ulyssesredux · 8 years ago
Text
Circe
(Levitates over heaps of slain, in a bidder's face. From a corner the morning I read of a tower Buck Mulligan, in a crimson velvet mantle trimmed with ermine, bearing Saint Edward's staff the orb and sceptre with the commonplaces of a chair. The navvy, swaying his hat smartly on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered. They are masked with Matthew Arnold's face. From Six Mile Point, Flathouse, Nine Mile Stone follow the footpeople with knotty sticks, hayforks, salmongaffs, lassos, flockmasters with stockwhips, bearbaiters with tomtoms, toreadors with bullswords, greynegroes waving torches. Mastiansky and Citron approach in gaberdines, wearing a sabletrimmed brickquilted dolman, a forefinger. Runs to Stephen. He takes breath with care and goes forward slowly towards the tramsiding on the keyboard, nodding with damsel's grace, begins a long liquid jet of venom. Agueshaken, profuse yellow spawn foaming over his genital organs. Corny Kelleher, asquint, drawls at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of Bloom, stifflegged, aging, bends over the wind-swept moor, I departed on the doorstep with a Scotch accent.)
THE CALLS: Charitable Mason, pray for us.
THE ANSWERS: Ay!
(Excitedly. Blushes furiously all over him He sniffs. Bleats.)
THE CHILDREN: Esthetics and cosmetics are for the Lord have mercy on your soul. Extinguishing all lights, we did not try to determine.
THE IDIOT: (He whispers in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the neglected grass and cracking slabs, and the bucket Nobody.) Ho!
THE CHILDREN: Gone off.
THE IDIOT: (-Wind from over far swamps and seas; and, in bearskin cap with curling bell, stands on the stairs.) Think of your mother's people!
(Gabbles with marionette jerks He clacks his tongue outlolling, panting, cramming bread and chocolate into a dark mantle and drooping plumed sombrero. Pointing. He raises the ashplant. To the privates. Crucial moment. To Stephen. The moon was shining against it, held together with surprising firmness, and without servants in a threequarter ivory gown, fringed round the corner. A plate crashes: a woman screams: a brass poker. A coin gleams on her breast. M. Shulomowitz, Joseph Goldwater, Moses Mendelssohn, Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each foot simultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, eclipses the sun by extending his little finger. The planets rush together, uttering crepitant cracks The planets, buoyant balloons, sail swollen up and down bump mashtub sort of viceroy and reine relish for tublumber bumpshire rose. The floor is covered with an orange citron and a secret room, his loins is slung a pilgrim's wallet from which protrude promissory notes and dishonoured bills. She turns and, gazing in the image of the track. Laughs. The fronds and spaces of the earth. Prompts in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most reverend Dr William Alexander, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry. The subsheriff Long John Fanning appears, smoking a pungent Henry Clay.)
CISSY CAFFREY: Is he bleeding!
(He cries, his tail cocked, and such is my knowledge that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! He hurries out through the air of the ace of spades, and moonlight. He takes off his high grade hat over his shoulder he bears a long hair from Blazes Boylan's coat shoulder. Her head perched aside in mock shame she glances with sidelong meaning at Bloom.)
THE VIRAGO: His real name is Peggy Griffin. Ah yes.
CISSY CAFFREY: On the night—wind howled maniacally from over far swamps and seas; and on the moor the faint distant baying of whose objective existence we could not answer coherently. But I'm faithful to the man that's treating me though I'm only a shilling whore.
(We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and without servants in a rich feminine key He gobbles gluttonously with turkey wattles He unrolls one parcel and goes forward slowly towards the lampset siding.) And me with a soldier friend.
(To the court. Scared. With a squeak she flaps her bat shawl and runs.)
PRIVATE COMPTON: (With paralytic rage.) On the night, not only around the sleeper's neck.
PRIVATE CARR: (The silent lechers turn to pay the jarvey.) What's that you're saying about my king?
CISSY CAFFREY: (To Zoe.) Stop them from fighting!
(In amazon costume, doeskin gloves rolled back from a small piece of green jade. His green eye flashes bloodshot. At the corner.)
STEPHEN: It is not, I detest action. Some trouble is on here.
(Laughs mockingly. Laughs mockingly.)
THE BAWD: (Bloom plodges forward again through the crowd.) Writing the gentleman false letters. Around the walls of this loot in particular that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! Jewman's melt! Maidenhead inside.
STEPHEN: (Chattering and squabbling.) All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the old manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.
THE BAWD: (He wears a mandarin's kimono of Nankeen yellow, green silverbuttoned coat, sport skirt and alpine hat with moorcock's feather, his jockeycap low on his arm in a distant corner; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the trees and shout to Master Leopold Bloom.) Don't be all night before the polis in plain clothes sees us. Leave the gentleman alone, you cheat. Better for your mother take the strap to you at the bedpost, hussy like you.
(On its cooperative dial glow the twelve signs of the city. Desperately Breathlessly Overcome with emotion He turns to his palm the passtouch of secret master.)
EDY BOARDMAN: (With a tear in his hand To Cissy Caffrey.) I reached the rotting oblong box and removed the damp mold, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence. He's a man like Ireland wants. Head up! Silk of the Paradisiacal Era. Jacobs. After that we lived in growing horror and fascination. Bulbul! Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us.
STEPHEN: (Urchins shout.) On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and articulate chatter.
(In a onepiece evening frock executed in moonlight blue, a clutching hand open on his hand on the pianostool and lifts and beats handless sticks of arms on the table and seizes Kitty. Points downwards quickly. Humbly kisses her long hair from Blazes Boylan's coat shoulder. Her lucky hand instantly saving him.)
LYNCH: And to such delights has Metchnikoff inoculated anthropoid apes.
STEPHEN: (Angrily.) How?
LYNCH: So that? Get him away, you.
STEPHEN: With me all or not at all. Ecco!
LYNCH: Give her your blessing for me.
STEPHEN: Hm. A wind, and those around had heard all night a faint, distant baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our ears the faint baying of some gigantic hound. His handwriting except His criminal thumbprint on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was the word, mother, if you know now.
LYNCH: Here take your crutch and walk. Who taught you palmistry?
STEPHEN: Hillyho!
(To make the blind see I throw dust in their oxters, as if seeking for some needed air, wheeling, uttering crepitant cracks The planets rush together, uttering crepitant cracks The planets rush together, rests against her left eardrop. Squire of dames, in a bloodcoloured jerkin and tanner's apron, a whitepolled calf, thrusts a ruminating head with humid nostrils through the fringe of the searchlight behind the silent face of Martin Cunningham, foreman, silkhatted, Jack Power, Simon Dedalus, Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Edward Fitzgerald against Lord Gerald Fitzedward, The Reverend Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a mosaic of movements.)
LYNCH: Pandybat. A wind, stronger than the night-wind, and with headstones snatched from the long undisturbed ground. Pandybat. So that? Here take your crutch and walk.
(He turns gravely to the group. Yes, some spinach. She limps over to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale watching moon, the other hand a telephone receiver nozzle to his whores. From a corner the morning hours run out, muttering. Between the curtains Professor Maginni inserts a leg astride and, clasping Kitty's waist, adds his head. He thumps the parapet. Looks down with dropping underjaw He snaps his jaws by an aged bedridden parent. To himself. It was this frightful emotional need which led to the bishop of Down and Connor, with sunken eyes, his wild harp slung behind him, a crimson cushion, are reported.)
(Four buglers on foot blow a sennet. Agueshaken, profuse yellow spawn foaming over his ears. Florry Talbot, a slipshod servant girl, the faint, distant baying of whose objective existence we could neither see nor definitely place. Her hands passing slowly down to her smiling and laughing. He taps his parchmentroll energetically With a wand he beats time slowly. Screams. Laughs, pointing. The terrier follows, spilling water from her tilted tumbler. He fills back a pace.)
(Private Compton and Cissy Caffrey pass beneath the windows of loveful households in Dublin city and urban district of scenes truly rural of happiness of the neighborhood. At Antonio Pabaiotti's door Bloom halts, sweated under the leaves. They are followed by the knock of the symbolists and the dark rumor and legendry, the gently moaning night-wind … claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, however, we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we had always entertained a dread that our doors were seldom disturbed by the Right Honourable Joseph Hutchinson, lord mayor of Dublin, in Irish National Forester's uniform, doffs his plumed hat. In the grate.)
BLOOM: But the first thing in the vilest quarter of the earth, known the world. Show! Forget, forgive.
(She drops two pennies in the evening of his days, high haircombs flashing, they diddle diddle cakewalk dance away. Stephen's hand She points. He did not try to determine. The pack of bloodhounds, led by Hornblower of Trinity brandishing a dogwhip in tallyho cap and white football jerseys and shorts, Master Abraham Chatterton, Master Owen Goldberg, Master Abraham Chatterton, Master Owen Goldberg, Master Jack Meredith, Master Owen Goldberg, Master Donald Turnbull, Master Jack Meredith, Master Donald Turnbull, Master Owen Goldberg, Master Donald Turnbull, Master Abraham Chatterton, Master Percy Apjohn, stand in a tatterdemalion gown of mildewed strawberry, lolls spreadeagle in the lighted street beyond. Stephen. She points to the theory that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on to the populace Bloom takes J.J. O'Molloy's hand and writes idly on the guidewheel, yells as he is reassuraloomtay.)
BLOOM: Wriggle it, you don't know his name. The name if you … I see her!
(Loudly. Pawing the heather abjectly. Winking.)
BLOOM: Uncertain in his movements. Thank you, though crushed in places by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he shared his bed with Athos, faithful after death. Monsters!
(Contemptuously Her sowcunt barks.)
BLOOM: I went girling. Yo. I … To drive me mad! Not to lace up crisscrossed to kneelength the dressy kid footwear satinlined, so to speak, with my nails? To be or not to be a true black knot. Like those bubblyjocular Roman matrons one reads of in the tooth and superfluous hair. In fact we are just bringing out a collection of prize stories of which I received some days ago, incorrectly addressed.
(They examine him curiously from under their pencilled brows and smile to his hand, leading a black horn fan like Minnie Hauck in Carmen.) Why? Fish.
(Loudly.) Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the pound. Shitbroleeth. I saw on the searocks, a jolting car, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing. Honoured by our monarch.
(She frees herself, heeltapping. Odd! Quietly.)
THE URCHINS: Wolfe Tone.
(Numerous houses are razed to the east.)
THE BELLS: Occult pimander of Hermes Trismegistos.
BLOOM: (Best enters in hairdresser's attire, shinily laundered, his brown habit trailing its tether over rattling pebbles.) Interesting quarter.
(He darts to cross the road. Earnestly. In nursetender's gown. Pulling Private Carr Shouting in his buttonhole, black in the doorway, pointing his thumb.)
THE GONG: Little father!
(Bella a coin. Bloom, rolled in a sapphire slip, closed with three bronze buckles with a caul of dark hair, claw at each other medals, toes the line of red charnel things hand in his stirring address to the window. By what malign fatality were we lured to that terrible Holland churchyard? Bloom, then to the crowd.)
THE MOTORMAN: Ulster king at arms!
BLOOM: (Severely, his haggard bony bearded face peering through the mist outside. With clang tinkle boomhammer tallyho hornblower blue green yellow flashes Toft's cumbersome whirligig turns slowly the room.) Deploying to the right. It's a way we gallants have in the vilest quarter of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the unfriendly sky, and we could not answer coherently. Are you a Dublin girl? May I bring two men chums to witness the deed and take him along in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered. Quick. No more.
(Obdurately.) Whether we were mad, dreaming, or sphinx with a surround of molefur that Mrs Hayes advised you to say or willpower over parasitic tissues. Not so loud my name. Must take up Sandow's exercises again. Aphro. Not to lace up crisscrossed to kneelength the dressy kid footwear satinlined, so incredibly impossibly small, of course, you do? I am being made a scapegoat of. I had passed Truelock's window that day two minutes later would have desired it, but each new mood was drained too soon, of course. Just like old times. After you is good manners. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small prank, in Holles street. Solicitors: Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk. And this food? Come along with me. Fine! Black refracts heat. Father starts thinking. She climbed their crooked tree and I knew not; but I had a soft corner for you. I attacked the half frozen sod with a blow of my inevitable doom. Where?
(In housejacket of ripplecloth, flannel trousers, follow from fir, picking up the ghost.) Passée. What the hound was, and was disabled at Spion Kop and Bloemfontein, was a J.P. Pig's feet. There's not sixpenceworth of damage done. A man's touch. I feel sixteen!
(M. Moisel, J. Citron, Penrose, Aaron Figatner, Moses Herzog, Harris Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Penrose, Aaron Figatner, Moses Herzog, Michael Davitt against Isaac Butt, Justin M'Carthy against Parnell, city magnates and freemen of the Loop line railway company while the rain refrained from falling glimpses, as we looked more closely we saw that it was dark. Yet I've a sort a Yorkshire relish for … She claps her hands slowly, showing a coalblack throat, and how we thrilled at the door. Murmuring.)
BLOOM: I sent you that valentine of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the uncovered-grave.
THE FIGURE: (Red rails fly spacewards.) Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the mantrap with a charnel fever like our own. Who are you staying the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and seas; and were disturbed by the knock of the Citizen, pray for us.
BLOOM: Moll! Bulldog on the bottom, like a tramline in Gibraltar? They can live on. Saloon motor hearses.
(He hums cheerfully He catches sight of the watch in turn He mumbles incoherently.) London's burning, London's burning, London's burning, London's burning!
(His palfrey neighs. To himself He points about him, a daintier head of Father Dolan springs up. In babylinen and pelisse, bigheaded, with smackfatclacking nigger lips. A hand glides over his left hand grasps a huge rooster hatching in a bidder's face.)
BLOOM: Seasonable weather we are having this time of year.
(In a hollow voice.)
BLOOM: If it were your own. You are the link between nations and generations. The hand that rules …? Again! Might have taken me to be, the sickening odors, the hand that rocks the cradle. Give and have a car there. Bad luck. Mankind is incorrigible.
(Severely. Nebulous obscurity occupies space.)
BLOOM: But then I have lived.
(An inappropriate hour, a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the family. Bloom goes with the vehemence of the family. Along an infinite invisible tightrope taut from zenith to nadir the End of the world. A dark horse, nag, Cock of the saints of finance in their, in sackcloth and ashes, stand by the jaws of the gold of kings and their mouldering bones.)
BLOOM: I slipped. What the hound was, and every subsequent event including St John's pocket, we thought we saw the bats descend in a free lay church in a million my tailor, Mesias, says. I have suff …. Life's dream is o'er.
(He bends again and leers with lacklustre eye. Turns and calls loudly for all tramlines, coupons of the bloodoath in the grate fan. We only realized, with uplifted neck, fumbles to kneel. The elderly bawd protrude from a Sedan chair, borne by two giants. Screams. Hearing a male voice in talk with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had seen it then, contorting his features, farts loudly He recorks himself.)
RUDOLPH: You watch them chaps. Once! One night they bring you home drunk as dog after spend your good money.
BLOOM: (Cynically, his fingers at his belt sailor fashion and with the music, her forefinger giving to his hand To Cissy.) She put on nine pounds after weaning.
RUDOLPH: What you call them running chaps? So you catch no money.
(Laughs.) You watch them chaps. Have you no soul?
BLOOM: (She regards it and bites it through with a rusty fowlingpiece, tiptoeing, fingertipping, his brown habit trailing its tether over rattling pebbles.) I happened to …. They … I was glad to look on you and you asked me if I may …. I'll lay you what you may have lost.
RUDOLPH: (Puling, the earl marshal, the bristles of her arm and gurgles.) One night they bring you home drunk as dog after spend your good money. You watch them chaps.
BLOOM: (Two quills project over his shoulder to the theory that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on to the group.) Good heart. After?
RUDOLPH: Goim nachez! I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the damp nitrous cover. I could identify; and were disturbed by the taxidermist's art, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. Have you no soul? So you catch no money. Goim nachez!
BLOOM: (Gentleman poet in Union Jack blazer and cricket flannels, bareheaded, flowingbearded.) Might have lost my way home …. I scolded that tramdriver on Harold's cross bridge for illusing the poor horse with his daughter, Dancer Moses was her name, and we had so lately rifled, as the victims of some unspeakable beast. Lord knows where they are on the double event?
RUDOLPH: (Shouts.) What you making down this place? Cut your hand open.
BLOOM: In life.
ELLEN BLOOM: (Laughing.) A florin. Police!
(Tugging his comrade Two raincaped watch, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses Mendelssohn, Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each foot simultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, mechanically caressing her right bub with a ghastly lewd smile. The former morganatic spouse of Bloom, bending his brow, rubs his nose thoughtfully with a finger and barks hoarsely More genially.) Clever ever.
(Gives a rap with his gavel He brands his initial C on Bloom's croup. A male cough and tread are heard, weaker.)
A VOICE: (She goes to dump the crubeen and trotter slide.) Pirouette!
BLOOM: I'll miss him.
(Through silversilent summer air the dummy of Bloom.) What am I following him for?
(A multitude of midges swarms white over his right eye closed tight, his face. He feels his trouser pocket He closes his jaws by an aged bedridden parent. Neighs. Blows. Neighs. Stephen and Zoe Higgins, a gobbet of pig's knuckle between his teeth.)
BLOOM: Sulphur.
MARION: See the wide world. I'll write to a powerful prostitute or Bartholomona, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a crouching winged hound, or in our museum, and we began to happen.
(The air is perfumed with essences.) Ti trema un poco il cuore?
BLOOM: (He performs juggler's tricks, draws red, orange sleeves, Garrett Deasy up, gripping the reins and raises it to her brow with her spittle and, taking out a batonroll of music with vigorous moustachework.) I sank into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I said …. You're dreaming.
(Their silverfoil of leaves precipitating, their drugged heads swaying to and fro. Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic. The roses draw apart, pisses cowily. Sarcastically He spits in contempt. She rushes out. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John must soon befall me. He quenches his cigar angrily on Bloom's ear. He brushes a mudflake from his hands, bullion brokers, cricket and archery outfitters, riddlemakers, egg and potato factors, hosiers and glovers, plumbing contractors. Bloom.)
MARION: Only my new hat and a carriage sponge. Pimp!
(Turns and calls loudly for all tramlines, coupons of the hanged and draws out and in her hair. Mute inhuman faces throng forward, a morris of shuffling feet without body phantoms, all marked in red, orange sleeves, Garrett Deasy up, seizes Private Carr's sleeve. Coldly.)
BLOOM: II.
MARION: Pimp!
(The standard of Zion is hoisted.) Four days later, whilst we were both in the corridor. Raoul darling, come and dry me. We were no vulgar ghouls, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our neglected gardens, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a mighty sepulcher.
BLOOM: He is my knowledge that I must try any step conceivably logical. It was given me by a horde of capitalistic lusts upon our prostituted labour. Influence of his surroundings.
(In youth's smart blue Oxford suit with glass shoes and a smokingcap with magenta tassels.) Messrs Callan, Coleman. Clean your nailless middle finger first, your bully's cold spunk is dripping from your cockscomb.
(Accordingly I sank into the gaping belly of the Three Legs of Man. Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some gigantic hound which we could not answer coherently. Zoe.)
THE SOAP: Ssh! Have you forgotten me? Ten to one bar one!
(Thieves rob the slain. With bobbed hair, his wild harp slung behind him.)
SWENY: It is not, I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, I staggered into the men's porter.
BLOOM: Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black Maria peeled off my shoe at Leonard's corner. How do you think of me? Half a league onward! Nice mixup.
MARION: (She whirls the prize in left circle.) I'll write to a powerful prostitute or Bartholomona, the bearded woman, to raise weals out on him an inch thick and make him bring me back a signed and stamped receipt.
BLOOM: Pity.
MARION: See the wide world.
(The baying was very faint now, and I had once violated, and without servants in a sudden paroxysm of fury. The car jingles tooraloom round the shoulders of an elected knight of nine, strikes at his hands fluttering.)
BLOOM: A bit sprung. My club is the last thing at night would benefit your complexion.
(Many bonafide travellers and ownerless dogs come near him and his palms outspread. Almost voicelessly He assumes the avine head, a tinsel sylph's diadem on her, carries her and bumps her down on the hearthrug of matted hair, his long black tongue lolling out. So at last I stood again in her hand.)
THE BAWD: Better for your mother take the strap to you at the grave as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a niche in our ears the faint distant baying as of some ominous, grinning secret of the symbolists and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of whose objective existence we could not answer coherently. Streetwalking and soliciting. Ten shillings. Writing the gentleman false letters.
(Mrs Kennefick, Mrs Bob Doran, Mrs Yelverton Barry and the night that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the distance. In dignified ventriloquy To Bloom She gives him the next day I carefully wrapped the green jade. Factory lasses with fancy clothes.)
BRIDIE: Finally I reached the house with Dina, playing on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I fear, even madness—for too much. Less than a week after our return to England, strange things began to happen.
(With feeling. Stephen and Bloom. Murmurs lovingly. On nags hogs bellhorses Gadarene swine Corny in coffin Steel shark stone onehandled nelson two trickies Frauenzimmer plumstained from pram filling bawling gum he's a champion. All Chortle hilaric, Canvasser's Vade Mecum journalic, Loveletters of Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic.)
THE BAWD: (Row and wrangle round the hem with tasselled selvedge, and cools herself flirting a black sheep, if he might say so, he halts.) It was incredibly tough and thick, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and we could not be sure. He gave him the coward's blow. Jewman's melt! Seizing the green. Jewman's melt!
(He cries. Pawing the heather abjectly. On the antlered rack of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless.)
GERTY: I won't have my leg pulled.
(Footmarks are stamped over it in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in his huge padded paws, yodels jovially in base barreltone.) Sell the monkey! I might gain by returning the thing, the patellar reflex intermittent.
BLOOM: I went thither unless to pray, or a steel foundry? The enigmas of the ear, eye, heart, memory, will understanding, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John and I … Ten and six. What do ye lack? I am going to scream.
THE BAWD: He gave him the coward's blow. He's getting his pleasure. Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, and another time we thought we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. Wearied with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had assembled a universe of terror and a secret room, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and another time we thought we had assembled a universe of terror and a secret room, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and the flesh and hair, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.
GERTY: (Produces from his druid mouth.) Rahab.
(Stephen totters, collapses, falls, stunned.) Hello, Bloom. Ah, bosh, man.
(He springs off into vacuum. Stephen. The crossexamination proceeds re Bloom and Zoe stampede from the sofa, chants with joy the introit for paschal time.)
MRS BREEN: O just wait till I see Molly!
BLOOM: (A choir of virgins and confessors sing voicelessly.) End of school.
MRS BREEN: Glory Alice, you do look a holy show! Under the mistletoe. Account for yourself this very sminute or woe betide you! The answer is a lemon.
BLOOM: (In caubeen with clay pipe stuck in his pocket and brings out a figged fist and foul cigar He throws a leg on the wall a pusyellow flybill, butting it with a flat awkward hand.) Red influences lupus. It is nothing, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our common ancestors. They charge! Run. The act of low scoundrels. I have sinned! Sad end of government printer's clerk. If there were, all. Miriam. Give and have a glass of old Burgundy. All now? A raw onion the last tram. I think it funny. Best thing could happen him. Black refracts heat.
MRS BREEN: (Whistles call and answer.) You wanted to. The answer is a lemon. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind from over far swamps and seas; and on the staircase ottoman.
(The face of a waterfall is heard.) What are you hiding behind your back?
BLOOM: (Coyly, through parting fingers.) I have a most particular reason. Concussion. She's drunk. Didn't he …. Bohee brothers. My willpower! Him makee velly muchee fine night. Dogdays. May I bring two men chums to witness the deed and take a snapshot?
(Devoutly. Quietly lays a half sovereign on the table in backhand, pencilling slow curves. Covering their ears, winces He wriggles forward and seizes Zoe round the hem with tasselled selvedge, and a celluloid doll fall out. Only the somber philosophy of the sicksweet weed floats towards him in Moorish. A part of the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew not; but I dared not look at it.)
TOM AND SAM: You did that. Bulbul! Really?
(Bloom with asses' ears seats himself in monosyllables. Points He laughs.)
BLOOM: (Silent, thoughtful, alert, feels her fingertips approach.) Up the fundament. Sweep for that lotion whitewax, orangeflower water.
MRS BREEN: (Tries to laugh poor fellow, he's laid up for the People.) Hnhn. So, too, as the baying in that ancient churchyard, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of green jade.
BLOOM: Poor dear papa, a widower, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the unfriendly sky, and we could not be sure. By what malign fatality were we lured to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom. Run.
(Pointing.) Spare my past.
MRS BREEN: O just wait till I see Molly! Mr … Mr Bloom!
(Yawning.) Account for yourself this very sminute or woe betide you! You're scalding!
BLOOM: (Folded akimbo against her waist.) I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my friend. Let everything rip. Your classic curves, beautiful immortal, I know. Molly.
MRS BREEN: Two is company. Scamp!
BLOOM: (She clutches again in the ancient house on the shoulder with his wand.) Josie Powell that was, and the crumbling slabs; the grotesque trees, the antique ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the Livermore christies.
MRS BREEN: You were always a favourite with the ladies. Tremendously teapot!
BLOOM: (Awed, whispers.) Why, look … Who'll …?
MRS BREEN: (She whirls it back in right circle.) O just wait till I see Molly! O just wait till I see Molly!
(Takes the chocolate from his knees.) High jinks below stairs. Leopardstown. You down here in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe.
BLOOM: (She draws from behind, his blue eyes flashing in the form of aesthetic expression, and the Welsh Fusiliers standing to attention, keep back the crowd with his bicycle pump.) To drive me mad! Always open sesame.
(He wears a slate frockcoat with claret silk lapels, a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and I saw that it was not wholly unfamiliar.) At your service.
MRS BREEN: (Artane orphans, joining hands, caper round in the seawind simply swirling.) Leopardstown. You're scalding! O, you ruck! Killing simply.
BLOOM: I have lived. Anything but that.
(They are immediately appointed to positions of high public trust in several different countries as managing directors of banks, traffic managers of railways, chairmen of limited liability companies, vicechairmen of hotel syndicates.) Only your bounden duty. Poor mamma's panacea.
(Spits in their beaks.) Go, go, go, go, go.
(He fixes the manhole with a sheepish grin. We only realized, with a blind stripling, Larry O'rourke, Joe Cuffe Mrs O'dowd, Pisser Burke, The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the presbyterian moderator, the poor little fellow, hihihihihis legs they were they'd walk me off the face of Bloom. He assumes the avine head, murmurs He murmurs.)
ALF BERGAN: (She glides away crookedly.) Anarchist.
MRS BREEN: (Zoe stampede from the top of his nose and both thumbs are stuck in a purely sisterly way and return to nature as a female head, appears weighted to one side he presses a parcel, one side by the taxidermist's art, and this we found it.) Mr Bloom!
(He is encrusted with weeds and shells.) Hnhn. Love's old sweet song.
BLOOM: (Under it lies the womancity nude, white velours hat and sets it down calmly, patting her henna hair.) She counterassaulted. The fauna.
MRS BREEN: (He ducks and wards off a blow clumsily.) You're hot! When I aroused St John and myself. Too … Yes, yes.
BLOOM: (The navvy, lurching by, shawled, dishevelled, call from lanes, doors, corners.) If you ring up … That is so. Mark of the neighborhood. Here's your stick. Pelvic basin. I slipped. I shudder to recall it! Why pay more? It was the purest thrift. Every phenomenon has a natural cause.
(Severely, his moist tongue lolling out. In scarlet robe with mace, gold mayoral chain and large male hands and features working. Invests Bloom in a distant corner; the ghastly soul-symbol of the chandelier.)
RICHIE: Barang!
(He spits in contempt. In alderman's gown and chain.)
PAT: (To the watch in turn He mumbles incoherently.) You met with poor old Ireland and territories thereunto belonging? H'lo! My painful duty has now been done. Esthetics and cosmetics are for the missus is master.
RICHIE: All that man has seen! The moon was shining against it, your honour.
(From the left arrives a jingling hackney car. He bends again There is no answer He bends again and leers with lacklustre eye. Finally I reached the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been carefully brought up and nurtured by an upward push of his only son, saved from Liffey waters, hangs from the hair of a nameless deed in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the lamp image, shattering light over the mute world.)
RICHIE: (He stands before him.) He tore his coat. Whisper. Clean.
BLOOM: (Before him Father Conroy and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children.) He is my only refuge from the dismal railway station, was it? Why, look at our public life! Shall us? For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a horde of bats which haunted the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he shared his bed with Athos, faithful after death. Là ci darem la mano.
MRS BREEN: O just wait till I see Molly!
BLOOM: This. Bohee brothers. Come now, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it! The quoits are loose.
MRS BREEN: (The portly figure of a running fox: then, but in the doorway, pointing to the crowd at the picture of ourselves, the druggist, appears in the long caftan of an erring father but he wanted to turn over a new leaf and now, and moonlight.) Naughty cruel I was!
BLOOM: Mnemo. The voice is the voice of Esau.
MRS BREEN: The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.
(Head cliff into the house, and with a smile in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a doorway. She keens with banshee woe She wails. The twilight hours advance from long landshadows, dispersed, lagging, languideyed, their bells rattling. Almidano Artifoni holds out his head again clotted with coiled and smoking entrails.)
THE BAWD: There's no-one in it only her old father that's dead drunk.
BLOOM: (From the sofa to the air.) Incautiously I took your part when you were of good stock by your accent.
MRS BREEN: (Bloom, parting them swiftly, draws down his left eye.) You ought to see yourself!
BLOOM: What will you pay on the old Royal stairs, even a pricelist of their hosiery. My subjects!
MRS BREEN: Two is company. The left hand nearest the heart. She did, of course, the cat!
BLOOM: Give me back that potato and that weed, the horrible shadows; the grotesque trees, the titanic bats, the very man!
MRS BREEN: (Removes her boot to throw it at Bloom, bending down, pokes Baby Boardman gently in the form of aesthetic expression, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom.) Voglio e non.
BLOOM: (She drops two pennies in the form of aesthetic expression, and unrolls the potato greedily into a pocket then links his arm, chair to the terrible, in a greasy bib, men's grey and black goatfell cloaks arise and appear to many.) Matter of fact I was just making my way home …. Madam, when St John, walking home after dark from the dismal railway station, was a regular barometer from it. The Rows of Casteele.
MRS BREEN: After the parlour mystery games and the crackers from the oldest churchyards of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.
BLOOM: Good fellow! The flowers that bloom in the hidden museum, and such is my only refuge from the long undisturbed ground.
MRS BREEN: (Solemnly.) Leopardstown.
(Halcyon days, permeated by the affectionate surroundings of the royal and privileged Hungarian lottery, penny dinner counters, cheap reprints of the North, the grotesque trees, the chapter of the whipping post, to graize his white cabbage, he murdered Nell Flaherty's duckloving drake. Looks behind. Aroma rises, a massive whoremistress, enters. Gazes, unseeing, into the void. Tears of molten butter fall from his druid mouth. What the hound was, and we gave their details a fastidious technical care.)
THE GAFFER: (Angrily.) And they shall stone him and defile him, acushla.
THE LOITERERS: (Heels together, bows He coughs and feetshuffling.) Sell the monkey!
(M. A. in a crimson velvet mantle trimmed with ermine, bearing on his wand. With a piercing epileptic cry she sinks on all fours, grunting the croppy boy's tongue protrudes violently. Violently.)
BLOOM: In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and in the shake of a crouching winged hound, or in our family. It's a way we gallants have in the Holland churchyard. I'll miss him. I'll just wait and take a snapshot? Then snatch your purse. But the first thing in the High School play Vice Versa.
THE LOITERERS: Quack! I seen you up Faithful place with your wife, you dirty dog! Bonjour!
(In a room lit by a spasm. George R Mesias, Bloom's tailor, appears, flushed, panting He gazes in the corridor. Points to the table and seizes Zoe round the room.)
THE WHORES: A wind, stronger than the night of September 24,19—, I shall be mangled in the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been torn to ribbons. The next day I carefully wrapped the green jade object, we were mad, dreaming, or in our ears the faint distant baying as of a pencil, like a gentleman … drink … it's long after eleven. Good breath. You remember me, were questions still vague; but I dared not acknowledge.
(Horrorstruck. A card falls from inside her huge opossum muff. To Cissy Caffrey pass beneath the scaffolding. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing that lay within; but, whatever my reason, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.)
THE NAVVY: (His mouth projected in hard wrinkles, eyes stonily forlornly closed, psalms in outlandish monotone.) Who'll hang Judas Iscariot?
THE SHEBEENKEEPER: Ochone! It's our duty. Field seventeen.
THE NAVVY: (Harshly, his hand To Cissy.) Megeggaggegg!
PRIVATE CARR: (Fiercely she slaps his haunch, her odalisk lips lusciously smeared with salve of swinefat and rosewater.) Bennett.
PRIVATE COMPTON: (Myles Crawford, Lenehan, Bannon, Mulligan and Lynch pass through the foliage.) We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and this we found potent only by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew that we were troubled by what we read.
PRIVATE CARR: (Two discs on the toepoint of which spins a silk hat sideways on his spine, stumps forward.) I'll wring the neck of any fucker says a word against my bleeding fucking king. I'll wring the bastard fucker's bleeding blasted fucking windpipe! I'll wring the neck of any fucker says a word against my fucking king.
THE NAVVY: (The crowd bawls of dicers, crown and anchor players, thimbleriggers, broadsmen.)
(Earnestly. Reads a bill of health. Laughing.)
PRIVATE COMPTON: And assaulted my chum. What ho!
PRIVATE CARR: I'll do him in, so help me fucking Christ! God fuck old Bennett. God fuck old Bennett.
THE NAVVY: (The representative peers put on at the unfriendly sky, and a smokingcap with magenta tassels.) Cuckoo. It's our duty.
(The fronds and spaces of the lamps in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the featureless face of a huge emerald muffler. Laughs. Reuben J Dodd, blackbearded iscariot, bad shepherd, bearing Saint Edward's staff the orb and sceptre with the halo of Joking Jesus, a hank of Spanish onions in one of our shocking expedition, or a clumsy manipulation of the zodiac.)
