Ulysses by James Joyce

Leopold Bloom Telemachus
Scylla and Charybdis
Wandering Rocks
Oxen of the Sun

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Ulysses by James Joyce.
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[3184]     By lorries along sir John Rogerson's quay Mr Bloom walked soberly, past
[3185]     Windmill lane, Leask's the linseed crusher, the postal telegraph office.
[3186]     Could have given that address too. And past the sailors' home. He turned
[3187]     from the morning noises of the quayside and walked through Lime street.
[3188]     By Brady's cottages a boy for the skins lolled, his bucket of offal
[3189]     linked, smoking a chewed fagbutt. A smaller girl with scars of eczema on
[3190]     her forehead eyed him, listlessly holding her battered caskhoop. Tell him
[3191]     if he smokes he won't grow. O let him! His life isn't such a bed of
[3192]     roses. Waiting outside pubs to bring da home. Come home to ma, da. Slack
[3193]     hour: won't be many there. He crossed Townsend street, passed the
[3194]     frowning face of Bethel. El, yes: house of: Aleph, Beth. And past
[3195]     Nichols' the undertaker. At eleven it is. Time enough. Daresay Corny
[3196]     Kelleher bagged the job for O'Neill's. Singing with his eyes shut. Corny.
[3197]     Met her once in the park. In the dark. What a lark. Police tout. Her name
[3198]     and address she then told with my tooraloom tooraloom tay. O, surely he
[3199]     bagged it. Bury him cheap in a whatyoumaycall. With my tooraloom,
[3200]     tooraloom, tooraloom, tooraloom.
[3202]     In Westland row he halted before the window of the Belfast and Oriental
[3203]     Tea Company and read the legends of leadpapered packets: choice blend,
[3204]     finest quality, family tea. Rather warm. Tea. Must get some from Tom
[3205]     Kernan. Couldn't ask him at a funeral, though. While his eyes still read
[3206]     blandly he took off his hat quietly inhaling his hairoil and sent his
[3207]     right hand with slow grace over his brow and hair. Very warm morning.
[3208]     Under their dropped lids his eyes found the tiny bow of the leather
[3209]     headband inside his high grade ha. Just there. His right hand came down
[3210]     into the bowl of his hat. His fingers found quickly a card behind the
[3211]     headband and transferred it to his waistcoat pocket.
[3213]     So warm. His right hand once more more slowly went over his brow and
[3214]     hair. Then he put on his hat again, relieved: and read again: choice
[3215]     blend, made of the finest Ceylon brands. The far east. Lovely spot it
[3216]     must be: the garden of the world, big lazy leaves to float about on,
[3217]     cactuses, flowery meads, snaky lianas they call them. Wonder is it like
[3218]     that. Those Cinghalese lobbing about in the sun in DOLCE FAR NIENTE, not
[3219]     doing a hand's turn all day. Sleep six months out of twelve. Too hot to
[3220]     quarrel. Influence of the climate. Lethargy. Flowers of idleness. The air
[3221]     feeds most. Azotes. Hothouse in Botanic gardens. Sensitive plants.
[3222]     Waterlilies. Petals too tired to. Sleeping sickness in the air. Walk on
[3223]     roseleaves. Imagine trying to eat tripe and cowheel. Where was the chap I
[3224]     saw in that picture somewhere? Ah yes, in the dead sea floating on his
[3225]     back, reading a book with a parasol open. Couldn't sink if you tried: so
[3226]     thick with salt. Because the weight of the water, no, the weight of the
[3227]     body in the water is equal to the weight of the what? Or is it the volume
[3228]     is equal to the weight? It's a law something like that. Vance in High
[3229]     school cracking his fingerjoints, teaching. The college curriculum.
[3230]     Cracking curriculum. What is weight really when you say the weight?
[3231]     Thirtytwo feet per second per second. Law of falling bodies: per second
[3232]     per second. They all fall to the ground. The earth. It's the force of
[3233]     gravity of the earth is the weight.
[3235]     He turned away and sauntered across the road. How did she walk with her
[3236]     sausages? Like that something. As he walked he took the folded FREEMAN
[3237]     from his sidepocket, unfolded it, rolled it lengthwise in a baton and
[3238]     tapped it at each sauntering step against his trouserleg. Careless air:
[3239]     just drop in to see. Per second per second. Per second for every second
[3240]     it means. From the curbstone he darted a keen glance through the door of
[3241]     the postoffice. Too late box. Post here. No-one. In.
[3243]     He handed the card through the brass grill.
[3245]     --Are there any letters for me? he asked.
[3247]     While the postmistress searched a pigeonhole he gazed at the recruiting
[3248]     poster with soldiers of all arms on parade: and held the tip of his baton
[3249]     against his nostrils, smelling freshprinted rag paper. No answer
[3250]     probably. Went too far last time.
[3252]     The postmistress handed him back through the grill his card with a
[3253]     letter. He thanked her and glanced rapidly at the typed envelope.
[3256]     Henry Flower Esq,
[3257]     c/o P. O. Westland Row,
[3258]     City.
[3261]     Answered anyhow. He slipped card and letter into his sidepocket,
[3262]     reviewing again the soldiers on parade. Where's old Tweedy's regiment?
