Brooklyn by Colm Tóibín

quietly.
    “Oh, you did, dear. Turning up in that state to work and having that look on your face. Oh, you crossed Mr. Bartocci and it’s something that he’ll never forget.”
    As the day went on, some of the other sales girls from the floor came down to see Eilis, studying her with curiosity, some asking if she was all right, others pretending to search for something in their lockers. As she sat there, she realized that, unless she wanted to lose her job, she would have to make a decision to lift herself out of whatever it was that was affecting her.
    Miss Fortini did not reappear, but at around four Father Flood opened the door.
    “I hear there’s trouble,” he said.
    She tried to smile.
    “It’s all my fault,” he said. “They said you were doing great here and Mrs. Kehoe says you’re the nicest girl she’s ever had staying and so I thought you don’t want me coming around checking up on you.”
    “I was all right until I got the letters from home,” Eilis said.
    “Do you know what’s wrong with you?” Father Flood asked.
    “What do you mean?”
    “There’s a name for it.”
    “For what?” She thought that he was going to mention some private female complaint.
    “You’re homesick, that’s all. Everybody gets it. But it passes. In some it passes more quickly than in others. There’s nothing harder than it. And the rule is to have someone to talk to and to keep busy.”
    “I am busy.”
    “Eilis, I hope you don’t mind if I try and enrol you in a night class. Do you remember we mentioned bookkeeping and accountancy? It would be two or three nights a week, but it would keep you busy and you could get a very good qualification.”
    “Is it not too late to enrol for this year? Some of the girls said that you have to apply in the spring.”
    “It’s a funny place, Brooklyn,” Father Flood said. “As long as the guy in charge is not Norwegian—and in a college that’s unlikely—then I can pull strings most places. The Jews are the best, they always love doing something for you. Say a prayer it’s a Jewish fellow who believes in the power of the collar. We’ll try the best college first, and that’s Brooklyn College. I love breaking all the rules. So I’ll go down there now and Franco says you are to go home, but be here on time in the morning with a big smile. And I’ll drop by Ma Kehoe’s later.”
    Eilis almost laughed out loud when he said “Ma Kehoe.” His accent was, for the first time, pure Enniscorthy. She understood that Franco was Mr. Bartocci, and she was interested in the familiar way in which Father Flood had described him. As soon as he left, she found her coat and slipped quietly out of the shop. She was sure that Miss Fortini had seen her pass, but she did not turn as she made her way quickly along Fulton Street and then home towards Mrs. Kehoe’s.
    As she let herself into the hall with her own key, she found Mrs. Kehoe waiting for her.
    “You go into the sitting room there now,” Mrs. Kehoe said. “I’m going to make tea for the two of us.”
    The sitting room, which gave on to the front of the house, was surprisingly beautiful, with old rugs and heavy, comfortable-looking furniture and some dark pictures in gold frames. Double doors opened into a bedroom, and, since one of the doors was open, Eilis could see that the bedroom was decorated in the same heavy, rich style. She looked at the old round dining table and supposed that that was where the game of poker was played on Sunday nights. Her mother, she thought, would love this room. She saw an old gramophone and a wireless in another corner and noticed that the tassels on the tablecloth and the curtains seemed to match. She began to take note of all the details, thinking, for the first time in days, how she could include an account of them in a letter to her mother and Rose. She would write it as soon as she got to her room after supper, she thought, and she would put nothing in about how she had spent the last