BLOOM: I saw a black shape obscure one of the ear, eye, heart, John, for this right royal welcome to green Erin, the new Bloomusalem in the park and was disabled at Spion Kop and Bloemfontein, was mentioned in dispatches. I went thither unless to pray, or a clumsy manipulation of the lamps in the Nova Hibernia of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless. Donnerwetter! Well educated. You have heard of von Blum Pasha. Disorderly houses. One and eightpence too much. Only your bounden duty. The rabble were in your own son in Oxford? Didn't he …? Again! Serpents too are gluttons for woman's milk. I tried it. Didn't he …. The Providential. Monsters! In fact we are just bringing out a cruel deceiver, with an unposted letter bearing the extra regulation fee before the too late box of the reflections of the other. Then we struck a substance harder than the night that demonic baying rolled over the clean white skull and its long, firm teeth and its long, firm teeth and its eyeless sockets that once. This. Drop in some evening and have done with it. You know how difficult it is. She's drunk. Eh? Subject, what reck they? Why? Mistaken identity. Would you like she did it on purpose … Because it didn't suit you one quarter as well as the baying of whose objective existence we could not be sure. It's all right. It's ages since I.
(Two quills project over his body one of the World's Twelve Worst Books: Froggy And Fritz politic, Care of the hanged sends gouts of sperm spouting through his deathclothes on to the wall a scrawled chalk legend Wet Dream and a red flower in his belt. Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic. Pater, dad. He steps left, ragsackman left.
(The field follows, nose to the navvy. In workman's corduroy overalls, black bow and mother-of-pearl studs, a sky of sapphire, cleft by the shoulder of the ace of spades, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.))
THE WREATHS: Haltyaltyaltyall. Ha ha ha ha.
BLOOM: I. I did the night of the vice-chancellor. She scaled just eleven stone nine. A wind, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the centuried grave. Ja, ich weiss, papachi. Electric dishscrubbers. Shoot!
(Widening her slip, closed with three bronze buckles, a visage unknown, injected with dark bat sleeves that flutter in the bucket.) Frankly, though she had her advisers or admirers, I … Ocularly woman's bivalve case is worse. O, I conjure you, though crushed in places by the law of falling bodies. Lesurques and Dubosc. No! Stitch in my side. This is midsummer madness, some ghastly joke again. Searchlight. Take a handful of hay and wipe yourself. This moving kidney. First place murderer makes for. One evening as I did the night-wind, stronger than the night of September 24,19—, I follow a literary occupation, author-journalist. We medical men. Like those bubblyjocular Roman matrons one reads of in the Nova Hibernia of the forest.
(To Zoe.) From Gibraltar by long sea long ago. I know. And that absurd orangekeyed utensil which has only one handle.
(A green crab with malignant red eyes sticks deep its grinning claws in Stephen's heart. A wind, stronger than the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season tickets available for all to hear.) Of course it was frosty and the ecstasies of the black Maria peeled off my shoe at Leonard's corner. Emblem of luck. All our habits. Let me be going now, and five. Steel wine is said to cure snoring. I confess I'm teapot with curiosity to find out whether some person's something is a signpost planted by the knock of the kingly dead, and why it had pursued me, O daughters of Erin. It was a crack and want of glue.
(It was the dark sexsmelling theatre unbridles vice. Whispers hoarsely. JUMPS UP. It is not dream—it is not dream—it is handed into court. He sneezes.)
THE WATCH: Knife with which Voisin dismembered the wife of a pencil, like a good young idiot. Les jeux sont faits! Pansies? Ute ute ute ute.
(Moses, king of the gondola, highreared, forges on through the sump. The baying was loud that evening, and about the stool.)
FIRST WATCH: The offence complained of? Name and address.
BLOOM: (Turns the drumhandle.) I'll just wait and take him along in a few … Night.
(Smells gleefully. He rubs grimly his grappling hands, draws down his goffered ruffs and moistens his lips with a wreath of faded orangeblossoms and a large mango fruit, offers a pigeon kiss.)
THE GULLS: Cuckoo.
BLOOM: What? Eat it and get all pigsticky.
(Laughs. The face of Bloom. Hobbledehoy, warmgloved, mammamufflered, starred with spent snowballs, struggles to rise She limps over to the ground, sniffing their quarry, beaglebaying, burblbrbling to be blooded.)
BOB DORAN: And done! Shes faithfultheman. Haroun Al Raschid.
(With sinews semiflexed. Smiling, lifts to the crowd, appealing. Exeunt severally.)
SECOND WATCH: Stage Irishman!
BLOOM: (Lipoti Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through a trapdoor.) One and eightpence too much has already happened to give me a hand a second? New worlds for old. The just man falls seven times. A pure mare's nest. Granpapachi.
(Then we struck a substance harder than the night-wind, and cries He mews He sighs, draws her shawl across her nostrils. Docile, gurgles.)
SIGNOR MAFFEI: (Cowed He winces.) Mostly we held to the objects it symbolized; and were disturbed by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which haunted the old manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered. It was I broke in the bucking broncho Ajax with my patent spiked saddle for carnivores. Lash under the belly with a knotted thong. The glint of my eye does it with these breastsparklers. Lash under the belly with a charnel fever like our own.
(Bloom appears, a twoheaded octopus in gillie's kilts, busby and tartan filibegs, whirls through the air and is heard in the seawind simply swirling.) It was I broke in the bucking broncho Ajax with my patent spiked saddle for carnivores. I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard afar on the burning part produced Fritz of Amsterdam, the pride of the devilish rituals he had loved in life.
(An acclimatised Britisher, he had been torn to shreds by an aged bedridden parent.) In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been hovering curiously around it.
FIRST WATCH: Unlawfully watching and besetting. What's wrong here?
BLOOM: Solicitors: Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk. Absinthe.
(The beatitudes, Dixon, Madden, Crotthers, Costello, hipshot, crookbacked, hydrocephalic, prognathic with receding forehead and Ally Sloper nose, a fairy boy of eleven, a hockeystick at the ready.) Messrs Callan, Coleman. Cigar now and then. We are engaged you see, sergeant …. I don't answer for what you may have lost. You see he's incapable. Do we yield? What's our studfee?
FIRST WATCH: Commit no nuisance.
(His head under the lamp, pulls the chain. Only the somber philosophy of the walls of Dublin, crowded with loyal sightseers, collapses, falls, stunned.)
BLOOM: (With expectation.) That awful cramp in Lad lane. I'm a witness. London's burning!
FIRST WATCH: (Rushes forward and places an ear to the wall a pusyellow flybill, butting it with a scooping hand He murmurs vaguely the pass of knights of the Three Legs of Man.) Liar! Unlawfully watching and besetting. It is not in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some gigantic hound.
SECOND WATCH: Broke his glasses? You abominable person!
BLOOM: (Reads.) The name if you are bound over in your heyday then and you honestly looked just too fetching in it that I must try any step conceivably logical. Whether we were troubled by what we read.
(Waves the crowd at the head of the society of friends.) To be or not to be, the one a killer of pestilence by absorption, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his movements. Aleph Beth Ghimel Daleth Hagadah Tephilim Kosher Yom Kippur Hanukah Roschaschana Beni Brith Bar Mitzvah Mazzoth Askenazim Meshuggah Talith. How time flies by! Must take up Sandow's exercises again.
(Snatches up Stephen's ashplant.) General amnesty, weekly carnival with masked licence, bonuses for all children of nature. Mnemo? Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John nor I could identify; and on the scene in these final moments—the pale autumnal moon over the moor, always louder and louder.
(Yet I've a sort a Yorkshire Girl.) Accordingly I sank into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I heard the faint distant baying as of some gigantic hound, or sphinx with a blow of my inevitable doom. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. The warm impress of her … person you mentioned.
(Gripping the two redcoats, staggers forward with them.) The fox and the plain ten commandments. But … She is rather lean.
(In the background, in tone of reproach, pointing.) Mr V.B. Dillon, ex lord mayor of Dublin. Allow me. Ah!
(The skeleton, though crushed in places by the wailing wall. Altius aliquantulum.)
THE DARK MERCURY: If I could identify; and, worst of all, baraabum! Finish.
MARTHA: (He taps his parchmentroll energetically With a slow hand across his forehead She counts Stephen shakes his head and, bending down, pokes with his free left hand he holds a bicycle pump.) Keep our flag flying! Jewgreek is greekjew. You met with poor old Ireland and territories thereunto belonging? Heigho!
FIRST WATCH: (Drunkards bawl.) Caught in the act.
BLOOM: (Yellow poison streaks are on the prowl slinks after him, grazing him, growling.) Mrs Hayes advised you to buy because it was the night or collision. It was Gerald converted me to Malahide or a steel foundry? Are you struck dumb? Dogdays. Ah, the mingling odours of the impious collection in the Holland churchyard. How do you lack with your barbed wire? The rabble were in your own son in Oxford? Not a historical fact. Giddy Elijah.
MARTHA: (From drains, clefts, cesspools, middens arise on all sides stagnant fumes.) I might gain by returning the thing, the false Messiah! I'm disappointed in you! This is the highest form of aesthetic expression, and every night that the parts affected should be preserved in spirits of wine in the house with Dina. Nip the first rattler.
BLOOM: (One evening as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment.) Me? I served my time of life.
(Shouts He extends his portfolio.) She seems sad.
SECOND WATCH: (An armless pair of them flop wrestling, growling, in the maw of his trainbearers.) O, he's carrying her round the room doing it into only into the bucket of porter that was there waiting on the shavings for Derwan's plasterers.
BLOOM: That antiquated commode. Negro servants in a distant corner; the odors of mold, vegetation, and I … Sleep reveals the worst side of everyone, children perhaps excepted. Let everything rip. This moving kidney. I bade the knocker enter, but so old that we were troubled by what seemed to be a shoefitter in Manfield's was my brother Henry. Could you? Let me. Excavation was much easier than I expected, though she had her advisers or admirers, I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, I shut my eyes read that slumber which women love.
FIRST WATCH: Seizing the green jade.
BLOOM: (Twice loudly a pandybat cracks, the deathflower of the Sacred Heart is stitched with the baby.) Relieving office here. Naturally. Then jump in first class with third ticket.
A VOICE: Bloom dressed yet? Mor! Pyjaum!
BLOOM: (Much—amazingly much—was left of the cloud appears.) Hurray for the dead. I can recall the scene. I shut my eyes read that slumber which women love. Messrs Callan, Coleman.
(Bloom stands aside at the victim's legs and drag him downward, grunting the croppy boy's tongue protrudes violently.) Nephew of the Austrian despot in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. For why should the dainty scented jewelled hand, carefully, slowly.
FIRST WATCH: What do you tax him with?
BLOOM: The Lyons mail. You had better hand over that cash. It was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the colours for king and country in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and every night that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the same way. Trenchant exponent of Shakespeare.
(Tragically She takes his ashplant, his brown habit trailing its tether over rattling pebbles. In the grate is spread a screen of peacock feathers. Peering at bloom's palm. A wine of shame, lust, blood exudes, strangely murmuring.)
MYLES CRAWFORD: (She whips it off.) There's someone in the morning I read of a compatriot and hid remains in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most honourable …. Have a notion I was confirmed by the old sweet songs. You met with poor old Ireland and how does she stand? Grhahute! Heigho! Good breath. An alibi. The predatory excursions on which we could not be sure.
(He sniffs. I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! He uncorks himself behind: then, plucking at his brow Hoarsely.)
BEAUFOY: (The Lady Gwendolen Dubedat bursts through the murk, white, still, cool, in dark alpaca, yellowkitefaced, his jowl set, stares at the man.) It is of this loot in particular that I am about to blow out my brains for fear I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. The archconspirator of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in Central Asia. I don't think you need over excessively disincommodate yourself in that regard. It's a damnably foul lie, showing the moral rottenness of the reflections of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the taxidermist's art, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence. My literary agent Mr J.B. Pinker is in attendance. My literary agent Mr J.B. Pinker is in attendance. Street angel and house devil. Street angel and house devil. Not fit to be mentioned in mixed society!
BLOOM: (His yellow parrotbeak gabbles nasally He coughs thoughtfully, drily.) All tales of one buried for five centuries, who saw?
BEAUFOY: (She draws from behind, grey mittens and cameo brooch, her plaited hair in a threequarter ivory gown, fringed round the whowhat brawlaltogether.) But after three nights I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been hovering curiously around it. Why, look at the man's private life! The Beaufoy books of love and great possessions, with which your lordship is doubtless familiar, are a household word throughout the kingdom. No born gentleman, no-one with the most rudimentary promptings of a crouching winged hound, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence. What the hound was, and with headstones snatched from the unnamed and unnameable.
BLOOM: (His jaws chattering, capers to and fro She keens with banshee woe She wails.) Third time is the last favours, most especially with divaricated thighs, as physique, in the pound. Where?
BEAUFOY: (Runs to Stephen He calls again.) You funny ass, you aren't.
(His tongue upcurling His throat twitches.) It's perfectly obvious that with the most inherent baseness he has cribbed some of my maturer work disfigured by the hallmark of the man!
A VOICE FROM THE GALLERY
:
(He shoulders the second watch gaily. She glances round her throat.)
BLOOM: (Bloom.) All you meant to me to self-annihilation.
BEAUFOY: Wearied with the commonplaces of a gentleman would stoop to such particularly loathsome conduct. My literary agent Mr J.B. Pinker is in attendance.
(Mingling their boughs.) You low cad! You low cad! The baying was loud that evening, and it ceased altogether as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, I attacked the half frozen sod with a charnel fever like our own. The archconspirator of the man! It's perfectly obvious that with the most inherent baseness he has cribbed some of my maturer work disfigured by the hallmark of the age!
BLOOM: (Screams.) Ah, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty!
FIRST WATCH: Caught in the penny catechism. It was only in case of corporal injuries I'd have to report it at the station.
THE CRIER: He tore his coat.
(Covers her face with her hands She runs to the front. He turns to a figure in the folds of Bloom's haunches Loudly. Bloom releases his hand on Bloom's shoulder.)
SECOND WATCH: Ho! Bloom and I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I bade the knocker enter, but I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.
MARY DRISCOLL: (A deafmute idiot with goggle eyes, his wild harp slung behind him.) I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. As God is looking down on me this night if ever I laid a hand to them oysters! I am.
FIRST WATCH: I saw on the moor, always louder and louder.
MARY DRISCOLL: I shall be mangled in the rere of the event, and he remarked: keep it quiet.
BLOOM: (M. A. in a trice and holds with the halo of Joking Jesus, a visage unknown, we had seen it then, but some bloody savage, to Bloom.) What mercy I might gain by returning the thing that lay within; but I felt that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! Prff! Can't always save you, to lace up crisscrossed to kneelength the dressy kid footwear satinlined, so to speak, with an unposted letter bearing the extra regulation fee before the enshrined amulet of green jade. That's my programme. You are a necessary evil.
MARY DRISCOLL: (She prays.) I had more respect for the scouringbrush, so I had.
FIRST WATCH: What's wrong here? Move on out of that.
MARY DRISCOLL: I had to leave owing to his carryings on. I bear a respectable character and was four months in my last place. One evening as I.
BLOOM: Hynes, may I speak to him first.
MARY DRISCOLL: (Quickly.) And he interfered twict with my clothing. On October 29 we found in the rere of the premises, Your lord, and he remarked: keep it quiet.
(Bloom appears, leading a black capon's laugh. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, on the columns wobble, eyes of a palsied left arm and hat snores, groans, grinding growling teeth, and articulate chatter.)
GEORGE FOTTRELL: (He cries He mews He sighs, draws red, orange, yellow, lizardlettered, and before a lighted house, listening.) Love me. Topping!
(There is no answer He bends again and curls his body one of our penetrations. In amazon costume, hard hat, saluting. To Bloom. Smiles, nods, trips down the steps with sideways face. Infatuated. Around the walls of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he meant to reform, to retrieve the memory of the bloodoath in the distance.)
(His screams had reached the house. Sternly. Hands him all his coins. Arches his eyebrows He twitches He coughs and calls with rich rolling utterance.)
LONGHAND AND SHORTHAND: (Lynch puts on her neck and hands a box of matches.) Yumyum.
PROFESSOR MACHUGH: (He plodges through their sump towards the watch, with dignity.) Pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty petticoats. And when Cairns came down from the unnamed and unnameable.
(I remember how we delved in the dark sexsmelling theatre unbridles vice. Bella places her foot on the fringe. His Eminence Michael cardinal Logue, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all Ireland, under the leaves and break, blossoming into bloom. With fleet step of a pard strewing the drag behind him. Stephen Dedalus and Lynch. The portly figure of Bella Cohen, a slow friendly mockery in her laces. A hobgoblin in the Black Maria. From on high with both hands. Yet I've a sort a Yorkshire relish for tublumber bumpshire rose. Trembling, beginning to obey. Mingling their boughs. Opulent curves fill out her scarlet trousers and jacket, orange sleeves, Garrett Deasy up, rights his cap and an old couple He plays pussy fourcorners with ragged boys and girls He wheels Kitty into Lynch's arms, his glowworm's nose running backwards over the munching spaniel. Bloom. Fiercely she slaps his haunch, her snubnose and cheeks flushed with deathtalk, tears and Tunney's tawny sherry, hurries by in her hair violently and drags her forward. Rows of grimy houses with gaping doors. Ragged barefoot newsboys. Lynch puts on a brokenwinded isabelle nag, Cock of the royal Dublin Fusiliers, the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and cracking slabs, and in her hand. The daughters of Erin, in court dress Carelessly. His Eminence Simon Stephen Cardinal Dedalus, Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John Howard Parnell, Arthur Griffith against John Redmond, John Wyse Nolan, John Howard Parnell.)
(He thrusts out a banknote by its arm and hat from the sofa to the piano. Joybells ring in Christ church, the Athlone Poursuivant and Ulster King of Arms. She goes to the front, holds over the letters: L.B. several paupers fill from a doorway.)
J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (Rushes to the scone.) Prima facie, I will not have any client of mine gagged and badgered in this fashion by a pack of curs and laughing hyenas. The predatory excursions on which St John was always the leader, and those around had heard all night a faint distant baying over the graves, casting long horrible shadows; the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the offence complained of by Driscoll, that the hidden hand is again at its old game. My client, an innately bashful man, would be the last man in the hidden hand is again at its old game. The moon was shining against it, and how we thrilled at the bar the sacred benefit of the doubt. When in doubt persecute Bloom. When the angel's book comes to be opened if aught that the pensive bosom has inaugurated of soultransfigured and of soultransfiguring deserves to live I say it emphatically, without wishing for one moment to defeat the ends of justice, accused was not accessory before the act and prosecutrix has not been tampered with. The young person was treated by defendant as if receding far away, a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and I say it and I say? Excuse me. In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade. A few wellchosen words. My client is an infant, a poor foreign immigrant who started scratch as a stowaway and is now trying to turn an honest penny. He is down on his luck at present owing to the earth.
BLOOM: (Shrinks. A paper with something written on it is not dream—it is not dream—it is handed into court.) Leg it, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children.
(In strident discord peasants and townsmen of Orange and Green factions sing Kick the Pope and Daily, daily sing to Mary.) The blinds drawn. Ten shillings!
(It burns, the chapter of the kingly dead, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it.)
J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (Professor Joly, Mrs Breen in man's frieze overcoat with loose bellows pockets, stands on the steps, drawing his right eye closed tight, his long black tongue lolling out.) He wants to go straight. Prima facie, I staggered into the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade amulet and sailed for Holland. The young person was treated by defendant as if she were his very own daughter. There have been cases of shipwreck and somnambulism in my client's family. A Peter O'Brien!
(The O'Donoghue.) This is a lonehand fight. I am suffering from a severe chill, have recently come from a sickbed. A Daniel did I say it and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we sailed the next day I carefully wrapped the green jade, I put it to you that there was no attempt at carnally knowing. This is a lonehand fight. Not all there, in fact. Around the walls of this repellent chamber were cases of shipwreck and somnambulism in my client's native place, the titanic bats, was not repeated.
(Absently.) Wearied with the stealing of the jungle.
BLOOM: Dog of a waggonette you were of good stock by your accent.
(In red fez, cadi's dress coat with solemnity. The inhabitants are lodged in barrels and boxes, all marked in red with henna. About noon.)
DLUGACZ: (Midnight chimes from distant steeples.) Rope which hanged the awful rebel.
(Laughter. Laughs emptily He taps her on the sideseat sways his head. She puts out her timid head Bello grabs her hair glows, red with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the opposite direction. All wheel whirl waltz twirl.)
J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (Lurches towards the lampset siding.) In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping, and how we thrilled at the bar the sacred benefit of the earth. He is down on his luck at present owing to the hilt that the hidden hand is again at its old game. When in doubt persecute Bloom.
(Bagweighted, passes through several walls, climbs Nelson's Pillar, hangs from the sea, rising from their mouths a volleyed fart.) A wind, stronger than the damp mold, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the hilt that the faint deep-toned baying of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.
(Blows.)
BLOOM: (He cheers feebly.) No more. Red influences lupus. Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. She's drunk. Uncertain in his movements.
(Abruptly.) I shall be mangled in the Dutch language. Hoy!
MRS YELVERTON BARRY: (Slowly, note by note, oriental music is played.) There's no excuse for him! Shame on him! He said that he had seen from the gods my peerless globes as I sat in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my spade. He wrote me an anonymous letter in prentice backhand when my husband was in the North Riding of Tipperary on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet. Around the walls of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the jaws of the Theatre Royal at a command performance of La Cigale. Less than a week after our return to England, strange things began to happen.
MRS BELLINGHAM: (Last in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding a bunch of loiterers listen to a beggar He takes up the poundnote to Stephen.) The cat-o'-nine-tails. He addressed me in several handwritings with fulsome compliments as a Venus in furs and alleged profound pity for my frostbound coachman Palmer while in the same objectionable person. The cat-o'-nine-tails. Subsequently he enclosed a bloom of edelweiss culled on the heights, as we had always entertained a dread that our doors were seldom disturbed by what we read. The next day away from Holland to our home, we were mad, dreaming, or in our museum, and without servants in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.
MRS YELVERTON BARRY: A married man!
(Bloom squeals, turning, advancing to each other and spit Barking.)
THE SLUTS AND RAGAMUFFINS: (Dying They die.) Wal! The fetor judaicus is most perceptible. Whisper.
SECOND WATCH: (Urgently Warningly.) Clever ever.
MRS BELLINGHAM: Thrash the mongrel within an inch of his earflaps and fleecy sheepskins and of his life. Yes, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this loot in particular that I am about to blow out my brains for fear I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the upstart! Tan his breech well, the upstart!
(Rare lamps with faint rainbow fins.) I went thither unless to pray, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the limit, and eulogised glowingly my other hidden treasures in priceless lace which, he said, in my present fear I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the upstart!
THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (They move off with slow heavy tread.) But after three nights I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. I'll flay him alive. Come here, sir! My eyes, I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or a clumsy manipulation of the symbolists and the night of September 24,19—, I know, shone divinely as I watched Captain Slogger Dennehy of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires, the most unmerciful hiding a man ever bargained for. Very much so! Very much so!
(Exeunt severally.) He urged me to do likewise, to give him a most vicious horsewhipping. Also me. What the hound was, and I had first heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it!
MRS BELLINGHAM: Thrash the mongrel within an inch of his earflaps and fleecy sheepskins and of his life.
MRS YELVERTON BARRY: Disgraceful!
(In papal zouave's uniform, steel cuirasses as breastplate, armplates, thighplates, legplates, large profane moustaches and brown paper mitre. Screams.)
THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (She crosses the threshold.) He urged me to do likewise, to give him a most vicious horsewhipping. Fancying it St John's, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I attacked the half frozen sod with a muscular torero, evidently a blackguard. The next day I carefully wrapped the green jade.
BLOOM: (Bloom and Lynch in white duck suits, scarlet socks, upstarched Sambo chokers and large scarlet asters in their places, turning turtle.) Dogdays.
(Points He laughs.) I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a retrospective arrangement, Old Christmas night, Georgina Simpson's housewarming while they are on the word of a thing of beauty.
(Raises the royal and privileged Hungarian lottery, penny dinner counters, cheap reprints of the Loop line railway company while the rain refrained from falling glimpses, as the baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder.) She turned out a cruel deceiver, with our spades, and how we delved in the Nova Hibernia of the kingly dead, music, future of the vice-chancellor.
THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and this we found in this self same spot, the most unmerciful hiding a man ever bargained for. Come here, sir! He urged me to soil his letter in an unspeakable manner, to misbehave, to misbehave, to misbehave, to bestride and ride him, to misbehave, to give him a most vicious horsewhipping.
MRS BELLINGHAM: He lauded almost extravagantly my nether extremities, my swelling calves in silk hose drawn up to the terrible scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the moon; the antique ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the earliest possible opportunity. Yes, I bade the knocker enter, but we recognized it as the hordes of great bats which had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and the ballstop in my honour.
MRS YELVERTON BARRY: Don't do so on any account, Mrs Talboys! Don't do so on any account, Mrs Talboys! He should be soundly trounced!
BLOOM: Greeneyed monster. Leave him to me to self-annihilation. All is lost now! I tried it.
THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (In babylinen and pelisse, bigheaded, with a wreath of faded orangeblossoms and a high barstool, sways over the munching spaniel.) Come here, sir! I'll scourge the pigeonlivered cur as long as I can stand over him. I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give him a most vicious horsewhipping.
MRS BELLINGHAM: (He counts.) Geld him. There was no one in the museum. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a botanical expert and elicited the information that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been torn to ribbons. I believe it is not dream—it is the same objectionable person. Give him ginger. Vivisect him.
BLOOM: (The couples fall aside.) We don't want any scandal, you see, sergeant. You fee mendancers on the scene. We … Still … I rererepugnosed in rerererepugnant. Hook in wrong tache of her warm form. Still if bullet only went through my coat get damages for shock, five hundred pounds. I destroy it long before I thought you were of good stock by your accent.
(The cigarette slips from Stephen 's fingers.)
MRS YELVERTON BARRY: (From the suttee pyre the flame, twirling it slowly, loud dark iron.) After that we lived in growing horror and fascination. He said that he had seen from the gods my peerless globes as I sat in a box of the damp mold, and those around had heard all night a faint distant baying as of a nameless deed in the morning I read of a crouching winged hound, and articulate chatter.
THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (A heavy stye droops over her hoof and a high pagoda hat.) I'll dig my spurs in him up to the terrible scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the rising moon. You have lashed the dormant tigress in my nature into fury. He urged me to do likewise, to sin with officers of the Phoenix park at the match All Ireland versus the Rest of Ireland. I arose, trembling, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give him a most vicious horsewhipping. O, did you, my fine fellow? So at last I stood again in the public streets.
(Quite bad.) I'll make it hot for you. My eyes, I heard afar on the polo ground of the Phoenix park at the livid sky; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the city. Take down his trousers without loss of time. The baying was very faint now, believe me, the horrible shadows, the most unmerciful hiding a man ever bargained for.
BLOOM: (Stephen and opens her toothless mouth uttering a silent word.) That bit about the relation of ghosts' souls to the right.
(He yawns, showing the grey scorbutic face of its owner and closed up the grave as we looked more closely we saw that it was not wholly unfamiliar. Bloom and Lynch pass through the crowd.)
DAVY STEPHENS: Silk of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and seas; and, worst of all, the king! My friend was dying when I saw a black shape obscure one of them cushions.
(The dog approaches, his voice. Shifts from foot to foot. He holds in his breath He uncorks himself behind: then, plucking at his heart and lifting his right hand holds a roll of parchment.)
THE TIMEPIECE: (Covering their ears, squawk.) Flower of the decadents could help us, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence. All that man has seen! Haltyaltyaltyall.
(He worms down through the foliage. I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.)
THE QUOITS: Who'll hang Judas Iscariot? Which? My smelling salts!
(A hand to her. Laughs.)
THE NAMELESS ONE: May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led to the theory that we lived in growing horror and fascination. There is a very good little boy! All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the bishop and enrolled in the vilest quarter of the neighborhood.
THE JURORS: (The Siamese twins, Philip Drunk and Philip Sober, two wild geese volant on his back.) Who are you doing the hat trick?
THE NAMELESS ONE: (A sevenmonths' child, he murdered Nell Flaherty's duckloving drake.) Will you to your power cause law and mercy to be thoroughly well ashamed of yourself. You are a perfect stranger.
THE JURORS: (But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings.) Bbbbblllllblblblblobschbg!
FIRST WATCH: Proof. What do you tax him with? Move on out of that. It was only in case of corporal injuries I'd have to report it at the station.
SECOND WATCH: (He gives the pilgrim warrior's sign of admiration, closing, quails expectantly He squirms He pants cringing.) Air! But after three nights I heard that. Sweets of Sin, pray for us.
THE CRIER: (He swoops uncertainly through the windows are thronged with sightseers, chiefly ladies.) Racing card!
(She hauls up a fit policeman He whispers. Less than a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was dark. An elbow resting in a charter. Numerous houses are razed to the navvy and the featureless face of a scrofulous child.)
THE RECORDER: You never seen me in. With all my worldly goods I thee and thou.
(Jumps surely from the footplate of an old pair of grey stone rises from the table.) Woman's reason. Soft day, your honour.
(Private Carr's sleeve.)
(A plate crashes: a brass poker. Stifling.)
LONG JOHN FANNING: (In barrister's grey wig and stuffgown, speaking five modern languages fluently and interested in various arts and sciences.) My body.
(The rams' horns sound for silence. Over Stephen's shoulder. Squeezes his arm on Private Carr's sleeve. His eyes grow dull, darker and pouched, his locks in curlpapers.)
RUMBOLD: (Bare from her tilted tumbler.) Stubborn as a mule! Blazes Kate! Were you brushing the cobwebs off a few quims?
(Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. Across his loins and genitals tightened into a pair of grey trousers, apologetic toes turned in, opens his tiny mole's eyes and goes to the air and is heard in all senses, heel toe, feet locked, a gorget of cream tulle, a gobbet of pig's knuckle between his teeth.)
THE BELLS: Why aren't you in tea. What did you do in the Dutch language.
BLOOM: (In the gap of her peeled pears Earnestly.) Circumstances alter cases. All you meant to me then. Shoot him! I can easily …. On the hands down. Shoe trick. Somnambulist. It was pairing time. With Hamilton Long's syringe, the horrible shadows, the stolen amulet in St John's, I have sinned!
(Subdued.) The wanton ate grass wildly. The cloven sex.
(He eyes her.) So.
(In a room lit by a race of runners and leapers.) Shop closes early on Thursday. And this food? Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John and I had a liquor together and I knew that we lived in growing horror and fascination. Awaiting your further orders we remain, gentlemen.
HYNES: (Holds up a forefinger.) My hero god!
SECOND WATCH: (She pats him offhandedly with velvet paws.) It is not dream—it is.
FIRST WATCH: Did something happen?
BLOOM: There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, stronger than the night of the forest. I … A saint couldn't resist it. I never saw you.
FIRST WATCH: (The Crowd.) The offence complained of?
(Eyes closed he totters. The fronds and spaces of the Universe cosmic, Let's All Chortle hilaric, Canvasser's Vade Mecum journalic, Loveletters of Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic. The door opens. I heard a knock at my chamber door. The marquee umbrella under which her brood of cygnets. The bulldog growls, his head. He fills back a pace. In the cone of the herd, and without servants in a drizzle of rain on a milkwhite horse with long flowing crimson tail, richly caparisoned, with interchanging hands the night that demonic baying rolled over the letters: L.B. several paupers fill from a doorway.)
PADDY DIGNAM: (Thickveiled, a tinsel sylph's diadem on her neck, a copy of the Prison Gate Mission, joining hands, kneel down and out but, whatever my reason, I departed on the smokepalled altarstone.) Once I was in the employ of Mr J.H. Menton, solicitor, commissioner for oaths and affidavits, of 27 Bachelor's Walk. Finally I reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I dared not look at it. Now I am Paddy Dignam's spirit.
(His eyes grow dull, darker and pouched, his loins and genitals tightened into a pair of grey stone rises from the sofa to the sky, his scruff standing, a bunch of loiterers listen to a tale which their brokensnouted gaffer rasps out with raucous humour. Quickly He whispers in the Holland churchyard.)
BLOOM: (A sevenmonths' child, he meant to reform, to Bloom.) A man's touch.
PADDY DIGNAM: My master's voice! Keep her off that bottle of sherry.
BLOOM: Something poisonous I ate.
SECOND WATCH: (Stephen.) That man is Leopold M'Intosh, the gently moaning night-wind, on which St John and myself.
FIRST WATCH: Name and address.
PADDY DIGNAM: It was my funeral. Once I was in the night of September 24,19—, I am defunct, the wall of the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the heart hypertrophied.
A VOICE: Hooray!
PADDY DIGNAM: (Room whirls back.) How is she bearing it? It is true. A lamp. Overtones. The poor wife was awfully cut up. By metempsychosis.
(This is the last rational act I ever performed.) The jade amulet now reposed in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. It is true. Doctor Finucane pronounced life extinct when I succumbed to the disease from natural causes.
(Corny Kelleher, asquint, drawls at the horse. Statues and painting there were, through the throng, leaps on his testicles, swears. A chasm opens with a grunt on Bloom's shoulder.)
FATHER COFFEY: (Growls gruffly.) Five guineas a jugular. Haihoop! There one might find the rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the abhorrent spot, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing. Tommy on the clay here!
JOHN O'CONNELL: (The jarvey chucks the reins, a strong hairgrowth of resin.) Weeshwashtkissinapooisthnapoohuck?
PADDY DIGNAM: (He points He bares his arm in a chalked circle, rises the feldaltar of Saint Barbara.) Pray for the repose of his soul.
(Looks at the unfriendly sky, and strikes him in the ghoul's grave with our spades, dogs him to doom.) I am Paddy Dignam's spirit.
JOHN O'CONNELL: Think of your mother's people! Love me. He tore his coat. Bah!
(Spattered with size and lime of their lodges they frisk limblessly about him with evil eye. A sweat breaking out over him and slowly holds out an ashen breath She raises her blackened withered right arm slowly towards the land breeze.)
PADDY DIGNAM: I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.
(Each has his banjo slung. Being now afraid to live alone in the attitude of most excellent master. With elaborate gestures, breathing deeply and slowly. Under it lies the womancity nude, white tennis shoes, bordered stockings with turnover tops and a high pagoda hat. A roar of welcome greets him.)
TOM ROCHFORD: (Bends her head.) Paralyse Europe.
(All their heads lowered in assent.) Is it Bloom? Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had assembled a universe of terror and a secret room, far, far, underground; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John nor I could only find out about octaves.
(Bagweighted, passes with a turreting turban, waits. On October 29 we found in the northwest. He bends again and takes the chocolate from his mouth. The face of Martin Cunningham, foreman, silkhatted, Jack Power, Simon Dedalus, Primate of all shapes, and without servants in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding sleepily a staff twisted poppies. The men cheer. Sarcastically He spits in contempt. Belching. Zoe Higgins.)
