-- II -- - PART 15

-- II -- PART 15

THE MABBOT STREET ENTRANCE OF NIGHTTOWN, BEFORE WHICH STRETCHES AN
UNCOBBLED TRAMSIDING SET WITH SKELETON TRACKS, RED AND GREEN WILL-O'-THE-
WISPS AND DANGER SIGNALS. ROWS OF GRIMY HOUSES WITH GAPING DOORS. RARE
LAMPS WITH FAINT RAINBOW FINS. ROUND RABAIOTTI'S HALTED ICE GONDOLA
STUNTED MEN AND WOMEN SQUABBLE. THEY GRAB WAFERS BETWEEN WHICH ARE WEDGED
LUMPS OF CORAL AND COPPER SNOW. SUCKING, THEY SCATTER SLOWLY. CHILDREN.
THE SWANCOMB OF THE GONDOLA, HIGHREARED, FORGES ON THROUGH THE MURK,
WHITE AND BLUE UNDER A LIGHTHOUSE. WHISTLES CALL AND ANSWER.

THE CALLS: Wait, my love, and I'll be with you.

THE ANSWERS: Round behind the stable.

(A DEAFMUTE IDIOT WITH GOGGLE EYES, HIS SHAPELESS MOUTH DRIBBLING, JERKS
PAST, SHAKEN IN SAINT VITUS' DANCE. A CHAIN OF CHILDREN 'S HANDS
IMPRISONS HIM.)

THE CHILDREN: Kithogue! Salute!

THE IDIOT: (LIFTS A PALSIED LEFT ARM AND GURGLES) Grhahute!

THE CHILDREN: Where's the great light?

THE IDIOT: (GOBBING) Ghaghahest.

(THEY RELEASE HIM. HE JERKS ON. A PIGMY WOMAN SWINGS ON A ROPE SLUNG
BETWEEN TWO RAILINGS, COUNTING. A FORM SPRAWLED AGAINST A DUSTBIN AND
MUFFLED BY ITS ARM AND HAT SNORES, GROANS, GRINDING GROWLING TEETH, AND
SNORES AGAIN. ON A STEP A GNOME TOTTING AMONG A RUBBISHTIP CROUCHES TO
SHOULDER A SACK OF RAGS AND BONES. A CRONE STANDING BY WITH A SMOKY
OILLAMP RAMS HER LAST BOTTLE IN THE MAW OF HIS SACK. HE HEAVES HIS BOOTY,
TUGS ASKEW HIS PEAKED CAP AND HOBBLES OFF MUTELY. THE CRONE MAKES BACK
FOR HER LAIR, SWAYING HER LAMP. A BANDY CHILD, ASQUAT ON THE DOORSTEP
WITH A PAPER SHUTTLECOCK, CRAWLS SIDLING AFTER HER IN SPURTS, CLUTCHES
HER SKIRT, SCRAMBLES UP. A DRUNKEN NAVVY GRIPS WITH BOTH HANDS THE
RAILINGS OF AN AREA, LURCHING HEAVILY. AT A COMER TWO NIGHT WATCH IN
SHOULDERCAPES, THEIR HANDS UPON THEIR STAFFHOLSTERS, LOOM TALL. A PLATE
CRASHES: A WOMAN SCREAMS: A CHILD WAILS. OATHS OF A MAN ROAR, MUTTER,
CEASE. FIGURES WANDER, LURK, PEER FROM WARRENS. IN A ROOM LIT BY A CANDLE
STUCK IN A BOTTLENECK A SLUT COMBS OUT THE TATTS FROM THE HAIR OF A
SCROFULOUS CHILD. CISSY CAFFREY'S VOICE, STILL YOUNG, SINGS SHRILL FROM A
LANE.)

CISSY CAFFREY:

I GAVE IT TO MOLLY

BECAUSE SHE WAS JOLLY,

THE LEG OF THE DUCK,

THE LEG OF THE DUCK.

(PRIVATE CARR AND PRIVATE COMPTON, SWAGGERSTICKS TIGHT IN THEIR OXTERS,
AS THEY MARCH UNSTEADILY RIGHTABOUTFACE AND BURST TOGETHER FROM THEIR
MOUTHS A VOLLEYED FART. LAUGHTER OF MEN FROM THE LANE. A HOARSE VIRAGO
RETORTS.)

THE VIRAGO: Signs on you, hairy arse. More power the Cavan girl.

CISSY CAFFREY: More luck to me. Cavan, Cootehill and Belturbet. (SHE
SINGS)

I GAVE IT TO NELLY

TO STICK IN HER BELLY,

THE LEG OF THE DUCK,

THE LEG OF THE DUCK.

(PRIVATE CARR AND PRIVATE COMPTON TURN AND COUNTERRETORT, THEIR TUNICS
BLOODBRIGHT IN A LAMPGLOW, BLACK SOCKETS OF CAPS ON THEIR BLOND CROPPED
POLLS. STEPHEN DEDALUS AND LYNCH PASS THROUGH THE CROWD CLOSE TO THE
REDCOATS.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: (JERKS HIS FINGER) Way for the parson.

PRIVATE CARR: (TURNS AND CALLS) What ho, parson!

CISSY CAFFREY: (HER VOICE SOARING HIGHER)

SHE HAS IT, SHE GOT IT,

WHEREVER SHE PUT IT,

THE LEG OF THE DUCK.

(STEPHEN, FLOURISHING THE ASHPLANT IN HIS LEFT HAND, CHANTS WITH JOY THE
INTROIT FOR PASCHAL TIME. LYNCH, HIS JOCKEYCAP LOW ON HIS BROW, ATTENDS
HIM, A SNEER OF DISCONTENT WRINKLING HIS FACE.)

STEPHEN: VIDI AQUAM EGREDIENTEM DE TEMPLO A LATERE DEXTRO. ALLELUIA.

(THE FAMISHED SNAGGLETUSKS OF AN ELDERLY BAWD PROTRUDE FROM A DOORWAY.)

THE BAWD: (HER VOICE WHISPERING HUSKILY) Sst! Come here till I tell you.
Maidenhead inside. Sst!

STEPHEN: (ALTIUS ALIQUANTULUM) ET OMNES AD QUOS PERVENIT AQUA ISTA.

THE BAWD: (SPITS IN THEIR TRAIL HER JET OF VENOM) Trinity medicals.
Fallopian tube. All prick and no pence.

(EDY BOARDMAN, SNIFFLING, CROUCHED WITH BERTHA SUPPLE, DRAWS HER SHAWL
ACROSS HER NOSTRILS.)

EDY BOARDMAN: (BICKERING) And says the one: I seen you up Faithful place
with your squarepusher, the greaser off the railway, in his cometobed
hat. Did you, says I. That's not for you to say, says I. You never seen
me in the mantrap with a married highlander, says I. The likes of her!
Stag that one is! Stubborn as a mule! And her walking with two fellows
the one time, Kilbride, the enginedriver, and lancecorporal Oliphant.

STEPHEN: (TRIUMPHALITER) SALVI FACTI SUNT.

(HE FLOURISHES HIS ASHPLANT, SHIVERING THE LAMP IMAGE, SHATTERING LIGHT
OVER THE WORLD. A LIVER AND WHITE SPANIEL ON THE PROWL SLINKS AFTER HIM,
GROWLING. LYNCH SCARES IT WITH A KICK.)

LYNCH: So that?

STEPHEN: (LOOKS BEHIND) So that gesture, not music not odour, would be a
universal language, the gift of tongues rendering visible not the lay
sense but the first entelechy, the structural rhythm.

LYNCH: Pornosophical philotheology. Metaphysics in Mecklenburgh street!

STEPHEN: We have shrewridden Shakespeare and henpecked Socrates. Even the
allwisest Stagyrite was bitted, bridled and mounted by a light of love.

LYNCH: Ba!

STEPHEN: Anyway, who wants two gestures to illustrate a loaf and a jug?
This movement illustrates the loaf and jug of bread or wine in Omar. Hold
my stick.

LYNCH: Damn your yellow stick. Where are we going?

STEPHEN: Lecherous lynx, TO LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI, Georgina Johnson,
AD DEAM QUI LAETIFICAT IUVENTUTEM MEAM.

(STEPHEN THRUSTS THE ASHPLANT ON HIM AND SLOWLY HOLDS OUT HIS HANDS, HIS
HEAD GOING BACK TILL BOTH HANDS ARE A SPAN FROM HIS BREAST, DOWN TURNED,
IN PLANES INTERSECTING, THE FINGERS ABOUT TO PART, THE LEFT BEING
HIGHER.)

LYNCH: Which is the jug of bread? It skills not. That or the customhouse.
Illustrate thou. Here take your crutch and walk.

(THEY PASS. TOMMY CAFFREY SCRAMBLES TO A GASLAMP AND, CLASPING, CLIMBS IN
SPASMS. FROM THE TOP SPUR HE SLIDES DOWN. JACKY CAFFREY CLASPS TO CLIMB.
THE NAVVY LURCHES AGAINST THE LAMP. THE TWINS SCUTTLE OFF IN THE DARK.
THE NAVVY, SWAYING, PRESSES A FOREFINGER AGAINST A WING OF HIS NOSE AND
EJECTS FROM THE FARTHER NOSTRIL A LONG LIQUID JET OF SNOT. SHOULDERING
THE LAMP HE STAGGERS AWAY THROUGH THE CROWD WITH HIS FLARING CRESSET.

SNAKES OF RIVER FOG CREEP SLOWLY. FROM DRAINS, CLEFTS, CESSPOOLS, MIDDENS
ARISE ON ALL SIDES STAGNANT FUMES. A GLOW LEAPS IN THE SOUTH BEYOND THE
SEAWARD REACHES OF THE RIVER. THE NAVVY, STAGGERING FORWARD, CLEAVES THE
CROWD AND LURCHES TOWARDS THE TRAMSIDING ON THE FARTHER SIDE UNDER THE
RAILWAY BRIDGE BLOOM APPEARS, FLUSHED, PANTING, CRAMMING BREAD AND
CHOCOLATE INTO A SIDEPOCKET. FROM GILLEN'S HAIRDRESSER'S WINDOW A
COMPOSITE PORTRAIT SHOWS HIM GALLANT NELSON'S IMAGE. A CONCAVE MIRROR AT
THE SIDE PRESENTS TO HIM LOVELORN LONGLOST LUGUBRU BOOLOOHOOM. GRAVE
GLADSTONE SEES HIM LEVEL, BLOOM FOR BLOOM. HE PASSES, STRUCK BY THE STARE
OF TRUCULENT WELLINGTON, BUT IN THE CONVEX MIRROR GRIN UNSTRUCK THE
BONHAM EYES AND FATCHUCK CHEEKCHOPS OF JOLLYPOLDY THE RIXDIX DOLDY.