[3263]     Castoff soldier. There: bearskin cap and hackle plume. No, he's a
[3264]     grenadier. Pointed cuffs. There he is: royal Dublin fusiliers. Redcoats.
[3265]     Too showy. That must be why the women go after them. Uniform. Easier to
[3266]     enlist and drill. Maud Gonne's letter about taking them off O'Connell
[3267]     street at night: disgrace to our Irish capital. Griffith's paper is on
[3268]     the same tack now: an army rotten with venereal disease: overseas or
[3269]     halfseasover empire. Half baked they look: hypnotised like. Eyes front.
[3270]     Mark time. Table: able. Bed: ed. The King's own. Never see him dressed up
[3271]     as a fireman or a bobby. A mason, yes.
[3273]     He strolled out of the postoffice and turned to the right. Talk: as if
[3274]     that would mend matters. His hand went into his pocket and a forefinger
[3275]     felt its way under the flap of the envelope, ripping it open in jerks.
[3276]     Women will pay a lot of heed, I don't think. His fingers drew forth the
[3277]     letter the letter and crumpled the envelope in his pocket. Something
[3278]     pinned on: photo perhaps. Hair? No.
[3280]     M'Coy. Get rid of him quickly. Take me out of my way. Hate company when
[3281]     you.
[3283]     --Hello, Bloom. Where are you off to?
[3285]     --Hello, M'Coy. Nowhere in particular.
[3287]     --How's the body?
[3289]     --Fine. How are you?
[3291]     --Just keeping alive, M'Coy said.
[3293]     His eyes on the black tie and clothes he asked with low respect:
[3295]     --Is there any ... no trouble I hope? I see you're ...
[3297]     --O, no, Mr Bloom said. Poor Dignam, you know. The funeral is today.
[3299]     --To be sure, poor fellow. So it is. What time?
[3301]     A photo it isn't. A badge maybe.
[3303]     --E ... eleven, Mr Bloom answered.
[3305]     --I must try to get out there, M'Coy said. Eleven, is it? I only heard it
[3306]     last night. Who was telling me? Holohan. You know Hoppy?
[3308]     --I know.
[3310]     Mr Bloom gazed across the road at the outsider drawn up before the door
[3311]     of the Grosvenor. The porter hoisted the valise up on the well. She stood
[3312]     still, waiting, while the man, husband, brother, like her, searched his
[3313]     pockets for change. Stylish kind of coat with that roll collar, warm for
[3314]     a day like this, looks like blanketcloth. Careless stand of her with her
[3315]     hands in those patch pockets. Like that haughty creature at the polo
[3316]     match. Women all for caste till you touch the spot. Handsome is and
[3317]     handsome does. Reserved about to yield. The honourable Mrs and Brutus is
[3318]     an honourable man. Possess her once take the starch out of her.
[3320]     --I was with Bob Doran, he's on one of his periodical bends, and what do
[3321]     you call him Bantam Lyons. Just down there in Conway's we were.
[3323]     Doran Lyons in Conway's. She raised a gloved hand to her hair. In came
[3324]     Hoppy. Having a wet. Drawing back his head and gazing far from beneath
[3325]     his vailed eyelids he saw the bright fawn skin shine in the glare, the
[3326]     braided drums. Clearly I can see today. Moisture about gives long sight
[3327]     perhaps. Talking of one thing or another. Lady's hand. Which side will
[3328]     she get up?
[3330]     --And he said: SAD THING ABOUT OUR POOR FRIEND PADDY! WHAT PADDY? I said.
[3331]     POOR LITTLE PADDY DIGNAM, he said.
[3333]     Off to the country: Broadstone probably. High brown boots with laces
[3334]     dangling. Wellturned foot. What is he foostering over that change for?
[3335]     Sees me looking. Eye out for other fellow always. Good fallback. Two
[3336]     strings to her bow.
[3338]     --WHY? I said. WHAT'S WRONG WITH HIM? I said.
[3340]     Proud: rich: silk stockings.
[3342]     --Yes, Mr Bloom said.
[3344]     He moved a little to the side of M'Coy's talking head. Getting up in a
[3345]     minute.
[3347]     --WHAT'S WRONG WITH HIM? He said. HE'S DEAD, he said. And, faith, he
[3348]     filled up. IS IT PADDY DIGNAM? I said. I couldn't believe it when I heard
[3349]     it. I was with him no later than Friday last or Thursday was it in the
[3350]     Arch. YES, he said. HE'S GONE. HE DIED ON MONDAY, POOR FELLOW. Watch!
[3351]     Watch! Silk flash rich stockings white. Watch!
[3353]     A heavy tramcar honking its gong slewed between.
[3355]     Lost it. Curse your noisy pugnose. Feels locked out of it. Paradise and
[3356]     the peri. Always happening like that. The very moment. Girl in Eustace
[3357]     street hallway Monday was it settling her garter. Her friend covering the
[3358]     display of. ESPRIT DE CORPS. Well, what are you gaping at?
[3360]     --Yes, yes, Mr Bloom said after a dull sigh. Another gone.
[3362]     --One of the best, M'Coy said.
[3364]     The tram passed. They drove off towards the Loop Line bridge, her rich
[3365]     gloved hand on the steel grip. Flicker, flicker: the laceflare of her hat
[3366]     in the sun: flicker, flick.