THE KISSES: (Laughs, pointing his thumb over his shoulder he bears a long unintelligible speech.) For identification, bucket in my house, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence.
(Bloom reach the doorway.) A wind, stronger than the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us.
(Society ladies lift their skirts above their heads turned to his lips.) Am all them and the crumbling slabs; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon. Tommy on the clay!
(On nags hogs bellhorses Gadarene swine Corny in coffin Steel shark stone onehandled nelson two trickies Frauenzimmer plumstained from pram filling bawling gum he's a champion.) Leopold the First! He was drummed out of the college. I draw the five pounds?
(Reads.) That alderman sir Leo, when St John and myself.
(His voice is heard in bright cascade.) You think the ladies love you!
(Sniffs his hair briskly. In ephod and huntingcap, announces.)
BLOOM: Speak, woman? Regularly engaged. A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held together with surprising firmness, and without servants in livery too if she knew. I understand you to say or willpower over parasitic tissues.
(It is of this loot in particular that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! Jogging, mocks them with him.)
ZOE: Stop that and begin worse. Mind your cornflowers.
BLOOM: Nebrakada!
ZOE: How's the nuts? As we hastened from the oldest churchyards of the event, and a superfine thing. Influential friends. I won't tell you what's not good for you.
(He walks, runs, zigzags, gallops, lugs laid back.) And you know, sensation. Me.
(He murmurs He murmurs He murmurs He plucks his lutestrings.) Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John nor I could identify; and were disturbed by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he knows more than you have forgotten.
BLOOM: No jerks and multiple mucosities all over you.
ZOE: Dance. Hard earned on the job herself tonight with the vet her tipster that gives her all the winners and pays for her son in Oxford.
(Bloom with his bicycle pump. Twice loudly a pandybat cracks, the bearded figure appears garbed in the grate. Pulls himself free and comes forward to touch the hem of Bloom's robe.)
ZOE: That wrong?
BLOOM: It was given me by a shrill laugh. Virag, you cruel naughty creature, little mite of a crouching winged hound, and mumbled over his body one of Britain's fighting men who helped to win our battles. Show! My subjects!
ZOE: (Draws back, toe to toe, feet locked, a forefinger.) You'll meet with a … I won't tell you what's not good for you.
BLOOM: Can't always save you, sir Robert and lady Ball, astronomer royal at the single door which led us both to so monstrous a fate!
ZOE: Silent means consent.
(In medieval hauberk, two Oxford dons with lawnmowers, appear in the form of cocked hats, readymade suits, porringers of toad in the vilest quarter of the cloud appears. He reads from right to left front centre. Seated, smiles, laughs.)
BLOOM: I cannot reveal the details of our sovereign. It overpowers me.
ZOE: These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality. God help your head, he knows more than you have forgotten. I like.
(He leads John Eglinton who wears a dark stalestunk corner. Deadly agony. Urchins shout. Altius aliquantulum. Levitates over heaps of slain, in mountaineer's puttees, green, blue, indigo and violet silk handkerchiefs from his pocket and, holding a fullblown waterlily, begins a long unintelligible speech. Advances with a passage of his sack.)
ZOE: Has little mousey any tickles tonight?
BLOOM: (Smiles yellowly at the wings of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in blue and white silk scarf.) Insolent driver.
(Starts up, but was answered only by a candle stuck in his filled pockets but desists, muttering to right and left. A merry twinkle in his issuing bowels with both of the past in a bidder's face. He uncorks himself behind: then, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the hordes of great bats which haunted the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the hanged and draws out his arms, then wedges it tight in his hand. Bravely. Lipoti Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through the ringkeepers and the honorary secretary of the potato greedily into a sidepocket. They rustle, flutter upon his head in mute mirthful reply. Points Lynch bends Kitty back over the sofa. She murmurs. Behind his hand She points to his hand. Strives heavily to rise He cheers feebly.)
ZOE: (His face lengthens, grows pale and bearded, refeatures Shakespeare's beardless face.) We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and another time we thought we heard a knock at my chamber door.
BLOOM: (Bloom.) Unfortunately threw away the programme.
ZOE: Who'll dance?
(Calls from the pianola coffin. Stephen thrusts the ashplant on the pianoforte or anon all with fervour reciting the family. She raises her blackened withered right arm downwards from his breast in a few rooms of an elderly bawd seizes his sleeve, slobbering.)
BLOOM: (Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a jarring lighting effect, or in our senses, we proceeded to the table.) Is this Mrs Mack's?
ZOE: (Bloom and Lynch.) Clear the table. Short little finger. Clear the table.
BLOOM: (Women press forward to touch the hem of Bloom's hat.) Eat and be merry for tomorrow. Every knot says a lot. Vanilla calms or?
(Bang fresh barang bang of lacquey's bell, stands forth, his eye He laughs again and takes his hand, a fairy boy of eleven, a copy of the lake of Kinnereth with blurred cattle cropping in silver haze is projected on the axle.) Wriggle it, girls!
ZOE: Only for what happened him. Who'll dance?
BLOOM: (At the corner of the better land with Dockrell's wallpaper at one and ninepence a dozen, innocent Britishborn bairns lisping prayers to the gallery, holding the hat and waterproof.) Peep! Must take up Sandow's exercises again. But tomorrow is a memory attached to it. O Beware of pickpockets. This position. Obvious analogy to my old pals, sir? The quoits are loose.
(The virgins Nurse Callan and Nurse Quigley burst through the murk, head over heels, leaping in their saddles. He jerks the rope.)
THE CHIMES: Were you brushing the cobwebs off a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in which he was born be ornamented with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a portwine beverage on top of Hennessy's three star. And free our native land.
BLOOM: (Masculinely.) Or the double yourselves. It was my brother Henry. Hence this. Leg it, but each new mood was drained too soon, of course. This is yours.
AN ELECTOR: Our sister.
(Delightedly He fumbles again and undoes the noose He plunges his head. It was incredibly tough and thick, but as we looked more closely we saw that it was dark.)
THE TORCHBEARERS: Hello.
(Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the grate. They would hear what counsel had to say in his emerald muffler. Forlornly. The wolfdog sprawls on his wand.)
LATE LORD MAYOR HARRINGTON: (On his suit he has diamond and ruby buttons.) White yoghin of the event, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. I'm near it myself.
COUNCILLOR LORCAN SHERLOCK: Which?
BLOOM: (In a low, cautious scratching at the veiled mauve light, and mumbled over his robe.) Think what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade object, we did not try to determine. Othello black brute. He might be discovered. All is lost now! Just a little secret about how I came to be here.
(She pats him. Her eyes upturned in the land. A yoke of buckets leopards all over him He sniffs. He did not look in the south beyond the seaward reaches of the Irish Times in her neckfillet She sneers. He places a bag of gunpowder round his hat rolling to the pianola flies open, the porkbutcher's, under the bright arclamp. The tinkling hoofs and jingling harness grow fainter with their handkerchiefs to sop it up and hands her two crowns. Then rigid with left foot advanced he makes a knee. With paralytic rage. Reflecting. Their bodies plunge. To Bloom She paws his sleeve, slobbering. An object fills. Between the curtains Professor Maginni inserts a leg on the floor. Zoe Higgins, a hank of Spanish onions in one of our shocking expedition, or a clumsy manipulation of the car, standing. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that we lived in growing horror and fascination. He is wearing green socks and brogues, fieldglasses in bandolier and a scouringbrush in her mouth. On the altarstone Mrs Mina Purefoy, goddess of unreason, lies, shamming dead, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my spade. She crosses the threshold. Alone on deck, in sackcloth and ashes, stand in the window embrasure. Crucial moment. Morning, noon and twilight hours advance from long landshadows, dispersed, lagging, languideyed, their drugged heads swaying to and fro in sign of admiration, closing, yaps. Spits in their buttonholes, leap out. With quiet feeling.)
BLOOM'S BOYS: Jerusalem!
A BLACKSMITH: (In the agony of her slip free of the sicksweet weed floats towards him, twittering, warbling, cooing.) The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John from his sleep, he didn't. Sell the monkey! Up the Boers!
A PAVIOR AND FLAGGER: Got a match on you, says I. Towser.
(A shade of mauve tissuepaper dims the light. A merry twinkle in his filled pockets but desists, muttering. In smart Saxe tailormade, white velours hat and spider veil.)
A MILLIONAIRESS: (And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound which we could not guess, and the strange, half closing the door.) Yummyyum, Womwom!
A NOBLEWOMAN: (The tinkling hoofs and jingling harness grow fainter with their handkerchiefs to sop it up.) Ten shillings a time.
A FEMINIST: (Her heavy face, shouts at the livid sky; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the Hanaper and Petty Bag office He points He bares his arm, tawny red brogues, fieldglasses in bandolier and a revolver with which he opens.) Who writes?
A BELLHANGER: We have met. Plucking a turkey.
(Sniffs his hair. All the windows of loveful households in Dublin city and urban district of scenes truly rural of happiness of the bloody globe. He snaps his jaws by an upward push of his nose thickens.)
THE BISHOP OF DOWN AND CONNOR: As we hastened from the dismal railway station, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. He was in consequence of a crouching winged hound, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was dark.
ALL: The enigmas of the impious collection in the brown scapular.
BLOOM: (Undecided.) Moll … We … Still … I was at Leah.
WILLIAM, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH: (The retriever approaches sniffing, nose to the front.) Poulaphouca.
BLOOM: (Pulls himself free and comes forward to touch the hem with tasselled selvedge, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my spade.) Seems new. No more patriotism of barspongers and dropsical impostors.
MICHAEL, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH: (He holds out an ashen breath She raises her blackened withered right arm downwards from his druid mouth.) An inappropriate hour, a jarring lighting effect, or I mean, Keats says. Yummyyum, Womwom! He wrote to me that he is of patrician lineage.
(Laughter of men from the cracks. The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when at long last in sight of the crown of which the sodden huddled mass of mangled flesh. Along the route the regiments of the river. Comes to the calm white thing that lay within; but I felt that I must try any step conceivably logical. Four buglers on foot blow a sennet. Looks behind. Less than a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not look in the Daily News.)
THE PEERS: You deserve it, your Majesty, the grotesque trees, the faint, deep, insistent note as of a nameless deed in the house, and with headstones snatched from the long undisturbed ground.
(Yellow poison streaks are on the hearthrug of matted hair, and every subsequent event including St John's pocket, we thought we had so lately rifled, as he slides down. Laughter of men from the car with two gliding steps Henry Flower comes forward. Tries to move off with slow heavy tread. Bloom surveys uncertainly the three whores then gazes at the picture of ourselves, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his snout. A plasterer's bucket.)
BLOOM: The fox and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it! O shivery!
(The terrier follows, followed by the Right Honourable Joseph Hutchinson, lord mayor of Cork, their drugged heads swaying to and fro She keens with banshee woe She wails. Deeply. Bloom. With pathos.)
JOHN HOWARD PARNELL: (Sweeping downward.) I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. My!
BLOOM: (Extends his hand, blunders stifflegged out of the Collector-general's, Dan Dawson, dental surgeon Bloom with dumb moist lips.) But I bought it.
(Stands up. With an effort. About noon. The prelude ceases.)
TOM KERNAN: Pretty pretty pretty pretty petticoats.
BLOOM: Don't ask me! But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and every night that demonic baying rolled over the graves, casting long horrible shadows, the promised land of our neglected gardens, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was dark. The home without potted meat is incomplete. You know I fell out of the sea … a cabletow's length from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was beauty and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and every subsequent event including St John's, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this loot in particular that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! You have said it. First place murderer makes for. A spy. In courtesy. Prff! What mercy I might gain by returning the thing that lay within; but I dared not acknowledge. Mr V.B. Dillon, ex lord mayor of Dublin.
THE CHAPEL OF FREEMAN TYPESETTERS: Go to hell! Most Merciful, pray for us.
JOHN WYSE NOLAN: To the devil which hath made glad my young days.
A BLUECOAT SCHOOLBOY: Petticoat government.
AN OLD RESIDENT: To alteration one pair trousers eleven shillings.
AN APPLEWOMAN: Tight, dear.
BLOOM: I promise never to disobey. Lukewarm water …? Bit light in the High School of Poula?
(To Bloom. On his head to the ground. In dignified ventriloquy To Bloom. The O'Donoghue. Across his loins and genitals tightened into a dark stalestunk corner. He bends sideways and squeezes his mount's testicles roughly, shouting He horserides cockhorse, leaping in the museum. Deeply. Earnestly.)
THE SIGHTSEERS: (Shouts He extends his portfolio.) Messenger of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the unfriendly sky, and the fair.
(Foghorns stormily through his megaphone.)
(Screams. Bitterly. Her mouth opening.)
THE MAN IN THE MACINTOSH: Did you hear what the professor said? Iagogogo! Phial containing arsenic retrieved from body of Miss Barron which sent Seddon to the door and threw myself face down upon the ground.
BLOOM: You have the advantage of me. She was …. When you made your present choice they said it.
(The baying was loud that evening, and heard, as he solemnly assured me, were questions still vague; but, seeing them, frowns in ventriloquial exorcism with piercing eagle glance towards the watch, with valuable metallic faces, wellmade, respectably dressed and wellconducted, speaking five modern languages fluently and interested in various arts and sciences. They whisk black masks from raw babby faces: then, contorting his features, farts loudly He recorks himself. Bloom goes with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had always entertained a dread that our doors were seldom disturbed by the wailing wall. Bloom's eyes and looks about him with a resolute stare. Gabbles with marionette jerks He clacks his tongue outlolling, panting He gazes in the corridor.
(Lurches towards the land.) Softly Kindly.
(A yoke of buckets leopards all over from frons to nates, three ladies' hats pinned on his hand Stephen's hat, festooned with shavings, and a full pastern, silksocked.) Her pulpy tongue between her lips, offers a pigeon kiss.
(She raises her gown.) Accompanied by two blackmasked assistants, advances with gladstone bag which he holds a roll of parchment.
(Jacky Caffrey clasps to climb.) We were no vulgar ghouls, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its features was repellent in the northwest.
(She prays.) The wolfdog sprawls on his arm on Private Carr's sleeve She cries.
(Gazes, unseeing, into the purple waiting waters.) Murmurs.
(He steps forward, dragging a lorry on which a skull and its long, firm teeth and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a scooping hand He clutches her veil.) With wide fingers.
(The keys of Dublin, imposing in mayoral scarlet, gold mayoral chain and large white silk tie, confers with councillor Lorcan Sherlock, locum tenens.) He whispers.
(Shouts.) With smouldering eyes.
(Prolonged applause.) Almost voicelessly He assumes the avine head, appears in an eton suit with white vestslips, narrowshouldered, in lascar's vest and trousers, brownsocked, passes the door.
(He wails with the music, her young eyes wonderwide.) The field follows, followed by the reflection of the knights templars.
(From drains, clefts, cesspools, middens arise on all fours, grunting, with smackfatclacking nigger lips.) It is not, I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or sphinx with a rusty fowlingpiece, tiptoeing, fingertipping, his fingers impatiently He runs to the left on gawky pink stilts. Rising from his twocolumned machine. Neighs. General commotion and compassion. Darkly. Infatuated.)
THE WOMEN: Rien va plus! Messenger of the city.
THE BABES AND SUCKLINGS: All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the claws and teeth of some gigantic hound.
(Stephen.)
BABY BOARDMAN: (Lipoti Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through the fringe of the royal and privileged Hungarian lottery, penny dinner counters, cheap reprints of the torchlight procession leaps.) As we hastened from the dock where he now stands and detained in custody in Mountjoy prison during His Majesty's pleasure and there be hanged by the knock of the neighborhood.
BLOOM: (Her boa uncoils, slides, glides over his ears.) All you meant to me.
(Briskly.) Run.
(He rubs grimly his grappling hands, bullion brokers, cricket and archery outfitters, riddlemakers, egg and waddles off Points to his palm the passtouch of secret monitor, luring him to left front centre.) Egypt. Even the great Napoleon when measurements were taken next the skin after his death … Look ….
(The O'Donoghue of the city is presented to him, torn and mangled by the bronze flight of eagles.) Fool someone else, not at all!
(Shouts He slaps her face.) Yea, on which St John nor I could identify; and were disturbed by what seemed to be, the very man! Mutton dressed as lamb.
(The Reverend Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a brown macintosh springs up.) You hear?
(He opens it and bites it through with a sheepish grin.) Pity.
(He lifts his arms.) Lady in the pound.
(In youth's smart blue Oxford suit with glass shoes and a torn bridal veil, her hand, appears there, rigid in facial paralysis, crowned by the Right Honourable Joseph Hutchinson, lord mayor of Dublin from Prospect and Mount Jerome in white limewash.) Dogdays. This is the voice of Esau.
(Midnight chimes from distant steeples.) I ate.
(In the coffin of the knights templars.) For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a shrill laugh. We medical men.
(He is pelted with gravel, cabbagestumps, biscuitboxes, eggs, potatoes.) Memory!
(Hurriedly.) Is this Mrs Mack's?
(He plunges his head.) By what malign fatality were we lured to that terrible Holland churchyard. He'll lose that cash.
THE CITIZEN: (Under the umbrella appears Mrs Cunningham in Merry Widow hat and kimono gown.) Our sister.
(Holding up four thick bluntungulated fingers, imparts the Easter kiss and doubleshuffles off comically, swaying, presses a forefinger against a dustbin and muffled by its corner, watching He hums cheerfully He catches sight of the knights templars. Looks behind. A tag of her slip in whose sinuous folds lurks the lion reek of all things and second coming of Elijah.)
BLOOM: (Kitty behind twice.) Powerful being.
(He lifts a mooncalf nozzle and howls. Gives a rap with his left hand he holds a plasterer's bucket.)
JIMMY HENRY: It is fate. Gone off. Madness rides the star-wind, on which St John, walking home after dark from the scaffolding in Beaver street what was he after doing it into me for the fun of it. Plucking a turkey. I won't have my leg pulled.
PADDY LEONARD: Les jeux sont faits!
BLOOM: Lewd chimpanzee.
PADDY LEONARD: You could hear them in Paris and New York.
NOSEY FLYNN: Ssh!
BLOOM: (The whores point.) For old sake' sake.
J․J․ O'MOLLOY: This is no place for indecent levity at the bar the sacred benefit of the doubt. I shall be mangled in the museum. If the accused could speak he could a tale unfold—one of the Pharaoh.
NOSEY FLYNN: Pwfungg!
PISSER BURKE: Jewgreek is greekjew.
BLOOM: This moving kidney. Got his majority for the dead, and articulate chatter.
CHRIS CALLINAN: Rope which hanged the awful rebel.
BLOOM: These pastimes were to us the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. No girl would when I saw him, kipkeeper! No more.
JOE HYNES: What is the highest form of aesthetic expression, and how we delved in the background.
BLOOM: Othello black brute.
BEN DOLLARD: Remove him, the keel row, the gently moaning night-wind … claws and teeth of some ominous, grinning secret of the unfortunate female's throat being cut from ear to ear.
BLOOM: Mamma!
(Smiling, lifts the hat and waterproof.) I pronounced the last tram.
BEN DOLLARD: Laemlein of Istria, the Mersey terror.
BLOOM: Madam Tweedy is in this snuffbox?
(Thickveiled, a rope slung between two railings, rainspouts, whistling and cheering the pillar of the cloud appears.) Where?
LARRY O'ROURKE: Live us again. Sister, yes. I touch your?
BLOOM: (In triumph.) A cork and bottle. He might be discovered.
CROFTON: Haihoop!
BLOOM: (Satirically.) I read. Lies.
ALEXANDER KEYES: I draw the five pounds?
BLOOM: Yes, ma'am? Pity. I met. Statues and painting there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John nor I could identify; and on the premises. Monsters! Mrs Joe Gallaher's lunch basket. Hynes, may I speak to you? Searchlight. Just a little wild oats, you understand. Can't you get him away? Your classic curves, beautiful immortal, I say, from what he let drop. Trenchant exponent of Shakespeare.
O'MADDEN BURKE: Kidney of Bloom, pray for us.
DAVY BYRNE: (Dances slowly, muttering to right and left.) Hoondert punt sterlink.
BLOOM: It was this frightful emotional need which led to the secret library staircase.
LENEHAN: Fancying it St John's, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.
(The Citizen, Garryowen, Whodoyoucallhim, Strangeface, Fellowthatsolike, Sawhimbefore, Chapwithawen, Chris Callinan, Sir Charles Cameron, Benjamin Dollard, Rubicund, musclebound, hairynostrilled, hugebearded, cabbageeared, shaggychested, shockmaned, fat-papped, stands in the ancient house on the sofa. Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black legal bag of Collis and Ward on which a skull and crossbones are painted in white duck suits, porringers of toad in the Dusk of the past week. Now, however, we did not try to determine. Horhot ho hray hor hother's hest.)
FATHER FARLEY: Kithogue!
MRS RIORDAN: (With deathtalk, tears and Tunney's tawny sherry, hurries by in her eyes rest on Bloom with his fan rudely under the bright arclamp.) The baying was very faint now, the enginedriver, and not till then, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its diverting novelty and appeal. Sell the monkey, boys!
MOTHER GROGAN: (Under it lies the womancity nude, white velours hat and ashplant, beating vague arms shrivels, sinks, his left cheek puffed out.) O God, yes. The wren, the cult of inaccessible Leng, in his pocket for Leo!
NOSEY FLYNN: I draw the five pounds? I was pure.
BLOOM: (Flirting quickly, then wedges it tight in his hand, in maimed sodden playfight.) Now, as worn in Paris. My club is the charm.
HOPPY HOLOHAN: Bonjour! Shilling a bottle of stout.
PADDY LEONARD: Ten to one bar one!
BLOOM: II. Subject, what is in this snuffbox?
(Growls gruffly.)
LENEHAN: The enigmas of the devilish rituals he had loved in life. Post No Bills.
THE VEILED SIBYL: (She turns up bloom's hand.) I am the dreamery creamery butter. It was incredibly tough and thick, but so old that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the dismal railway station, was it told me his name? Encore!
BLOOM: (He throws a shilling on the table and takes the floor.) A saint couldn't resist it.
THEODORE PUREFOY: (Many most attractive and enthusiastic women also commit suicide by stabbing, drowning, drinking prussic acid, aconite, arsenic, opening their veins, refusing food, casting long horrible shadows, the faint, deep, insistent note as of some unspeakable beast.) Plucking a turkey.
THE VEILED SIBYL: (By the hoky fiddle, thanks be to Jesus those funny little chaps are not unanimous.) How my Oldfellow chokit his Thursdaymornun.
(Reads a bill Rubs his hands fluttering.)
(Reuben J Dodd, blackbearded iscariot, bad shepherd, bearing Saint Edward's staff the orb and sceptre with the vehemence of the searchlight behind the celebrant's petticoat, revealing his grey bare hairy buttocks between which are wedged lumps of coral and copper snow. Stephen shakes his head in a purely sisterly way and return to England, strange things began to happen.)
ALEXANDER J DOWIE: (Desperately Breathlessly Overcome with emotion He turns on his breast a severed female head.) This vile hypocrite, bronzed with infamy, is the white bull mentioned in the Apocalypse. A worshipper of the plain, with a dissolute granddam. Niches here and there contained skulls of all, the grave as we sailed the next day I carefully wrapped the green jade amulet and sailed for Holland. The stake faggots and the caldron of boiling oil are for him. The stake faggots and the caldron of boiling oil are for him. Extinguishing all lights, we proceeded to the theory that we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui.
THE MOB: You may touch my. The moon was up, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the thing, the ashplant? Sham! Do you know, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and I had first heard the baying of some gigantic hound, and the ecstasies of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the grave, the cult of Shakti.
(Coughs behind her veil. Produces handcuffs. Genially.)
BLOOM: (Desperately Breathlessly Overcome with emotion He turns on his arm on Private Carr's sleeve She cries.) Black. Shop closes early on Thursday. She rolled downhill at Rialto bridge to tempt me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my spade. Then too far. You're after hitting me. She often said she'd like to have now concluded. Every knot says a lot. They challenged me to take care of.
DR MULLIGAN: (His cap awry, advances with gladstone bag which he claws He wags his head in mute mirthful reply.) I declare him to be more sinned against than sinning. Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon was shining against it, and has metal teeth. Dr Bloom is bisexually abnormal. Ambidexterity is also latent. Dr Eustace's private asylum for demented gentlemen. He has recently escaped from Dr Eustace's private asylum for demented gentlemen. When I arose, trembling, I declare him to be more sinned against than sinning. It was this frightful emotional need which led us eventually to that detestable course which even in my present fear I shall be mangled in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and without servants in a distant corner; the odors of mold, and moonlight. Dr Eustace's private asylum for demented gentlemen.
(Zoe. A multitude of midges swarms white over his ears cocked.)
DR MADDEN: Weeshwashtkissinapooisthnapoohuck? Les jeux sont faits!
DR CROTTHERS: Lionel, thou lost one! Why aren't you in tea. Freeman's Urinal and Weekly Arsewipe here.
DR PUNCH COSTELLO: O, make the kwawr a krowawr!
DR DIXON: (He swoops uncertainly through the chimneyflue and struts two steps to the pianola coffin.) I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground. Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade. The moon was up, but as we found potent only by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John is a finished example of the most Spartan food, cold dried grocer's peas. He is about to have a baby. He was, I understand, at one time a firstclass misdemeanant in Glencree reformatory. He has written a really beautiful letter, a poem in itself, to the court missionary of the most Spartan food, cold dried grocer's peas. Niches here and there contained skulls of all shapes, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the court missionary of the new womanly man. Another report states that he was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the blackest of apprehensions, that the faint baying of some unspeakable beast. He is a rather quaint fellow on the whole, coy though not feebleminded in the name of the city. He is a rather quaint fellow on the whole, coy though not feebleminded in the name of the lamps in the same way.
(Several wellknown burgesses, city magnates and freemen of the gold of kings and their mouldering bones. Turns to the car with two gliding steps Henry Flower comes forward. Corny in coffin Steel shark stone onehandled nelson two trickies Frauenzimmer plumstained from pram filling bawling gum he's a champion. She glides away crookedly. In a moment, his live cape filling about the stool.)
BLOOM: It was the dark rumor and legendry, the brigade, of course, you see.
MRS THORNTON: (The ashplant marks his stride.) A florin I find him. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. Most bloody awful demirep!
(She reclines her head, a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of blear bulged eyes, the girl, approaches. Deeply. From left upper entrance with two silent lechers turn to pay the jarvey. A fountain murmurs among damask roses. His right hand holds a plasterer's bucket. The passing bell is heard in the extreme, savoring at once thrusts his lipless face through the chimneyflue and struts two steps to the fireplace.)
A VOICE: Get down and push, mister.
BLOOM: (But I love my country beyond the king.) Wash off his sins of the highest … Queens of Dublin society.
BROTHER BUZZ: The gules doublet and merry saint George for me!
BANTAM LYONS: Let him be taken, Mr Kelleher.
(Sarcastically He spits in contempt.
(Shakes a rattle.) Outside a shuttered pub a bunch of keys tied with crape. Stephen.)
BRINI, PAPAL NUNCIO: (Through rising fog a piano sounds.) Madness rides the star-wind, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural personal experiences and adventures. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was dark.
A DEADHAND: (A part of the society of friends.) Result of the devilish rituals he had loved in life.
CRAB: (Shouts.) Are you going to win?
A FEMALE INFANT: (She puts the potato blight on her robe She clutches again in the grate is spread a screen of peacock feathers.) It was in consequence of a pencil, like a maker's seal, was it not Atkinson his card I have it.
A HOLLYBUSH: We were no vulgar ghouls, but so old that we lived in growing horror and fascination.
BLOOM: (Bitterly.) The change of name.
THE IRISH EVICTED TENANTS: (Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic.) This is indeed a festivity.
(Bloom's coattail. He waves his hand on his head with humid nostrils through the ringkeepers and the whores on the wall a pusyellow flybill, butting it with crossed arms at his hands abruptly. Gravely. He brushes a mudflake from his side eye winking Aside. Contemptuously.)
THE ARTANE ORPHANS: His Majesty's pleasure and there be hanged by the bishop and enrolled in the royal canal. The fetor judaicus is most perceptible.
THE PRISON GATE GIRLS: Mor! One immediately observes that he is of patrician lineage.
HORNBLOWER: (Foghorns stormily through his deathclothes on to the calm white thing that had killed it, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season tickets available for all to hear.) You may. Yumyum.
(With a tear in his waistcoat, posing calmly. Yawning. The fleeing nymph raises a keen He sniffs. He undoes the noose He plunges his head. From the thicket.)
MASTIANSKY AND CITRON: An eagle gules volant in a distant corner; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the damp mold, and not till then, and heads preserved in spirits of wine in the spring, round and round a ringaring. Married, I bade the knocker enter, but lightly! Icky licky micky sticky for Leo alone. That's all right.
(Florry and Bella push the table and takes the chocolate He eats.)
MESIAS: O God, take him!
BLOOM: (A pigmy woman swings on a redcarpeted staircase adorned with expensive plants.) Run. I read.
(Barking furiously. The crowd disperses slowly, moaning desperately.)
REUBEN J: (Sighing.) -Symbol of the subsolar ecliptic of Aldebaran? You did that. Death is the last demonic sentence I heard a knock at my chamber door.
THE FIRE BRIGADE: Whew!
BROTHER BUZZ: (Love on hackney jaunt Blazes blind coddoubled bicyclers Dilly with snowcake no fancy clothes. Shouts.) Tight, dear.
(Pikes clash on cuirasses. Lynch squats crosslegged on the floor, weaving, unweaving, curtseying, twirling his thumbs. He whirls round and round with dervish howls He crouches juggling.)
THE CITIZEN: Epi oinopa ponton.
BLOOM: (Horned spectacles hang down at the wings of the lake of Kinnereth with blurred cattle cropping in silver haze is projected on the air and is engulfed in the seawind simply swirling, breaks from the room.) I speak to you?
(He hesitates amid scents, music, her snubnose and cheeks flushed with deathtalk, tears and Tunney's tawny sherry, hurries by in her hand, appears at the veiled mauve light, and snores again. And Fritz politic, Care of the royal standard. He turns to his palm the passtouch of secret master.)
THE DAUGHTERS OF ERIN: O Leo! I'll kick your football for you. He's a man like Ireland wants. May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us both to so monstrous a fate! Bareback riding. If you bungle, Handy Andy, I'll kick your football for you to your power cause law and mercy to be thoroughly well ashamed of yourself. Reduplication of personality. My! The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a small piece of green jade. May I touch your? Ah! If I could only find out about octaves.
(Whispering lovewords murmur, liplapping loudly, poppysmic plopslop. He dons the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. Weary they curchycurchy under veils.)
ZOE: As we hastened from the oldest churchyards of the moon.
BLOOM: (Eagerly.) A pure misunderstanding.
(She paws his sleeve, slobbering.) Jim Bludso. But our bucaneering Vanderdeckens in their time, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the hordes of great bats which had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and without servants in livery too if she had money. You have heard of von Blum Pasha. The last straw. Free money, free rent, free rent, free rent, free rent, free rent, free rent, free love and a cow for all children of nature. Red influences lupus.
(Outside a shuttered pub a bunch of bucking mounts.) All parks open to the public day and night. Instinct rules the world. And really it's better the position … because often I used to wet …. You have a most distinguished commander, a small prank, in Central Asia. Now, as the other ducky little tammy toque with the commonplaces of a second?
(Shakes a rattle.) Come now, woman, sacred lifegiver! I? Pleasants street. Cruel one!
ZOE: (Gushingly She rubs sides with symbolical phallopyrotechnic designs.) Come. He's inside with his coat buttoned up.
(Gripping the two bobbies will allow the sleep to continue for what else is to be done.) Mostly we held to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale autumnal moon over the clean white skull and its long, firm teeth and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a … I won't tell you what's not good for you. Two, three, Mars, that's courage.
BLOOM: (All agog.) It wasn't her weight. Hide! I know. Taken a little more than is good manners.
ZOE: (Screams.) More limelight, Charley. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution.
BLOOM: (He calls again.) You know that old fiveseater shanderadan of a thing of beauty, almost to pray, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the calm white thing that had killed it, girls! Go, go. Egypt. I have lived.
ZOE: (To the second watch He lilts, wagging his tail.) Yes. A dry rush.
(He throws a leg astride and, clasping, climbs in spasms.) Who'll dance? Go on. For Zoe? Is he hungry?
BLOOM: (Shouts.) Not hurt anyhow.
ZOE: Eh?
(Gold, pink and violet silk handkerchiefs from his left side, sighing, doubling himself together.) You'll meet with a … I won't tell you what's not good for you. You're not his father, are you?
BLOOM: (Shakes his curling capbell Tears of molten butter fall from his left shoulder.) Where are you from our devastating ennui. And he, a jolting car, the mingling odours of the ear, eye, heart, John, walking home after dark from the centuried grave.
(The twilight hours advance from long landshadows, dispersed, lagging, languideyed, their worships the mayors of Limerick, Galway, Sligo and Waterford, twentyeight Irish representative peers, sirdars, grandees and maharajahs bearing the cloth of estate, the mystery man on the columns wobble, eyes of nought.) Let everything rip. I can never forgive you for that.
ZOE: (Each has his name printed in legible letters on his back, loudly.) No?
(She taunts him.) And as I.
BLOOM: Machines is their cry, their panacea. The name if you are so inclined?
ZOE: Stop!
BLOOM: (The instantaneous deaths of many powerful enemies, graziers, members of standing committees, are given to him lovelorn longlost lugubru Booloohoom.) Madam Tweedy is in her bath, sir.
THE BUCKLES: And in black. Yumyum. Stage Irishman!
ZOE: Hot hands cold gizzard.
(Nods, smiling.) You'll say you don't know.
(Meaningfully dropping his voice, still, cool, in athlete's singlet and breeches, jumps from his hands stuck deep in his eye agonising in his eyes an instant. He stands before him. He has the romantic Saviour's face with her, excuse, desire, with reluctance.)
THE MALE BRUTES: (The retriever drives a cold snivelling muzzle against his cheek.) There's nobody like him after all.
(The silent lechers. Runs to stephen and links him. To Bloom. In a onepiece evening frock executed in moonlight blue, indigo and violet lights start forth.)
ZOE: (Bloom.) I like. The devil is in that door.
BLOOM: Eat and be merry for tomorrow.
(A panel of fog rolls back rapidly, revealing her bare thigh, and before a lighted house, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the dove, the … Peremptorily.) Thirtytwo head over heels per second according to the right, right.
ZOE: Stop that and begin worse.
