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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[3930]     Martin Cunningham, first, poked his silkhatted head into the creaking
[3931]     carriage and, entering deftly, seated himself. Mr Power stepped in after
[3932]     him, curving his height with care.
[3934]     --Come on, Simon.
[3936]     --After you, Mr Bloom said.
[3938]     Mr Dedalus covered himself quickly and got in, saying:
[3940]     Yes, yes.
[3942]     --Are we all here now? Martin Cunningham asked. Come along, Bloom.
[3944]     Mr Bloom entered and sat in the vacant place. He pulled the door to
[3945]     after him and slammed it twice till it shut tight. He passed an arm
[3946]     through the armstrap and looked seriously from the open carriagewindow at
[3947]     the lowered blinds of the avenue. One dragged aside: an old woman peeping.
[3948]     Nose whiteflattened against the pane. Thanking her stars she was passed
[3949]     over. Extraordinary the interest they take in a corpse. Glad to see us go
[3950]     we give them such trouble coming. Job seems to suit them. Huggermugger in
[3951]     corners. Slop about in slipperslappers for fear he'd wake. Then getting it
[3952]     ready. Laying it out. Molly and Mrs Fleming making the bed. Pull it more
[3953]     to your side. Our windingsheet. Never know who will touch you dead.
[3954]     Wash and shampoo. I believe they clip the nails and the hair. Keep a bit
[3955]     in an envelope. Grows all the same after. Unclean job.
[3957]     All waited. Nothing was said. Stowing in the wreaths probably. I am
[3958]     sitting on something hard. Ah, that soap: in my hip pocket. Better shift
[3959]     it out of that. Wait for an opportunity.
[3961]     All waited. Then wheels were heard from in front, turning: then
[3962]     nearer: then horses' hoofs. A jolt. Their carriage began to move, creaking
[3963]     and swaying. Other hoofs and creaking wheels started behind. The blinds
[3964]     of the avenue passed and number nine with its craped knocker, door ajar.
[3965]     At walking pace.
[3967]     They waited still, their knees jogging, till they had turned and were
[3968]     passing along the tramtracks. Tritonville road. Quicker. The wheels
[3969]     rattled rolling over the cobbled causeway and the crazy glasses shook
[3970]     rattling in the doorframes.
[3972]     --What way is he taking us? Mr Power asked through both windows.
[3974]     --Irishtown, Martin Cunningham said. Ringsend. Brunswick street.
[3976]     Mr Dedalus nodded, looking out.
[3978]     --That's a fine old custom, he said. I am glad to see it has not died out.
[3980]     All watched awhile through their windows caps and hats lifted by
[3981]     passers. Respect. The carriage swerved from the tramtrack to the smoother
[3982]     road past Watery lane. Mr Bloom at gaze saw a lithe young man, clad in
[3983]     mourning, a wide hat.
[3985]     --There's a friend of yours gone by, Dedalus, he said.
[3987]     --Who is that?
[3989]     --Your son and heir.
[3991]     --Where is he? Mr Dedalus said, stretching over across.
[3993]     The carriage, passing the open drains and mounds of rippedup
[3994]     roadway before the tenement houses, lurched round the corner and,
[3995]     swerving back to the tramtrack, rolled on noisily with chattering wheels.
[3996]     Mr Dedalus fell back, saying:
[3998]     --Was that Mulligan cad with him? His FIDUS ACHATES!
[4000]     --No, Mr Bloom said. He was alone.
[4002]     --Down with his aunt Sally, I suppose, Mr Dedalus said, the Goulding
[4003]     faction, the drunken little costdrawer and Crissie, papa's little lump of
[4004]     dung, the wise child that knows her own father.
[4006]     Mr Bloom smiled joylessly on Ringsend road. Wallace Bros: the
[4007]     bottleworks: Dodder bridge.
[4009]     Richie Goulding and the legal bag. Goulding, Collis and Ward he
[4010]     calls the firm. His jokes are getting a bit damp. Great card he was.
[4011]     Waltzing in Stamer street with Ignatius Gallaher on a Sunday morning, the
[4012]     landlady's two hats pinned on his head. Out on the rampage all night.
[4013]     Beginning to tell on him now: that backache of his, I fear. Wife ironing
[4014]     his back. Thinks he'll cure it with pills. All breadcrumbs they are.
[4015]     About six hundred per cent profit.
[4017]     --He's in with a lowdown crowd, Mr Dedalus snarled. That Mulligan is a
[4018]     contaminated bloody doubledyed ruffian by all accounts. His name stinks
[4019]     all over Dublin. But with the help of God and His blessed mother I'll make
[4020]     it my business to write a letter one of those days to his mother or his
[4021]     aunt or whatever she is that will open her eye as wide as a gate. I'll
[4022]     tickle his catastrophe, believe you me.
[4024]     He cried above the clatter of the wheels:
[4026]     --I won't have her bastard of a nephew ruin my son. A counterjumper's
[4027]     son. Selling tapes in my cousin, Peter Paul M'Swiney's. Not likely.
[4029]     He ceased. Mr Bloom glanced from his angry moustache to Mr Power's
[4030]     mild face and Martin Cunningham's eyes and beard, gravely shaking.
[4031]     Noisy selfwilled man. Full of his son. He is right. Something to
[4032]     hand on. If little Rudy had lived. See him grow up. Hear his voice in the
[4033]     house. Walking beside Molly in an Eton suit. My son. Me in his eyes.
[4034]     Strange feeling it would be. From me. Just a chance. Must have been that
[4035]     morning in Raymond terrace she was at the window watching the two dogs
[4036]     at it by the wall of the cease to do evil. And the sergeant grinning up.
[4037]     She had that cream gown on with the rip she never stitched. Give us a
[4038]     touch, Poldy. God, I'm dying for it. How life begins.
[4040]     Got big then. Had to refuse the Greystones concert. My son inside
[4041]     her. I could have helped him on in life. I could. Make him independent.
[4042]     Learn German too.
[4044]     --Are we late? Mr Power asked.
[4046]     --Ten minutes, Martin Cunningham said, looking at his watch.
[4048]     Molly. Milly. Same thing watered down. Her tomboy oaths. O jumping
[4049]     Jupiter! Ye gods and little fishes! Still, she's a dear girl. Soon
[4050]     be a woman. Mullingar. Dearest Papli. Young student. Yes, yes: a woman
[4051]     too. Life, life.
[4053]     The carriage heeled over and back, their four trunks swaying.
[4055]     --Corny might have given us a more commodious yoke, Mr Power said.
[4057]     --He might, Mr Dedalus said, if he hadn't that squint troubling him. Do
[4058]     you follow me?
[4060]     He closed his left eye. Martin Cunningham began to brush away
[4061]     crustcrumbs from under his thighs.
[4063]     --What is this, he said, in the name of God? Crumbs?
[4065]     --Someone seems to have been making a picnic party here lately, Mr Power
[4066]     said.
[4068]     All raised their thighs and eyed with disfavour the mildewed
[4069]     buttonless leather of the seats. Mr Dedalus, twisting his nose, frowned
[4070]     downward and said:
[4072]     --Unless I'm greatly mistaken. What do you think, Martin?
[4074]     --It struck me too, Martin Cunningham said.
[4076]     Mr Bloom set his thigh down. Glad I took that bath. Feel my feet
[4077]     quite clean. But I wish Mrs Fleming had darned these socks better.
[4079]     Mr Dedalus sighed resignedly.
[4081]     --After all, he said, it's the most natural thing in the world.
[4083]     --Did Tom Kernan turn up? Martin Cunningham asked, twirling the peak
[4084]     of his beard gently.
[4086]     --Yes, Mr Bloom answered. He's behind with Ned Lambert and Hynes.
[4088]     --And Corny Kelleher himself? Mr Power asked.
[4090]     --At the cemetery, Martin Cunningham said.
[4092]     --I met M'Coy this morning, Mr Bloom said. He said he'd try to come.
[4094]     The carriage halted short.
[4096]     --What's wrong?
[4098]     --We're stopped.
[4100]     --Where are we?
[4102]     Mr Bloom put his head out of the window.
[4104]     --The grand canal, he said.
[4106]     Gasworks. Whooping cough they say it cures. Good job Milly never
[4107]     got it. Poor children! Doubles them up black and blue in convulsions.
[4108]     Shame really. Got off lightly with illnesses compared. Only measles.
[4109]     Flaxseed tea. Scarlatina, influenza epidemics. Canvassing for death. Don't
[4110]     miss this chance. Dogs' home over there. Poor old Athos! Be good to Athos,
[4111]     Leopold, is my last wish. Thy will be done. We obey them in the grave. A
[4112]     dying scrawl. He took it to heart, pined away. Quiet brute. Old men's dogs
[4113]     usually are.
[4115]     A raindrop spat on his hat. He drew back and saw an instant of
[4116]     shower spray dots over the grey flags. Apart. Curious. Like through a
[4117]     colander. I thought it would. My boots were creaking I remember now.