[3368]     --Wife well, I suppose? M'Coy's changed voice said.
[3370]     --O, yes, Mr Bloom said. Tiptop, thanks.
[3372]     He unrolled the newspaper baton idly and read idly:
[3375]         WHAT IS HOME WITHOUT
[3376]         PLUMTREE'S POTTED MEAT?
[3377]         INCOMPLETE
[3378]         WITH IT AN ABODE OF BLISS.
[3381]     --My missus has just got an engagement. At least it's not settled yet.
[3383]     Valise tack again. By the way no harm. I'm off that, thanks.
[3385]     Mr Bloom turned his largelidded eyes with unhasty friendliness.
[3387]     --My wife too, he said. She's going to sing at a swagger affair in the
[3388]     Ulster Hall, Belfast, on the twenty-fifth.
[3390]     --That so? M'Coy said. Glad to hear that, old man. Who's getting it up?
[3392]     Mrs Marion Bloom. Not up yet. Queen was in her bedroom eating bread and.
[3393]     No book. Blackened court cards laid along her thigh by sevens. Dark lady
[3394]     and fair man. Letter. Cat furry black ball. Torn strip of envelope.
[3397]         LOVE'S
[3398]         OLD
[3399]         SWEET
[3400]         SONG
[3401]         COMES LO-OVE'S OLD ...
[3404]     --It's a kind of a tour, don't you see, Mr Bloom said thoughtfully.
[3405]     SWEEEET SONG. There's a committee formed. Part shares and part profits.
[3407]     M'Coy nodded, picking at his moustache stubble.
[3409]     --O, well, he said. That's good news.
[3411]     He moved to go.
[3413]     --Well, glad to see you looking fit, he said. Meet you knocking around.
[3415]     --Yes, Mr Bloom said.
[3417]     --Tell you what, M'Coy said. You might put down my name at the funeral,
[3418]     will you? I'd like to go but I mightn't be able, you see. There's a
[3419]     drowning case at Sandycove may turn up and then the coroner and myself
[3420]     would have to go down if the body is found. You just shove in my name if
[3421]     I'm not there, will you?
[3423]     --I'll do that, Mr Bloom said, moving to get off. That'll be all right.
[3425]     --Right, M'Coy said brightly. Thanks, old man. I'd go if I possibly
[3426]     could. Well, tolloll. Just C. P. M'Coy will do.
[3428]     --That will be done, Mr Bloom answered firmly.
[3430]     Didn't catch me napping that wheeze. The quick touch. Soft mark. I'd like
[3431]     my job. Valise I have a particular fancy for. Leather. Capped corners,
[3432]     rivetted edges, double action lever lock. Bob Cowley lent him his for the
[3433]     Wicklow regatta concert last year and never heard tidings of it from that
[3434]     good day to this.
[3436]     Mr Bloom, strolling towards Brunswick street, smiled. My missus has just
[3437]     got an. Reedy freckled soprano. Cheeseparing nose. Nice enough in its
[3438]     way: for a little ballad. No guts in it. You and me, don't you know: in
[3439]     the same boat. Softsoaping. Give you the needle that would. Can't he hear
[3440]     the difference? Think he's that way inclined a bit. Against my grain
[3441]     somehow. Thought that Belfast would fetch him. I hope that smallpox up
[3442]     there doesn't get worse. Suppose she wouldn't let herself be vaccinated
[3443]     again. Your wife and my wife.
[3445]     Wonder is he pimping after me?
[3447]     Mr Bloom stood at the corner, his eyes wandering over the multicoloured
[3448]     hoardings. Cantrell and Cochrane's Ginger Ale (Aromatic). Clery's Summer
[3449]     Sale. No, he's going on straight. Hello. LEAH tonight. Mrs Bandmann
[3450]     Palmer. Like to see her again in that. HAMLET she played last night. Male
[3451]     impersonator. Perhaps he was a woman. Why Ophelia committed suicide. Poor
[3452]     papa! How he used to talk of Kate Bateman in that. Outside the Adelphi in
[3453]     London waited all the afternoon to get in. Year before I was born that
[3454]     was: sixtyfive. And Ristori in Vienna. What is this the right name is? By
[3455]     Mosenthal it is. Rachel, is it? No. The scene he was always talking about
[3456]     where the old blind Abraham recognises the voice and puts his fingers on
[3457]     his face.
[3459]     Nathan's voice! His son's voice! I hear the voice of Nathan who left his
[3460]     father to die of grief and misery in my arms, who left the house of his
[3461]     father and left the God of his father.
[3463]     Every word is so deep, Leopold.
[3465]     Poor papa! Poor man! I'm glad I didn't go into the room to look at his
[3466]     face. That day! O, dear! O, dear! Ffoo! Well, perhaps it was best for
[3467]     him.
[3469]     Mr Bloom went round the corner and passed the drooping nags of the
[3470]     hazard. No use thinking of it any more. Nosebag time. Wish I hadn't met
[3471]     that M'Coy fellow.
