohan said it was none of his business.

"Why is it none of your business?" asked Mrs. Kerni. "Didn't you bring the contract? However, if it is not your business, it is my business and I want to know what is being done."

"You would do well to speak to Mr. Fitzpatrick," said Mr. Holohan flatly.

"I know nothing about Mr. Fitzpatrick," repeated Mrs. Kerney. "I have my contract and I intend to respect it."

When he returned to the dressing room, his cheeks were glowing. The room was alive. Two people in evening suits sat by the fireplace and chatted merrily with Miss Haley and the baritone. They were the journalist of "Freeman" and Mr. O'Madden Burk. The journalist of "Freeman" had entered to say that he could not see the concert, because he had to chronicle the conference that an American priest was holding at Mansion House. He said to leave the chronicle of the concert in the office of "Freeman" and that he would put it in the newspaper. It was a gray-haired man with a persuasive and earnest voice. He was holding a cigarette in his hands and the smell of smoke wafted by. He had no intention of staying even a minute, because the concerts and the artists bored him terribly, but he continued to lean against the fireplace. Miss Haley was standing before him, talking and laughing. He was old enough to suspect any reason for all that courtesy, but young enough at heart not to derive any benefit from those moments. His senses were drawn to the warmth, smell and color of that body. He was aware of the breasts that rose and fell before him, that the laughter, the smell and the seductive glances were bestowed upon him. When he could no longer dream, he greeted him unhappily.

"O'Madden Burke will write the article," he explained to Mr. Holohan, "and I will put it in the newspaper."

"Thank you very much, Mr. Hendrik," said Mr. Holohan. “I know you will. Will you have anything to drink before you leave?”

"With pleasure", said Mr. Hendrik.

The two men made their way along narrow corridors and through a dark staircase to a secluded room where one of the porters was opening several bottles of liquor. Meanwhile O'Madden Burke had discovered the room by smell. He was a pleasant, elderly man, but he held his powerful body upright as he rested under a large silk umbrella. The brilliant birth name was like another umbrella on which the problem of his finances hung in the balance. He was very respected.

While Mr. Holohan was talking to the "Freeman" journalist, Mrs. Kerni spoke so harshly to her husband that he asked her to lower her voice. In the dressing room the conversation with the others had become strict. Mr. Bel, the first number, was standing ready with his scores, but the accompanist seemed unwilling to move. Something was wrong. Mr. Kearney stared straight ahead, stroking his chin, while Mrs. Kearney spoke forcefully into Kathleen's ear. From the hall came sounds of encouragement, clapping of hands and feet. The first tenor, the baritone, and Miss Haley sat together, waiting quietly, but Mr. Bell's nerves were much shaken, for he was afraid the audience would think he was late.

Mr. Holohan and Mr. O'Madden Burke entered the room. They approached Mrs. Kerni and spoke sternly to her. As they spoke, the noise in the hall grew louder. Mr. Holohan blushed and grew hot. He spoke quickly, but Mrs. Kerney said firmly:

"It will not continue. He must take the eight guineas that belong to him."

Mr. Holohan pointed desperately to the hall where the audience clapped their hands and feet. He spoke to Mr. Kearney and Catlin as well, but Mr. Kearney was still stroking his beard and Catlin kept his head down, playing with the toe of his new shoe. It wasn't her fault. Mrs. Kerney repeated:

"It will not continue without receiving the money."

After a duel of words, Mr. Holohan limped off quickly. The room was silent. When the silence grew tense, Miss Haley said to the baritone:

"Did you see Mrs. Pat Campbell this evening?"

The baritone had not seen it, but had been told it was very good. The conversation did not last much longer. The first tenor bowed his head and began to count the links of the golden chain that hung from his belt, smiling and singing notes in vain with his mouth closed. From time to time, they all glanced at Mrs. Kearney.

The noise in the hall had turned to a roar when Mr. Fitzpatrick rushed into the room, followed by a panting Mr. Holohan. The whistles had started in the hall. Mr. Fitzpatrick was holding several bills. He counted four and put it in Mrs. Kerni's hand and told her he would get the rest during the break.

"Four shillings missing," said Mrs. Kerni.

But Catlin took the cloak and waited for him:

"Let's go, Mr. Bel, for the first number." The singer and the companion went out together. The power in the hall subsided, there was a silence of a few seconds, then the piano was heard.