[4119]     --The weather is changing, he said quietly.
[4121]     --A pity it did not keep up fine, Martin Cunningham said.
[4123]     --Wanted for the country, Mr Power said. There's the sun again coming out.
[4125]     Mr Dedalus, peering through his glasses towards the veiled sun,
[4126]     hurled a mute curse at the sky.
[4128]     --It's as uncertain as a child's bottom, he said.
[4130]     --We're off again.
[4132]     The carriage turned again its stiff wheels and their trunks swayed
[4133]     gently. Martin Cunningham twirled more quickly the peak of his beard.
[4135]     --Tom Kernan was immense last night, he said. And Paddy Leonard taking
[4136]     him off to his face.
[4138]     --O, draw him out, Martin, Mr Power said eagerly. Wait till you hear him,
[4139]     Simon, on Ben Dollard's singing of THE CROPPY BOY.
[4141]     --Immense, Martin Cunningham said pompously. HIS SINGING OF THAT SIMPLE
[4145]     --Trenchant, Mr Power said laughing. He's dead nuts on that. And the
[4146]     retrospective arrangement.
[4148]     --Did you read Dan Dawson's speech? Martin Cunningham asked.
[4150]     --I did not then, Mr Dedalus said. Where is it?
[4152]     --In the paper this morning.
[4154]     Mr Bloom took the paper from his inside pocket. That book I must
[4155]     change for her.
[4157]     --No, no, Mr Dedalus said quickly. Later on please.
[4159]     Mr Bloom's glance travelled down the edge of the paper, scanning the
[4160]     deaths: Callan, Coleman, Dignam, Fawcett, Lowry, Naumann, Peake, what
[4161]     Peake is that? is it the chap was in Crosbie and Alleyne's? no, Sexton,
[4162]     Urbright. Inked characters fast fading on the frayed breaking paper.
[4163]     Thanks to the Little Flower. Sadly missed. To the inexpressible grief of
[4164]     his. Aged 88 after a long and tedious illness. Month's mind: Quinlan.
[4165]     On whose soul Sweet Jesus have mercy.
[4174]     I tore up the envelope? Yes. Where did I put her letter after I read it in
[4175]     the bath? He patted his waistcoatpocket. There all right. Dear Henry fled.
[4176]     Before my patience are exhausted.
[4178]     National school. Meade's yard. The hazard. Only two there now.
[4179]     Nodding. Full as a tick. Too much bone in their skulls. The other trotting
[4180]     round with a fare. An hour ago I was passing there. The jarvies raised
[4181]     their hats.
[4183]     A pointsman's back straightened itself upright suddenly against a
[4184]     tramway standard by Mr Bloom's window. Couldn't they invent something
[4185]     automatic so that the wheel itself much handier? Well but that fellow
[4186]     would lose his job then? Well but then another fellow would get a job
[4187]     making the new invention?
[4189]     Antient concert rooms. Nothing on there. A man in a buff suit with a
[4190]     crape armlet. Not much grief there. Quarter mourning. People in law
[4191]     perhaps.
[4193]     They went past the bleak pulpit of saint Mark's, under the railway
[4194]     bridge, past the Queen's theatre: in silence. Hoardings: Eugene Stratton,
[4195]     Mrs Bandmann Palmer. Could I go to see LEAH tonight, I wonder. I said I.
[4196]     Or the LILY OF KILLARNEY? Elster Grimes Opera Company. Big powerful
[4197]     change. Wet bright bills for next week. FUN ON THE BRISTOL. Martin
[4198]     Cunningham could work a pass for the Gaiety. Have to stand a drink or
[4199]     two. As broad as it's long.
[4201]     He's coming in the afternoon. Her songs.
[4203]     Plasto's. Sir Philip Crampton's memorial fountain bust. Who was he?
[4205]     --How do you do? Martin Cunningham said, raising his palm to his brow
[4206]     in salute.
[4208]     --He doesn't see us, Mr Power said. Yes, he does. How do you do?
[4210]     --Who? Mr Dedalus asked.
[4212]     --Blazes Boylan, Mr Power said. There he is airing his quiff.
[4214]     Just that moment I was thinking.
[4216]     Mr Dedalus bent across to salute. From the door of the Red Bank the
[4217]     white disc of a straw hat flashed reply: spruce figure: passed.
[4219]     Mr Bloom reviewed the nails of his left hand, then those of his right
[4220]     hand. The nails, yes. Is there anything more in him that they she sees?
[4221]     Fascination. Worst man in Dublin. That keeps him alive. They sometimes
[4222]     feel what a person is. Instinct. But a type like that. My nails. I am just
[4223]     looking at them: well pared. And after: thinking alone. Body getting a bit
[4224]     softy. I would notice that: from remembering. What causes that? I suppose
[4225]     the skin can't contract quickly enough when the flesh falls off. But the
[4226]     shape is there. The shape is there still. Shoulders. Hips. Plump. Night of
[4227]     the dance dressing. Shift stuck between the cheeks behind.
[4229]     He clasped his hands between his knees and, satisfied, sent his vacant
[4230]     glance over their faces.
[4232]     Mr Power asked:
[4234]     --How is the concert tour getting on, Bloom?
[4236]     --O, very well, Mr Bloom said. I hear great accounts of it. It's a good
[4237]     idea, you see ...
[4239]     --Are you going yourself?
[4241]     --Well no, Mr Bloom said. In point of fact I have to go down to the
[4242]     county Clare on some private business. You see the idea is to tour the
[4243]     chief towns. What you lose on one you can make up on the other.
[4245]     --Quite so, Martin Cunningham said. Mary Anderson is up there now.
[4247]     Have you good artists?
[4249]     --Louis Werner is touring her, Mr Bloom said. O yes, we'll have all
[4250]     topnobbers. J. C. Doyle and John MacCormack I hope and. The best, in
[4251]     fact.
[4253]     --And MADAME, Mr Power said smiling. Last but not least.
[4255]     Mr Bloom unclasped his hands in a gesture of soft politeness and
[4256]     clasped them. Smith O'Brien. Someone has laid a bunch of flowers there.
[4257]     Woman. Must be his deathday. For many happy returns. The carriage
[4258]     wheeling by Farrell's statue united noiselessly their unresisting knees.
[4260]     Oot: a dullgarbed old man from the curbstone tendered his wares, his
[4261]     mouth opening: oot.
[4263]     --Four bootlaces for a penny.
[4265]     Wonder why he was struck off the rolls. Had his office in Hume
[4266]     street. Same house as Molly's namesake, Tweedy, crown solicitor for
[4267]     Waterford. Has that silk hat ever since. Relics of old decency. Mourning
[4268]     too. Terrible comedown, poor wretch! Kicked about like snuff at a wake.
[4269]     O'Callaghan on his last legs.
[4271]     And MADAME. Twenty past eleven. Up. Mrs Fleming is in to clean.
[4272]     Doing her hair, humming. VOGLIO E NON VORREI. No. VORREI E NON. Looking
[4273]     at the tips of her hairs to see if they are split. MI TREMA UN POCO IL.
[4274]     Beautiful on that TRE her voice is: weeping tone. A thrush. A throstle.
[4275]     There is a word throstle that expresses that.
[4277]     His eyes passed lightly over Mr Power's goodlooking face. Greyish
[4278]     over the ears. MADAME: smiling. I smiled back. A smile goes a long way.
[4279]     Only politeness perhaps. Nice fellow. Who knows is that true about the
[4280]     woman he keeps? Not pleasant for the wife. Yet they say, who was it told
[4281]     me, there is no carnal. You would imagine that would get played out pretty
[4282]     quick. Yes, it was Crofton met him one evening bringing her a pound of
[4283]     rumpsteak. What is this she was? Barmaid in Jury's. Or the Moira, was it?
[4285]     They passed under the hugecloaked Liberator's form.
[4287]     Martin Cunningham nudged Mr Power.
[4289]     --Of the tribe of Reuben, he said.
[4291]     A tall blackbearded figure, bent on a stick, stumping round the corner
[4292]     of Elvery's Elephant house, showed them a curved hand open on his spine.
[4294]     --In all his pristine beauty, Mr Power said.
[4296]     Mr Dedalus looked after the stumping figure and said mildly:
[4298]     --The devil break the hasp of your back!
[4300]     Mr Power, collapsing in laughter, shaded his face from the window as
[4301]     the carriage passed Gray's statue.
[4303]     --We have all been there, Martin Cunningham said broadly.
[4305]     His eyes met Mr Bloom's eyes. He caressed his beard, adding:
[4307]     --Well, nearly all of us.
[4309]     Mr Bloom began to speak with sudden eagerness to his companions' faces.
[4311]     --That's an awfully good one that's going the rounds about Reuben J and
[4312]     the son.
[4314]     --About the boatman? Mr Power asked.
[4316]     --Yes. Isn't it awfully good?