[3473]     He came nearer and heard a crunching of gilded oats, the gently champing
[3474]     teeth. Their full buck eyes regarded him as he went by, amid the sweet
[3475]     oaten reek of horsepiss. Their Eldorado. Poor jugginses! Damn all they
[3476]     know or care about anything with their long noses stuck in nosebags. Too
[3477]     full for words. Still they get their feed all right and their doss.
[3478]     Gelded too: a stump of black guttapercha wagging limp between their
[3479]     haunches. Might be happy all the same that way. Good poor brutes they
[3480]     look. Still their neigh can be very irritating.
[3482]     He drew the letter from his pocket and folded it into the newspaper he
[3483]     carried. Might just walk into her here. The lane is safer.
[3485]     He passed the cabman's shelter. Curious the life of drifting cabbies. All
[3486]     weathers, all places, time or setdown, no will of their own. VOGLIO E
[3487]     NON. Like to give them an odd cigarette. Sociable. Shout a few flying
[3488]     syllables as they pass. He hummed:
[3491]         LA CI DAREM LA MANO
[3492]         LA LA LALA LA LA.
[3495]     He turned into Cumberland street and, going on some paces, halted
[3496]     in the lee of the station wall. No-one. Meade's timberyard. Piled balks.
[3497]     Ruins and tenements. With careful tread he passed over a hopscotch court
[3498]     with its forgotten pickeystone. Not a sinner. Near the timberyard a
[3499]     squatted child at marbles, alone, shooting the taw with a cunnythumb. A
[3500]     wise tabby, a blinking sphinx, watched from her warm sill. Pity to disturb
[3501]     them. Mohammed cut a piece out of his mantle not to wake her. Open it.
[3502]     And once I played marbles when I went to that old dame's school. She liked
[3503]     mignonette. Mrs Ellis's. And Mr? He opened the letter within the
[3504]     newspaper.
[3506]     A flower. I think it's a. A yellow flower with flattened petals. Not
[3507]     annoyed then? What does she say?
[3510]         Dear Henry
[3512]     I got your last letter to me and thank you very much for it. I am sorry
[3513]     you did not like my last letter. Why did you enclose the stamps? I am
[3514]     awfully angry with you. I do wish I could punish you for that. I called
[3515]     you naughty boy because I do not like that other world. Please tell me
[3516]     what is the real meaning of that word? Are you not happy in your home you
[3517]     poor little naughty boy? I do wish I could do something for you. Please
[3518]     tell me what you think of poor me. I often think of the beautiful name you
[3519]     have. Dear Henry, when will we meet? I think of you so often you have no
[3520]     idea. I have never felt myself so much drawn to a man as you. I feel so
[3521]     bad about. Please write me a long letter and tell me more. Remember if you
[3522]     do not I will punish you. So now you know what I will do to you, you
[3523]     naughty boy, if you do not wrote. O how I long to meet you. Henry dear, do
[3524]     not deny my request before my patience are exhausted. Then I will tell you
[3525]     all. Goodbye now, naughty darling, I have such a bad headache. today. and
[3526]     write BY RETURN to your longing
[3529]         Martha
[3531]     P. S. Do tell me what kind of perfume does your wife use. I want to know.
[3534]     He tore the flower gravely from its pinhold smelt its almost no smell
[3535]     and placed it in his heart pocket. Language of flowers. They like it
[3536]     because no-one can hear. Or a poison bouquet to strike him down. Then
[3537]     walking slowly forward he read the letter again, murmuring here and there
[3538]     a word. Angry tulips with you darling manflower punish your cactus if you
[3539]     don't please poor forgetmenot how I long violets to dear roses when we
[3540]     soon anemone meet all naughty nightstalk wife Martha's perfume. Having
[3541]     read it all he took it from the newspaper and put it back in his
[3542]     sidepocket.
[3544]     Weak joy opened his lips. Changed since the first letter. Wonder
[3545]     did she wrote it herself. Doing the indignant: a girl of good
[3546]     family like me, respectable character. Could meet one Sunday after the
[3547]     rosary. Thank you: not having any. Usual love scrimmage. Then running
[3548]     round corners. Bad as a row with Molly. Cigar has a cooling effect.
[3549]     Narcotic. Go further next time. Naughty boy: punish: afraid of words, of
[3550]     course. Brutal, why not? Try it anyhow. A bit at a time.
[3552]     Fingering still the letter in his pocket he drew the pin out of it.
[3553]     Common pin, eh? He threw it on the road. Out of her clothes somewhere:
[3554]     pinned together. Queer the number of pins they always have. No roses
[3555]     without thorns.
[3557]     Flat Dublin voices bawled in his head. Those two sluts that night in
[3558]     the Coombe, linked together in the rain.
[3562]         SHE DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO
[3563]         TO KEEP IT UP
[3564]         TO KEEP IT UP.
[3567]     It? Them. Such a bad headache. Has her roses probably. Or sitting all day
[3568]     typing. Eyefocus bad for stomach nerves. What perfume does your wife
[3569]     use. Now could you make out a thing like that?
[3571]         TO KEEP IT UP.
[3573]     Martha, Mary. I saw that picture somewhere I forget now old master or
[3574]     faked for money. He is sitting in their house, talking. Mysterious. Also
[3575]     the two sluts in the Coombe would listen.
[3577]         TO KEEP IT UP.