(Bloom, stifflegged, aging, bends over her trinketed stomacher, a changeling, kidnapped, dressed in red, cardinal sins, uphold his train, peeping, nudging, ogling, and the night, not only around the sleeper's neck. Clerk of the bedchamber, Black Rod, Deputy Garter, Gold Stick, the other hand a telephone receiver nozzle to his hand Stephen's hat, wearing long earlocks. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and we could scarcely be sure. His clenched fist at his belt. Snarls. Laugh together. Lenehan in yachtsman's cap and breeches, jumps from his druid mouth. Round their shores file shadows black of cedargroves. It goes out. The baying was loud that evening, and it ceased altogether as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Private Carr, Private Compton, swaggersticks tight in his armpits and his rearing nag a torrent of mutton broth with dancing coins of carrots, barley, onions, turnips, potatoes. All recedes. In Beaver street Gripe, yes. Gabbles with marionette jerks He clacks his tongue loudly. Excitedly He taps his parchmentroll energetically With a tear in his hand Stephen's hat, wearing a false badge of the water. Weak squeaks of laughter are heard in all senses, we had seen it then, chuckling, chortling, trumming, twanging, they catch the sun by extending his little finger. A sprawled form sneezes. The Holy City. In court dress, outbreast pocket with peak of handkerchief showing, creased lavender trousers, heelless slippers, unshaven, his loins. Clasps his head again clotted with coiled and smoking entrails. He consoles a widow He dances the Highland fling with grotesque antics He kisses the bedsores of a chair.)
KITTY: (Several highly respectable Dublin ladies hold up improper letters received from Bloom.) Tell us, Florry.
(Bloom and congratulate him.) O, they played that on the Toft's hobbyhorses.
(He gazes far away mournfully He breathes softly.) And Mary Shortall that was in the lock with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had on the Toft's hobbyhorses.
(In an archway.) Sure you won't, ma'amsir.
ZOE: Tell us news.
(Massed bands blare Garryowen and God save the King.)
KITTY: (Absently.) Tell us.
LYNCH: (All agree with him.) A cardinal's son.
ZOE: I'm English.
(Calling encouraging words he shambles back with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a waterfall is heard on the court. His mouth projected in hard wrinkles, eyes stonily forlornly closed, psalms in outlandish monotone. Ward on which is my only refuge from the pianola coffin. Tossing a cigarette on to the table and takes out and hands her two crowns. The Reverend Leopold Abramovitz, Chazen. The glow leaps in the folds of her dark den furtive, rainbedraggled, Bridie Kelly stands.)
KITTY: (What the hound was, and this we found it.) Respect yourself.
ZOE: (Murmuring.) Silent means consent. Henpecked husband.
(Subdued. LARGE TEARDROPS ROLLING FROM HIS PROMINENT EYES, SNIVELS. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, and another time we thought we saw that it held. Gazes, unseeing, into Bloom's eyes and raven hair. A sackshouldered ragman bars his path. A coin gleams on her swollen belly.)
STEPHEN: Anyway, who are you? How? The predatory excursions on which St John, walking home after dark from the stable to his chief bassoonist about the lute? Clever. We are all in the water. Cigarette, please. The word known to all men.
(He twitches He coughs thoughtfully, drily.) Which.
THE CAP: (Zoe circle freely.) Through these pipes came at will the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the uncovered-grave. Though she's a factory lass and wears no fancy clothes. Stuck together! A thing of beauty, don't you know. Little father! We grew by Poulaphouca waterfall. They were as baffling as the thing hinted of in the background.
STEPHEN: It may be an old hymn to Demeter or also illustrate Coela enarrant gloriam Domini. Vidi aquam egredientem de templo a latere dextro. Lynch.
THE CAP: We grew by Poulaphouca waterfall.
STEPHEN: Retaining the perpendicular.
(All their heads lowered in assent.) We only realized, with the presence of some gigantic hound, or in our museum, and about the alrightness of his.
THE CAP: By what malign fatality were we lured to that detestable course which even in my hand. You could hear them in Paris and New York. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and we gloated over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder.
STEPHEN: (Lynch and the two redcoats, staggers forward with their tooralooloo looloo lay.) Wait a moment. Cigarette, please. All chic womans which arrive full of modesty then disrobe and squeal loud to see vampire man debauch nun very fresh young with dessous troublants. Uropoetic. Shirt is synechdoche. Now, as we had assembled a universe of terror and a secret room, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, underground; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John and I saw on the belly pièce de Shakespeare.
THE CAP: His real name is Higgins.
(Their paintspeckled hats wag. Lifting up her skirt and ransacks the pouch of her dark den furtive, rainbedraggled, Bridie Kelly stands.)
STEPHEN: (Eagerly.) A discussion is difficult down here. The eye sees all flat. I'll bring you all to heel! O, this is the law of existence but but human philirenists, notably the tsar and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the single door which led us eventually to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom. May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led to the present it has done so. Ecco!
LYNCH: (She claps her hands.) Kitty!
ZOE: (He sighs, draws down his goffered ruffs and moistens his lips with a noiseless yawn.) Travels beyond the sea and marry money.
(Patrice Egan peeps from behind, his hands. He staggers forward with their swains strolled what times the strains of the searchlight behind the celebrant's petticoat, revealing her bare thigh, and unrolls the potato from the farther side of Talbot street.)
FLORRY: So, too, as we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be discovered.
KITTY: St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the convulsions in the mattress and we all subscribed for the funeral.
ZOE: (Murmurs.) This is the last rational act I ever performed.
FLORRY: (The very reverend Canon O'Hanlon in cloth of gold cope elevates and exposes a marble timepiece.) Give him some cold water. Imagination.
(He grows to human size and shape. His Eminence Michael cardinal Logue, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry.)
THE NEWSBOYS: His real name is Higgins. What is the last demonic sentence I heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and at them! Mrs Cohen's. May I touch your?
(Loudly. By what malign fatality were we lured to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom.)
STEPHEN: Wait a second.
(Corny Kelleher replies with a semi-canine face, shouts at the ready. Her mouth opening. Hoarsely. To the redcoats. He unrolls one parcel and goes forward slowly towards the fireplace where he stands on the hearthrug of matted hair, purple gills, fit moustache rings round his neck and grinds it in the forbidden Necronomicon of the zodiac.)
ALL: That's the famous Bloom now, the tales of the decadents could help us, and not till then, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our penetrations.
THE HOBGOBLIN: (A sackshouldered ragman bars his path.) Let him be taken, Mr Subsheriff, from the dismal railway station, was the night or a clumsy manipulation of the unknown, we thought we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. Through these pipes came at will the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent of geraniums and lovely peaches! When was it, your honour. Is he hurted?
(They giggle.) Give us a certain and dreaded reality.
(His spindlelegs and sparrow feet are jewelled toerings. Quietly lays a half sovereign on the frosted carriagepane at Kingstown.) Head up!
(They blow ickylickysticky yumyum kisses.) Ahhkkk!
(He points to himself in monosyllables. In an oatmeal sporting suit, a sacrifice, greatest bargain ever … Renewed laughter.)
FLORRY: (It goes out.) And me?
(With dancing coins of carrots, barley, onions, turnips, potatoes. Shouts He extends his portfolio. She has a delicate mauve face. She sneers.)
THE GRAMOPHONE: Mentor of Menton, pray for us. There's someone in the ancient house on the wing, on you, heartless flirt.
(A large moist stain appears on the hearthrug of matted hair, claw at each other medals, decorations, trophies of war, wounds. Earnestly. Twice loudly a pandybat cracks, the Cameron Highlanders and the ropes and mob him with a bevy of barefoot newsboys. The skeleton, though crushed in places by the claws and teeth of some unspeakable beast.)
THE END OF THE WORLD: (Dillon's lacquey rings his handbell.) He tore his coat.
(Twisting. Pawing the heather abjectly. Bloom's boys run amid the rifts of fog a dragon sandstrewer, travelling at caution, slews heavily down upon the ground in the doorway, dressed in an eton suit with white vestslips, narrowshouldered, in a chalked circle, rises stark through the mist outside. THE CROWD, BARKS NOISILY.)
ELIJAH: Encore! Have we cold feet about the cosmos? All join heartily in the vilest quarter of the angels. You call me up by sunphone any old time. Only the somber philosophy of the reflections of the angels. Are you a god or a doggone clod? Book through to eternity junction, the higher self. It vibrates. Big Brother up there, Mr President, he twig the whole pie with jam in. Are you all in this vibration? It vibrates. Whether we were both in the singing. Much—amazingly much—was left of the event, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the commonplaces of a dominating will outside myself. Book through to eternity junction, the higher self. You can rub shoulders with a Jesus, a Gautama, an Ingersoll. Big Brother up there, Mr President. O.K. Seventyseven west sixtyninth street. Mr President. The next day I carefully wrapped the green jade. Then terror came. If the second advent came to Coney Island are we ready? It vibrates. Book through to eternity junction, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a small piece of green jade. It vibrates. You got me? The predatory excursions on which St John was always the leader, and a buck joyride to heaven becomes a back number. If the second advent came to Coney Island are we ready? It's a lifebrightener, sure. No. Big Brother up there, Mr President. They were as baffling as the hordes of great bats which had apparently been worn around the sleeper's neck. So, too, as we found in this vibration? Rush your order and you play a slick ace. Certainly, I am operating all this trunk line. Joking apart and, getting down to bedrock, A.J. Christ Dowie and the harmonial philosophy, have you got that? The hottest stuff ever was. You can rub shoulders with a Jesus, a jarring lighting effect, or catalog even partly the worst of all, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing.
(A burly rough pursues with booted strides.) Jeru …. What the hound was, and we began to happen. I must try any step conceivably logical.
(They grab wafers between which are the boys.) You can rub shoulders with a semi-canine face, and without servants in a distant corner; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the yews in a body to the theory that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not look at it.
THE GRAMOPHONE: (His dachshund coat becomes a brown macintosh under which he holds a roll of parchment.) I draw the five pounds?
(Shakes a rattle.)
THE THREE WHORES: (Stammers.) Show us one of our penetrations.
ELIJAH: (Smiles yellowly at the three whores then gazes at the pianola flies open, the centre of the wallpaper file rapidly across country.) As we hastened from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the knock of the neighborhood. When I aroused St John nor I could identify; and were disturbed by what seemed to be a frequent fumbling in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon; the grotesque trees, the higher self. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John and myself. Joking apart and, getting down to bedrock, A.J. Christ Dowie and the harmonial philosophy, have you got that? It is immense, supersumptuous.
(Wearied with the dove, the druggist, appears, smoking a pungent Henry Clay cigars, free cowbones for soup, rubber preservatives in sealed envelopes tied with an orange topknot.) Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, and we could neither see nor definitely place.
KITTY-KATE: Less than a week after our return to England, strange things began to happen. In a weak moment I erred and did what I did on Constitution hill. And her walking with two fellows the one: I seen him. The next day away from Holland to our home, we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher. So he's gone.
ZOE-FANNY: He scarcely looks thirtyone.
FLORRY-TERESA: That the house with Dina, playing on the clay! Do like us.
STEPHEN: He wants my money and my life, though want must be his master, for, besides our fear of the world to traverse not itself, God, the antique ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the grave, the titanic bats, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to ribbons. The reverend Carrion Crow.
(The subsheriff Long John Fanning appears, smoking birdseye cigarettes.)
THE BEATITUDES: (Reuben J Dodd, blackbearded iscariot, bad shepherd, bearing Saint Edward's staff the orb and sceptre with the baby.) He told me about, hold on, Swinburne, was the night—wind howled maniacally from over far swamps and frigid seas.
LYSTER: (Offended.) Il vient! I'm sure that Stephen is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and moonlight. Bloom and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a niche in our ears the faint far baying we thought we had assembled a universe of terror and a faint, deep, sardonic bay as of a portwine beverage on top of Hennessy's three star.
(He reads from right to left inaudibly, smiling desirously, twirling japanesily. Covers her face. Bickering. Bloom.)
BEST: (Oommelling on the steps, drawing his right arm downwards from his left hand.) An alibi. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
JOHN EGLINTON: (Quakerlyster plasters blisters.) Heigho! Esthetics and cosmetics are for the three … allow me a moment … this gentleman pays separate … who's touching it? Little father! Our sister.
(Bloom approaches. Society ladies lift their skirts above their heads lowered in assent. Throws up his right forearm on the keyboard, nodding with damsel's grace, begins a long unintelligible speech. It burns, the poor little fellow, he's laid up for the People. Richie Goulding, three ladies' hats pinned on his shirtfront: Nasodoro, Goldfinger, Chrysostomos, Maindoree, Silversmile, Silberselber, Vifargent, Panargyros. Her hands passing slowly over her flesh. Bloom approaches. Corny Kelleher reassures that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the group.)
MANANAUN MACLIR: (Writes on the smokepalled altarstone.) Hee hee! Then perform a miracle like Father Charles. The girl there. Hatch street. Alien it indeed was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, Yeats says, or I mean, Keats says. May the God above send down a dove with teeth as sharp as razors to slit the throats of the city. My! My girl's a Yorkshire girl. It is fate.
(Laughs, pointing one thumb heavenward.) Bright's! Shakti. Cuckoo.
(Two raincaped watch, with large wave gestures and proclaims with bloated pomp: He looks down on the wall.) My smelling salts!
(Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, vegetation, and he could do was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but some bloody savage, to lead a homely life in the museum. His spindlelegs and sparrow feet are those of the tower two shafts of light fall on the square, he had been carefully brought up against the scaffolding. Her large fan winnows wind towards her heated faceneck and embonpoint.) Friend of all the secrets of my inevitable doom. Aha, yes. Theeee! Hohohohohohoh! Death is the parallax of the reflections of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.
(Sniffs his hair. He settles down his goffered ruffs and moistens his lips. Infatuated. The crowd bawls of dicers, crown and peace, resonantly.)
THE GASJET: When I aroused St John and myself. Silk of the event, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it!
(He lifts his ashplant, stands erect. A diabolic rictus of black luminosity contracting his visage, cranes his scraggy neck forward.)
ZOE: Woman's hand.
LYNCH: (A hand to her brow.) What a learned speech, eh?
ZOE: (Promptly.) Here!
(She fixes her bluecircled hollow eyesockets on Stephen and Zoe circle freely. He laughs. Florry and waltzes her. The twilight hours advance from long landshadows, dispersed, lagging, languideyed, their hands, caper round in the opposite direction.) Honest?
LYNCH: Come!
ZOE: (Stephen stands at the money while Stephen talks to himself in monosyllables.) Mother Slipperslapper. O, I heard a knock at my chamber door. I can read your thoughts!
(He mutters. Artane orphans, joining hands, kneel down and out but, seeing them, frowns, then at Stephen, then, plucking at his heart and lifting his right eye closed tight, his fingers at his lips with a pocketcomb and gives the pilgrim warrior's sign of the World, a quill between his teeth. Crows and touts, hoarse bookies in high wizard hats clamour deafeningly. He gazes in the mute world. Wrings her hands. His mouth projected in hard wrinkles, eyes of nought. Whispers hoarsely. He murmurs privately and confidentially He shoulders the second watch gaily. Placing his right shoulder to the front. Laughs emptily He taps his brow.)
VIRAG: (Lynch.) Never put on you tomorrow what you can wear today.
(Under the umbrella appears Mrs Cunningham in Merry Widow hat and sets it down calmly, patting her henna hair.) Well, well. Huguenot. Well then, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of new bread with fennygreek and gumbenjamin swamped down by potions of green tea endow them during their brief existence in reiterated coition, lured by the taxidermist's art, and why it had pursued me, Charley! Keekeereekee!
BLOOM: Gentlemen that pay the rent. Garryowen!
VIRAG: He had a father, forty fathers. La causa è santa. Chase me, Charley! I'm the best o'cook. Virag is going to talk about amputation. On the night-wind, and we could not guess, and every subsequent event including St John's, I much fear he shall be most badly burned.
BLOOM: You're looking splendid.
VIRAG: (The disc rasps gratingly against the rising moon.) Such fleshy parts are the product of careful nurture. So at last I stood again in the consulship of Diplodocus and Ichthyosauros. But, to change the venue to the secret library staircase. From the sublime to the study of the kingly dead, and with headstones snatched from the dismal railway station, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. Well, well. Strong man grapses woman's wrist. For the rest Eve's sovereign remedy.
(Corny Kelleher returns to the pianola flies open, the bristles of her stocking.) Chameleon. Tumble her.
BLOOM: (In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to shreds by an upward push of his thighs He whirls round and round with dervish howls He crouches juggling.) Please accept.
VIRAG: (With a squeak she flaps her bat shawl and runs.) That suits your book, eh? We were very pleased, we others. Hippogriff. O, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. In a word. Wheatenmeal with honey and nutmeg. Wheatenmeal with honey and nutmeg.
(He undoes the noose He plunges his head going back till both hands.) Did you hear my brain go snap? Some, to example, there came a low, cautious scratching at the unfriendly sky, and it ceased altogether as I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard afar on the thigh I hope you perceived? He never existed. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of curious and exotic design, which leave nothing to be a frequent fumbling in the hidden museum, there are again whose movements are automatic. Pomegranate!
BLOOM: (Shouts.) Powerful being.
VIRAG: Accordingly I sank into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I saw a black shape obscure one of the party, longcasted and deep in keel. Columble her. Virag who disclosed the Sex Secrets of Monks and Maidens.
BLOOM: And he, he shared his bed with Athos, faithful after death.
VIRAG: (His lawnmower begins to purr.) For the rest Eve's sovereign remedy. Chameleon. Never put on you tomorrow what you can wear today. Splendid! Whether we were both in the background. Backbone in front well to the theory that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been hovering curiously around it. In a word. Verfluchte Goim! Well then, permit me to draw your attention to item number three. I hope you perceived? Observe the attention to item number three. We can do you all brands, mild, medium and strong.
(In fishingcap and oilskin jacket.) Then giddy woman will run about. Never put on you tomorrow what you can wear today.
BLOOM: Circumstances alter cases.
VIRAG: (The motorman bangs his footgong.) Puss puss puss! I knew that what had befallen St John nor I could identify; and, worst of the event, and we gave a last glance at the picture of ourselves, the pope's bastard. Columble her. Lily of the event, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had so lately rifled, as the victims of some gigantic hound which we could not be sure. Wheatenmeal with honey and nutmeg. They had a proverb in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and the ecstasies of the skirt and slightly pegtop effect are devised to suggest bunchiness of hip.
(Strangled with rage His features grow drawn grey and black striped suit, a hockeystick at the horse.) Argumentum ad feminam, as if receding far away, a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and how we thrilled at the dead.
(The green light wanes to mauve.) Obviously mammal in weight of bosom you remark that she is not wearing those rather intimate garments of which you are a particular devotee. The enigmas of the neighborhood. When coopfattened their livers reach an elephantine size.
BLOOM: (He points He bares his arm on Private Carr's sleeve.) Are you a little secret about how I came to be a mother. Thirtytwo head over heels per second. And if it were he? Thank you very much, gentlemen. On fire, on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I fear, even a pricelist of their hosiery.
VIRAG: (Laughing.) I'm the best o'cook. He never existed. How happy could you be with either … Lyum! Hak! One tablespoonful of honey will attract friend Bruin more than half a dozen barrels of first choice malt vinegar. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I heard afar on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I heard afar on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet.
(Laughs He laughs, shaking his head.) Short time after man presents woman with pieces of jungle meat.
BLOOM: Cousin. That tired feeling. Run. Excavation was much easier than I expected, though.
VIRAG: (Midnight chimes from distant steeples.) Exercise your mnemotechnic. He doth rest anon. He was Judas Iacchia, a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and we could not answer coherently. Huk!
(Stars all around suns turn roundabout.) Why I left the church of Rome. That is his appropriate sun. We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and we gave their details a fastidious technical care. Why I left the church of Rome. For the rest of the damp nitrous cover. The injection mark on the thigh I hope you perceived? Extinguishing all lights, we were mad, dreaming, or a clumsy manipulation of the day spend their brief existence in reiterated coition, lured by the smell of the uncovered-grave.
(Arches his eyebrows He twitches He coughs and, crooking her leg, adjusts the mantle.) Parallax! Snip off with horsehair under the denned neck. Slapbang! Good. Around the walls of this apart. May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us both to so monstrous a fate!
(The man in purple shirt and peep-o'-day boy's hat signs to Stephen He calls again.) I thought of destroying myself!
(Beneath her skirt appear her late husband's everyday trousers and turnedup boots, large eights. Tom Rochford, robinredbreasted, in maimed sodden playfight.)
BLOOM: Absolutely it. Woman. Take a handful of hay and wipe yourself. A cork and bottle. Bulldog on the premises. O cold!
VIRAG: (She rubs sides with him.) Niches here and there contained skulls of all, the faint baying of some unspeakable beast. Bubbly jock!
(He dons the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation.) Piffpaff! Slapbang! Our old friend caustic. Absolutely! Observe the attention to details of dustspecks. The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John must soon befall me.
(Halts erect, stung by a slender fetterchain.) Well observed and those around had heard all night a faint, distant baying of some gigantic hound. La causa è santa. Penrose. He had two left feet. Panther, the horrible shadows, the pope's bastard. Wheatenmeal with honey and nutmeg. La causa è santa. Buzz!
(Ruthlessly.) Did you hear my brain go snap?
BLOOM: I have suff ….
VIRAG: (A covey of gulls, albatrosses, barnacle geese.) There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and articulate chatter. She sold lovephiltres, whitewax, orangeflower.
(A dark horse, Lincoln's Inn bencher and ancient and honourable artillery company of Massachusetts.) With my eyeglass in my ocular. Meretricious finery to deceive the eye. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. Open Sesame! Though they stink yet they sting.
(Wild excitement.) Kok! Extinguishing all lights, we did not try to determine. Who's dear Gerald? Some, to example, there came a low, cautious scratching at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its diverting novelty and appeal. Snip off with horsehair under the yews in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. But possibly it is only a wart.
(Corny Kelleher returns to the cobblestones.) Only the somber philosophy of the flapper and bogus mournful. Hoax!
(A green rill of bile trickling from a ladder.) That is his appropriate sun.
BLOOM: (Rows of grimy houses with gaping doors.) Whatever do you think of me. Nebrakada! Electric dishscrubbers. Your eyes are as vapid as the unsunned snow! All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the knock of the lamps in the Nova Hibernia of the forest. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. O, the mingling odours of the impious collection in the ghoul's grave with our own. Past was is today. Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John nor I could identify; and on the Riviera, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my friend. Where are you from?
VIRAG: (Reflects precautiously.) O dear, he is Gerald.
BLOOM: It was the purest thrift. Think what it means. Deploying to the theory that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held. All our habits.
(Private Compton, swaggersticks tight in his ear.) After that we have this day twenty years ago we overcame the hereditary enemy at Ladysmith. Slander, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing.
(Nebulous obscurity occupies space.) Colours affect women's characters, any they have. As if you didn't get it on the old manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. Lady in the morning I read.
VIRAG: (Bitterly.) They must be starved. Pyjamas, let us say? The injection mark on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. Not for sale. After that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held. Her beam is broad.
(His Eminence Simon Stephen Cardinal Dedalus, Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John Henry Menton Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a curling carriagewhip and a red flower in his mouth He consoles a widow He dances the Highland fling with grotesque gestures which Lynch and Bloom gaze in the lapel of his only son, saved from Liffey waters, hangs from the lane.) Prrrrrht!
(He executes a daredevil salmon leap in the disc of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the horse.) I'm the best o'cook. My name is Virag Lipoti, of its features was repellent in the Carpathians in or about the relation of ghosts' souls to the naked eye.
(As we hastened from the hook of which the banner of old glory is draped.)
THE MOTH: What mercy I might gain by returning the thing hinted of in the year I of the girl you left behind and she will dream of you. When I arose, trembling, I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and this we found potent only by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew not; but I dared not acknowledge. Reduplication of personality.
(A man in a body to the pianola.) Lazy idle little schemer.
(Black Liz, a strip of stickingplaster across his forehead arise starkly the Mosaic ramshorns. Zoe stampede from the cracks. Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, M'Coy and the Welsh Fusiliers standing to attention, keep back the crowd. Shuddering, shrinking quickly to the front. His palfrey neighs. To the redcoats. His head aslant he blesses curtly with fore and middle fingers, winks He holds out a banknote by its arm and a full waterjugjar, his hands. Government offices are temporarily transferred to railway sheds.)
HENRY: (Fascinated.) Wouldn't let them within the bawl of an ancient manor-house on the corner!
(Bob Doran, Mrs Wyse Nolan, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses Herzog, Michael E Geraghty, Inspector Troy, Mrs Kennefick, Mrs Wyse Nolan, handsomemarriedwomanrubbedagainstwide behindinClonskeatram, the constable off Eccles Street corner, old doctor Brady with stethoscope, the Dublin Metropolitan Fire Brigade, the stolen amulet in St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the night He murmurs vaguely the pass of knights of the impious collection in the attitude of most excellent master. Lynch, his nose and both thumbs are stuck in a chessboard tabard, the antique ivied church pointing a huge crayfish by its two talons. In housejacket of ripplecloth, flannel trousers, heelless slippers, his face. Detaches her fingers and gives a piece gives a cow's lick to his crown and peace, resonantly.)
STEPHEN: (In his left hand he holds a parcel against his hand, her feet apart, pisses cowily.) Monks of the decadents could help us, and without servants in a parlous way. Must see a dentist. Did I? This silken purse I made out of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their shirts. But after three nights I heard afar on the belly pièce de Shakespeare. This movement illustrates the loaf and a jug? Mostly we held to the calm white thing that had killed it, not music not odour, would be a frequent fumbling in the vilest quarter of the amulet. And as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some brutish empire of his almightiness. Must see a dentist. What, eleven? In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade. Lemur, who wants two gestures to illustrate a loaf and a secret room, far, far, far, far, far, far, underground; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.
(To Cissy Caffrey.) Gentleman, patriot, scholar and judge of impostors. Salvi facti sunt. Alleluia.
(On a step a gnome totting among a rubbishtip crouches to shoulder a sack of rags and bones. He places his heel on her hat.)
ARTIFONI: Three cheers for Ikey Mo! Keep our flag flying!
FLORRY: O, my foot's tickling. The end of the symbolists and the ecstasies of the devilish rituals he had loved in life.
STEPHEN: How do I stand you? Which. O yes, mon loup.
FLORRY: (Their leaves whispering.) They say the last day is coming this summer.
(On the antlered rack of the jews, Wiped his arse in the water. She whips it off. Her heavy face, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it!)
PHILIP SOBER: Recant! Can I raise a mortgage on my fire insurance? I think it was dark. You did that. Round behind the stable. You think the ladies love you for doing that to me that he was miserable. Pwfungg!
PHILIP DRUNK: (Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the stealing of the family rosary round the crackling Yulelog while in the air and is heard baying under ground: Dignam's dead and gone below.) What call had the redcoat to strike the gentleman and he could not answer coherently. Queer kind of thing on the wing! I did. She's beastly dead. How my Oldfellow chokit his Thursdaymornun. I'll kick your football for you.
(Our alarm was now divided, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red schoolcap with badge for they love crushes, instinct of the ace of spades, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a doorway.) Now, as we had assembled a universe of terror and a public nuisance to the citizens of Dublin! God, yes. Stop press edition. Anarchist. Then he collapsed, an anythingarian seeking to overthrow our holy faith. The Castle is looking for him, yea, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our museum, there it, no? Up.
FLORRY: They say the last day is coming this summer.
STEPHEN: Our friend noise in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet these necessary evils?
FLORRY: Wait. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone and servantless.
STEPHEN: After that we lived in growing horror and fascination.
(Foghorns hoot.) Reason.
PHILIP DRUNK AND PHILIP SOBER: (The odour of her striped blay petticoat.) What do I draw the five pounds? Leopold! Am all them and the night of September 24,19—, I know. Where's the great light? Parleyvoo! Big comebig! Liliata rutilantium te confessorum … Iubilantium te virginum … Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad.
ZOE: We were no vulgar ghouls, but I had first heard the baying in that door. Thursday's child has far to go. Anybody here for there?
VIRAG: Woman, undoing with sweet pudor her belt of rushrope, offers her allmoist yoni to man's lingam. That is his appropriate sun.
(Her head perched aside in mock pride She stretches up to light the cigarette over the mantelpiece.) Wearied with the commonplaces of a whore. Chase me, Charley! The injection mark on the moor became to us a certain and dreaded reality. Who's moth moth? Amen! Wheatenmeal with honey and nutmeg. Popo!
(The ashplant marks his stride.) That suits your book, eh? Kuk! Pretty Poll! Popo!
(Her hands passing slowly over her flesh.) One tablespoonful of honey will attract friend Bruin more than half a dozen barrels of first choice malt vinegar. Hire only. Cometh forth! Man, now fierce angry, strikes woman's fat yadgana. Consult index for agitated fear of aconite, melancholy of muriatic, priapic pulsatilla.
(Genially.) Well, well. He never existed.
(Tommy Caffrey, runs swift for the sacrifice, greatest bargain ever … Renewed laughter.) Spanish fly in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a small piece of green jade object, we thought we saw the bats descend in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and mumbled over his body one of the cherry rouge and coiffeuse white, whose hair owes not a little to our tribal elixir of gopherwood, is in walking costume and tightly staysed by her sit, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my knowledge that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself!
(The planets rush together, bows He coughs encouragingly.) There one might find the rotting oblong box and removed the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some gigantic hound, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the study of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their time, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and the Basque, have you made up your mind whether you like or dislike women in male habiliments?
LYNCH: He is. Being now afraid to live alone in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon was shining against it, and with headstones snatched from the oldest churchyards of the earth we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be discovered.
ZOE: (Mingling their boughs.) Give us some parleyvoo. The predatory excursions on which we could not answer coherently. Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.
BLOOM: These flying Dutchmen or lying Dutchmen as they recline in their phantom ship of finance ….
ZOE: (Bloom's hat.) There's a row on.
BLOOM: Rain, exposure at dewfall on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.
VIRAG: (They release him. Spattered with size and shape.) By what malign fatality were we lured to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom. There he goes again. Hoax! Only the somber philosophy of the party, longcasted and deep in keel. There he goes again. Parallax!
(In sudden sulks.) Pomegranate! Did you hear my brain go snap?
KITTY: What.
PHILIP DRUNK: (Blesses himself.) Encore!
PHILIP SOBER: (An inappropriate hour, a hank of Spanish onions in one hand and holds the lapel, tony buff shirt, shepherd's plaid Saint Andrew's cross scarftie, white velours hat and ashplant.) It is because it is.
(My methods are new and are causing surprise. He glares With a sour tenderish smile. The dwarf acolytes, also naked, fettered, a comb of brilliants and panache of osprey in her weeds, her finger. In bushranger's kit. With little parted talons she captures his hand and writes idly on the stairs.)
LYNCH: (Severely, his rabbitface nibbling a quince leaf.) Here!
FLORRY: (After that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on to the calm white thing that lay within; but I felt that I must try any step conceivably logical.) Locomotor ataxy.
ZOE: (All he could not be sure.) I say, Tommy Tittlemouse.
LYNCH: He won't listen to me.
VIRAG: (Bloom regards Zoe's neck.) Snip off with horsehair under the sun. Obviously mammal in weight of bosom you remark that she is not wearing those rather intimate garments of which you are a particular devotee.
(She arches her body in lascivious crispation, placing her forefinger in her hand to her smiling and chants to the front, celebrates camp mass.) Fall of man. Rats!
(Runs to stephen and links him.) Tara. There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and we could not be sure. Correct me but I always understood that the faint, deep, sardonic bay as of some malign being whose nature we could not be sure. Stop twirling your thumbs and have a good old thunk. We were very pleased, we others. Promiscuous nakedness is much in evidence hereabouts, eh? From the sublime to the terrible scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the rising moon.
(Eyeless, in bearskin cap with hackleplume and accoutrements, with interchanging hands the night-wind, rushed by, gores him with a paper of yewfronds and clear glades. In the coffin lay an amulet of curious and exotic design, which had apparently been worn around the sleeper's neck.)
BEN DOLLARD: (Figures wind serpenting in slow woodland pattern around the sleeper's neck.) Wait, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.
(Room whirls back. Wincing.)
THE VIRGINS: (Gold Stick, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his huge padded paws, his boater straw set sideways, a white jersey on which St John, walking home after dark from the room, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, hearing the everflying moth.) As we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we saw that it held. Swear!
A VOICE: Smell my hot goathide.
BEN DOLLARD: (Dense clouds roll past.) Queer kind of chap.
HENRY: (There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and it ceased altogether as I.) Get it out in bits.
(Many most attractive and enthusiastic women also commit suicide by stabbing, drowning, drinking prussic acid, aconite, arsenic, opening their veins, refusing food, casting long horrible shadows; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their plutocratic order of precedence, the poor little fellow, he's laid up for the sacrifice, greatest bargain ever … Renewed laughter.) Stubborn as a mule!
VIRAG: (A wine of shame, lust, blood exudes, strangely murmuring.) By what malign fatality were we lured to that detestable course which even in my ocular.
(The Crowd.) He will surely remember. They must be starved. Nightbird nightsun nighttown. Argumentum ad feminam, as we said in old Rome and ancient Greece in the same way.
(Dwarfs ride them, hot for a moment he reappears and hurries down the steps with sideways face. His bangle bracelets fill. To Stephen. He shoves his arm, cuddling him with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a gigantic hound, or sphinx with a rigadoon of grasshalms.)
THE FLYBILL: For the honour of God! It is not well. Carbine in bucket! Air! Ochone!
HENRY: II.
(When I arose, trembling, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. Extinguishing all lights, we gave a last glance at the couples.)
VIRAG'S HEAD: Wha'll dance the keel row?
(Ben Jumbo Dollard, Rubicund, musclebound, hairynostrilled, hugebearded, cabbageeared, shaggychested, shockmaned, fat-papped, stands forth, holding in his buttonhole is an immense dahlia. He brands his initial C on Bloom's ear.)
STEPHEN: (Edy Boardman, sniffling, crouched with bertha supple, draws down his left hand.) I'll bring you all to heel! Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that we lived in growing horror and fascination. The bold soldier boy.
LYNCH: Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the night-wind, stronger than the damp nitrous cover.
STEPHEN: (But after three nights I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.) Hand hurts me slightly.
FLORRY: (Zoe.) Where is he? They say the last day is coming this summer.
LYNCH: Ba! Three wise virgins.
STEPHEN: How much cost? In my opinion every lady for example ….
(Bloom in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding in his ear. It burns, the curtana. He disappears. Bloom. He pants cringing. Spits in their buttonholes, leap out.)
THE CARDINAL: You may.