AT ANTONIO PABAIOTTI'S DOOR BLOOM HALTS, SWEATED UNDER THE BRIGHT
ARCLAMP. HE DISAPPEARS. IN A MOMENT HE REAPPEARS AND HURRIES ON.)

BLOOM: Fish and taters. N. g. Ah!

(HE DISAPPEARS INTO OLHAUSEN'S, THE PORKBUTCHER'S, UNDER THE DOWNCOMING
ROLLSHUTTER. A FEW MOMENTS LATER HE EMERGES FROM UNDER THE SHUTTER,
PUFFING POLDY, BLOWING BLOOHOOM. IN EACH HAND HE HOLDS A PARCEL, ONE
CONTAINING A LUKEWARM PIG'S CRUBEEN, THE OTHER A COLD SHEEP'S TROTTER,
SPRINKLED WITH WHOLEPEPPER. HE GASPS, STANDING UPRIGHT. THEN BENDING TO
ONE SIDE HE PRESSES A PARCEL AGAINST HIS RIBS AND GROANS.)

BLOOM: Stitch in my side. Why did I run?

(HE TAKES BREATH WITH CARE AND GOES FORWARD SLOWLY TOWARDS THE LAMPSET
SIDING. THE GLOW LEAPS AGAIN.)

BLOOM: What is that? A flasher? Searchlight.

(HE STANDS AT CORMACK'S CORNER, WATCHING)

BLOOM: AURORA BOREALIS or a steel foundry? Ah, the brigade, of course.
South side anyhow. Big blaze. Might be his house. Beggar's bush. We're
safe. (HE HUMS CHEERFULLY) London's burning, London's burning! On fire,
on fire! (HE CATCHES SIGHT OF THE NAVVY LURCHING THROUGH THE CROWD AT THE
FARTHER SIDE OF TALBOT STREET) I'll miss him. Run. Quick. Better cross
here.

(HE DARTS TO CROSS THE ROAD. URCHINS SHOUT.)

THE URCHINS: Mind out, mister! (TWO CYCLISTS, WITH LIGHTED PAPER LANTERNS
ASWING, SWIM BY HIM, GRAZING HIM, THEIR BELLS RATTLING)

THE BELLS: Haltyaltyaltyall.

BLOOM: (HALTS ERECT, STUNG BY A SPASM) Ow!

(HE LOOKS ROUND, DARTS FORWARD SUDDENLY. THROUGH RISING FOG A DRAGON
SANDSTREWER, TRAVELLING AT CAUTION, SLEWS HEAVILY DOWN UPON HIM, ITS HUGE
RED HEADLIGHT WINKING, ITS TROLLEY HISSING ON THE WIRE. THE MOTORMAN
BANGS HIS FOOTGONG.)

THE GONG: Bang Bang Bla Bak Blud Bugg Bloo.

(THE BRAKE CRACKS VIOLENTLY. BLOOM, RAISING A POLICEMAN'S WHITEGLOVED
HAND, BLUNDERS STIFFLEGGED OUT OF THE TRACK. THE MOTORMAN, THROWN
FORWARD, PUGNOSED, ON THE GUIDEWHEEL, YELLS AS HE SLIDES PAST OVER CHAINS
AND KEYS.)

THE MOTORMAN: Hey, shitbreeches, are you doing the hat trick?

BLOOM: (BLOOM TRICKLEAPS TO THE CURBSTONE AND HALTS AGAIN. HE BRUSHES A
MUDFLAKE FROM HIS CHEEK WITH A PARCELLED HAND.) No thoroughfare. Close
shave that but cured the stitch. Must take up Sandow's exercises again.
On the hands down. Insure against street accident too. The Providential.
(HE FEELS HIS TROUSER POCKET) Poor mamma's panacea. Heel easily catch in
track or bootlace in a cog. Day the wheel of the black Maria peeled off
my shoe at Leonard's corner. Third time is the charm. Shoe trick.
Insolent driver. I ought to report him. Tension makes them nervous. Might
be the fellow balked me this morning with that horsey woman. Same style
of beauty. Quick of him all the same. The stiff walk. True word spoken in
jest. That awful cramp in Lad lane. Something poisonous I ate. Emblem of
luck. Why? Probably lost cattle. Mark of the beast. (HE CLOSES HIS EYES
AN INSTANT) Bit light in the head. Monthly or effect of the other.
Brainfogfag. That tired feeling. Too much for me now. Ow!

(A SINISTER FIGURE LEANS ON PLAITED LEGS AGAINST O'BEIRNE'S WALL, A
VISAGE UNKNOWN, INJECTED WITH DARK MERCURY. FROM UNDER A WIDELEAVED
SOMBRERO THE FIGURE REGARDS HIM WITH EVIL EYE.)

BLOOM: BUENAS NOCHES, SENORITA BLANCA. QUE CALLE ES ESTA?

THE FIGURE: (IMPASSIVE, RAISES A SIGNAL ARM) Password. SRAID MABBOT.

BLOOM: Haha. MERCI. Esperanto. SLAN LEATH. (HE MUTTERS) Gaelic league
spy, sent by that fireeater.

(HE STEPS FORWARD. A SACKSHOULDERED RAGMAN BARS HIS PATH. HE STEPS LEFT,
RAGSACKMAN LEFT.)

BLOOM: I beg. (HE SWERVES, SIDLES, STEPASIDE, SLIPS PAST AND ON.)

BLOOM: Keep to the right, right, right. If there is a signpost planted by
the Touring Club at Stepaside who procured that public boon? I who lost
my way and contributed to the columns of the IRISH CYCLIST the letter
headed IN DARKEST STEPASIDE. Keep, keep, keep to the right. Rags and
bones at midnight. A fence more likely. First place murderer makes for.
Wash off his sins of the world.

(JACKY CAFFREY, HUNTED BY TOMMY CAFFREY, RUNS FULL TILT AGAINST BLOOM.)

BLOOM: O

(SHOCKED, ON WEAK HAMS, HE HALTS. TOMMY AND JACKY VANISH THERE, THERE.
BLOOM PATS WITH PARCELLED HANDS WATCH FOBPOCKET, BOOKPOCKET, PURSEPOKET,
SWEETS OF SIN, POTATO SOAP.)

BLOOM: Beware of pickpockets. Old thieves' dodge. Collide. Then snatch
your purse.

(THE RETRIEVER APPROACHES SNIFFING, NOSE TO THE GROUND. A SPRAWLED FORM
SNEEZES. A STOOPED BEARDED FIGURE APPEARS GARBED IN THE LONG CAFTAN OF AN
ELDER IN ZION AND A SMOKINGCAP WITH MAGENTA TASSELS. HORNED SPECTACLES
HANG DOWN AT THE WINGS OF THE NOSE. YELLOW POISON STREAKS ARE ON THE
DRAWN FACE.)

RUDOLPH: Second halfcrown waste money today. I told you not go with
drunken goy ever. So you catch no money.

BLOOM: (HIDES THE CRUBEEN AND TROTTER BEHIND HIS BACK AND, CRESTFALLEN,
FEELS WARM AND COLD FEETMEAT) JA, ICH WEISS, PAPACHI.

RUDOLPH: What you making down this place? Have you no soul? (WITH FEEBLE
VULTURE TALONS HE FEELS THE SILENT FACE OF BLOOM) Are you not my son
Leopold, the grandson of Leopold? Are you not my dear son Leopold who
left the house of his father and left the god of his fathers Abraham and
Jacob?

BLOOM: (WITH PRECAUTION) I suppose so, father. Mosenthal. All that's left
of him.

RUDOLPH: (SEVERELY) One night they bring you home drunk as dog after
spend your good money. What you call them running chaps?

BLOOM: (IN YOUTH'S SMART BLUE OXFORD SUIT WITH WHITE VESTSLIPS,
NARROWSHOULDERED, IN BROWN ALPINE HAT, WEARING GENT'S STERLING SILVER
WATERBURY KEYLESS WATCH AND DOUBLE CURB ALBERT WITH SEAL ATTACHED, ONE
SIDE OF HIM COATED WITH STIFFENING MUD) Harriers, father. Only that once.

RUDOLPH: Once! Mud head to foot. Cut your hand open. Lockjaw. They make
you kaputt, Leopoldleben. You watch them chaps.

BLOOM: (WEAKLY) They challenged me to a sprint. It was muddy. I slipped.

RUDOLPH: (WITH CONTEMPT) GOIM NACHEZ! Nice spectacles for your poor
mother!

BLOOM: Mamma!

ELLEN BLOOM: (IN PANTOMIME DAME'S STRINGED MOBCAP, WIDOW TWANKEY'S
CRINOLINE AND BUSTLE, BLOUSE WITH MUTTONLEG SLEEVES BUTTONED BEHIND, GREY
MITTENS AND CAMEO BROOCH, HER PLAITED HAIR IN A CRISPINE NET, APPEARS
OVER THE STAIRCASE BANISTERS, A SLANTED CANDLESTICK IN HER HAND, AND
CRIES OUT IN SHRILL ALARM) O blessed Redeemer, what have they done to
him! My smelling salts! (SHE HAULS UP A REEF OF SKIRT AND RANSACKS THE
POUCH OF HER STRIPED BLAY PETTICOAT. A PHIAL, AN AGNUS DEI, A SHRIVELLED
POTATO AND A CELLULOID DOLL FALL OUT) Sacred Heart of Mary, where were
you at all at all?