The first part of the concert was very successful, except for Madame Glin's number. The lonely lady sang "Killarne" in a weary voice, with all the mannerisms of intonation and emphasis which she believed made her song elegant. It seemed as if it had been revived by some theater props, and the hall jeered at its high notes and barrages. However, the first tenor and contralto rocked the theater with applause. Kathleen played a selection of Irish arias and was heartily applauded. The first part ended with a touching patriotic piece, recited by a young lady who organized amateur concerts. It was well-deservedly applauded, and when it was over, the people left satisfied.

All this time the dressing room was like a beehive. In one corner were Mr. Holohan, Mr. Fitzpatrick, Miss Beirn, two of the porters, the baritone, the bass, and Mr. O'Maden Burk. Mr O'Madden Burk said it was the most scandalous scene he had ever seen. After that, Ms. Katlin Kerni's musical career in Dublin was closed. The baritone was asked what he thought of Mrs. Kearney's behavior. He didn't feel like talking. They had paid him the money due to him and he wanted to be at peace with everyone. However, he said Ms. Kerni could have appreciated the artists a little more. The porters and secretaries discussed passionately what to do during the break.

"I agree with Miss Beirn," said Mr. O'Madden Burk. "Don't give him anything."

In the other corner of the room was Mrs. Kearney with her husband, Mr. Bell, Miss Haley, and the young lady who had recited the patriotic piece. Ms Kearney said the committee had treated her in a scandalous manner. He had spared neither effort nor expense and this is how he was rewarded.

They thought that they were only dealing with a maid and that they could be disrespectful, but she would prove them wrong. They would not have dared to treat him like that if he had been a man. She would make her daughter earn her rights. No one could throw it at him. If they didn't pay him every last shilling, nothing else would be talked about in Dublin. Of course he felt sorry for the artists, but what else could he do? He turned to the second tenor, who said that in his opinion they had not treated him well. Then he turned to Miss Haley. Miss Haley wanted to join the other group, but she couldn't, because she was a friend of Kathleen's, and the Kerns had often invited her to their home.

As soon as the first half was over, Mr. Fitzpatrick and Mr. Holohan approached Mrs. Kearney and told her that the other four guineas would be paid to her after the committee meeting next Tuesday, and if the daughter did not play in the second half, the committee he would call the contract void and pay him nothing.

"I didn't see any Committee," said Mrs. Kerni bitterly. "My daughter has a contract. Either she will get four guineas, or her foot will not set foot on the stage".

"I wonder about you Mrs. Kerni," said Mr. Holohan. "I would never have believed that you would treat us this way."

"How did you treat me?" asked Mrs. Kerni.

His face had taken on a bitter color and he seemed to want to strangle them.

"I am looking for my rights", he said.

"Maybe you should be a little more open-minded," said Mr. Holohan.

"So, huh?... But when I ask you when my daughter will be paid, no one gives me a polite answer."

He shook his head and imitated in a hoarse voice:

"I have to talk to the secretary. It's not my job. I'm good at playing the trick-or-treater myself."

"I thought you were a lady," said Mr. Holohan, turning abruptly away from her.

After that, Mrs. Kerni's behavior was despised by everyone. Everyone approved of what the committee had said. She stood at the gate, as if overcome with rage, discussing with her husband and daughter. He waited until the second half began in the hope that the secretaries would approach him, but Miss Haley had agreed to play a few parts on the piano. Ms. Kearney had to step aside to allow the baritone and his companion to go straight to the stage. She stood motionless for a moment, like a gray stone image, and when the first sounds of the song came to her ears, she grabbed her daughter's cloak and said to her husband:

"Find a cart!"

He came right out. Mrs. Kearney wrapped her daughter in a cloak and followed her. As he crossed the threshold, he stopped and cast a stern look into Mr. Holohan's face.

"It doesn't end here with you", he said.

"But I'm done with you," said Mr. Holohan.

Kathleen followed her mother gently. Mr. Holohan began pacing up and down the room to calm himself, for his skin felt like embers.

"What a beautiful lady!" he said. "Oh, what a beautiful lady!"

"You did the right thing, Holohan," said Mr. O'Madden Burk, leaning confidently on his umbrella.