[3579]     Nice kind of evening feeling. No more wandering about. Just loll there:
[3580]     quiet dusk: let everything rip. Forget. Tell about places you have been,
[3581]     strange customs. The other one, jar on her head, was getting the supper:
[3582]     fruit, olives, lovely cool water out of a well, stonecold like the hole in
[3583]     the wall at Ashtown. Must carry a paper goblet next time I go to the
[3584]     trottingmatches. She listens with big dark soft eyes. Tell her: more and
[3585]     more: all. Then a sigh: silence. Long long long rest.
[3587]     Going under the railway arch he took out the envelope, tore it swiftly
[3588]     in shreds and scattered them towards the road. The shreds fluttered away,
[3589]     sank in the dank air: a white flutter, then all sank.
[3591]     Henry Flower. You could tear up a cheque for a hundred pounds in
[3592]     the same way. Simple bit of paper. Lord Iveagh once cashed a sevenfigure
[3593]     cheque for a million in the bank of Ireland. Shows you the money to be
[3594]     made out of porter. Still the other brother lord Ardilaun has to change
[3595]     his shirt four times a day, they say. Skin breeds lice or vermin. A
[3596]     million pounds, wait a moment. Twopence a pint, fourpence a quart,
[3597]     eightpence a gallon of porter, no, one and fourpence a gallon of porter.
[3598]     One and four into twenty: fifteen about. Yes, exactly. Fifteen millions of
[3599]     barrels of porter.
[3601]     What am I saying barrels? Gallons. About a million barrels all the same.
[3603]     An incoming train clanked heavily above his head, coach after coach.
[3604]     Barrels bumped in his head: dull porter slopped and churned inside. The
[3605]     bungholes sprang open and a huge dull flood leaked out, flowing together,
[3606]     winding through mudflats all over the level land, a lazy pooling swirl of
[3607]     liquor bearing along wideleaved flowers of its froth.
[3609]     He had reached the open backdoor of All Hallows. Stepping into the
[3610]     porch he doffed his hat, took the card from his pocket and tucked it again
[3611]     behind the leather headband. Damn it. I might have tried to work M'Coy
[3612]     for a pass to Mullingar.
[3614]     Same notice on the door. Sermon by the very reverend John Conmee
[3615]     S.J. on saint Peter Claver S.J. and the African Mission. Prayers for the
[3616]     conversion of Gladstone they had too when he was almost unconscious.
[3617]     The protestants are the same. Convert Dr William J. Walsh D.D. to the
[3618]     true religion. Save China's millions. Wonder how they explain it to the
[3619]     heathen Chinee. Prefer an ounce of opium. Celestials. Rank heresy for
[3620]     them. Buddha their god lying on his side in the museum. Taking it easy
[3621]     with hand under his cheek. Josssticks burning. Not like Ecce Homo. Crown
[3622]     of thorns and cross. Clever idea Saint Patrick the shamrock. Chopsticks?
[3623]     Conmee: Martin Cunningham knows him: distinguishedlooking. Sorry I
[3624]     didn't work him about getting Molly into the choir instead of that Father
[3625]     Farley who looked a fool but wasn't. They're taught that. He's not going
[3626]     out in bluey specs with the sweat rolling off him to baptise blacks, is
[3627]     he? The glasses would take their fancy, flashing. Like to see them sitting
[3628]     round in a ring with blub lips, entranced, listening. Still life. Lap it
[3629]     up like milk, I suppose.
[3632]     The cold smell of sacred stone called him. He trod the worn steps,
[3633]     pushed the swingdoor and entered softly by the rere.
[3635]     Something going on: some sodality. Pity so empty. Nice discreet place
[3636]     to be next some girl. Who is my neighbour? Jammed by the hour to slow
[3637]     music. That woman at midnight mass. Seventh heaven. Women knelt in the
[3638]     benches with crimson halters round their necks, heads bowed. A batch knelt
[3639]     at the altarrails. The priest went along by them, murmuring, holding the
[3640]     thing in his hands. He stopped at each, took out a communion, shook a
[3641]     drop or two (are they in water?) off it and put it neatly into her mouth.
[3642]     Her hat and head sank. Then the next one. Her hat sank at once. Then the
[3643]     next one: a small old woman. The priest bent down to put it into her
[3644]     mouth, murmuring all the time. Latin. The next one. Shut your eyes and
[3645]     open your mouth. What? CORPUS: body. Corpse. Good idea the Latin.
[3646]     Stupefies them first. Hospice for the dying. They don't seem to chew it:
[3647]     only swallow it down. Rum idea: eating bits of a corpse. Why the cannibals
[3648]     cotton to it.
[3650]     He stood aside watching their blind masks pass down the aisle, one by
[3651]     one, and seek their places. He approached a bench and seated himself in
[3652]     its corner, nursing his hat and newspaper. These pots we have to wear. We
[3653]     ought to have hats modelled on our heads. They were about him here and
[3654]     there, with heads still bowed in their crimson halters, waiting for it to
[3655]     melt in their stomachs. Something like those mazzoth: it's that sort of
[3656]     bread: unleavened shewbread. Look at them. Now I bet it makes them feel
[3657]     happy. Lollipop. It does. Yes, bread of angels it's called. There's a big
[3658]     idea behind it, kind of kingdom of God is within you feel. First
[3659]     communicants. Hokypoky penny a lump. Then feel all like one family party,
[3660]     same in the theatre, all in the same swim. They do. I'm sure of that. Not
[3661]     so lonely. In our confraternity. Then come out a bit spreeish. Let off
[3662]     steam. Thing is if you really believe in it. Lourdes cure, waters of
[3663]     oblivion, and the Knock apparition, statues bleeding. Old fellow asleep
[3664]     near that confessionbox. Hence those snores. Blind faith. Safe in the arms
[3665]     of kingdom come. Lulls all pain. Wake this time next year.