(BLOOM, MUMBLING, HIS EYES DOWNCAST, BEGINS TO BESTOW HIS PARCELS IN HIS
FILLED POCKETS BUT DESISTS, MUTTERING.)

A VOICE: (SHARPLY) Poldy!

BLOOM: Who? (HE DUCKS AND WARDS OFF A BLOW CLUMSILY) At your service.

(HE LOOKS UP. BESIDE HER MIRAGE OF DATEPALMS A HANDSOME WOMAN IN TURKISH
COSTUME STANDS BEFORE HIM. OPULENT CURVES FILL OUT HER SCARLET TROUSERS
AND JACKET, SLASHED WITH GOLD. A WIDE YELLOW CUMMERBUND GIRDLES HER. A
WHITE YASHMAK, VIOLET IN THE NIGHT, COVERS HER FACE, LEAVING FREE ONLY
HER LARGE DARK EYES AND RAVEN HAIR.)

BLOOM: Molly!

MARION: Welly? Mrs Marion from this out, my dear man, when you speak to
me. (SATIRICALLY) Has poor little hubby cold feet waiting so long?

BLOOM: (SHIFTS FROM FOOT TO FOOT) No, no. Not the least little bit.

(HE BREATHES IN DEEP AGITATION, SWALLOWING GULPS OF AIR, QUESTIONS,
HOPES, CRUBEENS FOR HER SUPPER, THINGS TO TELL HER, EXCUSE, DESIRE,
SPELLBOUND. A COIN GLEAMS ON HER FOREHEAD. ON HER FEET ARE JEWELLED
TOERINGS. HER ANKLES ARE LINKED BY A SLENDER FETTERCHAIN. BESIDE HER A
CAMEL, HOODED WITH A TURRETING TURBAN, WAITS. A SILK LADDER OF
INNUMERABLE RUNGS CLIMBS TO HIS BOBBING HOWDAH. HE AMBLES NEAR WITH
DISGRUNTLED HINDQUARTERS. FIERCELY SHE SLAPS HIS HAUNCH, HER GOLDCURB
WRISTBANGLES ANGRILING, SCOLDING HIM IN MOORISH.)

MARION: Nebrakada! Femininum!

(THE CAMEL, LIFTING A FORELEG, PLUCKS FROM A TREE A LARGE MANGO FRUIT,
OFFERS IT TO HIS MISTRESS, BLINKING, IN HIS CLOVEN HOOF, THEN DROOPS HIS
HEAD AND, GRUNTING, WITH UPLIFTED NECK, FUMBLES TO KNEEL. BLOOM STOOPS
HIS BACK FOR LEAPFROG.)

BLOOM: I can give you ... I mean as your business menagerer ... Mrs
Marion ... if you ...

MARION: So you notice some change? (HER HANDS PASSING SLOWLY OVER HER
TRINKETED STOMACHER, A SLOW FRIENDLY MOCKERY IN HER EYES) O Poldy, Poldy,
you are a poor old stick in the mud! Go and see life. See the wide world.

BLOOM: I was just going back for that lotion whitewax, orangeflower
water. Shop closes early on Thursday. But the first thing in the morning.
(HE PATS DIVERS POCKETS) This moving kidney. Ah!

(HE POINTS TO THE SOUTH, THEN TO THE EAST. A CAKE OF NEW CLEAN LEMON SOAP
ARISES, DIFFUSING LIGHT AND PERFUME.)

THE SOAP:

We're a capital couple are Bloom and I.

He brightens the earth. I polish the sky.

(THE FRECKLED FACE OF SWENY, THE DRUGGIST, APPEARS IN THE DISC OF THE
SOAPSUN.)

SWENY: Three and a penny, please.

BLOOM: Yes. For my wife. Mrs Marion. Special recipe.

MARION: (SOFTLY) Poldy!

BLOOM: Yes, ma'am?

MARION: TI TREMA UN POCO IL CUORE?

(IN DISDAIN SHE SAUNTERS AWAY, PLUMP AS A PAMPERED POUTER PIGEON, HUMMING
THE DUET FROM Don Giovanni.)

BLOOM: Are you sure about that VOGLIO? I mean the pronunciati ...

(HE FOLLOWS, FOLLOWED BY THE SNIFFING TERRIER. THE ELDERLY BAWD SEIZES
HIS SLEEVE, THE BRISTLES OF HER CHINMOLE GLITTERING.)

THE BAWD: Ten shillings a maidenhead. Fresh thing was never touched.
Fifteen. There's no-one in it only her old father that's dead drunk.

(SHE POINTS. IN THE GAP OF HER DARK DEN FURTIVE, RAINBEDRAGGLED, BRIDIE
KELLY STANDS.)

BRIDIE: Hatch street. Any good in your mind?

(WITH A SQUEAK SHE FLAPS HER BAT SHAWL AND RUNS. A BURLY ROUGH PURSUES
WITH BOOTED STRIDES. HE STUMBLES ON THE STEPS, RECOVERS, PLUNGES INTO
GLOOM. WEAK SQUEAKS OF LAUGHTER ARE HEARD, WEAKER.)

THE BAWD: (HER WOLFEYES SHINING) He's getting his pleasure. You won't get
a virgin in the flash houses. Ten shillings. Don't be all night before
the polis in plain clothes sees us. Sixtyseven is a bitch.

(LEERING, GERTY MACDOWELL LIMPS FORWARD. SHE DRAWS FROM BEHIND, OGLING,
AND SHOWS COYLY HER BLOODIED CLOUT.)

GERTY: With all my worldly goods I thee and thou. (SHE MURMURS) You did
that. I hate you.

BLOOM: I? When? You're dreaming. I never saw you.

THE BAWD: Leave the gentleman alone, you cheat. Writing the gentleman
false letters. Streetwalking and soliciting. Better for your mother take
the strap to you at the bedpost, hussy like you.

GERTY: (TO BLOOM) When you saw all the secrets of my bottom drawer. (SHE
PAWS HIS SLEEVE, SLOBBERING) Dirty married man! I love you for doing that
to me.

(SHE GLIDES AWAY CROOKEDLY. MRS BREEN IN MAN'S FRIEZE OVERCOAT WITH LOOSE
BELLOWS POCKETS, STANDS IN THE CAUSEWAY, HER ROGUISH EYES WIDEOPEN,
SMILING IN ALL HER HERBIVOROUS BUCKTEETH.)

MRS BREEN: Mr ...

BLOOM: (COUGHS GRAVELY) Madam, when we last had this pleasure by letter
dated the sixteenth instant ...

MRS BREEN: Mr Bloom! You down here in the haunts of sin! I caught you
nicely! Scamp!

BLOOM: (HURRIEDLY) Not so loud my name. Whatever do you think of me?
Don't give me away. Walls have ears. How do you do? It's ages since I.
You're looking splendid. Absolutely it. Seasonable weather we are having
this time of year. Black refracts heat. Short cut home here. Interesting
quarter. Rescue of fallen women. Magdalen asylum. I am the secretary ...

MRS BREEN: (HOLDS UP A FINGER) Now, don't tell a big fib! I know somebody
won't like that. O just wait till I see Molly! (SLILY) Account for
yourself this very sminute or woe betide you!

BLOOM: (LOOKS BEHIND) She often said she'd like to visit. Slumming. The
exotic, you see. Negro servants in livery too if she had money. Othello
black brute. Eugene Stratton. Even the bones and cornerman at the
Livermore christies. Bohee brothers. Sweep for that matter.

(TOM AND SAM BOHEE, COLOURED COONS IN WHITE DUCK SUITS, SCARLET SOCKS,
UPSTARCHED SAMBO CHOKERS AND LARGE SCARLET ASTERS IN THEIR BUTTONHOLES,
LEAP OUT. EACH HAS HIS BANJO SLUNG. THEIR PALER SMALLER NEGROID HANDS
JINGLE THE TWINGTWANG WIRES. FLASHING WHITE KAFFIR EYES AND TUSKS THEY
RATTLE THROUGH A BREAKDOWN IN CLUMSY CLOGS, TWINGING, SINGING, BACK TO
BACK, TOE HEEL, HEEL TOE, WITH SMACKFATCLACKING NIGGER LIPS.)

TOM AND SAM:

There's someone in the house with Dina

There's someone in the house, I know,

There's someone in the house with Dina

Playing on the old banjo.

(THEY WHISK BLACK MASKS FROM RAW BABBY FACES: THEN, CHUCKLING, CHORTLING,
TRUMMING, TWANGING, THEY DIDDLE DIDDLE CAKEWALK DANCE AWAY.)

BLOOM: (WITH A SOUR TENDERISH SMILE) A little frivol, shall we, if you
are so inclined? Would you like me perhaps to embrace you just for a
fraction of a second?

MRS BREEN: (SCREAMS GAILY) O, you ruck! You ought to see yourself!

BLOOM: For old sake' sake. I only meant a square party, a mixed marriage
mingling of our different little conjugials. You know I had a soft corner
for you. (GLOOMILY) 'Twas I sent you that valentine of the dear gazelle.

MRS BREEN: Glory Alice, you do look a holy show! Killing simply. (SHE
PUTS OUT HER HAND INQUISITIVELY) What are you hiding behind your back?
Tell us, there's a dear.

BLOOM: (SEIZES HER WRIST WITH HIS FREE HAND) Josie Powell that was,
prettiest deb in Dublin. How time flies by! Do you remember, harking back
in a retrospective arrangement, Old Christmas night, Georgina Simpson's
housewarming while they were playing the Irving Bishop game, finding the
pin blindfold and thoughtreading? Subject, what is in this snuffbox?

MRS BREEN: You were the lion of the night with your seriocomic recitation
and you looked the part. You were always a favourite with the ladies.

BLOOM: (SQUIRE OF DAMES, IN DINNER JACKET WITH WATEREDSILK FACINGS, BLUE
MASONIC BADGE IN HIS BUTTONHOLE, BLACK BOW AND MOTHER-OF-PEARL STUDS, A
PRISMATIC CHAMPAGNE GLASS TILTED IN HIS HAND) Ladies and gentlemen, I
give you Ireland, home and beauty.

MRS BREEN: The dear dead days beyond recall. Love's old sweet song.