[4318]     --What is that? Mr Dedalus asked. I didn't hear it.
[4320]     --There was a girl in the case, Mr Bloom began, and he determined to send
[4321]     him to the Isle of Man out of harm's way but when they were both ...
[4323]     --What? Mr Dedalus asked. That confirmed bloody hobbledehoy is it?
[4325]     --Yes, Mr Bloom said. They were both on the way to the boat and he tried
[4326]     to drown ...
[4328]     --Drown Barabbas! Mr Dedalus cried. I wish to Christ he did!
[4330]     Mr Power sent a long laugh down his shaded nostrils.
[4332]     --No, Mr Bloom said, the son himself ...
[4334]     Martin Cunningham thwarted his speech rudely:
[4336]     --Reuben and the son were piking it down the quay next the river on their
[4337]     way to the Isle of Man boat and the young chiseller suddenly got loose and
[4338]     over the wall with him into the Liffey.
[4340]     --For God's sake! Mr Dedalus exclaimed in fright. Is he dead?
[4342]     --Dead! Martin Cunningham cried. Not he! A boatman got a pole and
[4343]     fished him out by the slack of the breeches and he was landed up to the
[4344]     father on the quay more dead than alive. Half the town was there.
[4346]     --Yes, Mr Bloom said. But the funny part is ...
[4348]     --And Reuben J, Martin Cunningham said, gave the boatman a florin for
[4349]     saving his son's life.
[4351]     A stifled sigh came from under Mr Power's hand.
[4353]     --O, he did, Martin Cunningham affirmed. Like a hero. A silver florin.
[4355]     --Isn't it awfully good? Mr Bloom said eagerly.
[4357]     --One and eightpence too much, Mr Dedalus said drily.
[4359]     Mr Power's choked laugh burst quietly in the carriage.
[4361]     Nelson's pillar.
[4363]     --Eight plums a penny! Eight for a penny!
[4365]     --We had better look a little serious, Martin Cunningham said.
[4367]     Mr Dedalus sighed.
[4369]     --Ah then indeed, he said, poor little Paddy wouldn't grudge us a laugh.
[4370]     Many a good one he told himself.
[4372]     --The Lord forgive me! Mr Power said, wiping his wet eyes with his
[4373]     fingers. Poor Paddy! I little thought a week ago when I saw him last and
[4374]     he was in his usual health that I'd be driving after him like this. He's
[4375]     gone from us.
[4377]     --As decent a little man as ever wore a hat, Mr Dedalus said. He went
[4378]     very suddenly.
[4380]     --Breakdown, Martin Cunningham said. Heart.
[4382]     He tapped his chest sadly.
[4384]     Blazing face: redhot. Too much John Barleycorn. Cure for a red
[4385]     nose. Drink like the devil till it turns adelite. A lot of money he spent
[4386]     colouring it.
[4388]     Mr Power gazed at the passing houses with rueful apprehension.
[4390]     --He had a sudden death, poor fellow, he said.
[4392]     --The best death, Mr Bloom said.
[4394]     Their wide open eyes looked at him.
[4396]     --No suffering, he said. A moment and all is over. Like dying in sleep.
[4398]     No-one spoke.
[4400]     Dead side of the street this. Dull business by day, land agents,
[4401]     temperance hotel, Falconer's railway guide, civil service college, Gill's,
[4402]     catholic club, the industrious blind. Why? Some reason. Sun or wind. At
[4403]     night too. Chummies and slaveys. Under the patronage of the late Father
[4404]     Mathew. Foundation stone for Parnell. Breakdown. Heart.
[4406]     White horses with white frontlet plumes came round the Rotunda
[4407]     corner, galloping. A tiny coffin flashed by. In a hurry to bury. A
[4408]     mourning coach. Unmarried. Black for the married. Piebald for bachelors.
[4409]     Dun for a nun.
[4411]     --Sad, Martin Cunningham said. A child.
[4413]     A dwarf's face, mauve and wrinkled like little Rudy's was. Dwarf's
[4414]     body, weak as putty, in a whitelined deal box. Burial friendly society
[4415]     pays. Penny a week for a sod of turf. Our. Little. Beggar. Baby.
[4416]     Meant nothing. Mistake of nature. If it's healthy it's from the mother.
[4417]     If not from the man. Better luck next time.
[4419]     --Poor little thing, Mr Dedalus said. It's well out of it.
[4421]     The carriage climbed more slowly the hill of Rutland square. Rattle
[4422]     his bones. Over the stones. Only a pauper. Nobody owns.
[4424]     --In the midst of life, Martin Cunningham said.
[4426]     --But the worst of all, Mr Power said, is the man who takes his own life.
[4428]     Martin Cunningham drew out his watch briskly, coughed and put it back.
[4430]     --The greatest disgrace to have in the family, Mr Power added.
[4432]     --Temporary insanity, of course, Martin Cunningham said decisively. We
[4433]     must take a charitable view of it.
[4435]     --They say a man who does it is a coward, Mr Dedalus said.
[4437]     --It is not for us to judge, Martin Cunningham said.
[4439]     Mr Bloom, about to speak, closed his lips again. Martin Cunningham's
[4440]     large eyes. Looking away now. Sympathetic human man he is. Intelligent.
[4441]     Like Shakespeare's face. Always a good word to say. They have no
[4442]     mercy on that here or infanticide. Refuse christian burial. They
[4443]     used to drive a stake of wood through his heart in the grave. As if it
[4444]     wasn't broken already. Yet sometimes they repent too late. Found in the
[4445]     riverbed clutching rushes. He looked at me. And that awful drunkard of a
[4446]     wife of his. Setting up house for her time after time and then pawning the
[4447]     furniture on him every Saturday almost. Leading him the life of the
[4448]     damned. Wear the heart out of a stone, that. Monday morning. Start afresh.
[4449]     Shoulder to the wheel. Lord, she must have looked a sight that night
[4450]     Dedalus told me he was in there. Drunk about the place and capering with
[4451]     Martin's umbrella.
[4455]         OF ASIA,
[4456]         THE GEISHA.
[4459]     He looked away from me. He knows. Rattle his bones.
[4461]     That afternoon of the inquest. The redlabelled bottle on the table. The
[4462]     room in the hotel with hunting pictures. Stuffy it was. Sunlight through
[4463]     the slats of the Venetian blind. The coroner's sunlit ears, big and hairy.
[4464]     Boots giving evidence. Thought he was asleep first. Then saw like yellow
[4465]     streaks on his face. Had slipped down to the foot of the bed. Verdict:
[4466]     overdose. Death by misadventure. The letter. For my son Leopold.
[4468]     No more pain. Wake no more. Nobody owns.
[4470]     The carriage rattled swiftly along Blessington street. Over the stones.
[4472]     --We are going the pace, I think, Martin Cunningham said.
[4474]     --God grant he doesn't upset us on the road, Mr Power said.
[4476]     --I hope not, Martin Cunningham said. That will be a great race tomorrow
[4477]     in Germany. The Gordon Bennett.
[4479]     --Yes, by Jove, Mr Dedalus said. That will be worth seeing, faith.
[4481]     As they turned into Berkeley street a streetorgan near the Basin sent
[4482]     over and after them a rollicking rattling song of the halls. Has anybody
[4483]     here seen Kelly? Kay ee double ell wy. Dead March from SAUL. He's as bad
[4484]     as old Antonio. He left me on my ownio. Pirouette! The MATER
[4485]     MISERICORDIAE. Eccles street. My house down there. Big place. Ward for
[4486]     incurables there. Very encouraging. Our Lady's Hospice for the dying.
[4487]     Deadhouse handy underneath. Where old Mrs Riordan died. They look
[4488]     terrible the women. Her feeding cup and rubbing her mouth with the
[4489]     spoon. Then the screen round her bed for her to die. Nice young student
[4490]     that was dressed that bite the bee gave me. He's gone over to the lying-in
[4491]     hospital they told me. From one extreme to the other. The carriage
[4492]     galloped round a corner: stopped.
[4494]     --What's wrong now?
[4496]     A divided drove of branded cattle passed the windows, lowing,
[4497]     slouching by on padded hoofs, whisking their tails slowly on their clotted
[4498]     bony croups. Outside them and through them ran raddled sheep bleating
[4499]     their fear.
[4501]     --Emigrants, Mr Power said.
[4503]     --Huuuh! the drover's voice cried, his switch sounding on their flanks.
[4505]     Huuuh! out of that!
[4507]     Thursday, of course. Tomorrow is killing day. Springers. Cuffe sold
[4508]     them about twentyseven quid each. For Liverpool probably. Roastbeef for
[4509]     old England. They buy up all the juicy ones. And then the fifth quarter
[4510]     lost: all that raw stuff, hide, hair, horns. Comes to a big thing in a
[4511]     year. Dead meat trade. Byproducts of the slaughterhouses for tanneries,
[4512]     soap, margarine. Wonder if that dodge works now getting dicky meat off the
[4513]     train at Clonsilla.
