North Richmond Street , being blind , was a quiet street except at the hour when the Christian Brothers ’ School set the boys free . An uninhabited house of two storeys stood at the blind end , detached from its neighbours in a square ground . The other houses of the street , conscious of decent lives within them , gazed at one another with brown imperturbable faces .
The former tenant of our house , a priest , had died in the back drawing-room . Air , musty from having been long enclosed , hung in all the rooms , and the waste room behind the kitchen was littered with old useless papers . Among these I found a few paper-covered books , the pages of which were curled and damp : The Abbot , by Walter Scott , The Devout Communicant and The Memoirs of Vidocq . I liked the last best because its leaves were yellow . The wild garden behind the house contained a central apple-tree and a few straggling bushes under one of which I found the late tenant ’ s rusty bicycle-pump . He had been a very charitable priest ; in his will he had left all his money to institutions and the furniture of his house to his sister .
When the short days of winter came dusk fell before we had well eaten our dinners . When we met in the street the houses had grown sombre . The space of sky above us was the colour of ever-changing violet and towards it the lamps of the street lifted their feeble lanterns . The cold air stung us and we played till our bodies glowed . Our shouts echoed in the silent street . The career of our play brought us through the dark muddy lanes behind the houses where we ran the gauntlet of the rough tribes from the cottages , to the back doors of the dark dripping gardens where odours arose from the ashpits , to the dark odorous stables where a coachman smoothed and combed the horse or shook music from the buckled harness . When we returned to the street light from the kitchen windows had filled the areas . If my uncle was seen turning the corner we hid in the shadow until we had seen him safely housed . Or if Mangan ’ s sister came out on the doorstep to call her brother in to his tea we watched her from our shadow peer up and down the street . We waited to see whether she would remain or go in and , if she remained , we left our shadow and walked up to Mangan ’ s steps resignedly . She was waiting for us , her figure defined by the light from the half-opened door . Her brother always teased her before he obeyed and I stood by the railings looking at her . Her dress swung as she moved her body and the soft rope of her hair tossed from side to side .
Every morning I lay on the floor in the front parlour watching her door . The blind was pulled down to within an inch of the sash so that I could not be seen . When she came out on the doorstep my heart leaped . I ran to the hall , seized my books and followed her . I kept her brown figure always in my eye and , when we came near the point at which our ways diverged , I quickened my pace and passed her . This happened morning after morning . I had never spoken to her , except for a few casual words , and yet her name was like a summons to all my foolish blood .
Her image accompanied me even in places the most hostile to romance . On Saturday evenings when my aunt went marketing I had to go to carry some of the parcels . We walked through the flaring streets , jostled by drunken men and bargaining women , amid the curses of labourers , the shrill litanies of shop-boys who stood on guard by the barrels of pigs ’ cheeks , the nasal chanting of street-singers , who sang a come-all-you about O ’ Donovan Rossa , or a ballad about the troubles in our native land . These noises converged in a single sensation of life for me : I imagined that I bore my chalice safely through a throng of foes . Her name sprang to my lips at moments in strange prayers and praises which I myself did not understand . My eyes were often full of tears ( I could not tell why ) and at times a flood from my heart seemed to pour itself out into my bosom . I thought little of the future . I did not know whether I would ever speak to her or not or , if I spoke to her , how I could tell her of my confused adoration . But my body was like a harp and her words and gestures were like fingers running upon the wires .