BLOOM: (MEANINGFULLY DROPPING HIS VOICE) I confess I'm teapot with
curiosity to find out whether some person's something is a little teapot
at present.

MRS BREEN: (GUSHINGLY) Tremendously teapot! London's teapot and I'm
simply teapot all over me! (SHE RUBS SIDES WITH HIM) After the parlour
mystery games and the crackers from the tree we sat on the staircase
ottoman. Under the mistletoe. Two is company.

BLOOM: (WEARING A PURPLE NAPOLEON HAT WITH AN AMBER HALFMOON, HIS FINGERS
AND THUMB PASSING SLOWLY DOWN TO HER SOFT MOIST MEATY PALM WHICH SHE
SURRENDERS GENTLY) The witching hour of night. I took the splinter out of
this hand, carefully, slowly. (TENDERLY, AS HE SLIPS ON HER FINGER A RUBY
RING) LA CI DAREM LA MANO.

MRS BREEN: (IN A ONEPIECE EVENING FROCK EXECUTED IN MOONLIGHT BLUE, A
TINSEL SYLPH'S DIADEM ON HER BROW WITH HER DANCECARD FALLEN BESIDE HER
MOONBLUE SATIN SLIPPER, CURVES HER PALM SOFTLY, BREATHING QUICKLY) VOGLIO
E NON. You're hot! You're scalding! The left hand nearest the heart.

BLOOM: When you made your present choice they said it was beauty and the
beast. I can never forgive you for that. (HIS CLENCHED FIST AT HIS BROW)
Think what it means. All you meant to me then. (HOARSELY) Woman, it's
breaking me!

(DENIS BREEN, WHITETALLHATTED, WITH WISDOM HELY'S SANDWICH- BOARDS,
SHUFFLES PAST THEM IN CARPET SLIPPERS, HIS DULL BEARD THRUST OUT,
MUTTERING TO RIGHT AND LEFT. LITTLE ALF BERGAN, CLOAKED IN THE PALL OF
THE ACE OF SPADES, DOGS HIM TO LEFT AND RIGHT, DOUBLED IN LAUGHTER.)

ALF BERGAN: (POINTS JEERING AT THE SANDWICHBOARDS) U. p: Up.

MRS BREEN: (TO BLOOM) High jinks below stairs. (SHE GIVES HIM THE GLAD
EYE) Why didn't you kiss the spot to make it well? You wanted to.

BLOOM: (SHOCKED) Molly's best friend! Could you?

MRS BREEN: (HER PULPY TONGUE BETWEEN HER LIPS, OFFERS A PIGEON KISS)
Hnhn. The answer is a lemon. Have you a little present for me there?

BLOOM: (OFFHANDEDLY) Kosher. A snack for supper. The home without potted
meat is incomplete. I was at LEAH. Mrs Bandmann Palmer. Trenchant
exponent of Shakespeare. Unfortunately threw away the programme. Rattling
good place round there for pigs' feet. Feel.

(RICHIE GOULDING, THREE LADIES' HATS PINNED ON HIS HEAD, APPEARS WEIGHTED
TO ONE SIDE BY THE BLACK LEGAL BAG OF COLLIS AND WARD ON WHICH A SKULL
AND CROSSBONES ARE PAINTED IN WHITE LIMEWASH. HE OPENS IT AND SHOWS IT
FULL OF POLONIES, KIPPERED HERRINGS, FINDON HADDIES AND TIGHTPACKED
PILLS.)

RICHIE: Best value in Dub.

(BALD PAT, BOTHERED BEETLE, STANDS ON THE CURBSTONE, FOLDING HIS NAPKIN,
WAITING TO WAIT.)

PAT: (ADVANCES WITH A TILTED DISH OF SPILLSPILLING GRAVY) Steak and
kidney. Bottle of lager. Hee hee hee. Wait till I wait.

RICHIE: Goodgod. Inev erate inall ...

(WITH HANGING HEAD HE MARCHES DOGGEDLY FORWARD. THE NAVVY, LURCHING BY,
GORES HIM WITH HIS FLAMING PRONGHORN.)

RICHIE: (WITH A CRY OF PAIN, HIS HAND TO HIS BACK) Ah! Bright's! Lights!

BLOOM: (POINTS TO THE NAVVY) A spy. Don't attract attention. I hate
stupid crowds. I am not on pleasure bent. I am in a grave predicament.

MRS BREEN: Humbugging and deluthering as per usual with your cock and
bull story.

BLOOM: I want to tell you a little secret about how I came to be here.
But you must never tell. Not even Molly. I have a most particular reason.

MRS BREEN: (ALL AGOG) O, not for worlds.

BLOOM: Let's walk on. Shall us?

MRS BREEN: Let's.

(THE BAWD MAKES AN UNHEEDED SIGN. BLOOM WALKS ON WITH MRS BREEN. THE
TERRIER FOLLOWS, WHINING PITEOUSLY, WAGGING HIS TAIL.)

THE BAWD: Jewman's melt!

BLOOM: (IN AN OATMEAL SPORTING SUIT, A SPRIG OF WOODBINE IN THE LAPEL,
TONY BUFF SHIRT, SHEPHERD'S PLAID SAINT ANDREW'S CROSS SCARFTIE, WHITE
SPATS, FAWN DUSTCOAT ON HIS ARM, TAWNY RED BROGUES, FIELDGLASSES IN
BANDOLIER AND A GREY BILLYCOCK HAT) Do you remember a long long time,
years and years ago, just after Milly, Marionette we called her, was
weaned when we all went together to Fairyhouse races, was it?

MRS BREEN: (IN SMART SAXE TAILORMADE, WHITE VELOURS HAT AND SPIDER VEIL)
Leopardstown.

BLOOM: I mean, Leopardstown. And Molly won seven shillings on a three
year old named Nevertell and coming home along by Foxrock in that old
fiveseater shanderadan of a waggonette you were in your heyday then and
you had on that new hat of white velours with a surround of molefur that
Mrs Hayes advised you to buy because it was marked down to nineteen and
eleven, a bit of wire and an old rag of velveteen, and I'll lay you what
you like she did it on purpose ...

MRS BREEN: She did, of course, the cat! Don't tell me! Nice adviser!

BLOOM: Because it didn't suit you one quarter as well as the other ducky
little tammy toque with the bird of paradise wing in it that I admired on
you and you honestly looked just too fetching in it though it was a pity
to kill it, you cruel naughty creature, little mite of a thing with a
heart the size of a fullstop.

MRS BREEN: (SQUEEZES HIS ARM, SIMPERS) Naughty cruel I was!

BLOOM: (LOW, SECRETLY, EVER MORE RAPIDLY) And Molly was eating a sandwich
of spiced beef out of Mrs Joe Gallaher's lunch basket. Frankly, though
she had her advisers or admirers, I never cared much for her style. She
was ...

MRS BREEN: Too ...

BLOOM: Yes. And Molly was laughing because Rogers and Maggot O'Reilly
were mimicking a cock as we passed a farmhouse and Marcus Tertius Moses,
the tea merchant, drove past us in a gig with his daughter, Dancer Moses
was her name, and the poodle in her lap bridled up and you asked me if I
ever heard or read or knew or came across ...

MRS BREEN: (EAGERLY) Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.

(SHE FADES FROM HIS SIDE. FOLLOWED BY THE WHINING DOG HE WALKS ON TOWARDS
HELLSGATES. IN AN ARCHWAY A STANDING WOMAN, BENT FORWARD, HER FEET APART,
PISSES COWILY. OUTSIDE A SHUTTERED PUB A BUNCH OF LOITERERS LISTEN TO A
TALE WHICH THEIR BROKENSNOUTED GAFFER RASPS OUT WITH RAUCOUS HUMOUR. AN
ARMLESS PAIR OF THEM FLOP WRESTLING, GROWLING, IN MAIMED SODDEN
PLAYFIGHT.)

THE GAFFER: (CROUCHES, HIS VOICE TWISTED IN HIS SNOUT) And when Cairns
came down from the scaffolding in Beaver street what was he after doing
it into only into the bucket of porter that was there waiting on the
shavings for Derwan's plasterers.

THE LOITERERS: (GUFFAW WITH CLEFT PALATES) O jays!

(THEIR PAINTSPECKLED HATS WAG. SPATTERED WITH SIZE AND LIME OF THEIR
LODGES THEY FRISK LIMBLESSLY ABOUT HIM.)

BLOOM: Coincidence too. They think it funny. Anything but that. Broad
daylight. Trying to walk. Lucky no woman.

THE LOITERERS: Jays, that's a good one. Glauber salts. O jays, into the
men's porter.

(BLOOM PASSES. CHEAP WHORES, SINGLY, COUPLED, SHAWLED, DISHEVELLED, CALL
FROM LANES, DOORS, CORNERS.)

THE WHORES:

Are you going far, queer fellow?

How's your middle leg?

Got a match on you?

Eh, come here till I stiffen it for you.

(HE PLODGES THROUGH THEIR SUMP TOWARDS THE LIGHTED STREET BEYOND. FROM A
BULGE OF WINDOW CURTAINS A GRAMOPHONE REARS A BATTERED BRAZEN TRUNK. IN
THE SHADOW A SHEBEENKEEPER HAGGLES WITH THE NAVVY AND THE TWO REDCOATS.)

THE NAVVY: (BELCHING) Where's the bloody house?

THE SHEBEENKEEPER: Purdon street. Shilling a bottle of stout. Respectable
woman.

THE NAVVY: (GRIPPING THE TWO REDCOATS, STAGGERS FORWARD WITH THEM) Come
on, you British army!

PRIVATE CARR: (BEHIND HIS BACK) He aint half balmy.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (LAUGHS) What ho!

PRIVATE CARR: (TO THE NAVVY) Portobello barracks canteen. You ask for
Carr. Just Carr.

THE NAVVY: (SHOUTS)

We are the boys. Of Wexford.

PRIVATE COMPTON: Say! What price the sergeantmajor?

PRIVATE CARR: Bennett? He's my pal. I love old Bennett.

THE NAVVY: (SHOUTS)

The galling chain.

And free our native land.