[4515]     The carriage moved on through the drove.
[4517]     --I can't make out why the corporation doesn't run a tramline from the
[4518]     parkgate to the quays, Mr Bloom said. All those animals could be taken in
[4519]     trucks down to the boats.
[4521]     --Instead of blocking up the thoroughfare, Martin Cunningham said. Quite
[4522]     right. They ought to.
[4524]     --Yes, Mr Bloom said, and another thing I often thought, is to have
[4525]     municipal funeral trams like they have in Milan, you know. Run the line
[4526]     out to the cemetery gates and have special trams, hearse and carriage and
[4527]     all. Don't you see what I mean?
[4529]     --O, that be damned for a story, Mr Dedalus said. Pullman car and saloon
[4530]     diningroom.
[4532]     --A poor lookout for Corny, Mr Power added.
[4534]     --Why? Mr Bloom asked, turning to Mr Dedalus. Wouldn't it be more
[4535]     decent than galloping two abreast?
[4537]     --Well, there's something in that, Mr Dedalus granted.
[4539]     --And, Martin Cunningham said, we wouldn't have scenes like that when
[4540]     the hearse capsized round Dunphy's and upset the coffin on to the road.
[4542]     --That was terrible, Mr Power's shocked face said, and the corpse fell
[4543]     about the road. Terrible!
[4545]     --First round Dunphy's, Mr Dedalus said, nodding. Gordon Bennett cup.
[4547]     --Praises be to God! Martin Cunningham said piously.
[4549]     Bom! Upset. A coffin bumped out on to the road. Burst open. Paddy
[4550]     Dignam shot out and rolling over stiff in the dust in a brown habit too
[4551]     large for him. Red face: grey now. Mouth fallen open. Asking what's up
[4552]     now. Quite right to close it. Looks horrid open. Then the insides
[4553]     decompose quickly. Much better to close up all the orifices. Yes, also.
[4554]     With wax. The sphincter loose. Seal up all.
[4556]     --Dunphy's, Mr Power announced as the carriage turned right.
[4558]     Dunphy's corner. Mourning coaches drawn up, drowning their grief.
[4559]     A pause by the wayside. Tiptop position for a pub. Expect we'll pull up
[4560]     here on the way back to drink his health. Pass round the consolation.
[4561]     Elixir of life.
[4563]     But suppose now it did happen. Would he bleed if a nail say cut him in
[4564]     the knocking about? He would and he wouldn't, I suppose. Depends on
[4565]     where. The circulation stops. Still some might ooze out of an artery. It
[4566]     would be better to bury them in red: a dark red.
[4568]     In silence they drove along Phibsborough road. An empty hearse
[4569]     trotted by, coming from the cemetery: looks relieved.
[4571]     Crossguns bridge: the royal canal.
[4573]     Water rushed roaring through the sluices. A man stood on his
[4574]     dropping barge, between clamps of turf. On the towpath by the lock a
[4575]     slacktethered horse. Aboard of the BUGABU.
[4577]     Their eyes watched him. On the slow weedy waterway he had floated
[4578]     on his raft coastward over Ireland drawn by a haulage rope past beds of
[4579]     reeds, over slime, mudchoked bottles, carrion dogs. Athlone, Mullingar,
[4580]     Moyvalley, I could make a walking tour to see Milly by the canal. Or cycle
[4581]     down. Hire some old crock, safety. Wren had one the other day at the
[4582]     auction but a lady's. Developing waterways. James M'Cann's hobby to row
[4583]     me o'er the ferry. Cheaper transit. By easy stages. Houseboats. Camping
[4584]     out. Also hearses. To heaven by water. Perhaps I will without writing.
[4585]     Come as a surprise, Leixlip, Clonsilla. Dropping down lock by lock to
[4586]     Dublin. With turf from the midland bogs. Salute. He lifted his brown straw
[4587]     hat, saluting Paddy Dignam.
[4589]     They drove on past Brian Boroimhe house. Near it now.
[4591]     --I wonder how is our friend Fogarty getting on, Mr Power said.
[4593]     --Better ask Tom Kernan, Mr Dedalus said.
[4595]     --How is that? Martin Cunningham said. Left him weeping, I suppose?
[4597]     --Though lost to sight, Mr Dedalus said, to memory dear.
[4599]     The carriage steered left for Finglas road.
[4601]     The stonecutter's yard on the right. Last lap. Crowded on the spit of
[4602]     land silent shapes appeared, white, sorrowful, holding out calm hands,
[4603]     knelt in grief, pointing. Fragments of shapes, hewn. In white silence:
[4604]     appealing. The best obtainable. Thos. H. Dennany, monumental builder and
[4605]     sculptor.
[4607]     Passed.
[4609]     On the curbstone before Jimmy Geary, the sexton's, an old tramp sat,
[4610]     grumbling, emptying the dirt and stones out of his huge dustbrown
[4611]     yawning boot. After life's journey.
[4613]     Gloomy gardens then went by: one by one: gloomy houses.
[4615]     Mr Power pointed.
[4617]     --That is where Childs was murdered, he said. The last house.
[4619]     --So it is, Mr Dedalus said. A gruesome case. Seymour Bushe got him off.
[4620]     Murdered his brother. Or so they said.
[4622]     --The crown had no evidence, Mr Power said.
[4624]     --Only circumstantial, Martin Cunningham added. That's the maxim of
[4625]     the law. Better for ninetynine guilty to escape than for one innocent
[4626]     person to be wrongfully condemned.
[4628]     They looked. Murderer's ground. It passed darkly. Shuttered,
[4629]     tenantless, unweeded garden. Whole place gone to hell. Wrongfully
[4630]     condemned. Murder. The murderer's image in the eye of the murdered.
[4631]     They love reading about it. Man's head found in a garden. Her clothing
[4632]     consisted of. How she met her death. Recent outrage. The weapon used.
[4633]     Murderer is still at large. Clues. A shoelace. The body to be exhumed.
[4634]     Murder will out.
[4636]     Cramped in this carriage. She mightn't like me to come that way
[4637]     without letting her know. Must be careful about women. Catch them once
[4638]     with their pants down. Never forgive you after. Fifteen.
[4640]     The high railings of Prospect rippled past their gaze. Dark poplars,
[4641]     rare white forms. Forms more frequent, white shapes thronged amid the
[4642]     trees, white forms and fragments streaming by mutely, sustaining vain
[4643]     gestures on the air.
[4645]     The felly harshed against the curbstone: stopped. Martin
[4646]     Cunningham put out his arm and, wrenching back the handle, shoved the
[4647]     door open with his knee. He stepped out. Mr Power and Mr Dedalus
[4648]     followed.
[4650]     Change that soap now. Mr Bloom's hand unbuttoned his hip pocket
[4651]     swiftly and transferred the paperstuck soap to his inner handkerchief
[4652]     pocket. He stepped out of the carriage, replacing the newspaper his other
[4653]     hand still held.
[4655]     Paltry funeral: coach and three carriages. It's all the same.
[4656]     Pallbearers, gold reins, requiem mass, firing a volley. Pomp of death.
[4657]     Beyond the hind carriage a hawker stood by his barrow of cakes and fruit.
[4658]     Simnel cakes those are, stuck together: cakes for the dead. Dogbiscuits.
[4659]     Who ate them? Mourners coming out.
[4661]     He followed his companions. Mr Kernan and Ned Lambert followed,
[4662]     Hynes walking after them. Corny Kelleher stood by the opened hearse and
[4663]     took out the two wreaths. He handed one to the boy.
[4665]     Where is that child's funeral disappeared to?
[4667]     A team of horses passed from Finglas with toiling plodding tread,
[4668]     dragging through the funereal silence a creaking waggon on which lay a
[4669]     granite block. The waggoner marching at their head saluted.
[4671]     Coffin now. Got here before us, dead as he is. Horse looking round at it
[4672]     with his plume skeowways. Dull eye: collar tight on his neck, pressing on
[4673]     a bloodvessel or something. Do they know what they cart out here every
[4674]     day? Must be twenty or thirty funerals every day. Then Mount Jerome for
[4675]     the protestants. Funerals all over the world everywhere every minute.
[4676]     Shovelling them under by the cartload doublequick. Thousands every hour.
[4677]     Too many in the world.
[4679]     Mourners came out through the gates: woman and a girl. Leanjawed
[4680]     harpy, hard woman at a bargain, her bonnet awry. Girl's face stained with
[4681]     dirt and tears, holding the woman's arm, looking up at her for a sign to
[4682]     cry. Fish's face, bloodless and livid.
[4684]     The mutes shouldered the coffin and bore it in through the gates. So
[4685]     much dead weight. Felt heavier myself stepping out of that bath. First the
[4686]     stiff: then the friends of the stiff. Corny Kelleher and the boy followed
[4687]     with their wreaths. Who is that beside them? Ah, the brother-in-law.
[4689]     All walked after.