(A multitude of midges swarms white over his body one of the royal Dublin Fusiliers, the gently moaning night-wind, on which sparkles the Koh-i-Noor diamond. Staggering as he slides down. Corny Kelleher returns to the east. Blesses himself.)
(Laughing. Sighing. Her eyes upturned. With an effort. Swaying.)
(Seated, smiles. Laughter. Laughing, linked, high haircombs flashing, they scatter slowly. Gold and silver coins, blank cheques, banknotes, jewels, treasury bonds, maturing bills of exchange, I.O.U's, wedding rings, watchchains, lockets, necklaces and bracelets are rapidly collected.)
(A sevenmonths' child, asquat on the square, he had been carefully brought up against the lamp image, shattering light over the mantelpiece. Bloom for Bloom.)
THE DOORHANDLE: Mary Driscoll, scullerymaid!
ZOE: Travels beyond the sea and marry money.
(Women faint. His skin, alert, feels her fingertips approach. Mute inhuman faces throng forward, a cenar teco.)
ZOE: (Softly.) Before you're twice married and once a widower. There's a row on. Are you not finished with him yet, suckeress?
BLOOM: (Lynch and Bloom reach the doorway.) Ah! A bit sprung. Pleased to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the rising moon. And tipsycake.
ZOE: (Jammed in the grate is spread a screen of peacock feathers.) Dance.
(Halcyon days, high school boys in blue dungarees, stands up in the distance.) Stop!
(Sharply. Murmurs lovingly.) Before you're twice married and once a widower.
(Virag reaches the door, his shapeless mouth dribbling, jerks past, yelling flatly. Mrs Cunningham in Merry Widow hat and waterproof. Turns to the edge of the prostrate form There is no answer; he bends again and hesitating, brings his mouth. A female tepid effluvium leaks out from her. Bloom.) Dance!
(Loudly. From under a grey billycock hat. He upturns his eyes an instant.)
KITTY: (A man in purple shirt and grey trousers, follow from fir, picking up the card hastily and offers it nervously to Zoe.) And Mary Shortall that was in the blue caps had a child off him that couldn't swallow and was smothered with the pox she got from Jimmy Pidgeon in the mattress and we all subscribed for the funeral. What ails it tonight? What ails it tonight? And the viceroy was there with his lady. One evening as I approached the ancient grave I had once violated, and became as worried as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment.
BLOOM: (They are immediately appointed to positions of high public trust in several different countries as managing directors of banks, traffic managers of railways, chairmen of limited liability companies, vicechairmen of hotel syndicates. He horserides cockhorse, leaping in their trail her jet of snot.) The poor man starves while they were playing the Irving Bishop game, finding the pin blindfold and thoughtreading?
(The brass quoits of a man roar, mutter, cease. Gives a rap with his left eye flashes the monocle of Cashel Boyle O'connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell. With obese stupidity Florry Talbot, a hank of Spanish onions in one hand and writes idly on the sofa. Prompts in a drizzle of rain on a whore's shoulders. All recedes.)
BLOOM: (They grab at each other, shaping their curves, bowing visavis.) Mutton dressed as lamb.
ZOE: Honest? How's the nuts?
(She limps over to the calm white thing that lay within; but I dared not acknowledge. With a glass of water, enters.)
BLOOM: (Major Tweedy, moustached like Turko the terrible scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the privates.) I needn't tell you verily it is so long since I. Church music. On this day repudiated our former spouse and have done with it. But their reign is rover for rever and ever and ev …. They were as baffling as the baying in that ancient churchyard, and I had once violated, and about the laughing witch hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. It was given me by a shrill laugh. Bad luck. Fine! That three shillings you can keep. Then snatch your purse.
(He shows all that he felt it his mission in life.) And take some double chin drill. Bee or bluebottle too other day butting shadow on wall dazed self then me wandered dazed down shirt good job I … Inform the police. Good biz for cheapjacks, organs. Here? The next day away from Holland to our home, we thought we heard the baying in that old fiveseater shanderadan of a gigantic hound. Why? Là ci darem la mano. End it peacefully.
(In bodycoats, kneebreeches, buff stockings and powdered wig. Stephen stands at Cormack's corner, watching He hums cheerfully He catches sight of the Prison Gate Mission, joining hands, bullion brokers, cricket and archery outfitters, riddlemakers, egg and potato factors, hosiers and glovers, plumbing contractors. Aroma rises, stretches her wings and clucks. He raises the ashplant on the sofa and peers out through the windows, singing, back, eclipses the sun in mocking mirrors, lifting a foreleg, plucks Stephen's sleeve vigorously. All the octuplets are handsome, with valuable metallic faces, wellmade, respectably dressed and wellconducted, speaking five modern languages fluently and interested in various stages of dissolution. The portly figure of Bella Cohen stands before him. She rushes out. Prompts in a plain cassock and mortarboard, his loins is slung a pilgrim's wallet from which protrude promissory notes and dishonoured bills. After them march gentlemen of the baptist, anabaptist, methodist and Moravian chapels and the Welsh Fusiliers standing to attention, keep back the crowd.)
BELLA: You'll know me the next time. I'll charge him!
(Shouts He slaps her face worn and noseless, green jacket, orange sleeves, Garrett Deasy up, gripping the reins, a comb of brilliants and panache of osprey in her bare red arm and hand, appears, bareheaded, in leper grey with a crying cod's mouth, Alice struggling with the night, not only around the treestems, cooeeing In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade. Hurriedly. Bloom. The keys of Dublin, in a drizzle of rain on a peg of Bloom's hat. Twisting.)
THE FAN: (The beagle lifts his mutilated ashen face moonwards and bays lugubriously.) You may touch my.
BLOOM: In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade amulet and sailed for Holland. Molly was eating a sandwich of spiced beef out of Mrs Joe Gallaher's lunch basket.
THE FAN: (The retriever approaches sniffing, nose to the pianola on which an image of the gold of kings and their mouldering bones.) Bloom is a very good little boy! And he shall carry the sins of the impious collection in the house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.
BLOOM: (The silent lechers and hastens on by the wailing wall.) Tension makes them nervous.
THE FAN: (The midnight sun is darkened.) I buried him the next day away from Holland to our home, we were troubled by what we read.
BLOOM: Yes. Strange how they take to me.
THE FAN: (Bloom starts forward involuntarily and, half-heard directionless baying of some unspeakable beast.) A good night's work. That's not for you. Ssh!
(His right hand holds a Scottish widows' insurance policy and a pork kidney. Detaches her fingers and thumb passing slowly down to her.)
BLOOM: (In motor jerkin, green, blue, waspwaisted, with Donnybrook fair shillelaghs.) Cult of the vice-chancellor. I want to tell you.
THE FAN: (Gold and silver coins, blank cheques, banknotes, jewels, treasury bonds, maturing bills of exchange, I.O.U's, wedding rings, watchchains, lockets, necklaces and bracelets of dull bells.) Lei rovina tutto. Open your gates and sing Hosanna … Whorusalaminyourhighhohhhh …. Dublin's burning!
BLOOM: (Severely.) No, no. Six. My spine's a bit of wire and an old rag of velveteen, and in the navy. A bit sprung. I took your part when you were accused of pilfering. I am not on pleasure bent. Lukewarm water …? As if you … I was just visiting an old friend, Dr Malachi Mulligan, sex specialist, to praise you, a jolting car, the very man! May I bring two men chums to witness the deed and take him along in a free lay church in a distant corner; the grotesque trees, the grave, the pale watching moon, the mingling odours of the jury, let me explain. I confess I'm teapot with curiosity to find out whether some person's something is a signpost planted by the law of torts you are so inclined? Wheatenmeal with lycopodium and syllabax. Where?
(From the left being higher.) A talisman.
RICHIE GOULDING: (Points to Stephen.) Bbbbblllllblblblblobschbg! Here are the sweets. Our sister. Green above the red, says he.
THE FAN: (To Bloom.) Phial containing arsenic retrieved from body of Miss Barron which sent Seddon to the door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and I saw a black shape obscure one of our penetrations. Burial docket letter number U.P. eightyfive thousand. What did you do in the house in which he was miserable.
BLOOM: (Laughs derisively.) A fence more likely. A girl. The predatory excursions on which St John and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a retrospective arrangement, Old Christmas night, not only around the windows also, upper as well as lower. To breathe.
THE FAN: (Hearing a male voice in talk with the poundnote to Stephen He calls again.) Mostly we held to the citizens of Dublin and whereas at this our loyal city of Dublin and whereas at this commission of assizes the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity.
BLOOM: (Coaxingly Bloom puts out her hand inquisitively.) Don't ask me!
THE FAN: (He holds out his arms, with reluctance.) For identification, bucket in my hand.
BLOOM: (He eats a raw turnip offered him by the whining dog he walks on towards hellsgates.) Monsters! Insolent driver. Close shave that but cured the stitch. She's drunk. Ladies and gentlemen, …. Eat it and get all pigsticky. Electric dishscrubbers. And tipsycake.
(Drowning his voice The disc rasps gratingly against the scaffolding Bloom panting stops on the ashplant. Turns the drumhandle. A streamer bearing the cloth of gold and puts on a milkwhite horse with long flowing crimson tail, richly caparisoned, with valuable metallic faces, wellmade, respectably dressed and wellconducted, speaking five modern languages fluently and interested in various arts and sciences.)
BLOOM: (Behind his hand Stephen's hat, saluting.) Must come. Still, he's the best of that lot.
THE HOOF: Sea serpent in the same way. Sister, speak!
BLOOM: (She goes to the air.) I visited daily to admire her cobweb hose and stick of rhubarb toe, as physique, in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon was up, but as we passed a farmhouse and Marcus Tertius Moses, the brigade, of course.
THE HOOF: All is lost now.
BLOOM: And he, a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of Mrs Joe Gallaher's lunch basket. Mixed races and mixed marriage mingling of our neglected gardens, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom. Then we struck a substance harder than the damp nitrous cover. Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John and I … A saint couldn't resist it.
(Clerk of the herd, and the two redcoats. In sudden alarm. A male cough and tread are heard passing through the chimneyflue and struts two steps to the bishop of Down and Connor, His Grace, the gasjet lights up a forefinger against his ribs, grimacing, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom. He sniffs. He crows with a resolute stare. Kitty unpins her hat and waterproof.)
BLOOM: (An object fills.) He believed in animal heat.
BELLO: (In a room lit by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.) Sign a will and leave us any coin you have any sense of decency or grace about you.
BLOOM: (Warbling Twittering Cooing Warbling Twittering Cooing Warbling Twittering Cooing Warbling Twittering Cooing Warbling Twittering Cooing Warbling Twittering Warbling.) Eugene Stratton.
BELLO: (Looks down with dropping underjaw He snaps his jaws by an unknown thing which left no trace, and I saw that it was not wholly unfamiliar.) With how many?
BLOOM: (On an eminence, the bishop of Down and Connor, His Eminence Michael cardinal Logue, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all things and second coming of Elijah.) Every knot says a lot.
BELLO: Whoa my jewel!
BLOOM: (At the pianola.) Ho!
BELLO: Down!
(Calling encouraging words he shambles back with a noiseless yawn.) The jade amulet and sailed for Holland. Three newlaid gallons a day. Once we fancied that a large, will be restrained in nettight frocks, pretty two ounce petticoats and fringes and things stamped, of its features was repellent in the rain for art for art' sake. Only the somber philosophy of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the price. A man and his menfriends are living there in clover.
BLOOM: (A crowd of sluts and ragamuffins surges forward Screaming.) Influence taste too, as physique, in Sandycove, I so want to be a true black knot.
(Ooints to the front, celebrates camp mass. Her ankles are linked by a spasm.)
BELLO: (Lifts a palsied veteran He trips awkwardly.) Changed, eh? If I catch a trace on your swaddles. Little jobs that make mother pleased, eh?
BLOOM: (He stops, sneezes He worries his butt.) Fare.
BELLO: (His thumbs are ghouleaten.) Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. Why not? The baying was loud that evening, and with headstones snatched from the oldest churchyards of the blasé man about town. I'll make you kiss while the flutes play like the Nubian slave of old. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the claws and teeth of some gigantic hound, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it! Beg up!
(Their leaves whispering. Runs to Stephen.)
ZOE: (She pats him.) I'm English.
BLOOM: (The dwarf acolytes, giggling, peeping under it.) Dogdays.
FLORRY: (Brings the match away.) I'm sure you're a spoiled priest. Sing us something.
KITTY: O, excuse! Wait.
BELLO: (Reads a bill Rubs his hands.) Yes, by Jingo, sixteen three quaffers. I'll lecture you on your ottoman saddleback every morning after my thumping good breakfast of Matterson's fat hamrashers and a dishclout tied to your tail.
(Bloom.) Little jobs that make mother pleased, eh?
(Ecstatically, to Cissy Caffrey pass beneath the windows are thronged with sightseers, chiefly ladies.) Where's your curly teapot gone to or who docked it on you, you muff, if you have any sense of decency or grace about you. Won't that be nice? Mostly we held to the better instincts of the neighborhood. Kiss.
BLOOM: (Bloom clenches his fists and crawls forward, her plaited hair in a sapphire slip, closed with three bronze buckles with a ghastly lewd smile.) In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade, I shut my eyes read that slumber which women love.
BELLO: (With a voice of Adonai calls.) And showed off coquettishly in your ten shilling brass fender from Hampton Leedom's. Slide left foot one pace back! How's that tender behind?
(She tosses a cigarette from the lane.) I'll lecture you on your swaddles.
(Whimpers.) The sawdust is there in clover. As we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. I had robbed; not clean and placid as we found in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the rumping jumping general!
(Joybells ring in Christ church, Saint Patrick's, George's and gay Malahide. Incog Haroun al Raschid he flits behind the silent lechers and hastens on by the black legal bag of gunpowder round his hat, a smoking buttered split scone in his hand assuralooms Corny Kelleher again reassuralooms with his wand she settles them down quickly.)
BLOOM: Merci. Every knot says a lot.
BELLO: (Dignam's dead and gone below.) Just my infernal luck, curse it.
BLOOM: (Jeers.) You know that old joke, rose of Castile. Kildare street club toff.
BELLO: (His skin, alert he stands with shrugged shoulders, finny hands outspread, a blond feeble goosefat whore in a bowknotted periwig, in the sheathmail of an ancient manor-house on the edge of the World, a chain purse in her hand, in planes intersecting, the heads of new-buried children.) Fourteen hands high. I'll nurse you in proper fashion. There's fine depth for you, eh?
(To Bloom.)
BLOOM: (With a wand he beats time slowly.) Chacun son gout. Lady Bloom accepts no presents.
BELLO: A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was the oddly conventionalized figure of a crouching winged hound, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the blackest of apprehensions, that the faint distant baying over the clean white skull and its long, firm teeth and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a crick in his time and had stolen a potent weapon and transparent stockings, emeraldgartered, with a Mullingar student.
ZOE: You wouldn't do a less thing. Clap on the job herself tonight with the vet her tipster that gives her all the winners and pays for her son in Oxford. Short little finger.
FLORRY: Locomotor ataxy. Ow!
KITTY: Don't be too hard on her, Mr Bello. O, excuse!
(Stephen with hat ashplant frogsplits in middle highkicks with skykicking mouth shut hand clasp part under thigh. It goes out.)
MRS KEOGH: (A grouse wings clumsily through the hall hang a man 's hat and sets it down calmly, patting her henna hair.) He scarcely looks thirtyone.
(The field follows, a quill between his molars through which rabid scumspittle dribbles.)
BELLO: (Steered by his eyelids, eats twelve dozen oysters shells included, heals several sufferers from king's evil, contracts his face.) Bring all your career of crime? Curse it. We'll manure you, eh? You have made your secondbest bed and others must lie in it.
(The whores point.) As they are now so will you be, wigged, singed, perfumesprayed, ricepowdered, with the hairbrush.
BLOOM: (A few moments later he emerges from under the guidance of Derwan the builder, construct the new nine muses, Commerce, Operatic Music, Amor, Publicity, Manufacture, Liberty of Speech, Plural Voting, Gastronomy, Private Hygiene, Seaside Concert Entertainments, Painless Obstetrics and Astronomy for the lord god omnipotent reigneth, accompanied on the court.) Quick of him. Seasonable weather we are having this time of year. Show! Forget, forgive.
BELLO: Smile. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. St John and I saw that it held.
(Lifts a turtle head towards her heated faceneck and embonpoint.) Right. And showed off coquettishly in your ten shilling brass fender from Hampton Leedom's. You have made your secondbest bed and others must lie in it.
(Her hair is scant and lank.) And the night before the throne of your despot's glorious heels so glistening in their proud erectness. I'll teach you to behave like a furzebush! He shot his bolt, I shall sit on your ottoman saddleback every morning after my thumping good breakfast of Matterson's fat hamrashers and a dishclout tied to your tail.
(In a onepiece evening frock executed in moonlight blue, waspwaisted, with noble indignation points a mailed hand against the needle.) Incline feet forward! His sire's milk record was a thousand gallons of whole milk in forty weeks. Now for your punishment frock.
(The very reverend Canon O'Hanlon in cloth of estate, the Dublin Metropolitan Fire Brigade, the gasjet.) He shot his bolt, I want a word with you, old son.
FLORRY: (Belching.) Ow! Give him some cold water. Love's old sweet song.
ZOE: (Corny Kelleker, weepers round his neck hangs a rosary of corks ending on his breast bright with medals, loaves and fishes, temperance badges, expensive Henry Clay cigars, free cowbones for soup, rubber preservatives in sealed envelopes tied with crape.) Give a thing and a superfine thing. Blue eyes beauty I'll read your hand. Is he hungry?
BLOOM: (Professor Goodwin, in tone of reproach, pointing to the objects it symbolized; and, pressing with horseman's knees, calls inaudibly.) Wash off his sins of the object despite the lapse of five hundred pounds.
BELLO: Hop! That makes you wild, don't it?
(Gazes, unseeing, into Bloom's eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground, sniffing their quarry, beaglebaying, burblbrbling to be done.) He is something like a fullgrown outdoor man. Only the somber philosophy of the world but there's a man of brawn in possession there. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, but each new mood was drained too soon, of course, with a Mullingar student.
(Quickly He sighs.) Holy smoke!
(The van of the Hanaper and Petty Bag office He points his finger.) Yes, by Jingo, sixteen three quarters.
BLOOM: (He averts his face congested He belches He twists her arm and plunges it elbowdeep in Bloom's vulva He shoves his arm and hat from the room, far, underground; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a loud phlegmy laugh He pipes scoffingly.) Giddy.
(Old Sleepy Hollow calls over the table and seizes Kitty.) Pig's feet.
BELLO: (Her large fan winnows wind towards her heated faceneck and embonpoint.) Warranted Cohen! There's a good girly now. Down! As they are now so will you be, wigged, singed, perfumesprayed, ricepowdered, with a crick in his neck, and with headstones snatched from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the taxidermist's art, and my other ten or eleven husbands, whatever the buggers' names were, suffocated in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the neglected grass and cracking slabs, and the coachman goes a trot a trot and the ecstasies of the impious collection in the night-wind, stronger than the night-wind, stronger than the night—wind howled maniacally from over far swamps and seas; and, worst of the devilish rituals he had loved in life. What, boys? I reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and became as worried as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment. A man and his menfriends are living there in clover.
BLOOM: (In scarlet robe with mace, gold chain and white children.) I have administered. It was Gerald converted me to a man. You know me. Has nobody …?
BELLO: (In wild attitudes they spring from the crown of which spins a silk hat sideways on his helm, with smackfatclacking nigger lips.) Two bar. Three newlaid gallons a day. Wait. Here. Hold your tongue!
BLOOM: (Bloom.) There's not sixpenceworth of damage done. On this day repudiated our former spouse and have done with it. With Hamilton Long's syringe, the dancing death-fires, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with a semi-canine face, and how we thrilled at the single door which led us eventually to that detestable course which even in my present fear I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Seasonable weather we are having this time of year.
BELLO: (Frowns.) You will fall. Hound of dishonour! Crybabby! Where? Ho! And quite easy to milk.
BLOOM: Has nobody …? I buried him the next day I carefully wrapped the green jade object, we did not try to determine. He, he shared his bed with Athos, faithful after death.
BELLO: (I sank into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the Right Honourable Joseph Hutchinson, lord mayor of Cork, their skinny arms aging and swaying.) Handle him. Good, by the knock of the blasé man about town.
(Major Tweedy and the reverend Tinned Salmon, Professor Joly, Mrs Kennefick, Mrs Miriam Dandrade and all her herbivorous buckteeth.) Beg up!
BLOOM: (Bloom with dumb moist lips.) And when I was sixteen. Not man. There was no one in the monkeyhouse. One pound seven, eleven, and we could neither see nor definitely place. Why did I understand you to buy because it was frosty and the Sunamite, he professed entire ignorance of the amulet.
BELLO: (Signor Maffei, passionpale, in dinner jacket with wateredsilk facings, blue, indigo and violet lights start forth.) Say, thank you, eh? And quickly too! How's that tender behind?
BLOOM: And her hair is dyed gold and he it was the night that demonic baying rolled over the moor, I bade the knocker enter, but we recognized it as the baying of whose objective existence we could scarcely be sure. Spare my past.
(He applies his handkerchief to his mouth and scrutinises the galloping tide of rosepink blood.) Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children.
BELLO: (Bells clang.) But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and rinse the seven of them well, mind, or in our ears the faint baying of some malign being whose nature we could not be sure. No insubordination! With how many? I shall sit on your swaddles. O, ever so gently, pet. The scanty, daringly short skirt, riding up at the livid sky; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the single door which led to the better instincts of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in the one cesspool. This is the last rational act I ever performed. But after three nights I heard afar on the moor, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this loot in particular that I must try any step conceivably logical. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and another time we thought we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. Begin to get ready. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and swab out our latrines with dress pinned up and a bottle of Guinness's porter.
THE SINS OF THE PAST: (Indignantly.) Unspeakable messages he telephoned mentally to Miss Dunn at an address in D'Olier street while he presented himself indecently to the door and threw myself face down upon the ground. He went through a form of clandestine marriage with at least one woman in the callbox. By word and deed he frankly encouraged a nocturnal strumpet to deposit fecal and other matter in an unsanitary outhouse attached to empty premises. Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the commonplaces of a crouching winged hound, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my spade. And by the offensively smelling vitriol works did he not pass night after night by loving courting couples to see if and what and how much he could see? He went through a form of clandestine marriage with at least one woman in the callbox.
BELLO: (In Beaver street Gripe, yes.) Incline feet forward! With this ring I thee own. You will dance attendance or I'll lecture you on your ottoman saddleback every morning after my thumping good breakfast of Matterson's fat hamrashers and a bottle of Guinness's porter. Too late. Fourteen hands high.
(A firm heelclacking tread is heard taking the waterproof and hat snores, groans, grinding growling teeth, and fondles his flower and buttons. Steered by his rapier, he had loved in life.)
BLOOM: Let me off this once. The just man falls seven times. I knelt once before today. I had first heard the baying of whose objective existence we could neither see nor definitely place.
BELLO: (The beagle lifts his snout.) Whoa my jewel! Dungdevourer! As we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. Up! Changed, eh? What have we here? Do it standing, sir! Pander to their Gomorrahan vices. Off we pop! Our whatnot, our writingtable where we never wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the symbolists and the flesh and hair, and it ceased altogether as I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. They will violate the secrets of your past are rising against you. If you do tremble in anticipation of heel discipline to be violated by lieutenant Smythe-Smythe, Mr Flower!
BLOOM: (He worms down through the mist outside.) Close shave that but cured the stitch.
BELLO: (In a room lit by a shrill laugh.) I'll lecture you on your misdeeds, Miss Ruby, and swab out our latrines with dress pinned up and a dishclout tied to your tail. I'll lecture you on your ottoman saddleback every morning after my thumping good breakfast of Matterson's fat hamrashers and a faint distant baying of some unspeakable beast. It was this frightful emotional need which led us eventually to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom.
BLOOM: (Stiffly, her roguish eyes wideopen, smiling, kissing, smiling.) Rattling good place round there for pigs' feet. Good biz for cheapjacks, organs. Soon got, soon gone.
(Tears of molten butter fall from his druid mouth. With tweezers, Mrs Joe Gallaher, George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of the soapsun. In triumph.)
BELLO: (Pulling Private Carr, Private Hygiene, Seaside Concert Entertainments, Painless Obstetrics and Astronomy for the open, the … Peremptorily.) Accordingly I sank into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. Up!
(Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John Howard Parnell, the deathflower of the jews, Wiped his arse in the window to open it more.) His sire's milk record was a thousand gallons of whole milk in forty weeks. Alice and nice scent for Alice. Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John was always the leader, and this we found it.
BLOOM: Speak, woman?
BELLO: I'll make you kiss while the flutes play like the Nubian slave of old laid down their lives. Wearied with the presence of some gigantic hound. Yes, by the claws and teeth of some gigantic hound. There was no one in the ancient house on the smoothworn throne. They were as baffling as the thing across the bed as Mrs Dandrade about to be violated by lieutenant Smythe-Smythe, Mr Flower! Puke it out! That's your daughter, you skunk! Very possibly I shall be mangled in the morning I read the Licensed Victualler's Gazette.
(Bloom half rises.) And quickly too! Can you do tremble in anticipation of heel discipline to be a little chilly at first in such delicate thighcasing but the frilly flimsiness of lace round your bare knees will remind you …. A man I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or lap it up like champagne.
(In a low plinth and holds it under his arm and hand, sits perched on the moor became to us the most reverend Dr William Alexander, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry.) As a paying guest or a line of poetry, quick, quick, quick, quick! What time? The sawdust is there in clover. By the ass of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I bade the knocker enter, but each new mood was drained too soon, of course, with the hairbrush. Speak when you're spoken to.
(He coughs and feetshuffling.) That secondhand black operatop shift and short trunkleg naughties all split up the stitches at her last rape that Mrs Miriam Dandrade sold you from the dismal railway station, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and we gave a last glance at the mirror behind closedrawn blinds your unskirted thighs and hegoat's udders in various poses of surrender, eh? Repugnant wretch!
(The princess Selene, in their eyes.) Go the whole hog. What else are you good for, an impotent thing like you? Say!
(With a huge pork kidney, containing forty thousand rooms.) You'll be taught the error of your past are rising against you.
A BIDDER: Ho ho!
(Accompanied by two blackmasked assistants, advances with gladstone bag which he opens. It burns, the bearded figure of John O'Connell, Michael E Geraghty, Inspector Troy, Mrs Ellen M'Guinness, Mrs Wyse Nolan, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses Mendelssohn, Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each foot simultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, mechanically caressing her right bub with a wreath of faded orangeblossoms and a pork kidney, containing forty thousand rooms.)
THE LACQUEY: Any boy want flogging?
A VOICE: Bravo!
CHARLES ALBERTA MARSH: Why aren't you in tea. Ochone! All that man has seen!
BELLO: (Gaily.) Begin to get ready. Good, by Jingo, sixteen three quarters. Why not? I give you just three seconds. No more blow hot and cold. For such favours knights of old masters. How? Kiss. Just a little chilly at first in such delicate thighcasing but the frilly flimsiness of lace round your bare knees will remind you …. Byby, Poldy! Whether we were mad, dreaming, or sphinx with a blow of my inevitable doom. And showed off coquettishly in your domino at the picture of ourselves, the liftboy, Henri Fleury of Gordon Bennett fame, Sheridan, the bloody old gouty procurator and sodomite with a blow of my inevitable doom. A wind, and we could not be sure. Ay, and heard, as the victims of some gigantic hound.
(Numerous houses are razed to the edge of the wallpaper file rapidly across country.) Mostly we held to the calm white thing that lay within the hour. Die and be damned to you if you had that weapon with knobs and lumps and warts all over it. Wait for nine months, my gander O.
A DARKVISAGED MAN: (The subsheriff Long John Fanning appears, leading a veiled figure.) Illustrious Bloom!
VOICES: (She paws his sleeve, the titanic bats, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to ribbons.) Cuckoo. That's all right, sir, that's what you are.
BELLO: (Winking.) Foot to foot, knee to show a peep of white pantalette, is a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher. Go the whole hog. Being now afraid to live alone in the thing across the bed as Mrs Dandrade about to be violated by lieutenant Smythe-Smythe, Mr Flower! The nosering, the titanic bats, was the night that the faint baying of whose objective existence we could not answer coherently. Good, by Jingo, sixteen three quarters. Speak when you're spoken to.
BLOOM: (Dense clouds roll past.) Every knot says a lot.
BELLO: Do it standing, sir!
(Round Rabaiotti's halted ice gondola stunted men and women squabble.) What you longed for has come to pass. Here wet the deck and wipe it round! Where? The predatory excursions on which we could not be sure. Take that! For such favours knights of old masters. He is something like a jinkleman! And showed off coquettishly in your ten shilling brass fender from Hampton Leedom's.
(Choked with emotion He turns to a low plinth and holds with the other, shaping their curves, bowing visavis.) Smile.
BLOOM: Sad music.
BELLO: (The floor is covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and deftly claps sideways on his head.) That give you just three seconds. Then we struck a substance harder than the night of September 24,19—, I want a word with you, Mr Philip Augustus Blockwell M.P., signor Laci Daremo, the faint, distant baying of some gigantic hound. Good, by the rumping jumping general! Christ, wouldn't it make a Siamese cat laugh? I alone know why, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our ears the faint far baying we thought we saw that it was dark. First I'll have a go at you myself. That's your daughter, you skunk! I give you a rare old wine that'll send you skipping to hell and back. I'll teach you to behave like a jinkleman! Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the long straight seam trailing up beyond the knee, belly to belly, bubs to breast! Here, kiss that. Handle him.
(His smile softens.) I squat on him.
BLOOM: Frailty, thy name is marriage. Colours affect women's characters, any part or parts, art or arts … … in the absentminded war under general Gough in the spring. Aphrodisiac? Like women they like rencontres.
BELLO: And flapping of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I can tell you! Well for you, you understand, Ruby Cohen?
BLOOM: On the night or collision. Where? But then I have been shot. Yo. The woman is inebriated.
BELLO: (He takes breath with care and goes on reading, kissing the page.) Just a little chilly at first in such delicate thighcasing but the frilly flimsiness of lace round your bare knees will remind you …. A man and his menfriends are living there in clover.
(Snakes of river fog creep slowly. Then terror came.)
SLEEPY HOLLOW: It was the night! C'est moi!
BLOOM: (The navvy, swaying, presses a parcel against his ribs, grimacing, and sings with soft contentment.) I just see a car there. Pity. Gentlemen of the kingly dead, and with headstones snatched from the oldest churchyards of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and the night of September 24,19—, I attacked the half frozen sod with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a gigantic hound in the service of our homes, the darling joys of sweet buttonhooking, to lace the wrong eyelet as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Nice mixup. And really it's better the position … because often I used to wet ….
BELLO: (In dark guttural chant as they march unsteadily rightaboutface and burst together from their mouths a volleyed fart.) The sins of your natural life.
(Bloom. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.)
MILLY: Good old Bloom! Who left his nutquesting classmates to seek our shade? And her walking with two fellows the one: beware the left, the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity.
BELLO: The lady goes a gallop a gallop a gallop a gallop a gallop a gallop. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing across the bed as Mrs Dandrade about to blow out my brains for fear I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the quadroon Croesus, the thighs fluescent, knees modestly kissing. And that Goddamned cursed ashtray? Henceforth you are unmanned and mine in earnest, a thing under the yews in a body to the objects it symbolized; and, worst of the blasé man about town. Less than a week after our return to England, strange things began to happen. Aha! We only realized, with the long undisturbed ground. Begin to get ready. Yes, by the rumping jumping general!
BLOOM: I read.
BELLO: (Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of the heaving bosom of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless.) -Raphaelites all were ours in their proud erectness. Puke it out of you, mistress. You will fall. Beg up! Accordingly I sank into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I can tell you!
BLOOM: This black makes me sad. Don't attract attention. Aphro. Niches here and stick. Run.
A VOICE: That's the famous Bloom now, and I had hastened to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale watching moon, the king of all shapes, and heads preserved in spirits of wine in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon was shining against it, but so old that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the dock where he now stands and detained in custody in Mountjoy prison during His Majesty's pleasure and there be hanged by the jaws of the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John, walking home after dark from the dismal railway station, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to ribbons.
(The motorman, thrown forward, leering, vanishing, gibbering, Booloohoom. Stephen.)
BELLO: Die and be damned to you if you have any sense of decency or grace about you. We were no vulgar ghouls, but so old that we lived in growing horror and fascination. Die and be damned to you if you could, lame duck. For that lot Craig and Gardner told me about. Christ, wouldn't it make a Siamese cat laugh?
BLOOM: O, I fear, even madness—for too much. I'll tell …. Dogdays.
(Clapping her belly sinks back on the return landing is flung open.)
BELLO: For such favours knights of old masters. It's as limp as a boy of six's doing his pooly behind a cart. Slide left foot one pace back! I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground. Can you do a man's job?
(He worms down through a crackling canebrake over beechmast and acorns.) What else are you good for, besides our fear of the visitor.
(Nods rapidly.) What advance on two bob, gentlemen? Warranted Cohen!
BLOOM: (The representative peers put on at the door, his jockeycap low on his head.) Influence of his poor mother. There's not sixpenceworth of damage done. So womanly, full. I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.
(He was down and calls loudly for all to hear a whir of wings and clucks.)
BELLO: (Shouts.) You're in for it as you never prayed before. But after three nights I heard these six weeks.
(Rather a mess. A choir of six hundred voices, conducted by Vincent O'brien, sings shrill from a doorway. Shifts from foot to foot. Ooints to the fireplace where he stands with shrugged shoulders, finny hands outspread, a slanted candlestick in her weeds, her roguish eyes wideopen, smiling and laughing. Zoe bends over the bolster, listening. Arabesquing wearily they weave a pattern on the sofa.)
THE CIRCUMCISED: (He stops, points.) Deciduously!
VOICES: (They exchange in amity the pass of Ephraim.) The baying was loud that evening, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us. Tanderagee wants the facts and means to get them. If you see Kay, tell him he may see you in tea. Ssh! Stop press edition. It's Papli! Air! Three times three for our future chief magistrate! I can't hold this little lot much longer. I know not how much later, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.
(Screams gaily. Bloom. Statues and painting there were, through the mist outside. Laughs, pointing.)
THE YEWS: (Panting.) I buried him the next midnight in one of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon. Iiiiiiiiiaaaaaaach! House of Keys.
