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1While she spoke she turned a silver bracelet round and round her wrist. She could not go, she said, because there would
2be a retreat that week in her convent. Her brother and two other boys were fighting for their caps and I was alone at
3the railings. She held one of the spikes, bowing her head towards me. The light from the lamp opposite our door caught
4the white curve of her neck, lit up her hair that rested there and, falling, lit up the hand upon the railing. It fell
5over one side of her dress and caught the white border of a petticoat, just visible as she stood at ease. "It's well for
6you," she said. "If I go," I said, "I will bring you something." What innumerable follies laid waste my waking and
7sleeping thoughts after that evening! I wished to annihilate the tedious intervening days. I chafed against the work of
8school. At night in my bedroom and by day in the classroom her image came between me and the page I strove to read. The
9syllables of the word Araby were called to me through the silence in which my soul luxuriated and cast an Eastern
10enchantment over me. I asked for leave to go to the bazaar on Saturday night. My aunt was surprised and hoped it was not
11some Freemason affair. I answered few questions in class. I watched my master's face pass from amiability to sternness;
12he hoped I was not beginning to idle. I could not call my wandering thoughts together. I had hardly any patience with
13the serious work of life which, now that it stood between me and my desire, seemed to me child's play, ugly monotonous
14child's play. On Saturday morning I reminded my uncle that I wished to go to the bazaar in the evening. He was fussing
15at the hallstand, looking for the hat-brush, and answered me curtly: "Yes, boy, I know." As he was in the hall I could
16not go into the front parlour and lie at the window. I left the house in bad humour and walked slowly towards the
17school. The air was pitilessly raw and already my heart misgave me. When I came home to dinner my uncle had not yet been
18home. Still it was early. I sat staring at the clock for some time and, when its ticking began to irritate me, I left
19the room. I mounted the staircase and gained the upper part of the house. The high cold empty gloomy rooms liberated me
20and I went from room to room singing. From the front window I saw my companions playing below in the street. Their cries
21reached me weakened and indistinct and, leaning my forehead against the cool glass, I looked over at the dark house
22where she lived. I may have stood there for an hour, seeing nothing but the brown-clad figure cast by my imagination,
23touched discreetly by the lamplight at the curved neck, at the hand upon the railings and at the border below the dress.
24When I came downstairs again I found Mrs Mercer sitting at the fire. She was an old garrulous woman, a pawnbroker's
25widow, who collected used stamps for some pious purpose. I had to endure the gossip of the tea-table. The meal was
26prolonged beyond an hour and still my uncle did not come. Mrs Mercer stood up to go: she was sorry she couldn't wait any
27longer, but it was after eight o'clock and she did not like to be out late as the night air was bad for her. When she
28had gone I began to walk up and down the room, clenching my fists. My aunt said: "I'm afraid you may put off your bazaar
29for this night of Our Lord." At nine o'clock I heard my uncle's latchkey in the halldoor. I heard him talking to himself
30and heard the hallstand rocking when it had received the weight of his overcoat. I could interpret these signs. When he
31was midway through his dinner I asked him to give me the money to go to the bazaar. He had forgotten. "The people are in
32bed and after their first sleep now," he said. I did not smile. My aunt said to him energetically: "Can't you give him
33the money and let him go? You've kept him late enough as it is." My uncle said he was very sorry he had forgotten. He
34said he believed in the old saying: "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy." He asked me where I was going and,
35when I had told him a second time he asked me did I know The Arab's Farewell to his Steed. When I left the kitchen he
36was about to recite the opening lines of the piece to my aunt. I held a florin tightly in my hand as I strode down
37Buckingham Street towards the station. The sight of the streets thronged with buyers and glaring with gas recalled to me
38the purpose of my journey. I took my seat in a third-class carriage of a deserted train. After an intolerable delay the
39train moved out of the station slowly. It crept onward among ruinous houses and over the twinkling river. At Westland
40Row Station a crowd of people pressed to the carriage doors; but the porters moved them back, saying that it was a
41special train for the bazaar. I remained alone in the bare carriage. In a few minutes the train drew up beside an
42improvised wooden platform. I passed out on to the road and saw by the lighted dial of a clock that it was ten minutes
43to ten. In front of me was a large building which displayed the magical name. I could not find any sixpenny entrance
44and, fearing that the bazaar would be closed, I passed in quickly through a turnstile, handing a shilling to a
45weary-looking man. I found myself in a big hall girdled at half its height by a gallery. Nearly all the stalls were
46closed and the greater part of the hall was in darkness. I recognised a silence like that which pervades a church after
47a service. I walked into the centre of the bazaar timidly. A few people were gathered about the stalls which were still
48open. Before a curtain, over which the words Café Chantant were written in coloured lamps, two men were counting money
49on a salver. I listened to the fall of the coins. Remembering with difficulty why I had come I went over to one of the
50stalls and examined porcelain vases and flowered tea-sets. At the door of the stall a young lady was talking and
51laughing with two young gentlemen. I remarked their English accents and listened vaguely to their conversation. "O, I
52never said such a thing!" "O, but you did!" "O, but I didn't!" "Didn't she say that?" "Yes. I heard her." "O, there's a
53... fib!" Observing me the young lady came over and asked me did I wish to buy anything. The tone of her voice was not
54encouraging; she seemed to have spoken to me out of a sense of duty. I looked humbly at the great jars that stood like
55eastern guards at either side of the dark entrance to the stall and murmured: "No, thank you." The young lady changed
56the position of one of the vases and went back to the two young men. They began to talk of the same subject. Once or
57twice the young lady glanced at me over her shoulder. I lingered before her stall, though I knew my stay was useless, to
58make my interest in her wares seem the more real. Then I turned away slowly and walked down the middle of the bazaar. I
59allowed the two pennies to fall against the sixpence in my pocket. I heard a voice call from one end of the gallery that
60the light was out. The upper part of the hall was now completely dark. Gazing up into the darkness I saw myself as a
61creature driven and derided by vanity; and my eyes burned with anguish and anger.
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