(HE STAGGERS FORWARD, DRAGGING THEM WITH HIM. BLOOM STOPS, AT FAULT. THE
DOG APPROACHES, HIS TONGUE OUTLOLLING, PANTING)

BLOOM: Wildgoose chase this. Disorderly houses. Lord knows where they are
gone. Drunks cover distance double quick. Nice mixup. Scene at Westland
row. Then jump in first class with third ticket. Then too far. Train with
engine behind. Might have taken me to Malahide or a siding for the night
or collision. Second drink does it. Once is a dose. What am I following
him for? Still, he's the best of that lot. If I hadn't heard about Mrs
Beaufoy Purefoy I wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have met. Kismet. He'll
lose that cash. Relieving office here. Good biz for cheapjacks, organs.
What do ye lack? Soon got, soon gone. Might have lost my life too with
that mangongwheeltracktrolleyglarejuggernaut only for presence of mind.
Can't always save you, though. If I had passed Truelock's window that day
two minutes later would have been shot. Absence of body. Still if bullet
only went through my coat get damages for shock, five hundred pounds.
What was he? Kildare street club toff. God help his gamekeeper.

(HE GAZES AHEAD, READING ON THE WALL A SCRAWLED CHALK LEGEND Wet Dream
AND A PHALLIC DESIGN.) Odd! Molly drawing on the frosted carriagepane at
Kingstown. What's that like? (GAUDY DOLLWOMEN LOLL IN THE LIGHTED
DOORWAYS, IN WINDOW EMBRASURES, SMOKING BIRDSEYE CIGARETTES. THE ODOUR OF
THE SICKSWEET WEED FLOATS TOWARDS HIM IN SLOW ROUND OVALLING WREATHS.)

THE WREATHS: Sweet are the sweets. Sweets of sin.

BLOOM: My spine's a bit limp. Go or turn? And this food? Eat it and get
all pigsticky. Absurd I am. Waste of money. One and eightpence too much.
(THE RETRIEVER DRIVES A COLD SNIVELLING MUZZLE AGAINST HIS HAND, WAGGING
HIS TAIL.) Strange how they take to me. Even that brute today. Better
speak to him first. Like women they like RENCONTRES. Stinks like a
polecat. CHACUN SON GOUT. He might be mad. Dogdays. Uncertain in his
movements. Good fellow! Fido! Good fellow! Garryowen! (THE WOLFDOG
SPRAWLS ON HIS BACK, WRIGGLING OBSCENELY WITH BEGGING PAWS, HIS LONG
BLACK TONGUE LOLLING OUT.) Influence of his surroundings. Give and have
done with it. Provided nobody. (CALLING ENCOURAGING WORDS HE SHAMBLES
BACK WITH A FURTIVE POACHER'S TREAD, DOGGED BY THE SETTER INTO A DARK
STALESTUNK CORNER. HE UNROLLS ONE PARCEL AND GOES TO DUMP THE CRUBEEN
SOFTLY BUT HOLDS BACK AND FEELS THE TROTTER.) Sizeable for threepence.
But then I have it in my left hand. Calls for more effort. Why? Smaller
from want of use. O, let it slide. Two and six.

(WITH REGRET HE LETS THE UNROLLED CRUBEEN AND TROTTER SLIDE. THE MASTIFF
MAULS THE BUNDLE CLUMSILY AND GLUTS HIMSELF WITH GROWLING GREED,
CRUNCHING THE BONES. TWO RAINCAPED WATCH APPROACH, SILENT, VIGILANT. THEY
MURMUR TOGETHER.)

THE WATCH: Bloom. Of Bloom. For Bloom. Bloom.

(EACH LAYS HAND ON BLOOM'S SHOULDER.)

FIRST WATCH: Caught in the act. Commit no nuisance.

BLOOM: (STAMMERS) I am doing good to others.

(A COVEY OF GULLS, STORM PETRELS, RISES HUNGRILY FROM LIFFEY SLIME WITH
BANBURY CAKES IN THEIR BEAKS.)

THE GULLS: Kaw kave kankury kake.

BLOOM: The friend of man. Trained by kindness.

(HE POINTS. BOB DORAN, TOPPLING FROM A HIGH BARSTOOL, SWAYS OVER THE
MUNCHING SPANIEL.)

BOB DORAN: Towser. Give us the paw. Give the paw.

(THE BULLDOG GROWLS, HIS SCRUFF STANDING, A GOBBET OF PIG'S KNUCKLE
BETWEEN HIS MOLARS THROUGH WHICH RABID SCUMSPITTLE DRIBBLES. BOB DORAN
FILLS SILENTLY INTO AN AREA.)

SECOND WATCH: Prevention of cruelty to animals.

BLOOM: (ENTHUSIASTICALLY) A noble work! I scolded that tramdriver on
Harold's cross bridge for illusing the poor horse with his harness scab.
Bad French I got for my pains. Of course it was frosty and the last tram.
All tales of circus life are highly demoralising.

(SIGNOR MAFFEI, PASSIONPALE, IN LIONTAMER'S COSTUME WITH DIAMOND STUDS IN
HIS SHIRTFRONT, STEPS FORWARD, HOLDING A CIRCUS PAPERHOOP, A CURLING
CARRIAGEWHIP AND A REVOLVER WITH WHICH HE COVERS THE GORGING BOARHOUND.)

SIGNOR MAFFEI: (WITH A SINISTER SMILE) Ladies and gentlemen, my educated
greyhound. It was I broke in the bucking broncho Ajax with my patent
spiked saddle for carnivores. Lash under the belly with a knotted thong.
Block tackle and a strangling pulley will bring your lion to heel, no
matter how fractious, even LEO FEROX there, the Libyan maneater. A redhot
crowbar and some liniment rubbing on the burning part produced Fritz of
Amsterdam, the thinking hyena. (HE GLARES) I possess the Indian sign. The
glint of my eye does it with these breastsparklers. (WITH A BEWITCHING
SMILE) I now introduce Mademoiselle Ruby, the pride of the ring.

FIRST WATCH: Come. Name and address.

BLOOM: I have forgotten for the moment. Ah, yes! (HE TAKES OFF HIS HIGH
GRADE HAT, SALUTING) Dr Bloom, Leopold, dental surgeon. You have heard of
von Blum Pasha. Umpteen millions. DONNERWETTER! Owns half Austria. Egypt.
Cousin.

FIRST WATCH: Proof.

(A CARD FALLS FROM INSIDE THE LEATHER HEADBAND OF BLOOM'S HAT.)

BLOOM: (IN RED FEZ, CADI'S DRESS COAT WITH BROAD GREEN SASH, WEARING A
FALSE BADGE OF THE LEGION OF HONOUR, PICKS UP THE CARD HASTILY AND OFFERS
IT) Allow me. My club is the Junior Army and Navy. Solicitors: Messrs
John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk.

FIRST WATCH: (READS) Henry Flower. No fixed abode. Unlawfully watching
and besetting.

SECOND WATCH: An alibi. You are cautioned.

BLOOM: (PRODUCES FROM HIS HEARTPOCKET A CRUMPLED YELLOW FLOWER) This is
the flower in question. It was given me by a man I don't know his name.
(PLAUSIBLY) You know that old joke, rose of Castile. Bloom. The change of
name. Virag. (HE MURMURS PRIVATELY AND CONFIDENTIALLY) We are engaged you
see, sergeant. Lady in the case. Love entanglement. (HE SHOULDERS THE
SECOND WATCH GENTLY) Dash it all. It's a way we gallants have in the
navy. Uniform that does it. (HE TURNS GRAVELY TO THE FIRST WATCH) Still,
of course, you do get your Waterloo sometimes. Drop in some evening and
have a glass of old Burgundy. (TO THE SECOND WATCH GAILY) I'll introduce
you, inspector. She's game. Do it in the shake of a lamb's tail.

(A DARK MERCURIALISED FACE APPEARS, LEADING A VEILED FIGURE.)

THE DARK MERCURY: The Castle is looking for him. He was drummed out of
the army.

MARTHA: (THICKVEILED, A CRIMSON HALTER ROUND HER NECK, A COPY OF THE
Irish Times IN HER HAND, IN TONE OF REPROACH, POINTING) Henry! Leopold!
Lionel, thou lost one! Clear my name.

FIRST WATCH: (STERNLY) Come to the station.

BLOOM: (SCARED, HATS HIMSELF, STEPS BACK, THEN, PLUCKING AT HIS HEART AND
LIFTING HIS RIGHT FOREARM ON THE SQUARE, HE GIVES THE SIGN AND DUEGUARD
OF FELLOWCRAFT) No, no, worshipful master, light of love. Mistaken
identity. The Lyons mail. Lesurques and Dubosc. You remember the Childs
fratricide case. We medical men. By striking him dead with a hatchet. I
am wrongfully accused. Better one guilty escape than ninetynine
wrongfully condemned.

MARTHA: (SOBBING BEHIND HER VEIL) Breach of promise. My real name is
Peggy Griffin. He wrote to me that he was miserable. I'll tell my
brother, the Bective rugger fullback, on you, heartless flirt.

BLOOM: (BEHIND HIS HAND) She's drunk. The woman is inebriated. (HE
MURMURS VAGUELY THE PASS OF EPHRAIM) Shitbroleeth.

SECOND WATCH: (TEARS IN HIS EYES, TO BLOOM) You ought to be thoroughly
well ashamed of yourself.

BLOOM: Gentlemen of the jury, let me explain. A pure mare's nest. I am a
man misunderstood. I am being made a scapegoat of. I am a respectable
married man, without a stain on my character. I live in Eccles street. My
wife, I am the daughter of a most distinguished commander, a gallant
upstanding gentleman, what do you call him, Majorgeneral Brian Tweedy,
one of Britain's fighting men who helped to win our battles. Got his
majority for the heroic defence of Rorke's Drift.

FIRST WATCH: Regiment.

BLOOM: (TURNS TO THE GALLERY) The royal Dublins, boys, the salt of the
earth, known the world over. I think I see some old comrades in arms up
there among you. The R. D. F., with our own Metropolitan police,
guardians of our homes, the pluckiest lads and the finest body of men, as
physique, in the service of our sovereign.

A VOICE: Turncoat! Up the Boers! Who booed Joe Chamberlain?