[3667]     He saw the priest stow the communion cup away, well in, and kneel
[3668]     an instant before it, showing a large grey bootsole from under the lace
[3669]     affair he had on. Suppose he lost the pin of his. He wouldn't know what to
[3670]     do to. Bald spot behind. Letters on his back: I.N.R.I? No: I.H.S.
[3671]     Molly told me one time I asked her. I have sinned: or no: I have suffered,
[3672]     it is. And the other one? Iron nails ran in.
[3674]     Meet one Sunday after the rosary. Do not deny my request. Turn up
[3675]     with a veil and black bag. Dusk and the light behind her. She might be
[3676]     here with a ribbon round her neck and do the other thing all the same on
[3677]     the sly. Their character. That fellow that turned queen's evidence on the
[3678]     invincibles he used to receive the, Carey was his name, the communion
[3679]     every morning. This very church. Peter Carey, yes. No, Peter Claver I am
[3680]     thinking of. Denis Carey. And just imagine that. Wife and six children
[3681]     at home. And plotting that murder all the time. Those crawthumpers,
[3682]     now that's a good name for them, there's always something shiftylooking
[3683]     about them. They're not straight men of business either. O, no, she's
[3684]     not here: the flower: no, no. By the way, did I tear up that envelope?
[3685]     Yes: under the bridge.
[3687]     The priest was rinsing out the chalice: then he tossed off the dregs
[3688]     smartly. Wine. Makes it more aristocratic than for example if he drank
[3689]     what they are used to Guinness's porter or some temperance beverage
[3690]     Wheatley's Dublin hop bitters or Cantrell and Cochrane's ginger ale
[3691]     (aromatic). Doesn't give them any of it: shew wine: only the other. Cold
[3692]     comfort. Pious fraud but quite right: otherwise they'd have one old booser
[3693]     worse than another coming along, cadging for a drink. Queer the whole
[3694]     atmosphere of the. Quite right. Perfectly right that is.
[3696]     Mr Bloom looked back towards the choir. Not going to be any music.
[3697]     Pity. Who has the organ here I wonder? Old Glynn he knew how to make
[3698]     that instrument talk, the VIBRATO: fifty pounds a year they say he had in
[3699]     Gardiner street. Molly was in fine voice that day, the STABAT MATER of
[3700]     Rossini. Father Bernard Vaughan's sermon first. Christ or Pilate? Christ,
[3701]     but don't keep us all night over it. Music they wanted. Footdrill stopped.
[3702]     Could hear a pin drop. I told her to pitch her voice against that corner.
[3703]     I could feel the thrill in the air, the full, the people looking up:
[3705]     QUIS EST HOMO.
[3707]     Some of that old sacred music splendid. Mercadante: seven last
[3708]     words. Mozart's twelfth mass: GLORIA in that. Those old popes keen on
[3709]     music, on art and statues and pictures of all kinds. Palestrina for
[3710]     example too. They had a gay old time while it lasted. Healthy too,
[3711]     chanting, regular hours, then brew liqueurs. Benedictine. Green
[3712]     Chartreuse. Still, having eunuchs in their choir that was coming it a bit
[3713]     thick. What kind of voice is it? Must be curious to hear after their own
[3714]     strong basses. Connoisseurs. Suppose they wouldn't feel anything after.
[3715]     Kind of a placid. No worry. Fall into flesh, don't they? Gluttons, tall,
[3716]     long legs. Who knows? Eunuch. One way out of it.
[3718]     He saw the priest bend down and kiss the altar and then face about
[3719]     and bless all the people. All crossed themselves and stood up. Mr Bloom
[3720]     glanced about him and then stood up, looking over the risen hats. Stand up
[3721]     at the gospel of course. Then all settled down on their knees again and he
[3722]     sat back quietly in his bench. The priest came down from the altar,
[3723]     holding the thing out from him, and he and the massboy answered each other
[3724]     in Latin. Then the priest knelt down and began to read off a card:
[3726]     --O God, our refuge and our strength ...
[3728]     Mr Bloom put his face forward to catch the words. English. Throw
[3729]     them the bone. I remember slightly. How long since your last mass?
[3730]     Glorious and immaculate virgin. Joseph, her spouse. Peter and Paul. More
[3731]     interesting if you understood what it was all about. Wonderful
[3732]     organisation certainly, goes like clockwork. Confession. Everyone wants
[3733]     to. Then I will tell you all. Penance. Punish me, please. Great weapon in
[3734]     their hands. More than doctor or solicitor. Woman dying to. And I
[3735]     schschschschschsch. And did you chachachachacha? And why did you? Look
[3736]     down at her ring to find an excuse. Whispering gallery walls have ears.