[4691]     Martin Cunningham whispered:
[4693]     --I was in mortal agony with you talking of suicide before Bloom.
[4695]     --What? Mr Power whispered. How so?
[4697]     --His father poisoned himself, Martin Cunningham whispered. Had the
[4698]     Queen's hotel in Ennis. You heard him say he was going to Clare.
[4699]     Anniversary.
[4701]     --O God! Mr Power whispered. First I heard of it. Poisoned himself?
[4703]     He glanced behind him to where a face with dark thinking eyes
[4704]     followed towards the cardinal's mausoleum. Speaking.
[4706]     --Was he insured? Mr Bloom asked.
[4708]     --I believe so, Mr Kernan answered. But the policy was heavily mortgaged.
[4709]     Martin is trying to get the youngster into Artane.
[4711]     --How many children did he leave?
[4713]     --Five. Ned Lambert says he'll try to get one of the girls into Todd's.
[4715]     --A sad case, Mr Bloom said gently. Five young children.
[4717]     --A great blow to the poor wife, Mr Kernan added.
[4719]     --Indeed yes, Mr Bloom agreed.
[4721]     Has the laugh at him now.
[4723]     He looked down at the boots he had blacked and polished. She had
[4724]     outlived him. Lost her husband. More dead for her than for me. One must
[4725]     outlive the other. Wise men say. There are more women than men in the
[4726]     world. Condole with her. Your terrible loss. I hope you'll soon follow
[4727]     him. For Hindu widows only. She would marry another. Him? No. Yet who
[4728]     knows after. Widowhood not the thing since the old queen died. Drawn on
[4729]     a guncarriage. Victoria and Albert. Frogmore memorial mourning. But in
[4730]     the end she put a few violets in her bonnet. Vain in her heart of hearts.
[4731]     All for a shadow. Consort not even a king. Her son was the substance.
[4732]     Something new to hope for not like the past she wanted back, waiting. It
[4733]     never comes. One must go first: alone, under the ground: and lie no more
[4734]     in her warm bed.
[4736]     --How are you, Simon? Ned Lambert said softly, clasping hands. Haven't
[4737]     seen you for a month of Sundays.
[4739]     --Never better. How are all in Cork's own town?
[4741]     --I was down there for the Cork park races on Easter Monday, Ned
[4742]     Lambert said. Same old six and eightpence. Stopped with Dick Tivy.
[4744]     --And how is Dick, the solid man?
[4746]     --Nothing between himself and heaven, Ned Lambert answered.
[4748]     --By the holy Paul! Mr Dedalus said in subdued wonder. Dick Tivy bald?
[4750]     --Martin is going to get up a whip for the youngsters, Ned Lambert said,
[4751]     pointing ahead. A few bob a skull. Just to keep them going till the
[4752]     insurance is cleared up.
[4754]     --Yes, yes, Mr Dedalus said dubiously. Is that the eldest boy in front?
[4756]     --Yes, Ned Lambert said, with the wife's brother. John Henry Menton is
[4757]     behind. He put down his name for a quid.
[4759]     --I'll engage he did, Mr Dedalus said. I often told poor Paddy he ought
[4760]     to mind that job. John Henry is not the worst in the world.
[4762]     --How did he lose it? Ned Lambert asked. Liquor, what?
[4764]     --Many a good man's fault, Mr Dedalus said with a sigh.
[4766]     They halted about the door of the mortuary chapel. Mr Bloom stood
[4767]     behind the boy with the wreath looking down at his sleekcombed hair and
[4768]     at the slender furrowed neck inside his brandnew collar. Poor boy! Was he
[4769]     there when the father? Both unconscious. Lighten up at the last moment
[4770]     and recognise for the last time. All he might have done. I owe three
[4771]     shillings to O'Grady. Would he understand? The mutes bore the coffin into
[4772]     the chapel. Which end is his head?
[4774]     After a moment he followed the others in, blinking in the screened
[4775]     light. The coffin lay on its bier before the chancel, four tall yellow
[4776]     candles at its corners. Always in front of us. Corny Kelleher, laying a
[4777]     wreath at each fore corner, beckoned to the boy to kneel. The mourners
[4778]     knelt here and there in prayingdesks. Mr Bloom stood behind near the font
[4779]     and, when all had knelt, dropped carefully his unfolded newspaper from his
[4780]     pocket and knelt his right knee upon it. He fitted his black hat gently on
[4781]     his left knee and, holding its brim, bent over piously.
[4783]     A server bearing a brass bucket with something in it came out through
[4784]     a door. The whitesmocked priest came after him, tidying his stole with one
[4785]     hand, balancing with the other a little book against his toad's belly.
[4786]     Who'll read the book? I, said the rook.
[4788]     They halted by the bier and the priest began to read out of his book
[4789]     with a fluent croak.
[4791]     Father Coffey. I knew his name was like a coffin. DOMINE-NAMINE.
[4792]     Bully about the muzzle he looks. Bosses the show. Muscular christian. Woe
[4793]     betide anyone that looks crooked at him: priest. Thou art Peter. Burst
[4794]     sideways like a sheep in clover Dedalus says he will. With a belly on him
[4795]     like a poisoned pup. Most amusing expressions that man finds. Hhhn: burst
[4796]     sideways.
[4800]     Makes them feel more important to be prayed over in Latin. Requiem
[4801]     mass. Crape weepers. Blackedged notepaper. Your name on the altarlist.
[4802]     Chilly place this. Want to feed well, sitting in there all the morning in
[4803]     the gloom kicking his heels waiting for the next please. Eyes of a toad
[4804]     too. What swells him up that way? Molly gets swelled after cabbage. Air of
[4805]     the place maybe. Looks full up of bad gas. Must be an infernal lot of bad
[4806]     gas round the place. Butchers, for instance: they get like raw beefsteaks.
[4807]     Who was telling me? Mervyn Browne. Down in the vaults of saint Werburgh's
[4808]     lovely old organ hundred and fifty they have to bore a hole in the coffins
[4809]     sometimes to let out the bad gas and burn it. Out it rushes: blue. One
[4810]     whiff of that and you're a doner.
[4812]     My kneecap is hurting me. Ow. That's better.
[4814]     The priest took a stick with a knob at the end of it out of the boy's
[4815]     bucket and shook it over the coffin. Then he walked to the other end and
[4816]     shook it again. Then he came back and put it back in the bucket. As you
[4817]     were before you rested. It's all written down: he has to do it.
[4821]     The server piped the answers in the treble. I often thought it would be
[4822]     better to have boy servants. Up to fifteen or so. After that, of
[4823]     course ...
[4825]     Holy water that was, I expect. Shaking sleep out of it. He must be fed
[4826]     up with that job, shaking that thing over all the corpses they trot up.
[4827]     What harm if he could see what he was shaking it over. Every mortal day a
[4828]     fresh batch: middleaged men, old women, children, women dead in
[4829]     childbirth, men with beards, baldheaded businessmen, consumptive girls
[4830]     with little sparrows' breasts. All the year round he prayed the same thing
[4831]     over them all and shook water on top of them: sleep. On Dignam now.
[4833]     --IN PARADISUM.
[4835]     Said he was going to paradise or is in paradise. Says that over everybody.
[4836]     Tiresome kind of a job. But he has to say something.
[4838]     The priest closed his book and went off, followed by the server.
[4839]     Corny Kelleher opened the sidedoors and the gravediggers came in, hoisted
[4840]     the coffin again, carried it out and shoved it on their cart. Corny
[4841]     Kelleher gave one wreath to the boy and one to the brother-in-law. All
[4842]     followed them out of the sidedoors into the mild grey air. Mr Bloom came
[4843]     last folding his paper again into his pocket. He gazed gravely at the
[4844]     ground till the coffincart wheeled off to the left. The metal wheels
[4845]     ground the gravel with a sharp grating cry and the pack of blunt boots
[4846]     followed the trundled barrow along a lane of sepulchres.
[4848]     The ree the ra the ree the ra the roo. Lord, I mustn't lilt here.
[4850]     --The O'Connell circle, Mr Dedalus said about him.
[4852]     Mr Power's soft eyes went up to the apex of the lofty cone.
[4854]     --He's at rest, he said, in the middle of his people, old Dan O'. But his
[4855]     heart is buried in Rome. How many broken hearts are buried here, Simon!
[4857]     --Her grave is over there, Jack, Mr Dedalus said. I'll soon be stretched
[4858]     beside her. Let Him take me whenever He likes.
[4860]     Breaking down, he began to weep to himself quietly, stumbling a little
[4861]     in his walk. Mr Power took his arm.
[4863]     --She's better where she is, he said kindly.
[4865]     --I suppose so, Mr Dedalus said with a weak gasp. I suppose she is in
[4866]     heaven if there is a heaven.
[4868]     Corny Kelleher stepped aside from his rank and allowed the mourners to
[4869]     plod by.
[4871]     --Sad occasions, Mr Kernan began politely.
