Brooklyn by Colm Tóibín Page A

appeared to be able to oversee everything, answering questions, picking thingsup from the floor that had fallen there, tidying and stacking goods neatly. The morning had gone by quickly, but as the afternoon wore on Eilis found herself watching the clock, discovering after a while that she was checking every five minutes in between dealing with what seemed like hundreds of customers as the supply of nylon goods began to dwindle slowly, enough for Miss Fortini to tell her to take what she needed herself, four items only, downstairs now. She could, she was told, pay for them later.
    She selected a pair of nylon stockings for herself, one she thought might suit Mrs. Kehoe, and then one each for her mother and for Rose. Having taken them downstairs and put them in her locker, she sat with one of the other assistants and drank a soda and then opened another that she sipped until she thought that Miss Fortini would notice her absence. When she went back upstairs, she discovered that it was only three o’clock and some of the nylon items that were running short were being replaced, were being almost dumped on to the display cases by men who were overseen by Mr. Bartocci. Later, when she was having her evening meal at Mrs. Kehoe’s, she discovered that both Patty and Sheila had found out about the sale and had rushed around during their lunch break, running in to get some items and running out again so that they did not have time in the middle of all the crush to see where she was and say hello.
    Mrs. Kehoe seemed pleased by the pair of stockings and offered to pay for them, but Eilis said they were a gift. That evening, during supper, they all talked about Bartocci’s Famous Nylon Sale, which always happened without warning, yet they were amazed when Eilis told them that even she who worked there had no idea the sale was going to happen.
    “Well, if you ever hear, even a rumour,” Diana said, “you’ll have to let us all know. And the nylon stockings are the best, they don’t run as easily as some of the others. They’d sell you garbage, some of those other stores.”
    “That’s enough now,” Mrs. Kehoe said. “I’m sure all the stores are doing their best.”
    With all the excitement and discussion surrounding the nylon sale, Eilis did not notice until the end of the meal that there were three letters for her. The minute she came back from work every day she had checked the side table in the kitchen where Mrs. Kehoe left letters. She could not believe that she had forgotten to check this evening. She drank a cup of tea with the others, holding the letters in her hand nervously, feeling her heart beating faster when she thought about them, waiting to go to her room and open them and read the news from home.
    The letters, she knew by the handwriting, were from her mother and Rose and Jack. She decided to read her mother’s first and leave Rose’s until the end. Her mother’s letter was short and there was no news in it, just a list of the people who were asking for her with some details of where her mother had met them and when. Jack’s letter was much the same, but with references to the crossing that she had told him about in her letter and had said very little about in her letter to her mother and Rose. Rose’s handwriting was, she saw, very beautiful and clear, as usual. She wrote about golf and work and how quiet and dull the town was and how lucky Eilis was to be in the bright lights. In a postscript, she suggested that Eilis might like sometimes to write to her separately about private matters or things that might worry their mother too much. She suggested that Eilis might use her work address for these letters.
    The letters told Eilis little; there was hardly anything personal in them and nothing that sounded like anyone’s own voice. Nonetheless, as she read them over and over, she forgot for a moment where she was and she could picture her mother in the kitchen taking her Basildon Bond notepad and her