[3737]     Husband learn to his surprise. God's little joke. Then out she comes.
[3738]     Repentance skindeep. Lovely shame. Pray at an altar. Hail Mary and
[3739]     Holy Mary. Flowers, incense, candles melting. Hide her blushes.
[3740]     Salvation army blatant imitation. Reformed prostitute will address
[3741]     the meeting. How I found the Lord. Squareheaded chaps those must be
[3742]     in Rome: they work the whole show. And don't they rake in the money too?
[3743]     Bequests also: to the P.P. for the time being in his absolute discretion.
[3744]     Masses for the repose of my soul to be said publicly with open doors.
[3745]     Monasteries and convents. The priest in that Fermanagh will case in
[3746]     the witnessbox. No browbeating him. He had his answer pat for everything.
[3747]     Liberty and exaltation of our holy mother the church. The doctors of the
[3748]     church: they mapped out the whole theology of it.
[3750]     The priest prayed:
[3752]     --Blessed Michael, archangel, defend us in the hour of conflict. Be our
[3753]     safeguard against the wickedness and snares of the devil (may God restrain
[3754]     him, we humbly pray!): and do thou, O prince of the heavenly host, by the
[3755]     power of God thrust Satan down to hell and with him those other wicked
[3756]     spirits who wander through the world for the ruin of souls.
[3758]     The priest and the massboy stood up and walked off. All over. The
[3759]     women remained behind: thanksgiving.
[3761]     Better be shoving along. Brother Buzz. Come around with the plate
[3762]     perhaps. Pay your Easter duty.
[3764]     He stood up. Hello. Were those two buttons of my waistcoat open all
[3765]     the time? Women enjoy it. Never tell you. But we. Excuse, miss, there's a
[3766]     (whh!) just a (whh!) fluff. Or their skirt behind, placket unhooked.
[3767]     Glimpses of the moon. Annoyed if you don't. Why didn't you tell me
[3768]     before. Still like you better untidy. Good job it wasn't farther south. He
[3769]     passed, discreetly buttoning, down the aisle and out through the main door
[3770]     into the light. He stood a moment unseeing by the cold black marble bowl
[3771]     while before him and behind two worshippers dipped furtive hands in the
[3772]     low tide of holy water. Trams: a car of Prescott's dyeworks: a widow in
[3773]     her weeds. Notice because I'm in mourning myself. He covered himself. How
[3774]     goes the time? Quarter past. Time enough yet. Better get that lotion made
[3775]     up. Where is this? Ah yes, the last time. Sweny's in Lincoln place.
[3776]     Chemists rarely move. Their green and gold beaconjars too heavy to stir.
[3777]     Hamilton Long's, founded in the year of the flood. Huguenot churchyard
[3778]     near there. Visit some day.
[3780]     He walked southward along Westland row. But the recipe is in the
[3781]     other trousers. O, and I forgot that latchkey too. Bore this funeral
[3782]     affair. O well, poor fellow, it's not his fault. When was it I got it made
[3783]     up last? Wait. I changed a sovereign I remember. First of the month it
[3784]     must have been or the second. O, he can look it up in the prescriptions
[3785]     book.
[3787]     The chemist turned back page after page. Sandy shrivelled smell he
[3788]     seems to have. Shrunken skull. And old. Quest for the philosopher's stone.
[3789]     The alchemists. Drugs age you after mental excitement. Lethargy then.
[3790]     Why? Reaction. A lifetime in a night. Gradually changes your character.
[3791]     Living all the day among herbs, ointments, disinfectants. All his
[3792]     alabaster lilypots. Mortar and pestle. Aq. Dist. Fol. Laur. Te Virid.
[3793]     Smell almost cure you like the dentist's doorbell. Doctor Whack. He ought
[3794]     to physic himself a bit. Electuary or emulsion. The first fellow that
[3795]     picked an herb to cure himself had a bit of pluck. Simples. Want to be
[3796]     careful. Enough stuff here to chloroform you. Test: turns blue litmus
[3797]     paper red. Chloroform. Overdose of laudanum. Sleeping draughts.
[3798]     Lovephiltres. Paragoric poppysyrup bad for cough. Clogs the pores or the
[3799]     phlegm. Poisons the only cures. Remedy where you least expect it. Clever
[3800]     of nature.
[3802]     --About a fortnight ago, sir?
[3804]     --Yes, Mr Bloom said.
[3806]     He waited by the counter, inhaling slowly the keen reek of drugs, the
[3807]     dusty dry smell of sponges and loofahs. Lot of time taken up telling your
[3808]     aches and pains.
[3810]     --Sweet almond oil and tincture of benzoin, Mr Bloom said, and then
[3811]     orangeflower water ...
[3813]     It certainly did make her skin so delicate white like wax.
[3815]     --And white wax also, he said.
[3817]     Brings out the darkness of her eyes. Looking at me, the sheet up to
[3818]     her eyes, Spanish, smelling herself, when I was fixing the links in my
[3819]     cuffs. Those homely recipes are often the best: strawberries for the
[3820]     teeth: nettles and rainwater: oatmeal they say steeped in buttermilk.