[4873]     Mr Bloom closed his eyes and sadly twice bowed his head.
[4875]     --The others are putting on their hats, Mr Kernan said. I suppose we can
[4876]     do so too. We are the last. This cemetery is a treacherous place.
[4878]     They covered their heads.
[4880]     --The reverend gentleman read the service too quickly, don't you think?
[4881]     Mr Kernan said with reproof.
[4883]     Mr Bloom nodded gravely looking in the quick bloodshot eyes. Secret
[4884]     eyes, secretsearching. Mason, I think: not sure. Beside him again. We are
[4885]     the last. In the same boat. Hope he'll say something else.
[4887]     Mr Kernan added:
[4889]     --The service of the Irish church used in Mount Jerome is simpler, more
[4890]     impressive I must say.
[4892]     Mr Bloom gave prudent assent. The language of course was another thing.
[4894]     Mr Kernan said with solemnity:
[4896]     --I AM THE RESURRECTION AND THE LIFE. That touches a man's inmost heart.
[4898]     --It does, Mr Bloom said.
[4900]     Your heart perhaps but what price the fellow in the six feet by two
[4901]     with his toes to the daisies? No touching that. Seat of the affections.
[4902]     Broken heart. A pump after all, pumping thousands of gallons of blood
[4903]     every day. One fine day it gets bunged up: and there you are. Lots of
[4904]     them lying around here: lungs, hearts, livers. Old rusty pumps: damn the
[4905]     thing else. The resurrection and the life. Once you are dead you are dead.
[4906]     That last day idea. Knocking them all up out of their graves. Come forth,
[4907]     Lazarus! And he came fifth and lost the job. Get up! Last day! Then every
[4908]     fellow mousing around for his liver and his lights and the rest of his
[4909]     traps. Find damn all of himself that morning. Pennyweight of powder in
[4910]     a skull. Twelve grammes one pennyweight. Troy measure.
[4912]     Corny Kelleher fell into step at their side.
[4914]     --Everything went off A1, he said. What?
[4916]     He looked on them from his drawling eye. Policeman's shoulders. With
[4917]     your tooraloom tooraloom.
[4919]     --As it should be, Mr Kernan said.
[4921]     --What? Eh? Corny Kelleher said.
[4923]     Mr Kernan assured him.
[4925]     --Who is that chap behind with Tom Kernan? John Henry Menton asked. I
[4926]     know his face.
[4928]     Ned Lambert glanced back.
[4930]     --Bloom, he said, Madame Marion Tweedy that was, is, I mean, the
[4931]     soprano. She's his wife.
[4933]     --O, to be sure, John Henry Menton said. I haven't seen her for some time.
[4934]     he was a finelooking woman. I danced with her, wait, fifteen seventeen
[4935]     golden years ago, at Mat Dillon's in Roundtown. And a good armful she
[4936]     was.
[4938]     He looked behind through the others.
[4940]     --What is he? he asked. What does he do? Wasn't he in the stationery line?
[4941]     I fell foul of him one evening, I remember, at bowls.
[4943]     Ned Lambert smiled.
[4945]     --Yes, he was, he said, in Wisdom Hely's. A traveller for blottingpaper.
[4947]     --In God's name, John Henry Menton said, what did she marry a coon like
[4948]     that for? She had plenty of game in her then.
[4950]     --Has still, Ned Lambert said. He does some canvassing for ads.
[4952]     John Henry Menton's large eyes stared ahead.
[4954]     The barrow turned into a side lane. A portly man, ambushed among
[4955]     the grasses, raised his hat in homage. The gravediggers touched their
[4956]     caps.
[4958]     --John O'Connell, Mr Power said pleased. He never forgets a friend.
[4960]     Mr O'Connell shook all their hands in silence. Mr Dedalus said:
[4962]     --I am come to pay you another visit.
[4964]     --My dear Simon, the caretaker answered in a low voice. I don't want your
[4965]     custom at all.
[4967]     Saluting Ned Lambert and John Henry Menton he walked on at Martin
[4968]     Cunningham's side puzzling two long keys at his back.
[4970]     --Did you hear that one, he asked them, about Mulcahy from the Coombe?
[4972]     --I did not, Martin Cunningham said.
[4974]     They bent their silk hats in concert and Hynes inclined his ear. The
[4975]     caretaker hung his thumbs in the loops of his gold watchchain and spoke in
[4976]     a discreet tone to their vacant smiles.
[4978]     --They tell the story, he said, that two drunks came out here one foggy
[4979]     evening to look for the grave of a friend of theirs. They asked for
[4980]     Mulcahy from the Coombe and were told where he was buried. After traipsing
[4981]     about in the fog they found the grave sure enough. One of the drunks spelt
[4982]     out the name: Terence Mulcahy. The other drunk was blinking up at a statue
[4983]     of Our Saviour the widow had got put up.
[4985]     The caretaker blinked up at one of the sepulchres they passed. He
[4986]     resumed:
[4988]     --And, after blinking up at the sacred figure, NOT A BLOODY BIT LIKE THE
[4989]     MAN, says he. THAT'S NOT MULCAHY, says he, WHOEVER DONE IT.
[4991]     Rewarded by smiles he fell back and spoke with Corny Kelleher, accepting
[4992]     the dockets given him, turning them over and scanning them as he walked.
[4994]     --That's all done with a purpose, Martin Cunningham explained to Hynes.
[4996]     --I know, Hynes said. I know that.
[4998]     --To cheer a fellow up, Martin Cunningham said. It's pure goodheartedness:
[4999]     damn the thing else.
[5001]     Mr Bloom admired the caretaker's prosperous bulk. All want to be on
[5002]     good terms with him. Decent fellow, John O'Connell, real good sort. Keys:
[5003]     like Keyes's ad: no fear of anyone getting out. No passout checks. HABEAS
[5004]     CORPUS. I must see about that ad after the funeral. Did I write
[5005]     Ballsbridge on the envelope I took to cover when she disturbed me writing
[5006]     to Martha? Hope it's not chucked in the dead letter office. Be the better
[5007]     of a shave. Grey sprouting beard. That's the first sign when the hairs
[5008]     come out grey. And temper getting cross. Silver threads among the grey.
[5009]     Fancy being his wife. Wonder he had the gumption to propose to any girl.
[5010]     Come out and live in the graveyard. Dangle that before her. It might
[5011]     thrill her first. Courting death ... Shades of night hovering here with
[5012]     all the dead stretched about. The shadows of the tombs when churchyards
[5013]     yawn and Daniel O'Connell must be a descendant I suppose who is this used
[5014]     to say he was a queer breedy man great catholic all the same like a big
[5015]     giant in the dark. Will o' the wisp. Gas of graves. Want to keep her mind
[5016]     off it to conceive at all. Women especially are so touchy. Tell her a
[5017]     ghost story in bed to make her sleep. Have you ever seen a ghost? Well, I
[5018]     have. It was a pitchdark night. The clock was on the stroke of twelve.
[5019]     Still they'd kiss all right if properly keyed up. Whores in Turkish
[5020]     graveyards. Learn anything if taken young. You might pick up a young
[5021]     widow here. Men like that. Love among the tombstones. Romeo. Spice of
[5022]     pleasure. In the midst of death we are in life. Both ends meet.
[5023]     Tantalising for the poor dead. Smell of grilled beefsteaks to the
[5024]     starving. Gnawing their vitals. Desire to grig people. Molly wanting to
[5025]     do it at the window. Eight children he has anyway.
[5027]     He has seen a fair share go under in his time, lying around him field
[5028]     after field. Holy fields. More room if they buried them standing. Sitting
[5029]     or kneeling you couldn't. Standing? His head might come up some day above
[5030]     ground in a landslip with his hand pointing. All honeycombed the ground
[5031]     must be: oblong cells. And very neat he keeps it too: trim grass and
[5032]     edgings. His garden Major Gamble calls Mount Jerome. Well, so it is.
[5033]     Ought to be flowers of sleep. Chinese cemeteries with giant poppies
[5034]     growing produce the best opium Mastiansky told me. The Botanic Gardens
[5035]     are just over there. It's the blood sinking in the earth gives new life.
[5036]     Same idea those jews they said killed the christian boy. Every man
[5037]     his price. Well preserved fat corpse, gentleman, epicure, invaluable
[5038]     for fruit garden. A bargain. By carcass of William Wilkinson, auditor
[5039]     and accountant, lately deceased, three pounds thirteen and six.
[5040]     With thanks.
[5042]     I daresay the soil would be quite fat with corpsemanure, bones, flesh,
[5043]     nails. Charnelhouses. Dreadful. Turning green and pink decomposing. Rot
[5044]     quick in damp earth. The lean old ones tougher. Then a kind of a tallowy
[5045]     kind of a cheesy. Then begin to get black, black treacle oozing out of
[5046]     them. Then dried up. Deathmoths. Of course the cells or whatever they are
[5047]     go on living. Changing about. Live for ever practically. Nothing to feed
[5048]     on feed on themselves.