BLOOM: (HIS HAND ON THE SHOULDER OF THE FIRST WATCH) My old dad too was a
J. P. I'm as staunch a Britisher as you are, sir. I fought with the
colours for king and country in the absentminded war under general Gough
in the park and was disabled at Spion Kop and Bloemfontein, was mentioned
in dispatches. I did all a white man could. (WITH QUIET FEELING) Jim
Bludso. Hold her nozzle again the bank.

FIRST WATCH: Profession or trade.

BLOOM: Well, I follow a literary occupation, author-journalist. In fact
we are just bringing out a collection of prize stories of which I am the
inventor, something that is an entirely new departure. I am connected
with the British and Irish press. If you ring up ...

(MYLES CRAWFORD STRIDES OUT JERKILY, A QUILL BETWEEN HIS TEETH. HIS
SCARLET BEAK BLAZES WITHIN THE AUREOLE OF HIS STRAW HAT. HE DANGLES A
HANK OF SPANISH ONIONS IN ONE HAND AND HOLDS WITH THE OTHER HAND A
TELEPHONE RECEIVER NOZZLE TO HIS EAR.)

MYLES CRAWFORD: (HIS COCK'S WATTLES WAGGING) Hello, seventyseven
eightfour. Hello. FREEMAN'S URINAL and WEEKLY ARSEWIPE here. Paralyse
Europe. You which? Bluebags? Who writes? Is it Bloom?

(MR PHILIP BEAUFOY, PALEFACED, STANDS IN THE WITNESSBOX, IN ACCURATE
MORNING DRESS, OUTBREAST POCKET WITH PEAK OF HANDKERCHIEF SHOWING,
CREASED LAVENDER TROUSERS AND PATENT BOOTS. HE CARRIES A LARGE PORTFOLIO
LABELLED Matcham's Masterstrokes.)

BEAUFOY: (DRAWLS) No, you aren't. Not by a long shot if I know it. I
don't see it that's all. No born gentleman, no-one with the most
rudimentary promptings of a gentleman would stoop to such particularly
loathsome conduct. One of those, my lord. A plagiarist. A soapy sneak
masquerading as a litterateur. It's perfectly obvious that with the most
inherent baseness he has cribbed some of my bestselling copy, really
gorgeous stuff, a perfect gem, the love passages in which are beneath
suspicion. The Beaufoy books of love and great possessions, with which
your lordship is doubtless familiar, are a household word throughout the
kingdom.

BLOOM: (MURMURS WITH HANGDOG MEEKNESS GLUM) That bit about the laughing
witch hand in hand I take exception to, if I may ...

BEAUFOY: (HIS LIP UPCURLED, SMILES SUPERCILIOUSLY ON THE COURT) You funny
ass, you! You're too beastly awfully weird for words! I don't think you
need over excessively disincommodate yourself in that regard. My literary
agent Mr J. B. Pinker is in attendance. I presume, my lord, we shall
receive the usual witnesses' fees, shan't we? We are considerably out of
pocket over this bally pressman johnny, this jackdaw of Rheims, who has
not even been to a university.

BLOOM: (INDISTINCTLY) University of life. Bad art.

BEAUFOY: (SHOUTS) It's a damnably foul lie, showing the moral rottenness
of the man! (HE EXTENDS HIS PORTFOLIO) We have here damning evidence, the
CORPUS DELICTI, my lord, a specimen of my maturer work disfigured by the
hallmark of the beast.

A VOICE FROM THE GALLERY:

Moses, Moses, king of the jews,

Wiped his arse in the Daily News.

BLOOM: (BRAVELY) Overdrawn.

BEAUFOY: You low cad! You ought to be ducked in the horsepond, you
rotter! (TO THE COURT) Why, look at the man's private life! Leading a
quadruple existence! Street angel and house devil. Not fit to be
mentioned in mixed society! The archconspirator of the age!

BLOOM: (TO THE COURT) And he, a bachelor, how ...

FIRST WATCH: The King versus Bloom. Call the woman Driscoll.

THE CRIER: Mary Driscoll, scullerymaid!

(MARY DRISCOLL, A SLIPSHOD SERVANT GIRL, APPROACHES. SHE HAS A BUCKET ON
THE CROOK OF HER ARM AND A SCOURINGBRUSH IN HER HAND.)

SECOND WATCH: Another! Are you of the unfortunate class?

MARY DRISCOLL: (INDIGNANTLY) I'm not a bad one. I bear a respectable
character and was four months in my last place. I was in a situation, six
pounds a year and my chances with Fridays out and I had to leave owing to
his carryings on.

FIRST WATCH: What do you tax him with?

MARY DRISCOLL: He made a certain suggestion but I thought more of myself
as poor as I am.

BLOOM: (IN HOUSEJACKET OF RIPPLECLOTH, FLANNEL TROUSERS, HEELLESS
SLIPPERS, UNSHAVEN, HIS HAIR RUMPLED: SOFTLY) I treated you white. I gave
you mementos, smart emerald garters far above your station. Incautiously
I took your part when you were accused of pilfering. There's a medium in
all things. Play cricket.

MARY DRISCOLL: (EXCITEDLY) As God is looking down on me this night if
ever I laid a hand to them oysters!

FIRST WATCH: The offence complained of? Did something happen?

MARY DRISCOLL: He surprised me in the rere of the premises, Your honour,
when the missus was out shopping one morning with a request for a safety
pin. He held me and I was discoloured in four places as a result. And he
interfered twict with my clothing.

BLOOM: She counterassaulted.

MARY DRISCOLL: (SCORNFULLY) I had more respect for the scouringbrush, so
I had. I remonstrated with him, Your lord, and he remarked: keep it
quiet.

(GENERAL LAUGHTER.)

GEORGE FOTTRELL: (CLERK OF THE CROWN AND PEACE, RESONANTLY) Order in
court! The accused will now make a bogus statement.

(BLOOM, PLEADING NOT GUILTY AND HOLDING A FULLBLOWN WATERLILY, BEGINS A
LONG UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH. THEY WOULD HEAR WHAT COUNSEL HAD TO SAY IN
HIS STIRRING ADDRESS TO THE GRAND JURY. HE WAS DOWN AND OUT BUT, THOUGH
BRANDED AS A BLACK SHEEP, IF HE MIGHT SAY SO, HE MEANT TO REFORM, TO
RETRIEVE THE MEMORY OF THE PAST IN A PURELY SISTERLY WAY AND RETURN TO
NATURE AS A PURELY DOMESTIC ANIMAL. A SEVENMONTHS' CHILD, HE HAD BEEN
CAREFULLY BROUGHT UP AND NURTURED BY AN AGED BEDRIDDEN PARENT. THERE
MIGHT HAVE BEEN LAPSES OF AN ERRING FATHER BUT HE WANTED TO TURN OVER A
NEW LEAF AND NOW, WHEN AT LONG LAST IN SIGHT OF THE WHIPPING POST, TO
LEAD A HOMELY LIFE IN THE EVENING OF HIS DAYS, PERMEATED BY THE
AFFECTIONATE SURROUNDINGS OF THE HEAVING BOSOM OF THE FAMILY. AN
ACCLIMATISED BRITISHER, HE HAD SEEN THAT SUMMER EVE FROM THE FOOTPLATE OF
AN ENGINE CAB OF THE LOOP LINE RAILWAY COMPANY WHILE THE RAIN REFRAINED
FROM FALLING GLIMPSES, AS IT WERE, THROUGH THE WINDOWS OF LOVEFUL
HOUSEHOLDS IN DUBLIN CITY AND URBAN DISTRICT OF SCENES TRULY RURAL OF
HAPPINESS OF THE BETTER LAND WITH DOCKRELL'S WALLPAPER AT ONE AND
NINEPENCE A DOZEN, INNOCENT BRITISHBORN BAIRNS LISPING PRAYERS TO THE
SACRED INFANT, YOUTHFUL SCHOLARS GRAPPLING WITH THEIR PENSUMS OR MODEL
YOUNG LADIES PLAYING ON THE PIANOFORTE OR ANON ALL WITH FERVOUR RECITING
THE FAMILY ROSARY ROUND THE CRACKLING YULELOG WHILE IN THE BOREENS AND
GREEN LANES THE COLLEENS WITH THEIR SWAINS STROLLED WHAT TIMES THE
STRAINS OF THE ORGANTONED MELODEON BRITANNIA METALBOUND WITH FOUR ACTING
STOPS AND TWELVEFOLD BELLOWS, A SACRIFICE, GREATEST BARGAIN EVER...)

(RENEWED LAUGHTER. HE MUMBLES INCOHERENTLY. REPORTERS COMPLAIN THAT THEY
CANNOT HEAR.)

LONGHAND AND SHORTHAND: (WITHOUT LOOKING UP FROM THEIR NOTEBOOKS) Loosen
his boots.

PROFESSOR MACHUGH: (FROM THE PRESSTABLE, COUGHS AND CALLS) Cough it up,
man. Get it out in bits.

(THE CROSSEXAMINATION PROCEEDS RE BLOOM AND THE BUCKET. A LARGE BUCKET.
BLOOM HIMSELF. BOWEL TROUBLE. IN BEAVER STREET GRIPE, YES. QUITE BAD. A
PLASTERER'S BUCKET. BY WALKING STIFFLEGGED. SUFFERED UNTOLD MISERY.
DEADLY AGONY. ABOUT NOON. LOVE OR BURGUNDY. YES, SOME SPINACH. CRUCIAL
MOMENT. HE DID NOT LOOK IN THE BUCKET NOBODY. RATHER A MESS. NOT
COMPLETELY. A Titbits BACK NUMBER.)

(UPROAR AND CATCALLS. BLOOM IN A TORN FROCKCOAT STAINED WITH WHITEWASH,
DINGED SILK HAT SIDEWAYS ON HIS HEAD, A STRIP OF STICKINGPLASTER ACROSS
HIS NOSE, TALKS INAUDIBLY.)