[3821]     Skinfood. One of the old queen's sons, duke of Albany was it? had only one
[3822]     skin. Leopold, yes. Three we have. Warts, bunions and pimples to make it
[3823]     worse. But you want a perfume too. What perfume does your? PEAU D'ESPAGNE.
[3824]     That orangeflower water is so fresh. Nice smell these soaps have. Pure
[3825]     curd soap. Time to get a bath round the corner. Hammam. Turkish. Massage.
[3826]     Dirt gets rolled up in your navel. Nicer if a nice girl did it. Also I
[3827]     think I. Yes I. Do it in the bath. Curious longing I. Water to water.
[3828]     Combine business with pleasure. Pity no time for massage. Feel fresh then
[3829]     all the day. Funeral be rather glum.
[3831]     --Yes, sir, the chemist said. That was two and nine. Have you brought a
[3832]     bottle?
[3834]     --No, Mr Bloom said. Make it up, please. I'll call later in the day and
[3835]     I'll take one of these soaps. How much are they?
[3837]     --Fourpence, sir.
[3839]     Mr Bloom raised a cake to his nostrils. Sweet lemony wax.
[3841]     --I'll take this one, he said. That makes three and a penny.
[3843]     --Yes, sir, the chemist said. You can pay all together, sir, when you
[3844]     come back.
[3846]     --Good, Mr Bloom said.
[3848]     He strolled out of the shop, the newspaper baton under his armpit,
[3849]     the coolwrappered soap in his left hand.
[3851]     At his armpit Bantam Lyons' voice and hand said:
[3853]     --Hello, Bloom. What's the best news? Is that today's? Show us a minute.
[3855]     Shaved off his moustache again, by Jove! Long cold upper lip. To
[3856]     look younger. He does look balmy. Younger than I am.
[3858]     Bantam Lyons's yellow blacknailed fingers unrolled the baton. Wants
[3859]     a wash too. Take off the rough dirt. Good morning, have you used Pears'
[3860]     soap? Dandruff on his shoulders. Scalp wants oiling.
[3862]     --I want to see about that French horse that's running today, Bantam
[3863]     Lyons said. Where the bugger is it?
[3865]     He rustled the pleated pages, jerking his chin on his high collar.
[3866]     Barber's itch. Tight collar he'll lose his hair. Better leave him the
[3867]     paper and get shut of him.
[3869]     --You can keep it, Mr Bloom said.
[3871]     --Ascot. Gold cup. Wait, Bantam Lyons muttered. Half a mo. Maximum
[3872]     the second.
[3874]     --I was just going to throw it away, Mr Bloom said.
[3876]     Bantam Lyons raised his eyes suddenly and leered weakly.
[3878]     --What's that? his sharp voice said.
[3880]     --I say you can keep it, Mr Bloom answered. I was going to throw it away
[3881]     that moment.
[3883]     Bantam Lyons doubted an instant, leering: then thrust the outspread
[3884]     sheets back on Mr Bloom's arms.
[3886]     --I'll risk it, he said. Here, thanks.
[3888]     He sped off towards Conway's corner. God speed scut.
[3890]     Mr Bloom folded the sheets again to a neat square and lodged the
[3891]     soap in it, smiling. Silly lips of that chap. Betting. Regular hotbed of
[3892]     it lately. Messenger boys stealing to put on sixpence. Raffle for large
[3893]     tender turkey. Your Christmas dinner for threepence. Jack Fleming
[3894]     embezzling to gamble then smuggled off to America. Keeps a hotel now. They
[3895]     never come back. Fleshpots of Egypt.
[3897]     He walked cheerfully towards the mosque of the baths. Remind you
[3898]     of a mosque, redbaked bricks, the minarets. College sports today I see. He
[3899]     eyed the horseshoe poster over the gate of college park: cyclist doubled
[3900]     up like a cod in a pot. Damn bad ad. Now if they had made it round like a
[3901]     wheel. Then the spokes: sports, sports, sports: and the hub big: college.
[3902]     Something to catch the eye.
[3904]     There's Hornblower standing at the porter's lodge. Keep him on
[3905]     hands: might take a turn in there on the nod. How do you do, Mr
[3906]     Hornblower? How do you do, sir?
[3908]     Heavenly weather really. If life was always like that. Cricket weather.
[3909]     Sit around under sunshades. Over after over. Out. They can't play it here.
[3910]     Duck for six wickets. Still Captain Culler broke a window in the Kildare
[3911]     street club with a slog to square leg. Donnybrook fair more in their line.
[3912]     And the skulls we were acracking when M'Carthy took the floor.
[3913]     Heatwave. Won't last. Always passing, the stream of life, which in the
[3914]     stream of life we trace is dearer than them all.
[3916]     Enjoy a bath now: clean trough of water, cool enamel, the gentle
[3917]     tepid stream. This is my body.
[3919]     He foresaw his pale body reclined in it at full, naked, in a womb of
[3920]     warmth, oiled by scented melting soap, softly laved. He saw his trunk and
[3921]     limbs riprippled over and sustained, buoyed lightly upward, lemonyellow:
[3922]     his navel, bud of flesh: and saw the dark tangled curls of his bush
[3923]     floating, floating hair of the stream around the limp father of thousands,
[3924]     a languid floating flower.