[5050]     But they must breed a devil of a lot of maggots. Soil must be simply
[5051]     swirling with them. Your head it simply swurls. Those pretty little
[5052]     seaside gurls. He looks cheerful enough over it. Gives him a sense of
[5053]     power seeing all the others go under first. Wonder how he looks at life.
[5054]     Cracking his jokes too: warms the cockles of his heart. The one about the
[5055]     bulletin. Spurgeon went to heaven 4 a.m. this morning. 11 p.m.
[5056]     (closing time). Not arrived yet. Peter. The dead themselves the men
[5057]     anyhow would like to hear an odd joke or the women to know what's in
[5058]     fashion. A juicy pear or ladies' punch, hot, strong and sweet. Keep out
[5059]     the damp. You must laugh sometimes so better do it that way. Gravediggers
[5060]     in HAMLET. Shows the profound knowledge of the human heart. Daren't joke
[5061]     about the dead for two years at least. DE MORTUIS NIL NISI PRIUS. Go out
[5062]     of mourning first. Hard to imagine his funeral. Seems a sort of a joke.
[5063]     Read your own obituary notice they say you live longer. Gives you second
[5064]     wind. New lease of life.
[5066]     --How many have-you for tomorrow? the caretaker asked.
[5068]     --Two, Corny Kelleher said. Half ten and eleven.
[5070]     The caretaker put the papers in his pocket. The barrow had ceased to
[5071]     trundle. The mourners split and moved to each side of the hole, stepping
[5072]     with care round the graves. The gravediggers bore the coffin and set its
[5073]     nose on the brink, looping the bands round it.
[5075]     Burying him. We come to bury Caesar. His ides of March or June.
[5076]     He doesn't know who is here nor care.
[5077]     Now who is that lankylooking galoot over there in the macintosh?
[5078]     Now who is he I'd like to know? Now I'd give a trifle to know who he is.
[5079]     Always someone turns up you never dreamt of. A fellow could live on his
[5080]     lonesome all his life. Yes, he could. Still he'd have to get someone to
[5081]     sod him after he died though he could dig his own grave. We all do. Only
[5082]     man buries. No, ants too. First thing strikes anybody. Bury the dead. Say
[5083]     Robinson Crusoe was true to life. Well then Friday buried him. Every
[5084]     Friday buries a Thursday if you come to look at it.
[5087]         O, POOR ROBINSON CRUSOE!
[5091]     Poor Dignam! His last lie on the earth in his box. When you think of
[5092]     them all it does seem a waste of wood. All gnawed through. They could
[5093]     invent a handsome bier with a kind of panel sliding, let it down that way.
[5094]     Ay but they might object to be buried out of another fellow's. They're so
[5095]     particular. Lay me in my native earth. Bit of clay from the holy land.
[5096]     Only a mother and deadborn child ever buried in the one coffin. I see what
[5097]     it means. I see. To protect him as long as possible even in the earth. The
[5098]     Irishman's house is his coffin. Embalming in catacombs, mummies the same
[5099]     idea.
[5101]     Mr Bloom stood far back, his hat in his hand, counting the bared
[5102]     heads. Twelve. I'm thirteen. No. The chap in the macintosh is thirteen.
[5103]     Death's number. Where the deuce did he pop out of? He wasn't in the
[5104]     chapel, that I'll swear. Silly superstition that about thirteen.
[5106]     Nice soft tweed Ned Lambert has in that suit. Tinge of purple. I had
[5107]     one like that when we lived in Lombard street west. Dressy fellow he was
[5108]     once. Used to change three suits in the day. Must get that grey suit of
[5109]     mine turned by Mesias. Hello. It's dyed. His wife I forgot he's not
[5110]     married or his landlady ought to have picked out those threads for him.
[5112]     The coffin dived out of sight, eased down by the men straddled on the
[5113]     gravetrestles. They struggled up and out: and all uncovered. Twenty.
[5115]     Pause.
[5117]     If we were all suddenly somebody else.
[5119]     Far away a donkey brayed. Rain. No such ass. Never see a dead one,
[5120]     they say. Shame of death. They hide. Also poor papa went away.
[5122]     Gentle sweet air blew round the bared heads in a whisper. Whisper.
[5123]     The boy by the gravehead held his wreath with both hands staring quietly
[5124]     in the black open space. Mr Bloom moved behind the portly kindly
[5125]     caretaker. Wellcut frockcoat. Weighing them up perhaps to see which will
[5126]     go next. Well, it is a long rest. Feel no more. It's the moment you feel.
[5127]     Must be damned unpleasant. Can't believe it at first. Mistake must be:
[5128]     someone else. Try the house opposite. Wait, I wanted to. I haven't yet.
[5129]     Then darkened deathchamber. Light they want. Whispering around you. Would
[5130]     you like to see a priest? Then rambling and wandering. Delirium all you
[5131]     hid all your life. The death struggle. His sleep is not natural. Press his
[5132]     lower eyelid. Watching is his nose pointed is his jaw sinking are the
[5133]     soles of his feet yellow. Pull the pillow away and finish it off on the
[5134]     floor since he's doomed. Devil in that picture of sinner's death showing
[5135]     him a woman. Dying to embrace her in his shirt. Last act of LUCIA.
[5136]     SHALL I NEVERMORE BEHOLD THEE? Bam! He expires. Gone at last. People
[5137]     talk about you a bit: forget you. Don't forget to pray for him.
[5138]     Remember him in your prayers. Even Parnell. Ivy day dying out. Then
[5139]     they follow: dropping into a hole, one after the other.
[5141]     We are praying now for the repose of his soul. Hoping you're well
[5142]     and not in hell. Nice change of air. Out of the fryingpan of life into the
[5143]     fire of purgatory.
[5145]     Does he ever think of the hole waiting for himself? They say you do
[5146]     when you shiver in the sun. Someone walking over it. Callboy's warning.
[5147]     Near you. Mine over there towards Finglas, the plot I bought. Mamma,
[5148]     poor mamma, and little Rudy.
[5150]     The gravediggers took up their spades and flung heavy clods of clay
[5151]     in on the coffin. Mr Bloom turned away his face. And if he was alive all
[5152]     the time? Whew! By jingo, that would be awful! No, no: he is dead, of
[5153]     course. Of course he is dead. Monday he died. They ought to have
[5154]     some law to pierce the heart and make sure or an electric clock or
[5155]     a telephone in the coffin and some kind of a canvas airhole. Flag of
[5156]     distress. Three days. Rather long to keep them in summer. Just as well
[5157]     to get shut of them as soon as you are sure there's no.
[5159]     The clay fell softer. Begin to be forgotten. Out of sight, out of mind.
[5161]     The caretaker moved away a few paces and put on his hat. Had
[5162]     enough of it. The mourners took heart of grace, one by one, covering
[5163]     themselves without show. Mr Bloom put on his hat and saw the portly
[5164]     figure make its way deftly through the maze of graves. Quietly, sure of
[5165]     his ground, he traversed the dismal fields.
[5167]     Hynes jotting down something in his notebook. Ah, the names. But he
[5168]     knows them all. No: coming to me.
[5170]     --I am just taking the names, Hynes said below his breath. What is your
[5171]     christian name? I'm not sure.
[5173]     --L, Mr Bloom said. Leopold. And you might put down M'Coy's name too.
[5174]     He asked me to.
[5176]     --Charley, Hynes said writing. I know. He was on the FREEMAN once.
[5178]     So he was before he got the job in the morgue under Louis Byrne.
[5179]     Good idea a postmortem for doctors. Find out what they imagine they
[5180]     know. He died of a Tuesday. Got the run. Levanted with the cash of a few
[5181]     ads. Charley, you're my darling. That was why he asked me to. O well,
[5182]     does no harm. I saw to that, M'Coy. Thanks, old chap: much obliged.
[5183]     Leave him under an obligation: costs nothing.
[5185]     --And tell us, Hynes said, do you know that fellow in the, fellow was
[5186]     over there in the ...
[5188]     He looked around.
[5190]     --Macintosh. Yes, I saw him, Mr Bloom said. Where is he now?
[5192]     --M'Intosh, Hynes said scribbling. I don't know who he is. Is that
[5193]     his name?
[5195]     He moved away, looking about him.
[5197]     --No, Mr Bloom began, turning and stopping. I say, Hynes!
[5199]     Didn't hear. What? Where has he disappeared to? Not a sign. Well of
[5200]     all the. Has anybody here seen? Kay ee double ell. Become invisible. Good
[5201]     Lord, what became of him?
[5203]     A seventh gravedigger came beside Mr Bloom to take up an idle spade.
[5205]     --O, excuse me!
[5207]     He stepped aside nimbly.
[5209]     Clay, brown, damp, began to be seen in the hole. It rose. Nearly over.