J. J. O'MOLLOY: (IN BARRISTER'S GREY WIG AND STUFFGOWN, SPEAKING WITH A
VOICE OF PAINED PROTEST) This is no place for indecent levity at the
expense of an erring mortal disguised in liquor. We are not in a
beargarden nor at an Oxford rag nor is this a travesty of justice. My
client is an infant, a poor foreign immigrant who started scratch as a
stowaway and is now trying to turn an honest penny. The trumped up
misdemeanour was due to a momentary aberration of heredity, brought on by
hallucination, such familiarities as the alleged guilty occurrence being
quite permitted in my client's native place, the land of the Pharaoh.
PRIMA FACIE, I put it to you that there was no attempt at carnally
knowing. Intimacy did not occur and the offence complained of by
Driscoll, that her virtue was solicited, was not repeated. I would deal
in especial with atavism. There have been cases of shipwreck and
somnambulism in my client's family. If the accused could speak he could a
tale unfold--one of the strangest that have ever been narrated between
the covers of a book. He himself, my lord, is a physical wreck from
cobbler's weak chest. His submission is that he is of Mongolian
extraction and irresponsible for his actions. Not all there, in fact.

BLOOM: (BAREFOOT, PIGEONBREASTED, IN LASCAR'S VEST AND TROUSERS,
APOLOGETIC TOES TURNED IN, OPENS HIS TINY MOLE'S EYES AND LOOKS ABOUT HIM
DAZEDLY, PASSING A SLOW HAND ACROSS HIS FOREHEAD. THEN HE HITCHES HIS
BELT SAILOR FASHION AND WITH A SHRUG OF ORIENTAL OBEISANCE SALUTES THE
COURT, POINTING ONE THUMB HEAVENWARD.) Him makee velly muchee fine night.
(HE BEGINS TO LILT SIMPLY)

Li li poo lil chile

Blingee pigfoot evly night

Payee two shilly ...

(HE IS HOWLED DOWN.)

J. J. O'MOLLOY: (HOTLY TO THE POPULACE) This is a lonehand fight. By
Hades, I will not have any client of mine gagged and badgered in this
fashion by a pack of curs and laughing hyenas. The Mosaic code has
superseded the law of the jungle. I say it and I say it emphatically,
without wishing for one moment to defeat the ends of justice, accused was
not accessory before the act and prosecutrix has not been tampered with.
The young person was treated by defendant as if she were his very own
daughter. (BLOOM TAKES J. J. O'MOLLOY'S HAND AND RAISES IT TO HIS LIPS.)
I shall call rebutting evidence to prove up to the hilt that the hidden
hand is again at its old game. When in doubt persecute Bloom. My client,
an innately bashful man, would be the last man in the world to do
anything ungentlemanly which injured modesty could object to or cast a
stone at a girl who took the wrong turning when some dastard, responsible
for her condition, had worked his own sweet will on her. He wants to go
straight. I regard him as the whitest man I know. He is down on his luck
at present owing to the mortgaging of his extensive property at Agendath
Netaim in faraway Asia Minor, slides of which will now be shown. (TO
BLOOM) I suggest that you will do the handsome thing.

BLOOM: A penny in the pound.

(THE IMAGE OF THE LAKE OF KINNERETH WITH BLURRED CATTLE CROPPING IN
SILVER HAZE IS PROJECTED ON THE WALL. MOSES DLUGACZ, FERRETEYED ALBINO,
IN BLUE DUNGAREES, STANDS UP IN THE GALLERY, HOLDING IN EACH HAND AN
ORANGE CITRON AND A PORK KIDNEY.)

DLUGACZ: (HOARSELY) Bleibtreustrasse, Berlin, W.13.

(J. J. O'MOLLOY STEPS ON TO A LOW PLINTH AND HOLDS THE LAPEL OF HIS COAT
WITH SOLEMNITY. HIS FACE LENGTHENS, GROWS PALE AND BEARDED, WITH SUNKEN
EYES, THE BLOTCHES OF PHTHISIS AND HECTIC CHEEKBONES OF JOHN F. TAYLOR.
HE APPLIES HIS HANDKERCHIEF TO HIS MOUTH AND SCRUTINISES THE GALLOPING
TIDE OF ROSEPINK BLOOD.)

J.J.O'MOLLOY: (ALMOST VOICELESSLY) Excuse me. I am suffering from a
severe chill, have recently come from a sickbed. A few wellchosen words.
(HE ASSUMES THE AVINE HEAD, FOXY MOUSTACHE AND PROBOSCIDAL ELOQUENCE OF
SEYMOUR BUSHE.) When the angel's book comes to be opened if aught that
the pensive bosom has inaugurated of soultransfigured and of
soultransfiguring deserves to live I say accord the prisoner at the bar
the sacred benefit of the doubt. (A PAPER WITH SOMETHING WRITTEN ON IT IS
HANDED INTO COURT.)

BLOOM: (IN COURT DRESS) Can give best references. Messrs Callan, Coleman.
Mr Wisdom Hely J. P. My old chief Joe Cuffe. Mr V. B. Dillon, ex lord
mayor of Dublin. I have moved in the charmed circle of the highest ...
Queens of Dublin society. (CARELESSLY) I was just chatting this afternoon
at the viceregal lodge to my old pals, sir Robert and lady Ball,
astronomer royal at the levee. Sir Bob, I said ...

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: (IN LOWCORSAGED OPAL BALLDRESS AND ELBOWLENGTH IVORY
GLOVES, WEARING A SABLETRIMMED BRICKQUILTED DOLMAN, A COMB OF BRILLIANTS
AND PANACHE OF OSPREY IN HER HAIR) Arrest him, constable. He wrote me an
anonymous letter in prentice backhand when my husband was in the North
Riding of Tipperary on the Munster circuit, signed James Lovebirch. He
said that he had seen from the gods my peerless globes as I sat in a box
of the THEATRE ROYAL at a command performance of LA CIGALE. I deeply
inflamed him, he said. He made improper overtures to me to misconduct
myself at half past four p.m. on the following Thursday, Dunsink time. He
offered to send me through the post a work of fiction by Monsieur Paul de
Kock, entitled THE GIRL WITH THE THREE PAIRS OF STAYS.

MRS BELLINGHAM: (IN CAP AND SEAL CONEY MANTLE, WRAPPED UP TO THE NOSE,
STEPS OUT OF HER BROUGHAM AND SCANS THROUGH TORTOISESHELL QUIZZING-
GLASSES WHICH SHE TAKES FROM INSIDE HER HUGE OPOSSUM MUFF) Also to me.
Yes, I believe it is the same objectionable person. Because he closed my
carriage door outside sir Thornley Stoker's one sleety day during the
cold snap of February ninetythree when even the grid of the wastepipe and
the ballstop in my bath cistern were frozen. Subsequently he enclosed a
bloom of edelweiss culled on the heights, as he said, in my honour. I had
it examined by a botanical expert and elicited the information that it
was ablossom of the homegrown potato plant purloined from a forcingcase
of the model farm.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: Shame on him!

(A CROWD OF SLUTS AND RAGAMUFFINS SURGES FORWARD)

THE SLUTS AND RAGAMUFFINS: (SCREAMING) Stop thief! Hurrah there,
Bluebeard! Three cheers for Ikey Mo!

SECOND WATCH: (PRODUCES HANDCUFFS) Here are the darbies.

MRS BELLINGHAM: He addressed me in several handwritings with fulsome
compliments as a Venus in furs and alleged profound pity for my
frostbound coachman Palmer while in the same breath he expressed himself
as envious of his earflaps and fleecy sheepskins and of his fortunate
proximity to my person, when standing behind my chair wearing my livery
and the armorial bearings of the Bellingham escutcheon garnished sable, a
buck's head couped or. He lauded almost extravagantly my nether
extremities, my swelling calves in silk hose drawn up to the limit, and
eulogised glowingly my other hidden treasures in priceless lace which, he
said, he could conjure up. He urged me (stating that he felt it his
mission in life to urge me) to defile the marriage bed, to commit
adultery at the earliest possible opportunity.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (IN AMAZON COSTUME, HARD HAT,
JACKBOOTS COCKSPURRED, VERMILION WAISTCOAT, FAWN MUSKETEER GAUNTLETS WITH
BRAIDED DRUMS, LONG TRAIN HELD UP AND HUNTING CROP WITH WHICH SHE STRIKES
HER WELT CONSTANTLY) Also me. Because he saw me on the polo ground of the
Phoenix park at the match All Ireland versus the Rest of Ireland. My
eyes, I know, shone divinely as I watched Captain Slogger Dennehy of the
Inniskillings win the final chukkar on his darling cob CENTAUR. This
plebeian Don Juan observed me from behind a hackney car and sent me in
double envelopes an obscene photograph, such as are sold after dark on
Paris boulevards, insulting to any lady. I have it still. It represents a
partially nude senorita, frail and lovely (his wife, as he solemnly
assured me, taken by him from nature), practising illicit intercourse
with a muscular torero, evidently a blackguard. He urged me to do
likewise, to misbehave, to sin with officers of the garrison. He implored
me to soil his letter in an unspeakable manner, to chastise him as he
richly deserves, to bestride and ride him, to give him a most vicious
horsewhipping.

MRS BELLINGHAM: Me too.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: Me too.

(SEVERAL HIGHLY RESPECTABLE DUBLIN LADIES HOLD UP IMPROPER LETTERS
RECEIVED FROM BLOOM.)

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (STAMPS HER JINGLING SPURS IN A SUDDEN
PAROXYSM OF FURY) I will, by the God above me. I'll scourge the
pigeonlivered cur as long as I can stand over him. I'll flay him alive.

BLOOM: (HIS EYES CLOSING, QUAILS EXPECTANTLY) Here? (HE SQUIRMS) Again!
(HE PANTS CRINGING) I love the danger.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: Very much so! I'll make it hot for
you. I'll make you dance Jack Latten for that.

MRS BELLINGHAM: Tan his breech well, the upstart! Write the stars and
stripes on it!

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: Disgraceful! There's no excuse for him! A married
man!

BLOOM: All these people. I meant only the spanking idea. A warm tingling
glow without effusion. Refined birching to stimulate the circulation.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (LAUGHS DERISIVELY) O, did you, my
fine fellow? Well, by the living God, you'll get the surprise of your
life now, believe me, the most unmerciful hiding a man ever bargained
for. You have lashed the dormant tigress in my nature into fury.