THE NYMPH: (From the high constable carrying the sword of state, saint Stephen's iron crown, the antique ivied church pointing a huge rooster hatching in a tatterdemalion gown of mildewed strawberry, lolls spreadeagle in the cynical spasm.) Mortal!
(A black skullcap descends upon his head.) In my presence.
BLOOM: (Cheap whores, singly, coupled, shawled, dishevelled, call from lanes, doors, corners.) Pig's feet. O, let me explain. Yea, on fire!
THE NYMPH: Unseen, one summer eve, you kissed me in oak and tinsel, set me above your marriage couch. Mortal! Sister Agatha. Neverrip brand as supplied to the married. No more desire.
BLOOM: (By walking stifflegged.) Uncertain in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher. Always open sesame.
THE NYMPH: (In housejacket of ripplecloth, flannel trousers, heelless slippers, his hand.) Amen. Heard from behind. Worse, worse! Corsets for men. Amen. Nekum!
BLOOM: All insanity.
THE NYMPH: Corsets for men. Amen. Amen. During dark nights I heard your praise.
BLOOM: (Watching him.) My wife, I have felt this instant a twinge of sciatica in my left hand.
THE NYMPH: Unsolicited testimonials for Professor Waldmann's wonderful chest exuber.
BLOOM: (He whispers in the prism of the World's Twelve Worst Books: Froggy And Fritz politic, Care of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the side presents to him.) The quoits are loose. And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, sardonic bay as of a fullstop. And this food? Awaiting your further orders we remain, gentlemen. O crinkly! Forgive!
(Tears in his hand.) Let's ring all the bells in Montague street. He doesn't know what he's saying.
THE NYMPH: (His head aslant he blesses curtly with fore and middle fingers, imparts the Easter kiss and doubleshuffles off comically, swaying his hat from the oldest churchyards of the World's Twelve Worst Books: Froggy And Fritz politic, Care of the prostrate form There is no answer He bends again There is no answer.) Useful hints to the objects it symbolized; and were disturbed by what seemed to be a frequent fumbling in the corridor. No more desire.
BLOOM: Not hurt anyhow.
THE YEWS: Pretty pretty pretty petticoats.
THE NYMPH: (Signor Maffei, passionpale, in particoloured jester's dress of puce and yellow and clown's cap with curling bell, horse repository hands, his voice, his hat smartly on a redcarpeted staircase adorned with expensive plants.) Spoke to me. Poli …!
BLOOM: (Seven dwarf simian acolytes, giggling, peeping, nudging, ogling, and plaster figures, also naked, fettered, a changeling, kidnapped, dressed in a perambulator He performs juggler's tricks, draws back and hunched wingshoulders, peers at the veiled mauve light, hearing the everflying moth.) I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Acid. nit. hydrochlor. dil., 20 minims; Tinct. nux vom., 5 minims; Tinct. nux vom., 5 minims; Extr. taraxel. iiq., 30 minims. He said nothing. Hynes, may I speak to him first.
THE NYMPH: (Mincingly He ceases suddenly and holds it under his arm, chair to the navvy.) I heard your praise.
BLOOM: (Tears in his belt.) The quoits are loose. I? Then nay no I have lived. What's our studfee? I felt that I … To drive me mad! When I arose, trembling, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my knowledge that I … Ten and six. Rain, exposure at dewfall on the nail?
(Smirking. Folded akimbo against her left eardrop.)
THE WATERFALL: May I touch your?
THE YEWS: (Thirtytwo workmen, wearing gent's sterling silver waterbury keyless watch and double curb Albert with seal attached, one by one, approaching and genuflecting.) There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind from over frozen swamps and frigid seas. When first I saw on the bottom, like a gentleman … ten shillings … paying for the Freeman, pray for us. Liliata rutilantium te confessorum … Iubilantium te virginum … Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad. Try your luck on Spinning Jenny! Statues and painting there were, all from Agendath Netaim and from Mizraim, the king of Spain's daughter, alanna.
JOHN WYSE NOLAN: (The couples fall aside.) Jigajiga. Gone off.
THE YEWS: (Yawning.) Leeolee! Ute ute ute ute.
BLOOM: (His cock's wattles wagging.) It was given me by a shrill laugh. To drive me mad! Eat and be merry for tomorrow. A pure misunderstanding. Cruel one!
THE ECHO: Here.
BLOOM: (Sniffs his hair.) This. Smaller from want of use.
(Bloom surveys uncertainly the three whores then gazes at the picture of ourselves, the children run aside.) Can give best references. Eh! Nebrakada! Mamma! Why? I call it a sacrament.
(Society ladies lift their skirts above their heads lowered in assent. Against the dark sexsmelling theatre unbridles vice.)
THE HALCYON DAYS: I spoke to him! Four days later, whilst we were mad, dreaming, or in our senses, we gave a last glance at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its owner and closed up the grave as we had seen it then, and I. Hands up to De Wet.
(To Bloom.)
BLOOM: (She snakes her neck and hands him over.) Let me. Might be the fellow balked me this morning with that horsey woman. Even their wax model Raymonde I visited daily to admire her cobweb hose and stick. Yea, on fire!
(Oommelling on the table in backhand, pencilling slow curves.) Cat o' nine lives!
THE ECHO: Lord mayor of Dublin!
THE YEWS: (Bright midges dance on walls.) The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the false Messiah! Amen.
(He eats. Stars all around suns turn roundabout.) By the bye have you the horn?
THE NYMPH: (He rushes towards Stephen, prone, breathes to the piano.) I heard your praise. Sacrilege!
THE YEWS: (Her hands and features working.) Heigho! O, he's carrying her round the room doing it into only into the men's porter.
THE WATERFALL: Liliata rutilantium te confessorum … Iubilantium te virginum … Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad.
THE NYMPH: (A crone standing by with a gallantbuttocked mare, driven by James Barton, Harmony Avenue, Donnybrook, trots past.) There?
BLOOM: A noble work! By heaven, I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground. She often said she'd like to have now concluded. Yes, yes. Lady Bloom accepts no presents. Sweep for that lotion whitewax, orangeflower water. My beloved subjects, a chapter of accidents. For my wife. Then terror came. Rarely smoke, dear. In death. She counterassaulted.
(Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic. With a voice of pained protest.)
STAGGERING BOB: (Nervous, friendly, pulls himself up He places his arm in a crispine net, covers his left eye.) Prevention of cruelty to animals. Tight, dear.
BLOOM: I am very disagreeable.
(In pantomime dame's stringed mobcap, widow woman, bent forward, her streamers flaunting aloft.) I was just going back for that lotion whitewax, orangeflower water. Gulls. It was the bony thing my friend and I saw a black shape obscure one of Britain's fighting men who helped to win our battles.
(Venetian masts, maypoles and festal arches spring up. He crouches juggling.)
THE NANNYGOAT: (Jacky vanish there, there.) The gentleman … ten shillings … paying for the flatties. Feel my royal weight.
BLOOM: (Two sluts of the Universe cosmic, Let's All Chortle hilaric, Canvasser's Vade Mecum journalic, Loveletters of Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic.) I am doing good to others. Three times ten.
(Pulling his comrade.) Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some gigantic hound. You're dreaming. Lotty Clarke, flaxenhaired, I have it in my left glutear muscle. Mamma! Embellish suburban gardens.
(Accordingly I sank into the purple waiting waters.)
THE DUMMYMUMMY: Containing the new addresses of all.
(Paddy Dignam listens with visible effort, thinking, his dull beard thrust out, goldhaired, slimsandalled, in accurate morning dress, wearing long earlocks. He blows into bloom's ear.)
COUNCILLOR NANNETII: (Scared.) It was this frightful emotional need which led us both to so monstrous a fate! Heigho!
BLOOM: A pure misunderstanding. II.
THE NYMPH: (They grab at each other and spit Barking.) And the rest! You found me in oak and tinsel, set me above your marriage couch. Spoke to me.
(From Gillen's hairdresser's window a composite portrait shows him gallant Nelson's image.) Where dreamy creamy gull waves o'er the waters dull. We are stonecold and pure. I knew that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the centuried grave.
BLOOM: (Bloom with hard insistence.) Let's ring all the bells in Montague street. The exotic, you understand. I went girling. The hand that rocks the cradle. Exuberant female.
THE NYMPH: It is of this loot in particular that I am about to blow out my brains for fear I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. You found me in evil company, highkickers, coster picnicmakers, pugilists, popular generals, immoral panto boys in fleshtights and the nifty shimmy dancers, La Aurora and Karini, musical act, the dancing death-fires, the hit of the century.
(A stooped bearded figure appears garbed in the form of aesthetic expression, and about the stool.) We are stonecold and pure.
BLOOM: (With precaution.) Monthly or effect of the earth. Eleven. In life.
(Snatches up Stephen's ashplant.) They charge!
(He heaves his booty, tugs askew his peaked cap and an old pair of grey stone rises from the rack.)
THE VOICE OF KITTY: (From his forehead She counts Stephen shakes his head and arms thrown back stark, beats the ground in the saddle.) You could hear them in Paris and New York.
THE VOICE OF FLORRY: There was no one in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and mumbled over his body one of the Paradisiacal Era.
(With smouldering eyes. My Girl's a Yorkshire relish for tublumber bumpshire rose.)
THE VOICE OF LYNCH: (Tossing a cigarette on to the front, holds over the celebrant's petticoat, revealing her bare thigh, and shows it full of polonies, kippered herrings, Findon haddies and tightpacked pills.) Liliata rutilantium te confessorum … Iubilantium te virginum … Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad. Out of it.
THE VOICE OF ZOE: (In each hand he holds a bicycle pump the crayfish in his hand to his mouth near the face of the uncovered-grave.) I heard that.
THE VOICE OF VIRAG: (Girls of the event, and articulate chatter.) Petticoat government. Qui vous a mis dans cette fichue position, Philippe? All he could not answer coherently.
BLOOM: The rabble were in your heyday then and you honestly looked just too fetching in it that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! It runs in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the dead, music, future of the damp nitrous cover. Wait. That tired feeling. Weep not for me, were questions still vague; but, whatever my reason, I am guiltless as the victims of some gigantic hound in the sum of five pounds.
THE WATERFALL: Mac Somebody.
THE YEWS: Reuben J. A florin I find him. Pschatt!
THE NYMPH: (The Reverend Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a body to the halldoor perceives Corny Kelleher that he is wearing green socks.) And the rest! You found me in four places. It was the dark rumor and legendry, the hit of the century. Amen. Unseen, one summer eve, you kissed me in evil company, highkickers, coster picnicmakers, pugilists, popular generals, immoral panto boys in fleshtights and the nifty shimmy dancers, La Aurora and Karini, musical act, the titanic bats, the hit of the century.
(Figures wind serpenting in slow woodland pattern around the windows, singing, back, wriggling obscenely with begging paws, his two left feet back to the table and starts.) Mortal! They were as baffling as the victims of some gigantic hound in the morning I read of a pure woman.
(I cannot reveal the details of our penetrations. She seizes Bloom's coattail. Turns He disengages himself He points He bares his arm, tawny red brogues, floursmeared, a chain purse in her robe She draws from behind, grey mittens and cameo brooch, her young eyes wonderwide.)
THE BUTTON: St John and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui.
(She pats him offhandedly with velvet paws. Bronze by gold they whisper.)
THE SLUTS: One immediately observes that he was miserable. Quack!
BLOOM: (Bitterly.) You fee mendancers on the old manor-house on the bottom, like a tramline in Gibraltar? Haha. Ferguson, I say, from the shore … where the back changes name. Why they fear vermin, creeping things.
THE YEWS: (The ashplant marks his stride.) Loosen his boots.
THE NYMPH: (Solemnly.) And with loving pencil you shaded my eyes, my bosom and my shame. Corsets for men.
(The bulldog growls, his fingers and offers it nervously to Zoe.) And the rest! Neverrip brand as supplied to the aristocracy.
(He coughs and feetshuffling.) Useful hints to the aristocracy. And words. Amen. We eat electric light. My bust developed four inches in three weeks, reports Mrs Gus Rublin with photo. I heard your praise.
(Gently.) I not seen in that chamber?
BLOOM: (With grotesque gestures which Lynch and Kitty.) Even the great Napoleon when measurements were taken next the skin after his death … Look …. Miriam. Vaseline, sir. Like those bubblyjocular Roman matrons one reads of in the Dutch language. The cloven sex. I run? For old sake' sake. You are the link between nations and generations.
(He points.) Why, look … Who'll …?
THE NYMPH: (A silk ladder of innumerable rungs climbs to his subjects.) Nekum!
BLOOM: (Bloom and the breath of wetted ashes.) I saw at her night toilette through illclosed curtains with poor papa's operaglasses: The wanton ate grass wildly. Poor mamma's panacea. Collide. To compare the various joys we each enjoy. He got that kink, fascinated by sister's stays. You ought to report him. This is the last rational act I ever heard or read or knew or came across … Coincidence too.
(Waves the crowd close to the table.) So, too, as we found it. Kosher Yom Kippur Hanukah Roschaschana Beni Brith Bar Mitzvah Mazzoth Askenazim Meshuggah Talith. Matter of fact I was female impersonator in the forbidden Necronomicon of the black Maria peeled off my shoe at Leonard's corner. By what malign fatality were we lured to that terrible Holland churchyard?
(Fanning appears, dragging them with him.) I was just going back for that lotion whitewax, orangeflower water. Why? What lamp, woman, sacred lifegiver! Ja, ich weiss, papachi. Mr Wisdom Hely J.P. My old dad too was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the night-wind from over far swamps and seas; and were disturbed by the jaws of the ladies' cloakroom and lavatory, the salt of the forest.
(Horned spectacles hang down at the farther side of her deathrattle. Rushes forward and places an ear to the table.)
BELLA: Disgrace him, I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground.
BLOOM: (Heavy Gatling guns boom.) I could identify; and, uttering their warcry Bonafide Sabaoth, sabred the Saracen gunners to a man misunderstood. Dogdays. Not I! I'm as staunch a Britisher as you probably … Ah! As if you call. Yes. We medical men. I … No girl would when I spoke to him, Majorgeneral Brian Tweedy, one of our common ancestors.
BELLA: (Boys from High school are perched on the doorstep all the nose.) Jesus!
(Pater, dad.) Do you want me to call the police?
BLOOM: (His yellow parrotbeak gabbles nasally He coughs and feetshuffling.) Let's walk on. Woman, it's hell itself!
BELLA: You'll know me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and those around had heard all night a faint, deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. What is it?
BLOOM: N.g. Shoot!
BELLA: (He cheers feebly.) I'll charge him!
ZOE: There. So, too, as we sailed the next midnight in one of the bed or came too quick with your best girl.
(After them march the guilds and trades and trainbands with flying colours: coopers, bird fanciers, millwrights, newspaper canvassers, law scriveners, masseurs, vintners, trussmakers, chimneysweeps, lard refiners, tabinet and poplin weavers, farriers, Italian warehousemen, church decorators, bootjack manufacturers, undertakers, silk mercers, lapidaries, salesmasters, corkcutters, assessors of fire losses, dyers and cleaners, export bottlers, fellmongers, ticketwriters, heraldic seal engravers, horse repository hands, caper round him.) Schorach ani wenowach, benoith Hierushaloim.
(Kitty.) Give a thing and take it back. Tie a knot on your shift.
(To the redcoats.) Come and I'll peel off.
(Points to his subjects. Smites his thigh in abundant laughter. From the suttee pyre the flame of gum camphire ascends.)
BLOOM: (Bloom.) I take exception to, if I may ….
ZOE: Mount of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.
BLOOM: (In dignified ventriloquy To Bloom She gives him the next day I carefully wrapped the green jade.) Onions.
ZOE: He's inside with his coat buttoned up. You've a hard chancre. There. Tell us news.
BLOOM: Third time is the charm. Like those bubblyjocular Roman matrons one reads of in Elephantuliasis.
STEPHEN: Distance.
ZOE: Make a stump speech out of it.
(In smart Saxe tailormade, white, still young, sings the chorus from Handel's Messiah alleluia for the sacrifice, sobs, his hand which is printed Défense d'uriner.) Catch!
BELLA: (From on high with both hands are a span from his left hand he holds a roll of parchment.) Police! Ho. I thought so. Fbhracht!
(Runs to stephen and links him. The kisses, winging from their balconies throw down rosepetals. He gazes in the Black Maria.)
STEPHEN: (Heavy Gatling guns boom.) Expect this is the age of patent medicines. I understand your point of view though I have forgotten the trick. Quick!
(Tommy Caffrey scrambles to a living thing, But I love my country beyond the king.) Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John and I had once violated, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, as if receding far away, a fubsy widow. A time, but we recognized it as the victims of some gigantic hound in the Dutch language.
LYNCH: (Shaking hands with Bloom and the Citizen exhibit to each other, the centre of the poker.) Dona nobis pacem. So that?
STEPHEN: (Offended.) Hola! Whether we were troubled by what seemed to be a universal language, the antique church, the gift of tongues rendering visible not the lay sense but the first confessionbox.
BELLA: (Goes to the curbstone and halts again.) What is it? Ho ho ho.
STEPHEN: (He lilts, wagging his head going back till both hands the railings with fleet step of a gigantic hound which we could scarcely be sure.) I.
(Hoarse commands.) I don't avoid it.
(Releasing his thumbs, he professed entire ignorance of the impious collection in the slot. Her head perched aside in mock pride She stretches up to light the cigarette over the world. Scared. Davy Stephens, ringletted, passes through several walls, climbs Nelson's Pillar, hangs from the top of his straw hat. To the navvy.)
FLORRY: (Abruptly.) You're like someone I knew once. Wait.
(A firm heelclacking tread is heard taking the waterproof and hat snores, groans, grinding growling teeth, sending on him a cloying breath of the tower two shafts of light fall on the wall. Holds up a forefinger.)
BELLA, ZOE, KITTY, LYNCH, BLOOM: (A hackneycar, number three hundred and twentyfour, with a bevy of barefoot newsboys.) Iiiiiiiiiaaaaaaach! The predatory excursions on which St John is a wellknown dynamitard, forger, bigamist, bawd and cuckold and a faint, distant baying over the clean white skull and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a gigantic hound which we could not guess, and I glory in it. And the missus is master. Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John must soon befall me. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I departed on the clay here!
STEPHEN: (All the people cast soft pantomime stones at Bloom.) Our friend noise in the street. This is the last rational act I ever performed. All chic womans which arrive full of modesty then disrobe and squeal loud to see vampire man debauch nun very fresh young with dessous troublants.
ZOE: (Shrinks.) Only, you know, sensation.
LYNCH: (The tinkling hoofs and jingling harness grow fainter with their tooralooloo looloo lay.) You would have a better chance of lighting it if you held the match nearer.
KITTY: Blemblem.
(Bloom.)
FLORRY: Ow!
LYNCH: He won't listen to me.
(Brimstone fires spring up from furrows.)
STEPHEN: With me all or not to have that is another pair of trousers. I'm not afraid of what I can talk to if I see his eye.
BLOOM: (Murmurs.) I am about to dawn. I was just visiting an old rag of velveteen, and those around had heard in the background.
(Almost speechless.) N.g. My old dad too was a crack and want of glue.
BELLA: (All the octuplets are handsome, with valuable metallic faces, wellmade, respectably dressed and wellconducted, speaking five modern languages fluently and interested in various stages of dissolution.) Fbhracht! Ho ho ho ho.
ZOE: (Niches here and there contained skulls of all Ireland, under the shutter, puffing cigarsmoke, nursing a fat leg He quenches his cigar angrily on Bloom's ear.) Hard earned on the job herself tonight with the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and seas; and were disturbed by the jaws of the kingly dead, and articulate chatter. The predatory excursions on which we could not answer coherently.
(And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, sardonic bay as of some gigantic hound. Scared, hats himself, then wedges it tight in their plutocratic order of precedence, the bristles of her armpits.)
BLOOM: I am going to scream.
STEPHEN: But after three nights I heard the baying of some gigantic hound. In my opinion every lady for example ….
(Belching. Grave Gladstone sees him level, Bloom and congratulate him.) How is that?
BLOOM: (Zoe offers him chocolate.) Aphro.
STEPHEN: And so Georgina Johnson is dead and married. Be just before you are fond better what belongs they moderns pleasure turpitude of old mans?
BLOOM: (Massed bands blare Garryowen and God save the King.) I thought of destroying myself! Mistaken identity.
STEPHEN: (Seven dwarf simian acolytes, also in red soutane, sandals and socks.) Madam, excuse me.
BLOOM: What do you lack with your barbed wire?
(Love M. A. in a greasy bib, men's grey and green will-o'-the-box head of Don John Conmee rises from the car and mounts it.) Why, look … Who'll …? I mean the pronunciati … I see some old comrades in arms up there among you. Let me be going now, and the plain ten commandments. Done.
STEPHEN: My foes beneath me. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have preferred the fighting parson who founded the protestant error. And Noah was drunk with wine. Parlour magic.
(He throws a shilling on the fringe of the bloodoath in the group.) A time, times and half a time. Filling my belly with husks of swine.
BLOOM: Unmentionable. Off side.
STEPHEN: Doctor Swift says one man in armour will beat ten men in their shirts.
BLOOM: A snack for supper.
STEPHEN: (Plaintively.) Lynch.
(Meaningfully dropping his voice.) Lynx eye.
(The dead of Dublin, imposing in mayoral scarlet, gold mayoral chain and white silk tie, confers with councillor Lorcan Sherlock, locum tenens. He fixes the manhole with a smile in his waistcoat, posing calmly.) Yes. Hold my stick. Soggarth Aroon? Pas seul!
(Venetian masts, maypoles and festal arches spring up from their balconies throw down rosepetals.)
LYNCH: (Spouts walrus smoke through her nostrils.) A cardinal's son.
STEPHEN: (Half opening, then at Zoe, Florry and turns the gas full cock.) The next day away from Holland to our home, we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui. 'Tis time for her poor soul to get out of the Blessed Trinity? Will write fully tomorrow. Wait a moment. It was the word, in Central Asia. Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon was shining against it, not I.
(Wrings her hands, bullion brokers, cricket and archery outfitters, riddlemakers, egg and waddles off Points to the first watch To the navvy. Moses Mendelssohn, Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each foot simultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, mechanically caressing her right bub with a blow.) We are all in the end the world without end. Our interview of this. Lamb of London, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher.
(He follows, followed by the affectionate surroundings of the Glens against The Glens of The O'Donoghue of the soapsun.) Ineluctable modality of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and before a week after our return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our museum, and with headstones snatched from the stable to his chief bassoonist about the relation of ghosts' souls to the ends of the house and made shocking obeisances before the next midnight in one of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years. The ghoul! Cardinal sin. Filling my belly with husks of swine.
ZOE: O, I bade the knocker enter, but was answered only by a shrill laugh.
FLORRY: (The brake cracks violently.) I knew once.
STEPHEN: Though our ages.
LYNCH: (His Eminence Michael cardinal Logue, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all, the titanic bats, was the dark wall a pusyellow flybill, butting it with his fan.) He won't listen to me.
(St John nor I could identify; and were disturbed by what seemed to be blooded. In fishingcap and oilskin jacket. Stands up.)
BLOOM: Disorderly houses. I happened to …. Haven't you lifted enough off him?
(Stephen whirls giddily.) No, but I had robbed; not clean and placid as we had heard all night a faint distant baying over the graves, casting long horrible shadows; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the yews in a body to the door and window open at a funeral.
ZOE: Is that the way to hand the pot to a lady?
STEPHEN: (Bloom with asses' ears seats himself in monosyllables.) Nothung!
ZOE: (With a nervous twitch of his thighs He whirls round and round a moth flies, colliding, escaping.) Come and I'll peel off.
(With a bewitching smile.) Me.
(Laughs.) A wind, on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.
(Major Tweedy, moustached like Turko the terrible, in window embrasures, smoking a pungent Henry Clay cigars, free cowbones for soup, rubber preservatives in sealed envelopes tied with crape.) Come and I'll peel off.
(The kisses, winging from the top of Nelson's Pillar, hangs from the top spur he slides past over chains and keys.) Forfeits, a fine thing and a secret room, far, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our ears the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher.
LYNCH: Get him away, you. The youth who could not shiver and shake.
(A wide yellow cummerbund girdles her.) Illustrate thou.
ZOE: (Clasps himself he strides off on stiff cavalry legs.) A dry rush.
(He wears a mandarin's kimono of Nankeen yellow, draws back and hunched wingshoulders, peers at the victim's legs and drag him downward, grunting, with folded arms and Napoleonic forelock, frowns, then at Zoe, Florry and waltzes her.) Has little mousey any tickles tonight? Are you looking for someone?
(Screams.)
LYNCH: (On a step a gnome totting among a rubbishtip crouches to shoulder a sack of rags and bones.) Enter a ghost and hobgoblins. You would have a better chance of lighting it if you held the match nearer.
(Many most attractive and enthusiastic women also commit suicide by stabbing, drowning, drinking prussic acid, aconite, arsenic, opening their veins, refusing food, casting long horrible shadows; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires, the gasjet lights up a reef of her oakframe a nymph with hair unbound, lightly clad in the band, dusty brogues, fieldglasses in bandolier and a phallic design. She wails.)
FATHER DOLAN: The expression of its diverting novelty and appeal. Alien it indeed was to whisper, The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the false Messiah! Hurrah there, Bluebeard! For identification, bucket in my house, I bade the knocker enter, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the hordes of great bats which had apparently been worn around the sleeper's neck.
(Produces handcuffs. To make the blind see I throw dust in their, in judicial garb of grey stone rises from the table to count the money, commemoration medals, loaves and fishes, temperance badges, expensive Henry Clay cigars, free cowbones for soup, rubber preservatives in sealed envelopes tied with gold thread, butter scotch, pineapple rock, billets doux in the face of Paddy Dignam listens with visible effort, thinking, his dull beard thrust out, muttering.)
DON JOHN CONMEE: Card of the neighborhood. Cleverever outofitnow. I seen him.
ZOE: (Laughing.) You'll know me the amulet.
STEPHEN: (The planets, buoyant balloons, sail swollen up and hunting crop with which he opens.) See? Great success of laughing. Cancer did it, not I. Though our ages. The agony in the background.
ZOE: Dance!
STEPHEN: Distance. Four days later, whilst we were mad, dreaming, or in our ears the faint baying of whose objective existence we could scarcely be sure.
ZOE: The eye, like a maker's seal, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and a secret room, far, underground; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and it ceased altogether as I.
(The dwarf acolytes, also naked, representing the new Bloomusalem.) You'll meet with a … I won't tell you what's not good for you. Mind your cornflowers.
FLORRY: (Folded akimbo against her left hand grasps a huge emerald muffler.) Or a monk.
ZOE: Blue eyes beauty I'll read your hand. Short little finger.
(The retriever drives a cold sheep's trotter, sprinkled with wholepepper.) There's a row on. No kid.
BLOOM: (A pack of staghounds follows, nose to the last rational act I ever performed.) Grease. Isn't that history? Mostly we held to the left our light horse swept across the heights of Plevna and, worst of all shapes, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution.
BELLA: This isn't a brothel.
(The motorman bangs his footgong.) I'll charge him! Who's to pay for that?
ZOE: (Bloom's antlered head.) Those that hides knows where to find. Mother Slipperslapper.
BLOOM: I am the secretary ….
ZOE: (Lieutenant Myers of the whipping post, to Bloom.) No wit, no wrinkles. You're not his father, are you? Give us some parleyvoo. Statues and painting there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John must soon befall me.
(Bloom. Covers her face worn and noseless, green jacket, orange sleeves, Garrett Deasy up, rights his cap back to the window to open it more.)
BLACK LIZ: Hold him now. Up to sample or your money back. Dublin's burning! Live us again.
(Bronze by gold they whisper.)
BLOOM: (A choir of virgins and confessors sing voicelessly.) Zoo. I call it a festivity. Disorderly houses.
ZOE: Dance! Have it now or wait till you get it?
STEPHEN: I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! Where's the red carpet spread? Shirt is synechdoche. Thousand places of entertainment to expense your evenings with lovely ladies saling gloves and other things perhaps hers heart beerchops perfect fashionable house very eccentric where lots cocottes beautiful dressed much about princesses like are dancing cancan and walking there parisian clowneries extra foolish for bachelors foreigns the same if talking a poor english how much later, I bade the knocker enter, but I had first heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and this we found it or made it. How much cost? Alleluia.
(Then he bends to examine on the floor, weaving, unweaving, curtseying, twirling it slowly, muttering to right and left.) It is susceptible of nodes or modes as far apart as hyperphrygian and mixolydian and of texts so divergent as priests haihooping round David's that is Circe's or what am I saying Ceres' altar and David's tip from the dismal railway station, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. Must get glasses. And sovereign Lord of all shapes, and before a week after our return to England, have invented arbitration.
(A Titbits back number. From the centuried grave. Cavaliers behind them arch and suspend their arms, then to the cobblestones. In Beaver street Gripe, yes.)
FLORRY: Wait.
(The bawd makes an unheeded sign. Gazes, unseeing, into the musicroom. Dances slowly, a gorget of cream tulle, a slipshod servant girl, the head of winsome curls was never seen on a toadstool, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with open arms. He lifts her, excuse, desire, with noble indignation points a horning claw and cries He chases his tail cocked, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the earth. The floor is covered with an oilcloth mosaic of jade and azure and cinnabar rhomboids.)
THE BOOTS: (Bloom's plight.) God bless him!
(Perspiring in a torn frockcoat stained with whitewash, dinged silk hat. His hand on the edge of a blushing waitress and laughs kindly He eats a raw turnip offered him by the Right Honourable Joseph Hutchinson, lord mayor of Cork, their tunics bloodbright in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding in his hand, wagging his head and collar back to back, eclipses the sun by extending his little finger.)
ZOE: (After him toddles an obese grandfather rat on fungus turtle paws under a wideleaved sombrero the figure regards him with grotesque gestures which Lynch and the crumbling slabs; the grotesque trees, the bristles of her armpits.) No objection to French lozenges?
(Skeleton horses, Sceptre, Maximum the Second, Zinfandel, the bookseller of Sweets of Sin, Miss Dubedatandshedidbedad, Mesdames Gerald and Stanislaus Moran of Roebuck, the gently moaning night-wind, stronger than the damp nitrous cover.)
(Molly drawing on the steps, recovers, plunges into gloom. Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the whores at the money, commemoration medals, toes the line. But I love my country beyond the king.)
LENEHAN: Strictly confidential. Who are you? God, yes!
BOYLAN: (His eyes wildly dilated, clasps himself.) Dr Hy Franks.
LENEHAN: Mahar shalal hashbaz.
BOYLAN: (Lynch bends Kitty back over the mantelpiece.) Gone off. Hello.
(A burly rough pursues with booted strides.) No Bills.
LENEHAN: (With a dry snigger He crows derisively.) Stophim on the moor, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this realm. Ten to one bar one! That man is Leopold M'Intosh, the notorious fireraiser.
ZOE AND FLORRY: (Sighing.) The accused will now make a bogus statement.
BOYLAN: (A door on the table to count.) Whisper. Remove him.
BLOOM: (Starts up, but I dared not acknowledge.) Hook in wrong tache of her warm form. All parks open to the objects it symbolized; and were disturbed by what seemed to be a mother.
BOYLAN: (Accompanied by two giants.) Good night.
(Laughing, slaps Kitty behind twice.) Hot! Given at this our loyal city of Dublin!
BLOOM: I think it funny. Eat it and get all pigsticky. Molly won seven shillings on a three year old named Nevertell and coming home along by Foxrock in that old fiveseater shanderadan of a christian!
MARION: See the wide world.
(The crossexamination proceeds re Bloom and the ecstasies of the city shake hands with Private Carr, Private Compton and Cissy Caffrey.) The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the pishogue! Pimp! And scourge himself!
BOYLAN: (Guffaws He guffaws again.) On fire, on fire!
BELLA: Who's to pay for that? Do you want me to call the police?
(Her eyes upturned in the bucket. A wind, on weak hams, he halts.)
MARION: I'll write to a powerful prostitute or Bartholomona, the pishogue! There was no one in the hidden museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the grave as we sailed the next day away from Holland to our home, we proceeded to the door and threw myself face down upon the ground. Pimp! Let him look, the pishogue!
BOYLAN: (Mincingly He ceases suddenly and holds up a reef of her mouth.) You are cautioned.
(We are the boys.)
BELLA: (Laughs derisively.) And don't you smash that piano.
BOYLAN: (The beaters approach with imperial eagles hoisted, trailing banners and waving oriental palms.) Mulligan meets the afflicted mother.
BLOOM: Why? She counterassaulted. Broad daylight.
(I buried him the glad eye.) Allow me. Patrons of your stuffed fox. Mixed races and mixed marriage.
KITTY: (With desire, spellbound.) Sure you won't, ma'amsir. Wait. And the viceroy was there with his lady.
(Stephen, then chants with a caul of dark hair, his side eye winking Aside. Looks behind. In tattered mocassins with a tilted dish of spillspilling gravy.)
MINA KENNEDY: (Takes out his arms.) Our alarm was now divided, for, besides our fear of the visitor. So, too, as we sailed the next midnight in one of the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the unfortunate female's throat being cut from ear to ear. Hi! Coo coocoo!
LYDIA DOUCE: (Ruthlessly.) Here, to keep it up, man. Freeman's Urinal and Weekly Arsewipe here. Rorke's Drift! Salute! Married, I fear, even madness—for too much.
KITTY: (To the redcoats.) I'm giddy still.
BOYLAN'S VOICE: (Shouts He slaps her face worn and noseless, green with gravemould.) Stuck together! Reprover of the girl you left behind and she will dream of you.
MARION'S VOICE: (Tugging at his audience.) Result of the people to Azazel, the sickening odors, the nighthag. I'll be with you.
BLOOM: (Violently.) So much for M'Intosh! Fall from cliff. Brainfogfag. It runs in our senses, we had seen it then, but I had a soft corner for you in South Africa, Irish missile troops. I slipped. And that absurd orangekeyed utensil which has only one handle.
BELLA, ZOE, FLORRY, KITTY: Sell the monkey! You abominable person! Ten to one the field!
LYNCH: (George R Mesias, Bloom's tailor, appears among the leaves and break, blossoming into bloom.) It skills not.
(Crows and touts, hoarse bookies in high wizard hats clamour deafeningly.) Hold on!
(Stephen. Cissy Caffrey pass beneath the scaffolding. Blazes Boylan's coat shoulder.)
SHAKESPEARE: (He spits in contempt.) Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation.
(She has a delicate mauve face.) One and eightpence too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. You deserve it, yes.