[5210]     A mound of damp clods rose more, rose, and the gravediggers rested their
[5211]     spades. All uncovered again for a few instants. The boy propped his wreath
[5212]     against a corner: the brother-in-law his on a lump. The gravediggers put
[5213]     on their caps and carried their earthy spades towards the barrow. Then
[5214]     knocked the blades lightly on the turf: clean. One bent to pluck from the
[5215]     haft a long tuft of grass. One, leaving his mates, walked slowly on with
[5216]     shouldered weapon, its blade blueglancing. Silently at the gravehead
[5217]     another coiled the coffinband. His navelcord. The brother-in-law, turning
[5218]     away, placed something in his free hand. Thanks in silence. Sorry, sir:
[5219]     trouble. Headshake. I know that. For yourselves just.
[5221]     The mourners moved away slowly without aim, by devious paths,
[5222]     staying at whiles to read a name on a tomb.
[5224]     --Let us go round by the chief's grave, Hynes said. We have time.
[5226]     --Let us, Mr Power said.
[5228]     They turned to the right, following their slow thoughts. With awe Mr
[5229]     Power's blank voice spoke:
[5231]     --Some say he is not in that grave at all. That the coffin was filled
[5232]     with stones. That one day he will come again.
[5234]     Hynes shook his head.
[5236]     --Parnell will never come again, he said. He's there, all that was mortal
[5237]     of him. Peace to his ashes.
[5239]     Mr Bloom walked unheeded along his grove by saddened angels,
[5240]     crosses, broken pillars, family vaults, stone hopes praying with upcast
[5241]     eyes, old Ireland's hearts and hands. More sensible to spend the money on
[5242]     some charity for the living. Pray for the repose of the soul of. Does
[5243]     anybody really? Plant him and have done with him. Like down a coalshoot.
[5244]     Then lump them together to save time. All souls' day. Twentyseventh I'll
[5245]     be at his grave. Ten shillings for the gardener. He keeps it free of
[5246]     weeds. Old man himself. Bent down double with his shears clipping. Near
[5247]     death's door. Who passed away. Who departed this life. As if they did it
[5248]     of their own accord. Got the shove, all of them. Who kicked the bucket.
[5249]     More interesting if they told you what they were. So and So, wheelwright.
[5250]     I travelled for cork lino. I paid five shillings in the pound. Or a
[5251]     woman's with her saucepan. I cooked good Irish stew. Eulogy in a country
[5252]     churchyard it ought to be that poem of whose is it Wordsworth or Thomas
[5253]     Campbell. Entered into rest the protestants put it. Old Dr Murren's.
[5254]     The great physician called him home. Well it's God's acre for them.
[5255]     Nice country residence. Newly plastered and painted. Ideal spot to
[5256]     have a quiet smoke and read the CHURCH TIMES. Marriage ads they never
[5257]     try to beautify. Rusty wreaths hung on knobs, garlands of bronzefoil.
[5258]     Better value that for the money. Still, the flowers are more poetical.
[5259]     The other gets rather tiresome, never withering. Expresses nothing.
[5260]     Immortelles.
[5262]     A bird sat tamely perched on a poplar branch. Like stuffed. Like the
[5263]     wedding present alderman Hooper gave us. Hoo! Not a budge out of him.
[5264]     Knows there are no catapults to let fly at him. Dead animal even sadder.
[5265]     Silly-Milly burying the little dead bird in the kitchen matchbox, a
[5266]     daisychain and bits of broken chainies on the grave.
[5268]     The Sacred Heart that is: showing it. Heart on his sleeve. Ought to be
[5269]     sideways and red it should be painted like a real heart. Ireland was
[5270]     dedicated to it or whatever that. Seems anything but pleased. Why this
[5271]     infliction? Would birds come then and peck like the boy with the basket of
[5272]     fruit but he said no because they ought to have been afraid of the boy.
[5273]     Apollo that was.
[5275]     How many! All these here once walked round Dublin. Faithful departed.
[5276]     As you are now so once were we.
[5278]     Besides how could you remember everybody? Eyes, walk, voice. Well,
[5279]     the voice, yes: gramophone. Have a gramophone in every grave or keep it
[5280]     in the house. After dinner on a Sunday. Put on poor old greatgrandfather.
[5281]     Kraahraark! Hellohellohello amawfullyglad kraark awfullygladaseeagain
[5282]     hellohello amawf krpthsth. Remind you of the voice like the photograph
[5283]     reminds you of the face. Otherwise you couldn't remember the face after
[5284]     fifteen years, say. For instance who? For instance some fellow that died
[5285]     when I was in Wisdom Hely's.
[5287]     Rtststr! A rattle of pebbles. Wait. Stop!
[5289]     He looked down intently into a stone crypt. Some animal. Wait.
[5290]     There he goes.
[5292]     An obese grey rat toddled along the side of the crypt, moving the
[5293]     pebbles. An old stager: greatgrandfather: he knows the ropes. The grey
[5294]     alive crushed itself in under the plinth, wriggled itself in under it.
[5295]     Good hidingplace for treasure.
[5297]     Who lives there? Are laid the remains of Robert Emery. Robert
[5298]     Emmet was buried here by torchlight, wasn't he? Making his rounds.
[5300]     Tail gone now.
[5302]     One of those chaps would make short work of a fellow. Pick the
[5303]     bones clean no matter who it was. Ordinary meat for them. A corpse is
[5304]     meat gone bad. Well and what's cheese? Corpse of milk. I read in that
[5305]     VOYAGES IN CHINA that the Chinese say a white man smells like a corpse.
[5306]     Cremation better. Priests dead against it. Devilling for the other firm.
[5307]     Wholesale burners and Dutch oven dealers. Time of the plague. Quicklime
[5308]     feverpits to eat them. Lethal chamber. Ashes to ashes. Or bury at sea.
[5309]     Where is that Parsee tower of silence? Eaten by birds. Earth, fire, water.
[5310]     Drowning they say is the pleasantest. See your whole life in a flash. But
[5311]     being brought back to life no. Can't bury in the air however. Out of a
[5312]     flying machine. Wonder does the news go about whenever a fresh one is let
[5313]     down. Underground communication. We learned that from them. Wouldn't be
[5314]     surprised. Regular square feed for them. Flies come before he's well dead.
[5315]     Got wind of Dignam. They wouldn't care about the smell of it. Saltwhite
[5316]     crumbling mush of corpse: smell, taste like raw white turnips.
[5318]     The gates glimmered in front: still open. Back to the world again.
[5319]     Enough of this place. Brings you a bit nearer every time. Last time I was
[5320]     here was Mrs Sinico's funeral. Poor papa too. The love that kills. And
[5321]     even scraping up the earth at night with a lantern like that case I read
[5322]     of to get at fresh buried females or even putrefied with running
[5323]     gravesores. Give you the creeps after a bit. I will appear to you after
[5324]     death. You will see my ghost after death. My ghost will haunt you after
[5325]     death. There is another world after death named hell. I do not like that
[5326]     other world she wrote. No more do I. Plenty to see and hear and feel yet.
[5327]     Feel live warm beings near you. Let them sleep in their maggoty beds. They
[5328]     are not going to get me this innings. Warm beds: warm fullblooded life.
[5330]     Martin Cunningham emerged from a sidepath, talking gravely.
[5332]     Solicitor, I think. I know his face. Menton, John Henry, solicitor,
[5333]     commissioner for oaths and affidavits. Dignam used to be in his office.
[5334]     Mat Dillon's long ago. Jolly Mat. Convivial evenings. Cold fowl, cigars,
[5335]     the Tantalus glasses. Heart of gold really. Yes, Menton. Got his rag out
[5336]     that evening on the bowlinggreen because I sailed inside him. Pure fluke
[5337]     of mine: the bias. Why he took such a rooted dislike to me. Hate at first
[5338]     sight. Molly and Floey Dillon linked under the lilactree, laughing.
[5339]     Fellow always like that, mortified if women are by.
[5341]     Got a dinge in the side of his hat. Carriage probably.
[5343]     --Excuse me, sir, Mr Bloom said beside them.
[5345]     They stopped.
[5347]     --Your hat is a little crushed, Mr Bloom said pointing.
[5349]     John Henry Menton stared at him for an instant without moving.
[5351]     --There, Martin Cunningham helped, pointing also. John Henry Menton took
[5352]     off his hat, bulged out the dinge and smoothed the nap with care on his
[5353]     coatsleeve. He clapped the hat on his head again.
[5355]     --It's all right now, Martin Cunningham said.
[5357]     John Henry Menton jerked his head down in acknowledgment.
[5359]     --Thank you, he said shortly.
[5361]     They walked on towards the gates. Mr Bloom, chapfallen, drew
[5362]     behind a few paces so as not to overhear. Martin laying down the law.
[5363]     Martin could wind a sappyhead like that round his little finger, without
[5364]     his seeing it.
[5366]     Oyster eyes. Never mind. Be sorry after perhaps when it dawns on him.
[5367]     Get the pull over him that way.
[5369]     Thank you. How grand we are this morning!