(Mincingly He ceases suddenly and holds up a fit policeman He whispers in the opposite direction.) Bing! Live us again. Stubborn as a mule!
BLOOM: (Each has his banjo slung.) Let me go.
ZOE: O, my dictionary.
BLOOM: That is one pound six and eleven, a jarring lighting effect, or sphinx with a cylinder of rank weed. II.
(In medieval hauberk, two wild geese volant on his spine, stumps forward. Bloom. With bobbed hair, purple gills, fit moustache rings round his hat smartly on a chair a plump buskined hoof and a longstemmed bamboo Jacob's pipe, its clay bowl fashioned as a female head. -Heard directionless baying of some gigantic hound which we could not be sure. A large bucket.)
FREDDY: Ssh!
SUSY: Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe.
SHAKESPEARE: (Lynch, his breast a severed female head.) As applied to Her Royal Highness.
(A plasterer's bucket. Not unpleasantly With a huge emerald muffler. A pigmy woman swings on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered. A choir of six hundred voices, conducted by Vincent O'brien, sings the chorus from Handel's Messiah alleluia for the sacrifice, greatest bargain ever … Renewed laughter. Laughing witches in red, orange sleeves, Garrett Deasy up, gripping the reins, a huge crayfish by its corner, hands it to her.)
MRS CUNNINGHAM: (A stout fox, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the heaving bosom of the world.)
(The car and calls loudly for all to hear. Kitty on the sofa, chants deeply.)
MARTIN CUNNINGHAM: (The freedom of the amulet.) Liliata rutilantium te confessorum … Iubilantium te virginum … Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad. You may touch my.
STEPHEN: Steve, thou art in a parlous way. Ecco! Enfin ce sont vos oignons. That fell. I'm not afraid of what I can talk to if I see his eye. Destiny.
BELLA: What is it? Incog!
LYNCH: On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and with headstones snatched from the centuried grave. The mirror up to nature.
ZOE: (Clipclaps glovesilent hands.) You both in the corridor. Go abroad and love a foreign lady.
(Almost speechless. She puts the potato greedily into a sidepocket.)
LYNCH: (In triumph.) The mirror up to nature.
STEPHEN: (The jarvey chucks the reins, a painted smile on his head.) Minor chord comes now. The octave. O merde alors! And his ark was open.
(With elaborate gestures, breathing quickly.) Which side is your knowledge bump? Ho!
LYNCH: Dedalus!
THE WHORES: Sell the monkey, boys! Why aren't you in uniform?
STEPHEN: (Sings.) White thy fambles, red thy gan and thy quarrons dainty is. Seizing the green jade. It is susceptible of nodes or modes as far apart as hyperphrygian and mixolydian and of texts so divergent as priests haihooping round David's that is another pair of trousers. Be just before you are fond better what belongs they moderns pleasure turpitude of old mans?
(Trembling, beginning to obey.) I ever performed. Cancer did it, held together with surprising firmness, and in the forbidden Necronomicon of the fifth of George and seventh of Edward.
BELLA: (The cigarette slips from Stephen 's fingers.) You're such a slyboots, old cocky. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the old manor-house on the … Ho! Ho! Ten shillings. Zoe!
STEPHEN: (Her face drawing near and nearer, baying, panting, cramming bread and chocolate into a pair of grey trousers, heelless slippers, his weasel teeth bared yellow, lizardlettered, and he it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge.) Monks of the screw. A hundred thousand apologies. Clever. Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Part for the moment. But after three nights I heard the faint, deep, sardonic bay as of some creeping and appalling doom.
(Scared, hats himself, then at Zoe, Florry and Kitty still point right.)
BELLA: (His lip upcurled, smiles superciliously on the wire.) In the coffin lay an amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been hovering curiously around it.
THE WHORES: (Corny Kelleher returns to the hall.) I'm near it myself. Wal!
STEPHEN: In Serpentine avenue Beelzebub showed me her, a commercial traveller, having itself traversed in reality itself becomes that self. Hail, Sisyphus.
ZOE: Give us some parleyvoo.
LYNCH: Who taught you palmistry?
FLORRY: My foot's asleep.
STEPHEN: (He murmurs vaguely the pass of knights of the bloodoath in the garb and with a semi-canine face, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the hearth.) Perfectly shocking terrific of religion's things mockery seen in universal world. Not that I wish it for you. Mark me. No!
BLOOM: (The inhabitants are lodged in barrels and boxes, all in a sapphire slip, revealing his grey bare hairy buttocks between which are the boys.) Yes.
STEPHEN: I don't know your name but you are quite right. Damn that fellow's noise in the vilest quarter of the Blessed Trinity? Accordingly I sank into the house of Lambert. Who?
(Florry and Bella push the table to count the money, then bends quickly her sailor hat under which her brood of cygnets.) A riddle! I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.
BLOOM: Keep, keep to the door and window open at a right angle cause a draught of thirtytwo feet per second according to the public day and night.
STEPHEN: So at last to that terrible Holland churchyard. How do I stand you?
(Birds of prey, winging from the sea, rising from marshlands, swooping from eyries, hover screaming, gannets, cormorants, vultures, goshawks, climbing woodcocks, peregrines, merlins, blackgrouse, sea eagles, gulls, storm petrels, rises, stretches her wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the lamp he staggers away through the crowd.) Must visit old Deasy or telegraph. A time, times and half a time.
(With a slow friendly mockery in her hand. Steered by his eyelids, bowed upon the ground.)
SIMON: The mockery of my bottom drawer.
(Stephen.) Being now afraid to live alone in the lowest dungeon with manacles and chains around his limbs weighing upwards of three tons. He's a man like Ireland wants. All that man has seen! Mor! Password. Bloom. Accordingly I sank into the house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. Hi! Hanging Harry, your honour. Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John, walking home after dark from the dismal railway station, was the dark rumor and legendry, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing. He expresses himself with such apposite trenchancy.
(The planets, buoyant balloons, sail swollen up and down bump mashtub sort of viceroy and reine relish for tublumber bumpshire rose.) St John and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui. Unmack I have …. The predatory excursions on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.
(Coaxingly Bloom puts out her hand inquisitively. Staggering past. From the car brought up and down bump mashtub sort of viceroy and reine relish for tublumber bumpshire rose. Eagerly. Four buglers on foot blow a sennet. Quakerlyster plasters blisters. With an adroit snap he catches it and bites it through with a black sheep, if he might say so, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the organtoned melodeon Britannia metalbound with four acting stops and twelvefold bellows, a crimson halter round her throat, and sings with broad green sash, wearing a sabletrimmed brickquilted dolman, a lot not knowing a jot what hi! Babes and sucklings are held up.)
THE CROWD: Grhahute! But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and every night that the faint baying of some gigantic hound. Good night. Amen. Where's the great light? Hohohohohohoh! Down there. Stage Irishman! Werf those eykes to footboden, big grand porcos of johnyellows todos covered of gravy! Mor! What's up? Bravo! Wait till I wait.
(Private Compton, swaggersticks tight in their oxters, as he slips on her, impassive. She leads him towards the watch. Sobbing behind her veil. In each hand he holds a roll of parchment. The Glens of The O'Donoghue of the Loop line railway company while the rain refrained from falling glimpses, as they cast dead sea fruit upon him softly her breath of stale garlic. Points. He murmurs He murmurs privately and confidentially He shoulders the second watch He lilts, wagging his head in mute mirthful reply.)
THE ORANGE LODGES: (Coldly.) Tanderagee wants the facts and means to get them. Bottle of lager. Embrace me tight, dear.
GARRETT DEASY: (Blesses himself.)
(In ephod and huntingcap, announces. Lightly.)
(The O'Donoghue of the Prison Gate Mission, joining hands, his nose thickens. Not completely.)
THE GREEN LODGES: In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade. Stage Irishman!
(Along an infinite invisible tightrope taut from zenith to nadir the End of the earth, under the leaves. He gobbles gluttonously with turkey wattles He unrolls one parcel and goes to dump the crubeen softly but holds back and, worst of the earth we had heard in the face.)
STEPHEN: Uninvited. And when I spoke to him, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it!
ZOE: (Shoves them back, loudly.) Travels beyond the sea and marry money.
PRIVATE CARR, PRIVATE COMPTON AND CISSY CAFFREY
:
(Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John Henry Menton, Wisdom Hely, V.B. Dillon, Councillor Nannetti, Alexander Keyes, Larry Rhinoceros, the master of horse, riderless, bolts like a phantom past the whores reply to.)
ZOE: The devil is in that door.
(He lifts her, carries her and bumps her down on Stephen's face and form.) Clap on the back for Zoe. I see.
(Drunkards bawl.) Woman's hand.
BLOOM: Well, I conjure you, sir.
LYNCH: (The tinkling hoofs and jingling harness grow fainter with their pensums or model young ladies playing on the moor became to us the most reverend Dr William Alexander, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry.) It skills not.
STEPHEN: (Puling, the left being higher.) And his ark was open. No, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my knowledge that I wish it for you. To have or not at all.
(Gives a rap with his hand, her forefinger giving to his hasty bow.)
ZOE: (Gallop of hoofs.) I'm Yorkshire born.
(Aloft over his body. They would hear what counsel had to say in his hand. Accordingly I sank into the void. The motorman, thrown forward, cleaves the crowd close to the chandelier and, bending down, pokes with his left eye with his flaring cresset. Smiling, lifts the hat and ashplant, his jockeycap low on his helm, with a kick.)
ZOE: (Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a bidder's face.) Come and I'll peel off. Clear the table. No? Working overtime but her luck's turned today.
(She puts the potato blight on her forehead. Mostly we held to the Sacred Infant, youthful scholars grappling with their swains strolled what times the strains of the Baby infantilic, 50 Meals for 7/6 culinic, Was Jesus a Sun Myth? Laughs. Now, as if receding far away mournfully He breathes softly. The planets rush together, bows He coughs thoughtfully, drily. Stephen Cardinal Dedalus, Primate of all Ireland, appears among the leaves and break, blossoming into bloom. A multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most reverend Dr William Alexander, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all things and second coming of Elijah. He places a ruby ring on her fluid slip and counts its bronze buckles with a wreath of faded orangeblossoms and a large marquee umbrella sways drunkenly, the orient, a sneer of discontent wrinkling his face. With contempt. Stephen and Zoe Higgins, a sprig of woodbine in the window. His tongue upcurling His throat twitches. A large bucket. A green crab with malignant red eyes sticks deep its grinning claws in Stephen's heart.)
MAGINNI: Donnez le petit bouquet à votre dame! Révérence! Salut! Remerciez! Traversé! Only the somber philosophy of the event, and he it was who led the way at last I stood again in the museum. My terpsichorean abilities. Changez de dames!
(He wears dark velvet hose and silverbuckled pumps.) Avant huit! The Katty Lanner step. Salut!
(Bella goes to the Sacred Infant, youthful scholars grappling with their handkerchiefs to sop it up. From the thicket. They exchange in amity the pass of knights of the heaving bosom of the damned. Black Rod, Deputy Garter, Gold Stick, the bishop of Down and Connor, with a bevy of barefoot newsboys. Tries to laugh poor fellow, hihihihihis legs they were they'd walk me off the face. The silent lechers turn to pay the jarvey.)
THE PIANOLA: A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable.
(To Bloom He crows with a rusty fowlingpiece, tiptoeing, fingertipping, his face. He places his heel on her neck, gripes in his stirring address to the navvy. Both are masked with Matthew Arnold's face. Closeclutched swift swifter with glareblareflare scudding they scootlootshoot lumbering by. Nakkering castanet bones in his pocket and brings out a hard basilisk stare, in their trail her jet of venom.)
MAGINNI: (With smouldering eyes.) Balance! Carré! Avant huit! The baying was loud that evening, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the night, not only around the sleeper's neck.
(With a voice of waves With a deft kick he sends it spinning to his breastbone, bows, and I knew not; but I felt that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! A male cough and tread are heard to jingle. He lifts her, Patsy hopping on one shod foot, his cap back to the ground.)
HOURS: O Papli, how old you've grown!
CAVALIERS: He's a professor out of the unknown, we did not try to determine.
HOURS: It was the dark rumor and legendry, the grave, the Moira, Larchet's, Holles street hospital, Burke's.
CAVALIERS: Ma!
THE PIANOLA: He brightens the earth.
(Private Compton. Gaudy dollwomen loll in the pit of his stomach. Edward the Seventh appears in the night—wind howled maniacally from over far swamps and frigid seas. Lurches towards the watch in turn He mumbles incoherently.)
MAGINNI: Fancy dress balls arranged. Escargots! No connection with Madam Legget Byrne's or Levenston's. No connection with Madam Legget Byrne's or Levenston's. Watch me!
(She frowns with lowered head. Impatiently His lawnmower begins to blare The Holy City. With sudden fervour. Nods. The peers do homage, one by one, approaching and genuflecting.)
THE BRACELETS: Dublin's burning! Our alarm was now divided, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the races.
ZOE: (Bloom, broken, closely veiled for the lord great chamberlain, the chief rabbi, the chapter of the house.) Has little mousey any tickles tonight?
MAGINNI: Dos à dos! Salut! Remerciez! Les ponts!
(Hi! Hides the crubeen softly but holds back and screams.)
ZOE: You needn't try to determine.
(He clutches her veil. To the redcoats. He lifts his ashplant, shivering the lamp, pulls the chain.)
MAGINNI: Remerciez! Les tiroirs! Dos à dos! Breathe evenly! Traversé!
(The planets rush together, bows He fixes the manhole with a parcelled hand. A card falls from inside her huge opossum muff. He kisses the bedsores of a Nameless One.)
MAGINNI: Cours de mains! Changez de dames! Chevaux de bois! Révérence!
THE PIANOLA: Salivation is insufficient, the Bective rugger fullback, on you?
KITTY: (Thrusts a dagger towards Stephen's breast with outstretched clutching arms, then twists round towards him in the vilest quarter of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my knowledge that I must try any step conceivably logical.) She's a bit imbecillic.
(Nods. In the agony of her brougham and scans through tortoiseshell quizzing-glasses vindictively. Morning, noon and twilight hours retreat before them. Closing her eyes. He glares With a deft kick he sends it spinning to his back, then wedges it tight in his waistcoat, stock collar with white kerchief, tight lavender trousers and turnedup boots, large profane moustaches and brown paper mitre.)
THE PIANOLA: Around the walls of this odious pest.
ZOE: Me. Line of fate.
(Loudly. With obese stupidity Florry Talbot regards Stephen.)
STEPHEN: Now, however, we thought we had seen it then, but as we had so lately rifled, as the victims of some creeping and appalling doom.
(In a room lit by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing. Stephen. She blushes and makes a knee. Then he bends to him and slowly. All agog. Grave Bloom regards Zoe's neck.)
THE PIANOLA: We gave shade on languorous days, trees of Ireland!
(His thumbs are ghouleaten. Loosening his belt sailor fashion and with gentle fingers draws out a handful of coins. The face of Paddy Dignam listens with visible effort, thinking, his tongue outlolling, panting He gazes in the sofacorner, her feet are those of the navvy lurching through the crowd close to the last place.)
TUTTI: Cuckoo. Bis! Poldy comes home, cakes in his cometobed hat. Keep our flag flying!
SIMON: Must be virgin.
STEPHEN: Noble art of selfpretence.
(Comes to the edge of the baptist, anabaptist, methodist and Moravian chapels and the breath of wetted ashes. She breaks off and nibbles a piece. Delightedly He fumbles again in his armpits and his palms outspread. The trick doorhandle turns. Timothy Harrington, late thrice Lord Mayor of Dublin, crowded with loyal sightseers, chiefly ladies. Levitates over heaps of slain, in liontamer's costume with diamond studs in his hand. Mincingly He ceases suddenly and holds the lapel of his straw hat. To make the blind see I throw dust in their hands, caper round in the ancient grave I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui.)
(Imperiously. Footmarks are stamped over it in. Shakes hands with a kick. Bleats. She pats him. A violent erection of the hall. All wheel whirl waltz twirl. As we heard the baying again, and how we thrilled at the lamp image, shattering light over the world. Guffaw with cleft palates.)
STEPHEN: Burying his grandmother.
(Eagerly. Beside her a camel, hooded with a turreting turban, waits. It was the bony thing my friend and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a corkscrew cross. The bells of George's church toll slowly, a hank of porksteaks dangling, freddy whimpering, Susy with a bevy of barefoot newsboys, jogging a wagtail kite, patter past, shaken in Saint Vitus' dance. She blushes and makes a street collection for Bloom.)
THE CHOIR: Esthetics and cosmetics are for the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth!
(She clutches the two redcoats. Bickering.)
BUCK MULLIGAN: You met with poor old Ireland and territories thereunto belonging? There's someone in the brown scapular. Klook.
(Loftily She arches her body in lascivious crispation, placing her forefinger giving to his mouth, in tone of reproach, pointing.) Out of it!
THE MOTHER: (Ward Union huntsmen and huntswomen live with them, frowns in ventriloquial exorcism with piercing eagle glance towards the tramsiding on the mountains.) Save him from hell, O, my son, my son, my son, my son, my firstborn, when St John and I had hastened to the secret library staircase. There was no one in the Ursuline manual and forty days' indulgence.
STEPHEN: (He assumes the avine head, appears there, rigid in facial paralysis, crowned by the sniffing terrier.) O, this is the point. This silken purse I made out of the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade amulet and sailed for Holland. … Claws and teeth of some gigantic hound.
BUCK MULLIGAN: (Laughs.) My friend was dying when I saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade, I attacked the half frozen sod with a married highlander, says I. Tell him from me. And as I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and in the ancient grave I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui.
(Indistinctly.) And when Cairns came down from the oldest churchyards of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and this we found in the cellar, the stolen amulet in St John's pocket, we gave their details a fastidious technical care. He's a professor out of it!
THE MOTHER: (Her hands passing slowly over her trinketed stomacher, a tailor's goose under his arm, presenting a bill Rubs his hands He searches his pockets vaguely.) Beware God's hand! We were no vulgar ghouls, but so old that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been hovering curiously around it. More women than men in the world. Love's bitter mystery.
STEPHEN: (His jaws chattering, capers to and fro.) Did I? No. The skeleton, though want must be his master, for some brutish empire of his almightiness. Much—amazingly much—was left of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the yews in a parlous way.
THE MOTHER: (An official translation is read by Jimmy Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of the hall, rushes back.) Who had pity for you when you lay in my other world. I am dead.
STEPHEN: (Laughter.) Damn death. How much cost?
THE MOTHER: Love's bitter mystery. Years and years I loved you, O Divine Sacred Heart of Jesus, have mercy on him! Who had pity for you in my womb. I bade the knocker enter, but as we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be discovered. Repent!
STEPHEN: The agony in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet these necessary evils? I'm not afraid of what I can talk to if I see his eye.
THE MOTHER: Years and years I loved you, O Divine Sacred Heart! Get Dilly to make you that boiled rice every night after your brainwork. On the night-wind … claws and teeth of some creeping and appalling doom.
ZOE: (Finally I reached the rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the room.) He's inside with his friend.
FLORRY: (In wild attitudes they spring from the table between bella and florry He takes part in a yellow habit with embroidery of painted flames and high pointed hat.) Wait. Are you out of Maynooth?
BLOOM: (Nudges the second watch gently He turns to a figure appears slowly, awkwardly, and the Citizen exhibit to each other, the woman, her finger a ruby ring on her, Patsy hopping on one shod foot, his jockeycap low on his shirtfront, steps back, laughs loudly, poppysmic plopslop.) Lewd chimpanzee.
THE MOTHER: (Laughs emptily He taps her on the pianoforte or anon all with fervour reciting the family rosary round the room.) Repent! I was once the beautiful May Goulding.
STEPHEN: (Whispering lovewords murmur, liplapping loudly, poppysmic plopslop.) It is susceptible of nodes or modes as far apart as hyperphrygian and mixolydian and of texts so divergent as priests haihooping round David's that is the point. It was here. Nothing.
THE MOTHER: (An official translation is read by Jimmy Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of her habit A large moist stain appears on the columns wobble, eyes stonily forlornly closed, psalms in outlandish monotone.) Who saved you the night you jumped into the train at Dalkey with Paddy Lee?
(After them march gentlemen of the nose and both thumbs are stuck in his oxter.) A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable.
(Mrs Joe Gallaher, George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry, assistant town clerk.)
STEPHEN: (In dark guttural chant as they march unsteadily rightaboutface and burst together from their mouths a volleyed fart.) I'm partially drunk, by Saint Patrick …!
(To Private Compton, swaggersticks tight in his eye He laughs.)
BLOOM: (Her sowcunt barks.) This searching ordeal.
STEPHEN: Gold. Hillyho! Though our ages. The intellectual imagination!
FLORRY: Give him some cold water. Locomotor ataxy.
(They would hear what counsel had to say in his issuing bowels with both hands are a span from his hands stuck deep in his filled pockets but desists, muttering.)
THE MOTHER: (Murmuring singsong with the vehemence of the Three Legs of Man.) Inexpressible was my anguish when expiring with love, grief and agony on Mount Calvary. I pray for you when you were sad among the strangers?
STEPHEN: The reason is because the fundamental and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some gigantic hound. The enigmas of the lamps in the end the world to traverse not itself, God, the titanic bats, the dog sage, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I dared not look at it. But in here it is not dream—it is I must try any step conceivably logical. Whether we were mad, dreaming, or sphinx with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a crouching winged hound, and another time we thought we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be discovered. Near: far.
THE MOTHER: (The Reverend Leopold Abramovitz, Chazen.) Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John was always the leader, and we could scarcely be sure. O Divine Sacred Heart!
STEPHEN: Money I haven't.
(Points He laughs. Bloom assumes a mantle of cloth of gold cope elevates and exposes a marble timepiece. Baraabum!)
THE GASJET: You remember me, were questions still vague; but, whatever my reason, I can't hold this little lot much longer.
BLOOM: Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black Maria peeled off my shoe at Leonard's corner.
LYNCH: (From his sleep, he glides to the table and seizes Zoe round the corner of Beaver Street beneath the windows also, upper as well as lower.) Hold on! Metaphysics in Mecklenburgh street! He won't listen to me.
BELLA: Police!
(He quenches his cigar angrily on Bloom's ear. The disc rasps gratingly against the needle.)
BELLA: (A wealthy American makes a masonic sign.) Trinity.
(Points to the window. In the background, in a charter. Hiding her with her gown slightly and, clasping, climbs Nelson's Pillar, into the top ledge by his eyelids, eats twelve dozen oysters shells included, heals several sufferers from king's evil, contracts his face. He nods. She plops splashing out of her deathrattle.)
THE WHORES: (Scared.) What?
ZOE: (All wheel whirl waltz twirl.) O, I see. Do as you're bid.
BELLA: I could kiss you.
(Laughs He laughs.) What? Zoe!
BLOOM: (All the octuplets are handsome, with Donnybrook fair shillelaghs.) All parks open to the law of falling bodies.
A WHORE: His screams had reached the house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.
BELLA: (Massed bands blare Garryowen and God save the King.) Come to the wrong shop. Jesus! Dead cod!
BLOOM: (Pulling Private Carr and Private Compton, swaggersticks tight in their buttonholes, leap out.) Four days later, I know. Do we yield? When? I caught.
BELLA: (He looks round, darts forward suddenly.) And don't you smash that piano. Who are. After him!
BLOOM: (Stifling. Scared. Virag unscrews his head, sighing, doubling himself together.) It was Gerald converted me to be here. It was a crack and want of use.
BELLA: (Baraabum!) This isn't a musical peepshow. Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to call the police?
BLOOM: (And when I spoke to him lovelorn longlost lugubru Booloohoom.) Something poisonous I ate. Off side. Here's your stick.
FLORRY: (He averts his face to the stars.) Dreams goes by contraries.
BELLA: It is of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the old manor-house on the moor, always louder and louder, and articulate chatter.
BLOOM: A holy abbot you want a scandal. So may the Creator deal with me the amulet. The royal Dublins, boys, the new Bloomusalem in the same way. Me? Yet Eve and the poodle in her lap bridled up and you asked me if I ever heard or read or knew or came across … Coincidence too.
(Lurches towards the lighted doorways, in sackcloth and ashes, stand by the sniffing terrier.) Wrong. What do ye lack? Not man.
BELLA: (On an eminence, the reverend John Hughes S.J. bend low.) Police! Disgrace him, I will! And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, sardonic bay as of some gigantic hound, and before a week after our return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our senses, we gave a last glance at the single door which led us eventually to that detestable course which even in my present fear I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the faint baying of some gigantic hound, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the wrong shop. You're not game, in fact. Who's paying here? Dead cod!
(Fiercely she slaps his haunch, her plaited hair in a bloodcoloured jerkin and tanner's apron, marked made in Germany.) My word! Zoe!
BLOOM: (Bagweighted, passes with a Scotch accent.) Giddy Elijah.
(He is encrusted with weeds and shells.) Still, of course, you said ….
BELLA: (The Ormond boots crouches behind on the shoulder.) Trinity. Trinity.
ZOE: (A male form passes down the steps, drawing his right eye closed tight, trembling eyelids, bowed upon the ground.) The next day away from Holland to our home, we proceeded to the secret library staircase.
BLOOM: We fought for you in South Africa, Irish missile troops. Like those bubblyjocular Roman matrons one reads of in Elephantuliasis.
(He refuses to accept three shillings offered him by Maurice Butterly, farmer He refuses to accept three shillings offered him by the setter into a sidepocket.) Messrs Callan, Coleman. I left the precincts. Regularly engaged.
(Excitedly He taps her on the moor the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one ear, all in a corkscrew cross. A wide yellow cummerbund girdles her. Gazelles are leaping, feeding on the columns wobble, eyes stonily forlornly closed, psalms in outlandish monotone. Sadly. The face of Sweny, the mystery man on the edge of the circumcised, in nun's white habit, coif and hugewinged wimple, softly. The car jingles tooraloom round the corner of the navvy. He darts to the front, holds over the mute world. She darts back to the front. From left upper entrance with two silent lechers turn to pay the jarvey. The floor is covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. She peers at the grave-robbing. He fumbles again in the mute pantomimic merriment nodding from the bench, stonebearded. He leads John Eglinton who wears a slate frockcoat with claret silk lapels, a twoheaded octopus in gillie's kilts, busby and tartan filibegs, whirls through the throng, leaps on his testicles, swears. He smites with his flaring cresset. He wears dark velvet hose and silverbuckled pumps. I read of a man roar, mutter, cease. In purple stock and shovel hat. He wears a slate frockcoat with claret silk lapels, a comb of brilliants and panache of osprey in her hand inquisitively. All the windows, singing, back to the south beyond the seaward reaches of the soapsun. And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some ominous, grinning secret of the unknown, injected with dark bat sleeves that flutter in the sofacorner, her goldcurb wristbangles angriling, scolding him in Moorish. The daughters of Erin, in judicial garb of grey stone rises from the centuried grave.)
THE HUE AND CRY: (Then we struck a substance harder than the damp mold, vegetation, and he it was who led the way at last I stood again in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and the dark sexsmelling theatre unbridles vice.) Cuckoo. Sell the monkey! Prosper! He tore his coat. Aha, yes. Little father! Big comebig!
(To Bloom. Bloom with hard insistence. A few moments later he emerges from under their pencilled brows and smile to his back, loudly. Girls of the gold of kings and their mouldering bones.)
STEPHEN: (He eats.) Damn death. I bade the knocker enter, but we recognized it as the victims of some unspeakable beast. 'Tis time for her poor soul to get out of the world to traverse not itself, God, the dog sage, and every subsequent event including St John's, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the centuried grave. In Serpentine avenue Beelzebub showed me her, a fubsy widow. You are my guests.
PRIVATE CARR: (After that we lived in growing horror and fascination.) He's a whitearsed bugger.
STEPHEN: Cigarette, please. Alleluia. Moment before the enshrined amulet of green jade.
VOICES: Accordingly I sank into the bed. Cuckoo. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, no? Live us again. You did that. Rien va plus!
CISSY CAFFREY: She has it, wherever she put it, she got it, the horrible shadows, the leg of the duck, the leg of the duck. I was in company with the soldiers and they left me to do—you know, and the young man run up behind me.
STEPHEN: (Zoe Higgins.) Sixteen years ago.
(In his left side, sighing, doubling himself together.) Up to the calm white thing that had killed it, not music not odour, would almost totally destroy for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some gigantic hound, and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. Aha!
VOICES: Hurrah there, Bluebeard!
CISSY CAFFREY: Cissy's your girl. Cissy's your girl.
PRIVATE COMPTON: He doesn't half want a thick ear, the blighter. And assaulted my chum.
PRIVATE CARR: (Bows.) I love old Bennett.
LORD TENNYSON: (Almidano Artifoni holds out a batonroll of music with vigorous moustachework.) Ladies and gents, cleaver purchased by Mrs Pearcy to slay Mogg.
PRIVATE COMPTON: Here.
STEPHEN: (Nobly.) This movement illustrates the loaf and jug of bread or wine in Omar. A hundred thousand apologies. Sixteen years ago he was twentytwo too. If you allow me.
CISSY CAFFREY: (Ward on which a carrot is stuck.) Cissy's your girl?
STEPHEN: (Peers at the same way.) Perfectly shocking terrific of religion's things mockery seen in universal world. Black panther. Will write fully tomorrow.
PRIVATE CARR: (Numerous houses are razed to the sky and bursts.) I'll do him in.
STEPHEN: (The night hours link each each with arching arms in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding out her hand inquisitively.) Dans ce bordel ou tenons nostre état. Ungenitive. Break my spirit, will he? All chic womans which arrive full of modesty then disrobe and squeal loud to see in mirror every positions trapezes all that machine there besides also if desire act awfully bestial butcher's boy pollutes in warm veal liver or omlet on the moor became to us the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity.
(From the high constable carrying the sword of state, saint Stephen's iron crown, the coffin of the first watch To the second watch He lilts, wagging his head into the great vat of Guinness's brewery, asphyxiating themselves by placing their heads.) Green rag to a bull. Hamlet, revenge!
(A white lambkin peeps out of the potato blight on her whores.) Wearied with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had assembled a universe of terror and a secret room, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it itself was ineluctably preconditioned to become. I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I saw on the belly pièce de Shakespeare.
DOLLY GRAY: (Bloom She gives him the glad eye.) You can't. Erin go bragh! Encore! Hold him now.
(His bangle bracelets fill. Halts erect, stung by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, was the dark.)
BLOOM: (The pack of staghounds follows, returns.) This black makes me sad.
STEPHEN: (Lifts a palsied left arm and plunges it elbowdeep in Bloom's vulva He shoves his arm and hat from side to side, shrinking quickly to the ground in the boreens and green will-o'-day boy's hat signs to Stephen.) The baying was very faint now, and about the lute?
(The chryselephantine papal standard rises high, surrounded by pennons of the soapsun.) Long live life!
(He kisses the bedsores of a nameless deed in the attitude of most excellent master.) Brain thinks. Niches here and there contained skulls of all things.
(Bloom goes with the halo of Joking Jesus, a quill between his teeth.)
BLOOM: (He closes his jaws suddenly on the frosted carriagepane at Kingstown.) Naturally.
STEPHEN: (A sweat breaking out over him He sniffs.) On October 29 we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our world. Steve, thou art in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by the way. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and I had first heard the faint baying of whose objective existence we could not be sure. Anyway, who are you?
(Her head perched aside in mock shame she glances with sidelong meaning at Bloom.) How?
BIDDY THE CLAP: Bluebags? Hear!
CUNTY KATE: Be mine. Have a notion I was here before.
BIDDY THE CLAP: Respectable woman.
CUNTY KATE: Hoondert punt sterlink. Yes, indeed.
PRIVATE CARR: (The roses draw apart, disclose a sepulchre of the soapsun.) The skeleton, though crushed in places by the old manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.
(She clutches again in her hand, blunders stifflegged out of his thighs He whirls round and round a moth flies, colliding, escaping. He throws a shilling on the hearthrug of matted hair, his arms an umbrella sceptre. There is no answer; he bends to examine on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I attacked the half frozen sod with a passage of his voice. Scowls and calls, her goldcurb wristbangles angriling, scolding him in the coalhole. With a nervous twitch of his straw hat. A hoarse virago retorts. Ecstatically, to retrieve the memory of the wallpaper file rapidly across country.)
EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a cenar teco.) Air! My mother's sister married a Montmorency. Come on, you British army!
(In each hand an orange topknot.) He's a professor. Ma!
(The former morganatic spouse of Bloom, mumbling, his pupils waxing He wriggles forward and places an ear to the piano. He sits tinily on the table and takes the floor. Spattered with size and shape. Shakes hands with both hands.)
PRIVATE CARR: (Birds of prey, winging from the top of her lover and calls loudly for all to hear.) What ho, parson!
STEPHEN: (I reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the stealing of the soapsun.) But, by Saint Patrick …! Only the somber philosophy of the impious collection in the end the world to traverse not itself, God, the sun, Shakespeare, a commercial traveller, having itself traversed in reality itself becomes that self. Wait a moment. No voice. Thousand places of entertainment to expense your evenings with lovely ladies saling gloves and other things perhaps hers heart beerchops perfect fashionable house very eccentric where lots cocottes beautiful dressed much about princesses like are dancing cancan and walking there parisian clowneries extra foolish for bachelors foreigns the same way. Wearied with the commonplaces of a gigantic hound, or catalog even partly the worst of all shapes, and articulate chatter.
(Paddy Dignam listens with visible effort, thinking, his tail cocked, and a phallic design.) He offended your memory. Must visit old Deasy or telegraph. Salvi facti sunt. A discussion is difficult down here. What, eleven? On the night that the faint baying of some gigantic hound.
EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (He gives the sign and dueguard of fellowcraft.)
(His eyes wildly dilated, clasps himself. And Fritz politic, Care of the thing hinted of in the witnessbox, in maimed sodden playfight. Unbuttoning her gauntlet violently She swishes her huntingcrop savagely in the hidden museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the squatted figure with its cap back to the wall.)
STEPHEN: Though our ages.
(With gibbering baboon's cries he jerks his hips in the sheathmail of an area, lurching by, shawled, yelling.) Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. One evening as I.
PRIVATE COMPTON: Say! The predatory excursions on which St John nor I could identify; and, worst of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the single door which led to the earth we had assembled a universe of terror and a secret room, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and moonlight.
BLOOM: (Old Gummy Granny in sugarloaf hat appears seated on a rope slung between two railings, counting.) Eleven. Absinthe. Awaiting your further orders we remain, gentlemen, …. Giddy Elijah. Then we struck a substance harder than the night-wind, stronger than the damp mold, and with headstones snatched from the cattlemarket to the calm white thing that lay within; but I felt that I … Sleep reveals the worst side of everyone, children perhaps excepted. High School play Vice Versa. Bit light in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and I saw.
STEPHEN: (Solemnly.) Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation.
PRIVATE CARR: What's that you're saying about my king?
PRIVATE COMPTON: Say!
STEPHEN: All chic womans which arrive full of modesty then disrobe and squeal loud to see in mirror every positions trapezes all that machine there besides also if desire act awfully bestial butcher's boy pollutes in warm veal liver or omlet on the haddock. No!
(All the octuplets are handsome, with Donnybrook fair shillelaghs. Of Wexford.)
KEVIN EGAN: The predatory excursions on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. Stuck together! Three times three for our future chief magistrate!
(Florry follows, spilling water from her funnel towards the land. Covering their ears, squawk.)
PATRICE: He was drummed out of it!
DON EMILE PATRIZIO FRANZ RUPERT POPE HENNESSY: (Tom and Sam Bohee, coloured coons in white surgical students' gowns, four abreast, goosestepping, tramp fist past in a brown macintosh springs up through a coalhole, his live cape filling about the relation of ghosts' souls to the fireplace where he stands with shrugged shoulders, finny hands outspread, a crimson velvet mantle trimmed with ermine, bearing on his testicles, swears.) Corpus meum.
BLOOM: (Softly Kindly.) Egypt. There is a natural cause.
STEPHEN: (Peering over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder, and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children.) Thanks. But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and every night that the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the public.
BIDDY THE CLAP: The fetor judaicus is most perceptible.
THE VIRAGO: Only the somber philosophy of the city. Thank heaven!
THE BAWD: Hasn't the soldier a right to go with his girl? And when I saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade. Fallopian tube. Listen to who's talking!
A ROUGH: (The former morganatic spouse of Bloom, holding out her scarlet trousers and turnedup boots, large eights.) Card of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires, the tales of the Paradisiacal Era. But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and without servants in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered.
THE CITIZEN: (He gazes in the corridor.) Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John from his sleep, he organised her.
THE CROPPY BOY: (In the grate fan.)
(They blow ickylickysticky yumyum kisses. Their paintspeckled hats wag.)
RUMBOLD, DEMON BARBER: (Dense clouds roll past.) Jigajiga. … Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad. All cordially invited.
(She snakes her neck, a comb of brilliants and panache of osprey in her laces. In a low, cautious scratching at the ready. The horse neighs.)
THE CROPPY BOY
:
(Looks behind. He searches his pockets vaguely.)
(Spits in their saddles. In rolledup shirtsleeves, black gansy with red floating tie and apache cap. Extinguishing all lights, we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the World's Twelve Worst Books: Froggy And Fritz politic, Care of the earth we had seen that summer eve from the long undisturbed ground. In a room lit by a spasm.)
RUMBOLD: Another!
(Excitedly.) Finally I reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and we heartily wish both men the best. Recant! Phillaphulla Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Phoucaphouca Phoucaphouca.
(Stephen talks to himself and the bucket.) Leo! Midwife Most Merciful, pray for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.
EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (He bends down and calls, her young eyes wonderwide.)
(He is seated on a net, covers his left eye with his assegai, striding through a crackling canebrake over beechmast and acorns. Both are masked, with noble indignation points a horning claw and cries He mews He sighs and stretches himself, then slowly.)
PRIVATE CARR: Say it again. He aint half balmy.
STEPHEN: (To the court.) Cardinal sin. Exit Judas. His handwriting except His criminal thumbprint on the haddock. Hand hurts me slightly.
(Regretfully.) Quick!
PRIVATE CARR: What ho, parson!
STEPHEN: (Grave Bloom regards Zoe's neck.) And ever shall be mangled in the street. I thought of destroying myself! Personally, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I flew.
(His eyes grow dull, darker and pouched, his shapeless mouth dribbling, jerks past, shaken in Saint Vitus' dance. Aroma rises, a comb of brilliants and panache of osprey in her hair. Bloom plodges forward again through the underwood.)
STEPHEN: Ecco! And as I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and it ceased altogether as I. Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. I knew not; but I dared not acknowledge.
OLD GUMMY GRANNY: (In papal zouave's uniform, doffs his plumed hat.) Htengier Tnetopinmo Dog Drol eht rof, Aiulella! Bloom!
(Stamps her jingling spurs in a rich feminine key He gobbles gluttonously with turkey wattles He unrolls one parcel and goes forward slowly towards the lighted doorways, in planes intersecting, the high barbacans of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in the sign and dueguard of fellowcraft.) What did you do in the forbidden Necronomicon of the people to Azazel, the unfortunate class? Fancying it St John's pocket, we had seen it then, let my epitaph be written. Niches here and there be hanged by the knock of the reflections of the thing, the funniest man on earth.
(The Nameless One, Mrs Riordan, The Nameless One, Mrs Galbraith, the gasjet lights up a fit policeman He whispers in the night hours link each each with arching arms in a few rooms of an elderly bawd seizes his sleeve, the antique ivied church pointed a jeering finger at Bloom.) L'homme qui rit!
STEPHEN: When I aroused St John nor I could identify; and on the belly pièce de Shakespeare. I seem to annoy them. Ineluctable modality of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the yews in a parlous way. The ghoul! Cigarette, please.
CISSY CAFFREY: (She turns up bloom's hand.) But I'm faithful to the man that's treating me though I'm only a shilling whore.
A ROUGH: Eh, come here till I wait.
PRIVATE CARR: (The navvy, lurching by, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence.) Who wants your bleeding money?
BLOOM: (Kitty still point right.) I mean, Leopardstown. It was incredibly tough and thick, but as we looked more closely we saw that it held. True word spoken in jest.
THE CITIZEN: Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count.
(The wand in Lynch's hand flashes: a child wails. To Stephen. The ashplant marks his stride.)
PRIVATE COMPTON: Here's the cops! Go it, Harry. Go it, Harry.
STEPHEN: To have or not at all. I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the oldest churchyards of the world to traverse not itself, God, the sun, Shakespeare, a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and seas; and, worst of all shapes, and the last demonic sentence I heard the baying of some creeping and appalling doom.
BLOOM: (The enigmas of the Universe cosmic, Let's All Chortle hilaric, Canvasser's Vade Mecum journalic, Loveletters of Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic.) It is of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the law of torts you are! Even their wax model Raymonde I visited daily to admire her cobweb hose and stick. New worlds for old. Why did I run?
THE NAVVY: (To the court, pointing one thumb heavenward.) Heigho! Burial docket letter number U.P. eightyfive thousand. Show me in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the livid sky; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon. I touch your? Corpus meum.
(To Florry. To Stephen. Cowed He winces. Familiarly Suspiciously.)
MAJOR TWEEDY: (He coughs encouragingly.) Bareback riding. I'm a tiny tiny thing ever flying in the Dutch language. And under Ballybough bridge?
PRIVATE CARR: Was he insulting you while me and him was having a piss?
PRIVATE COMPTON: (She runs to the table.) Way for the parson. Here's the cops!
(Twirling, her bonnet awry, rouging and powdering her cheeks, mustard hair and large male hands and smashes the chandelier. Bob, a massive whoremistress, enters.)
CISSY CAFFREY: Stop them from fighting! He insulted me but I forgive him.
CUNTY KATE: Go to hell!
BIDDY THE CLAP: There's nobody like him after all.
CUNTY KATE: (Joybells ring in Christ church, the pale autumnal moon over the wold.) Good breath. Keep our flag flying!
STEPHEN: Street of harlots.
PRIVATE CARR: (The bawd makes an unheeded sign.) Was he insulting you while me and him was having a piss?
BLOOM: (He stands aside at the pianola.) Kildare street club toff. This moving kidney. He might be discovered. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have been a perfect pig.
CISSY CAFFREY: (Guffaws He guffaws again.) I gave it to Nelly to stick in her belly: the leg of the duck, the leg of the duck, the leg of the duck, the grotesque trees, the leg of the duck, the leg of the duck, the leg of the duck, the leg of the duck, the leg of the duck. More luck to me. Cavan, Cootehill and Belturbet.
(Stephen claps hat on head and, worst of the red cross and fight duels with cavalry sabres: Wolfe Tone against Henry Grattan, Smith O'Brien against Daniel O'Connell, Michael E Geraghty, Inspector Troy, Mrs Riordan, The Reverend Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a bloodcoloured jerkin and tanner's apron, marked made in Germany.) On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and the ecstasies of the duck, the antique church, the leg of the amulet.
STEPHEN: (A pigmy woman swings on a brokenwinded isabelle nag, steer, piglings, Conmee on Christass, lame crutch and leg sailor in cockboat armfolded ropepulling hitching stamp hornpipe through and through.) It may be an old hymn to Demeter or also illustrate Coela enarrant gloriam Domini.
VOICES: Reuben J. A florin I find him.
DISTANT VOICES: Mor! It was the night of September 24,19—, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is in the mantrap with a charnel fever like our own house of keys? I alone know why, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it.
(Beautify. Enthusiastically. Coyly, through parting fingers. In housejacket of ripplecloth, flannel trousers, patent pumps and canary gloves. Beside her a camel, lifting their arms. In lowcorsaged opal balldress and elbowlength ivory gloves, wearing a stained inverness cape, bent forward, holding a book in his eye He gazes ahead, reading on the square, he halts. Private Carr's sleeve She cries. His bangle bracelets fill. In an archway a standing woman, the whore, the bishop of Down and Connor, His Grace, the curtana. Rows of grimy houses with gaping doors. Chattering and squabbling. Ruthlessly. Bows. They rustle, flutter upon his garments, alight, bright giddy flecks, silvery sequins. Removes her boot to throw it at Bloom, in athlete's singlet and breeches, arrives at the top spur he slides past over chains and keys. Whether we were mad, dreaming, or sphinx with a blow clumsily. A yoke of buckets leopards all over from frons to nates, three tears filling from his pocket and brings out a hard voice He bends again There is no answer He bends sideways and squeezes his mount's testicles roughly, shouting He horserides cockhorse, leaping, leaping in their saddles. We only realized, with Donnybrook fair shillelaghs. As we hastened from the farther side under the railway bridge bloom appears, smoking birdseye cigarettes. Bloom. Comes to the first watch To the recorder with sinister familiarity. In barrister's grey wig and stuffgown, speaking five modern languages fluently and interested in various arts and sciences. From Gillen's hairdresser's window a series of empty fifths. General laughter. Hearing a male voice in talk with the poundnote to Stephen. She sidles from her tilted tumbler. In bodycoats, kneebreeches, buff stockings and powdered wig. Absently. The motorman bangs his footgong. Laughs mockingly. After them march the guilds and trades and trainbands with flying colours: coopers, bird fanciers, millwrights, newspaper canvassers, law scriveners, masseurs, vintners, trussmakers, chimneysweeps, lard refiners, tabinet and poplin weavers, farriers, Italian warehousemen, church decorators, bootjack manufacturers, undertakers, silk mercers, lapidaries, salesmasters, corkcutters, assessors of fire losses, dyers and cleaners, export bottlers, fellmongers, ticketwriters, heraldic seal engravers, horse repository hands, caper round him. The car jingles tooraloom round the room. Eyes closed he totters. Gravely. Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through a crackling canebrake over beechmast and acorns. Humbly kisses her long hair from Blazes Boylan's coat shoulder. Glances sharply at the moth out of the earth. He pipes scoffingly. Embraces John Howard Parnell, Arthur Griffith against John Redmond, John Henry Menton Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a strong hairgrowth of resin. The women's heads coalesce.)
FATHER MALACHI O'FLYNN: Let them go and fight the Boers!
THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE: Death is the parallax of the uncovered-grave.
FATHER MALACHI O'FLYNN: (They are masked with Matthew Arnold's face.) Love me.
THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE: (Rows of grimy houses with gaping doors.) For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John nor I could only find out about octaves.
THE VOICE OF ALL THE DAMNED: Who?
(The inhabitants are lodged in barrels and boxes, all the male brutes that have possessed her. Shouts He extends his portfolio.)
ADONAI: Three and a faint, deep, insistent note as of some malign being whose nature we could not answer coherently.
THE VOICE OF ALL THE BLESSED: There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, and I saw on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I can't hold this little lot much longer.
(The very reverend Canon O'Hanlon in cloth of gold and puts on her, excuse, desire, spellbound. Gently.)
ADONAI: Love me not.
(Indistinctly. The Reverend Leopold Abramovitz, Chazen.)
PRIVATE CARR: (Points Lynch bends Kitty back over the bolster, listening.) I'll wring the neck of any fucking bastard says a word against my fucking king. I'll wring the neck of any fucking bastard says a word against my fucking king.
OLD GUMMY GRANNY: (In his free hand.) Pwfungg! Love me.
(Whether we were mad, dreaming, or sphinx with a semi-canine face, and every subsequent event including St John's, I attacked the half frozen sod with a paper of yewfronds and clear glades.) I'm sure that Stephen is a flower that bloometh.
(The rabble were in terror, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red jujube. The baying was loud that evening, and every subsequent event including St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the blackest of apprehensions, that the faint far baying we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his ear gently with little goldstopped teeth, and with headstones snatched from the hair of a huge pork kidney, containing forty thousand rooms.)
BLOOM: (Private Carr, Private Hygiene, Seaside Concert Entertainments, Painless Obstetrics and Astronomy for the open, brighteyed, seeking badger earth, rises stark through the diamond panes, cries out.) Mutton dressed as lamb.
LYNCH: Come! Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John and I had hastened to the earth we had heard in the corridor.
(Round his neck hangs a rosary of corks ending on his breast a severed female head.) Here! He's back from Paris.
(Major Tweedy, moustached like Turko the terrible, in a distant corner; the grotesque trees, the pale watching moon, the Duke of Beaufort's Ceylon, prix de Paris. A heavy stye droops over her shoulder, mounts the block.)
STEPHEN: (Dense clouds roll past.) Hamlet, revenge! Blessed be the eight beatitudes.
BLOOM: (She arches her body in lascivious crispation, placing her forefinger in mouth.) So. I am wrongfully accused me.
STEPHEN: Watercloset. This movement illustrates the loaf and a jug? Thousand places of entertainment to expense your evenings with lovely ladies saling gloves and other things perhaps hers heart beerchops perfect fashionable house very eccentric where lots cocottes beautiful dressed much about princesses like are dancing cancan and walking there parisian clowneries extra foolish for bachelors foreigns the same if talking a poor english how much smart they are on things love and sensations voluptuous.
CISSY CAFFREY: (A glow leaps again.) I forgive him for insulting me. She has it, the leg of the duck.
(Twining, receding, with dignity.) The moon was up, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its diverting novelty and appeal.
BLOOM: (Swaying.) The last articles …. The change of name.
PRIVATE CARR: (His tongue upcurling His throat twitches.) I'll insult him.
(Jumps surely from the bench, stonebearded. Chewing. Mary Driscoll, a bunch of keys tied with crape. From the top ledge by his rapier, he halts. He is encrusted with weeds and shells.)
MAJOR TWEEDY: (Head askew, arches his back.) I arose, trembling, I departed on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet. Pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty petticoats. Feel my royal weight.
THE RETRIEVER: (The twins scuttle off in the window.) For identification, bucket in my hand.
THE CROWD: I'm sending around a dozen of stout for the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth! My turn now on. Big Ben! O good God bless him! Esthetics and cosmetics are for the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth! H'lo! Any good in your eye to the gallows. That's not for you. May I touch your?
A HAG: Finish. Don't strike him when he's down!
THE BAWD: Better for your mother take the strap to you at the bedpost, hussy like you. Sixtyseven is a bitch. Hasn't the soldier a right to go with his girl?
(He gazes far away mournfully He breathes softly.)
THE RETRIEVER: (She drops two pennies in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and with a crying cod's mouth, in a sapphire slip, closed with three bronze buckles with a resolute stare.) O, yes.
BLOOM: (Clerk of the track.) Must come.
PRIVATE COMPTON: (Blazes Boylan's coat shoulder.) Stick one into Jerry. Do him one in the hidden museum, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the calm white thing that had killed it, Harry. Here, bugger off Harry.
(With a wand he beats time slowly.)
FIRST WATCH: The King versus Bloom.
PRIVATE COMPTON: Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural excitements, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and such is my only refuge from the oldest churchyards of the bugger. Here, bugger off Harry. The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the objects it symbolized; and on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was the bony thing my friend and I saw on the moor the faint, deep, insistent note as of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and how we thrilled at the dead.
(Stephen, arming Zoe with exaggerated grace, his dull beard thrust out, muttering, down turned, in blue and white silk scarf.) Say!
CISSY CAFFREY: (He bends down and pray.) They're going to fight.
A MAN: (A phial, an Agnus Dei, a changeling, kidnapped, dressed in an eton suit with white vestslips, narrowshouldered, in a lampglow, black gansy with red floating tie and apache cap.) You never seen me in. We gave shade on languorous summer days. Death is the last rational act I ever performed.
BLOOM: (The former morganatic spouse of Bloom, in mountaineer's puttees, green with gravemould.) O, I say, from what he let drop. Rosemary also did I understand you to say he brought the food.
SECOND WATCH: There's someone in the night, not only around the windows also, upper as well as lower. Bluebags?
PRIVATE CARR: (They die.) Say it again.
BLOOM: (Gaily.) Lesurques and Dubosc. Ja, ich weiss, papachi. Better speak to him first.
SECOND WATCH: Heigho!
PRIVATE COMPTON: (Bolt upright, his hair rumpled: softly.) Way for the parson. Stick one into Jerry.
PRIVATE CARR: (Laughs He laughs.) He insulted my lady friend. Say it again. What's that you're saying about my king?
FIRST WATCH: (Down and Connor, with a kick.) Did something happen?
BLOOM: (In sudden alarm.) Give and have bestowed our royal hand upon the princess Selene, the splendour of night. Even the great Napoleon when measurements were taken next the skin after his death … Look ….
FIRST WATCH: Commit no nuisance.
(Uproar and catcalls. His green eye flashes the monocle of Cashel Boyle O'connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell.)
BLOOM: (On the doorstep with a blind stripling Placing his right hand on Bloom's ear.) Got his majority for the heroic defence of Rorke's Drift.
(These pastimes were to us the most reverend Dr William Alexander, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all shapes, and unrolls the potato from the long caftan of an elected knight of nine, strikes at his belt.) The stiff walk. Not so loud my name. Exuberant female.
SECOND WATCH: The moon was up, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and we could not answer coherently.
CORNY KELLEHER: (Virag reaches the door.) We were often as bad ourselves, ay or worse. I've a rendezvous in the house, what, eh, do you follow me? Only the somber philosophy of the neighborhood. Gold cup. With my tooraloom tooraloom.
(Florry follows, whining piteously, wagging his tail.) I've a rendezvous in the morning. Drowning his grief.
FIRST WATCH: (The crowd bawls of dicers, crown and anchor players, thimbleriggers, broadsmen.) No fixed abode. Call the woman Driscoll.
(A screaming bittern's harsh high whistle shrieks. In tattered mocassins with a kick of her arm and hand, appears, bareheaded, flowingbearded.)
CORNY KELLEHER: Not for old stagers like myself and yourself. So I landed them up on Behan's car and down to nighttown.
(Laughing.) No, by God, says I. That'll be all right. Throwaway.
FIRST WATCH: (In wild attitudes they spring from the footplate of an engine cab of the Kildare Street Museum appears, dragging a lorry on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.) My friend was dying when I saw a black shape obscure one of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.
CORNY KELLEHER: (Bloom follows and picks it up and down bump mashtub sort of viceroy and reine relish for … She claps her hands, kneel down and out but, whatever my reason, I shall be mangled in the Dutch language.) Eh, what?
(He upturns his eyes, to Bloom.) Twenty to one. That'll be all right.
SECOND WATCH: (Over the well of the hanged sends gouts of sperm spouting through his megaphone.) When I aroused St John from his sleep, he didn't.
CORNY KELLEHER: (I think it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge.) Like princes, faith. Boys will be boys.
SECOND WATCH: Heigho! Coo coocoo!
CORNY KELLEHER: Niches here and there contained skulls of all, the grotesque trees, the grave-earth until I killed him with a charnel fever like our own.
BLOOM: (He bears in his arms.) Simply satisfying a need I … Sleep reveals the worst side of everyone, children perhaps excepted. It fills me full.
(In a moment, his hand.) Fellowcountrymen, sgenl inn ban bata coisde gan capall. Sad music. No!
FIRST WATCH: Liar! It was only in case of corporal injuries I'd have to report it at the station.
SECOND WATCH: Wait till I wait.
FIRST WATCH: It was only in case of corporal injuries I'd have to report it at the dead.
BLOOM: (From the high barbacans of the navvy.) Kismet. She's not here. Provided nobody.
SECOND WATCH: He is our friend.
CORNY KELLEHER: Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John from his sleep, he professed entire ignorance of the damp mold, and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children.
THE WATCH: (Crouches, his shapeless mouth dribbling, jerks past, shaken in Saint Vitus' dance.) Bloom dressed yet?
(Tiny roulette planets fly from his pocket and, clad in teabrown artcolours, descends from a tree a large marquee umbrella sways drunkenly, the fingers about to part, the deathflower of the chandelier.)
BLOOM: (High on Ben Howth through rhododendrons a nannygoat passes, season, and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we sailed the next midnight in one of our shocking expedition, or sphinx with a smoky oillamp rams her last bottle in the garb and with headstones snatched from the table.) Awaiting your further orders we remain, gentlemen. Absinthe. Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John was always the leader, and those around had heard all night a faint distant baying as of a gigantic hound, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the objects it symbolized; and on the Riviera, I saw at her night toilette through illclosed curtains with poor papa's operaglasses: The wanton ate grass wildly.
CORNY KELLEHER: (A green rill of bile trickling from a Sedan chair, borne by two giants.) Throwaway. What? Two commercials that were standing fizz in Jammet's. That'll be all right. Well, I'll shove along. Less than a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was Behan our jarvey there that told me after we left the two commercials in Mrs Cohen's and I told him to pull up and got off to see.
BLOOM: After you is good manners.
CORNY KELLEHER: (Bleats.) That'll be all right. So I landed them up on Behan's car and down to nighttown. Throwaway.
(In the coffin of the damned.) One of them lost two quid on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet. When I aroused St John and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural excitements, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and he it was Behan our jarvey there that told me after we left the two commercials in Mrs Cohen's and I told him to pull up and got off to see.
BLOOM: (In youth's smart blue Oxford suit with glass shoes and a high barstool, sways over the wold.) Poor man! My willpower! Dog of a crouching winged hound, and we gloated over the moor the faint baying of some creeping and appalling doom.
(Zoe.) Peccavi!
(These pastimes were to us the most reverend Dr William Alexander, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all Ireland, under the downcoming rollshutter. Armed heroes spring up.)
THE HORSE: I wait. An eagle gules volant in a distant corner; the antique church, the ashplant?
CORNY KELLEHER: I'll see to that.
(In Beaver street Gripe, yes.) It was the bony thing my friend and I told him to pull up and got off to see. Throwaway. No bones broken. Night.
BLOOM: If you ring up … That is one pound six and eleven, a mixed marriage mingling of our penetrations.
(She glances back She darts back to the edge of a scrofulous child. Their paintspeckled hats wag. Reflects precautiously. A fife and drum band is heard in all her herbivorous buckteeth.)
CORNY KELLEHER: (Denis Breen, Theodore Purefoy, Mina Purefoy, the blotches of phthisis and hectic cheekbones of John O'Connell, Michael E Geraghty, Inspector Troy, Mrs Yelverton Barry and the ivied church pointing a huge emerald muffler and shillelagh, calls inaudibly.) Ah, well, he'll get over it.
(Genially.) For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a shrill laugh.
(Mammoth roses murmur of scarlet winegrapes.) That's all right. Night. With my tooraloom tooraloom tooraloom.
BLOOM: Thank you, sir? Spare my past.
CORNY KELLEHER: Sober hearsedrivers a speciality. Somewhere in Cabra, what? Night.
(She leads him towards the lighted doorways, in their time, but in the Daily News.) Boys will be boys. I've a rendezvous in the Dutch language. So I landed them up on Behan's car and down to nighttown.
THE HORSE: (Milly Bloom, stifflegged, aging, bends over the clean white skull and crossbones are painted in white sheepskin overcoats and black striped suit, a twoheaded octopus in gillie's kilts, busby and tartan filibegs, whirls through the foliage.) He's a professor.
BLOOM: And would a jury give me away. Eh!
(With a cry of pain, his tongue loudly. In an oatmeal sporting suit, too small for him, a young whore in a multitude of midges swarms white over his shoulder. Through these pipes came at will the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the saints of finance in their saddles.)
CORNY KELLEHER: (General applause.) Sandycove!
BLOOM: But after three nights I heard the baying of whose objective existence we could not guess, and those around had heard in the shake of a thing of beauty.
(The morning and noon hours waltz in their plutocratic order of precedence, the deathflower of the procession appears headed by John Howard Parnell, city magnates and freemen of the searchlight behind the silent face of Sweny, the other, shaping their curves, bowing visavis. With a bewitching smile. Timothy Harrington, late thrice Lord Mayor of Dublin, crossed on a chair. They are followed by a sugaun, with uplifted neck, gripes in his oxter. Bronze by gold they whisper. Then we struck a substance harder than the night, not only around the windows of different storeys. Laughs He laughs loudly. Heavy Gatling guns boom. His features grow drawn grey and old. It burns, the antique church, the Westland Row postmistress, C.P. M'Coy, friend of Lyons, Hoppy Holohan, maninthestreet, othermaninthestreet, Footballboots, pugnosed driver, rich protestant lady, Davy Byrne, Mrs Galbraith, the presbyterian moderator, the vice of her armpits, the porkbutcher's, under the fat suet folds of Bloom's robe. Hides the crubeen softly but holds back and feels the silent lechers. Chattering and squabbling. With rollicking humour: O, the Westland Row postmistress, C.P. M'Coy, friend of Lyons, Hoppy Holohan, maninthestreet, othermaninthestreet, Footballboots, pugnosed driver, rich protestant lady, Davy Byrne, Mrs Bob Doran, toppling from a small piece of green jade, I departed on the smokepalled altarstone. She hiccups, then at Stephen, Bloom for Bloom.)
BLOOM: I said …. Even the great Napoleon when measurements were taken next the skin after his death … Look ….
(The navvy, lurching heavily.) Ah!
(Mostly we held to the grand jury.) Our howitzers and camel swivel guns played on his lines with telling effect. The quoits are loose.
(Takes out his head to the piano and takes out and in the seawind simply swirling.) And Molly won seven shillings on a three year old named Nevertell and coming home along by Foxrock in that old fiveseater shanderadan of a deadhand cures.
(The brake cracks violently. Rushes to the pianola.) I ever heard or read or knew or came across … Coincidence too.
STEPHEN: (Heavy Gatling guns boom.) White thy fambles, red thy gan and thy quarrons dainty is. I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to ribbons. What, eleven?
(He coughs encouragingly.) The skeleton, though want must be his master, for, besides our fear of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the single door which led us both to so monstrous a fate! Fabled by mothers of memory.
(Florry and Kitty. Stephen, prone, breathes to the front, holds over the table A cigarette appears on the water.)
BLOOM: Two and six. Hundred pounds. And Molly was eating a sandwich of spiced beef out of this sole means of salvation.
(The ropenoose round his shaven mouth, Alice struggling with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the seawind simply swirling.) Thank you very much, gentlemen.
(His yellow parrotbeak gabbles nasally He coughs thoughtfully, drily.) Hynes, may I speak to you? Serpents too are gluttons for woman's milk.
(In youth's smart blue Oxford suit with glass shoes and a large, opaque body darkened the library window a composite portrait shows him gallant Nelson's image.) Let me be going now, professor, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the High School!
STEPHEN: (Turns the drumhandle.) Enfin ce sont vos oignons.
(Sniffs his hair briskly. From left upper entrance with two silent lechers. Lynch He nods. A sevenmonths' child, he murdered Nell Flaherty's duckloving drake. Her hair is scant and lank. Groans He sighs.)
BLOOM: (A deafmute idiot with goggle eyes, points at Lynch's cap, smiles superciliously on the stairs.) There's not sixpenceworth of damage done. Youth. Around the walls of this loot in particular that I am being made a scapegoat of. Ja, ich weiss, papachi. At your service. Mrs Beaufoy Purefoy I wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have met. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a man misunderstood.
(Smiles yellowly at the veiled mauve light, hearing the everflying moth.) Ho!
(The crone makes back for leapfrog.) Ow!
(Her sowcunt barks. Extinguishing all lights, we thought we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. Murmuring. Laughs emptily He taps her on the court, pointing his thumb over his shoulder, mounts the block.)
BLOOM: (The gasjet wails whistling.) A warm tingling glow without effusion.
RUDY: (Exeunt severally. Two discs on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was the oddly conventionalized figure of Mananaun Maclir broods, chin on knees. J.J. O'Molloy's hand and fingers He listens. In sudden sulks. Kevin Egan of Paris in black garments, alight, bright giddy flecks, silvery sequins.)
#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce#1922#automatically generated text#Patrick Mooney#Circe#H.P. Lovecraft#weird fiction#horror#American authors#20th century#modernist authors#The Hound
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spiceislestories-blog · 7 years ago
Text
June 16
My time in Grenada was well spent
The love of family and community was abundant.
I particularly remember a beautiful day in Gouyave on 29/6 for fishermen birthday. There is a new jetty I suspect built in cooperation with the Japanese that extends well into the Caribbean Sea. The view of the fishing village from this vantage point is truly awesome. I took on a new appreciation for the town where tourists roam locals gamble and otherwise live a harsh life at the mercy of the Sea.
Although I have never been to Jamaica, I would think the alley we used as a shortcut between the beach vibes and the street fest, resembles trenchtown.
There is poverty, lack, want, need, violence. The gambling scene was remarkable because of the one young only woman standing at the table with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth as she kept up with the forced ripened men with knotty hair burnished in sea salt and sun, pants hanging low, Stag in one hand spliff in the other.
Why is it the darkness I remember so vividly instead of the abundant light m. I should remember Crazy Candy from whom I purchased EC$75 worth of trinkets-colorful bracelets etc.-after waiting 30 minutes 10 minutes 2 minutes, who out of the blue pulled out of her purse what looked like a body shaper but she said it was an outfit for the club later lol. And oh yeah the waiting...
Business moves at a crawl whether at the bank or a restaurant especially the fish and chips stand at the beach oh my. Initially it was worth the wait but every day any time of day or evening same long wait. I should focus on Heaven where I happened to see Corned Fish for sale and asked Roye to reverse knowing how much he hates that but would do anything for me knowing I wouldn't ask if it wouldn't mean the world to me.
Or Stones the fella in Davi making ra-ra and other crafts long forgotten by most residents of the island even the country since Internet and cable and prosperity. He still collecting unusual shells at the beach which he will display one day in his museum.

Sitting at the beach staring at a piece of driftwood he sees life in it "you don't see a beast in it?!" I see it.
I see life more clearly in all things. This is what going home does for me-resets my perspective, reminds me to live each day to the fullest. There are a lot of materially poor people in the country but a lot of spiritually rich individuals.
Going to church with granny yesterday was the greatest kind of wealth I perceived. Simplicity in the faithful waiting for either death or Christ to come and joy in the singing of the choir and faces of children, heehee these moments I remember well. The lady in front who granny said is hoping for death so she can go meet her husband, I remember. The joyful little boy who just appeared when it was time for collection to bring up for my aging grandmother who got a big surprise when in return this time she gave him a Grenada Chocolate bar and some sweet little gala apples. Red ginger lilies decorated every corner of our church home from the altar to Mary's vestibule sparse though they were. They reminded me of Roye garden and Mr. Noel's collection prepped for the annual Chelsea flower show. And who can forget the brightness that is Sanam, oh how beautiful and poised this child of 16 who had not been to church in Tivoli in so long for lack of transportation. Several people took notice she was there and expressed their joy!! Even the priest!


Damsels-not the kind in distress, the fruit. They are shaped like daisies and like a Grenada five cent coin. Roye grabbed two handfuls for us as we walked back to our parked car in Gouyave. Of course I saved a few for the boys. Well who tell me do that. Ronan demanded more. I tried to be stern and say 'if you wanted damsels you should have come with us to Gouyave instead of declining, protesting, refusing. Anyway how sweet it is when longing is satisfied. He wake one morning with Roye in our room holding a big black plastic bag full of damsels. That boy carried that bag everywhere!

Speaking of wishes granted I ate a LOT of breadfruit! Granny said it was brought over from Asia and if I read Mutiny in the Bounty therein lies evidence. Fascinating... This fruit is so nourishing. Hearty yet melts in your mouth especially when you add coconut milk to it!

I must recall Mickey. Here is someone who at once reminds me of my uncle and represents some of the qualities I envision in my next long term love. He greets me with "you are so beautiful " himself a brown skinned Indian Negro Euro mix, offers me lambi waters and ginger wine, washes my hands and bowl for me when I'm done and makes my children feel so welcomed. However, the rat say he single but Ratup (Roye) tell me he lie! Before the bombshell came the clues - two young daughters, wants to stay to raise them, doesn't travel, grown children, fine!
So I leave the island full of nourishment and love from family nevertheless still longing for earthly love from a man. Everywhere I went I admired the unspoiled scenery curiously noticing natural pairs

for example many pairs of palms. So I leave feeling there's something wrong in my life that I too am not part of a pair, seems against nature. God will sort it out and I understand now after mass yesterday that it natural t both fear and believe.
Alas I made a choice fitting both sentiment by going to my ex in laws and I'm so glad I did. They say love never dies. I believe that's true after the way my ex mom brothers sisters in law niece and nephew welcomed me hugged me expressing how happy they were to see me. Turns out my aunt and uncle know my ex family very well and Jessie/Val Jeff/Colville have a much stronger bond. I feel I must acknowledge what a huge divide was bridged by that one simple choice. The time spent was even more meaningful to ex mom in law who just turned 80 the day before and was having homemade sponge cake as we arrived.

Must mention Erica. She takes good care of granny and took care of us like a sister. She kenrow my hair for me to look nice, after she flat iron it. I'll miss her and pray she continues with patience to stay with granny five days a week

Laurin Joseph is she name.

The real lesson in all this up and down travel food church beach people landscape is don't take anything for granted not the waking up nor the footstep neither the sight. It's the message the Nigerian priest reiterated yesterday and it nicely sums up this trip. The being the present the now the gift that is this moment that I am living to experience I will not vainly consider a given. I will draw in this breath and say thank you Jesus.
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