MRS BELLINGHAM: (SHAKES HER MUFF AND QUIZZING-GLASSES VINDICTIVELY) Make
him smart, Hanna dear. Give him ginger. Thrash the mongrel within an inch
of his life. The cat-o'-nine-tails. Geld him. Vivisect him.

BLOOM: (SHUDDERING, SHRINKING, JOINS HIS HANDS: WITH HANGDOG MIEN) O
cold! O shivery! It was your ambrosial beauty. Forget, forgive. Kismet.
Let me off this once. (HE OFFERS THE OTHER CHEEK)

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: (SEVERELY) Don't do so on any account, Mrs Talboys!
He should be soundly trounced!

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (UNBUTTONING HER GAUNTLET VIOLENTLY)
I'll do no such thing. Pigdog and always was ever since he was pupped! To
dare address me! I'll flog him black and blue in the public streets. I'll
dig my spurs in him up to the rowel. He is a wellknown cuckold. (SHE
SWISHES HER HUNTINGCROP SAVAGELY IN THE AIR) Take down his trousers
without loss of time. Come here, sir! Quick! Ready?

BLOOM: (TREMBLING, BEGINNING TO OBEY) The weather has been so warm.

(DAVY STEPHENS, RINGLETTED, PASSES WITH A BEVY OF BAREFOOT NEWSBOYS.)

DAVY STEPHENS: MESSENGER OF THE SACRED HEART and EVENING TELEGRAPH with
Saint Patrick's Day supplement. Containing the new addresses of all the
cuckolds in Dublin.

(THE VERY REVEREND CANON O'HANLON IN CLOTH OF GOLD COPE ELEVATES AND
EXPOSES A MARBLE TIMEPIECE. BEFORE HIM FATHER CONROY AND THE REVEREND
JOHN HUGHES S.J. BEND LOW.)

THE TIMEPIECE: (UNPORTALLING)

Cuckoo.

Cuckoo.

Cuckoo.

(THE BRASS QUOITS OF A BED ARE HEARD TO JINGLE.)

THE QUOITS: Jigjag. Jigajiga. Jigjag.

(A PANEL OF FOG ROLLS BACK RAPIDLY, REVEALING RAPIDLY IN THE JURYBOX THE
FACES OF MARTIN CUNNINGHAM, FOREMAN, SILKHATTED, JACK POWER, SIMON
DEDALUS, TOM KERNAN, NED LAMBERT, JOHN HENRY MENTON MYLES CRAWFORD,
LENEHAN, PADDY LEONARD, NOSEY FLYNN, M'COY AND THE FEATURELESS FACE OF A
NAMELESS ONE.)

THE NAMELESS ONE: Bareback riding. Weight for age. Gob, he organised her.

THE JURORS: (ALL THEIR HEADS TURNED TO HIS VOICE) Really?

THE NAMELESS ONE: (SNARLS) Arse over tip. Hundred shillings to five.

THE JURORS: (ALL THEIR HEADS LOWERED IN ASSENT) Most of us thought as
much.

FIRST WATCH: He is a marked man. Another girl's plait cut. Wanted: Jack
the Ripper. A thousand pounds reward.

SECOND WATCH: (AWED, WHISPERS) And in black. A mormon. Anarchist.

THE CRIER: (LOUDLY) Whereas Leopold Bloom of no fixed abode is a
wellknown dynamitard, forger, bigamist, bawd and cuckold and a public
nuisance to the citizens of Dublin and whereas at this commission of
assizes the most honourable ...

(HIS HONOUR, SIR FREDERICK FALKINER, RECORDER OF DUBLIN, IN JUDICIAL GARB
OF GREY STONE RISES FROM THE BENCH, STONEBEARDED. HE BEARS IN HIS ARMS AN
UMBRELLA SCEPTRE. FROM HIS FOREHEAD ARISE STARKLY THE MOSAIC RAMSHORNS.)

THE RECORDER: I will put an end to this white slave traffic and rid
Dublin of this odious pest. Scandalous! (HE DONS THE BLACK CAP) Let him
be taken, Mr Subsheriff, from the dock where he now stands and detained
in custody in Mountjoy prison during His Majesty's pleasure and there be
hanged by the neck until he is dead and therein fail not at your peril or
may the Lord have mercy on your soul. Remove him. (A BLACK SKULLCAP
DESCENDS UPON HIS HEAD.)

(THE SUBSHERIFF LONG JOHN FANNING APPEARS, SMOKING A PUNGENT HENRY CLAY.)

LONG JOHN FANNING: (SCOWLS AND CALLS WITH RICH ROLLING UTTERANCE) Who'll
hang Judas Iscariot?

(H. RUMBOLD, MASTER BARBER, IN A BLOODCOLOURED JERKIN AND TANNER'S APRON,
A ROPE COILED OVER HIS SHOULDER, MOUNTS THE BLOCK. A LIFE PRESERVER AND A
NAILSTUDDED BLUDGEON ARE STUCK IN HIS BELT. HE RUBS GRIMLY HIS GRAPPLING
HANDS, KNOBBED WITH KNUCKLEDUSTERS.)

RUMBOLD: (TO THE RECORDER WITH SINISTER FAMILIARITY) Hanging Harry, your
Majesty, the Mersey terror. Five guineas a jugular. Neck or nothing.

(THE BELLS OF GEORGE'S CHURCH TOLL SLOWLY, LOUD DARK IRON.)

THE BELLS: Heigho! Heigho!

BLOOM: (DESPERATELY) Wait. Stop. Gulls. Good heart. I saw. Innocence.
Girl in the monkeyhouse. Zoo. Lewd chimpanzee. (BREATHLESSLY) Pelvic
basin. Her artless blush unmanned me. (OVERCOME WITH EMOTION) I left the
precincts. (HE TURNS TO A FIGURE IN THE CROWD, APPEALING) Hynes, may I
speak to you? You know me. That three shillings you can keep. If you want
a little more ...

HYNES: (COLDLY) You are a perfect stranger.

SECOND WATCH: (POINTS TO THE CORNER) The bomb is here.

FIRST WATCH: Infernal machine with a time fuse.

BLOOM: No, no. Pig's feet. I was at a funeral.

FIRST WATCH: (DRAWS HIS TRUNCHEON) Liar!

(THE BEAGLE LIFTS HIS SNOUT, SHOWING THE GREY SCORBUTIC FACE OF PADDY
DIGNAM. HE HAS GNAWED ALL. HE EXHALES A PUTRID CARCASEFED BREATH. HE
GROWS TO HUMAN SIZE AND SHAPE. HIS DACHSHUND COAT BECOMES A BROWN
MORTUARY HABIT. HIS GREEN EYE FLASHES BLOODSHOT. HALF OF ONE EAR, ALL THE
NOSE AND BOTH THUMBS ARE GHOULEATEN.)

PADDY DIGNAM: (IN A HOLLOW VOICE) It is true. It was my funeral. Doctor
Finucane pronounced life extinct when I succumbed to the disease from
natural causes.

(HE LIFTS HIS MUTILATED ASHEN FACE MOONWARDS AND BAYS LUGUBRIOUSLY.)

BLOOM: (IN TRIUMPH) You hear?

PADDY DIGNAM: Bloom, I am Paddy Dignam's spirit. List, list, O list!

BLOOM: The voice is the voice of Esau.

SECOND WATCH: (BLESSES HIMSELF) How is that possible?

FIRST WATCH: It is not in the penny catechism.

PADDY DIGNAM: By metempsychosis. Spooks.

A VOICE: O rocks.

PADDY DIGNAM: (EARNESTLY) Once I was in the employ of Mr J. H. Menton,
solicitor, commissioner for oaths and affidavits, of 27 Bachelor's Walk.
Now I am defunct, the wall of the heart hypertrophied. Hard lines. The
poor wife was awfully cut up. How is she bearing it? Keep her off that
bottle of sherry. (HE LOOKS ROUND HIM) A lamp. I must satisfy an animal
need. That buttermilk didn't agree with me.

(THE PORTLY FIGURE OF JOHN O'CONNELL, CARETAKER, STANDS FORTH, HOLDING A
BUNCH OF KEYS TIED WITH CRAPE. BESIDE HIM STANDS FATHER COFFEY, CHAPLAIN,
TOADBELLIED, WRYNECKED, IN A SURPLICE AND BANDANNA NIGHTCAP, HOLDING
SLEEPILY A STAFF TWISTED POPPIES.)

FATHER COFFEY: (YAWNS, THEN CHANTS WITH A HOARSE CROAK) Namine. Jacobs.
Vobiscuits. Amen.

JOHN O'CONNELL: (FOGHORNS STORMILY THROUGH HIS MEGAPHONE) Dignam, Patrick
T, deceased.

PADDY DIGNAM: (WITH PRICKED UP EARS, WINCES) Overtones. (HE WRIGGLES
FORWARD AND PLACES AN EAR TO THE GROUND) My master's voice!

JOHN O'CONNELL: Burial docket letter number U. P. eightyfive thousand.
Field seventeen. House of Keys. Plot, one hundred and one.

(PADDY DIGNAM LISTENS WITH VISIBLE EFFORT, THINKING, HIS TAIL
STIFFPOINTCD, HIS EARS COCKED.)

PADDY DIGNAM: Pray for the repose of his soul.

(HE WORMS DOWN THROUGH A COALHOLE, HIS BROWN HABIT TRAILING ITS TETHER
OVER RATTLING PEBBLES. AFTER HIM TODDLES AN OBESE GRANDFATHER RAT ON
FUNGUS TURTLE PAWS UNDER A GREY CARAPACE. DIGNAM'S VOICE, MUFFLED, IS
HEARD BAYING UNDER GROUND: Dignam's dead and gone below. TOM ROCHFORD,
ROBINREDBREASTED, IN CAP AND BREECHES, JUMPS FROM HIS TWOCOLUMNED
MACHINE.)

TOM ROCHFORD: (A HAND TO HIS BREASTBONE, BOWS) Reuben J. A florin I find
him. (HE FIXES THE MANHOLE WITH A RESOLUTE STARE) My turn now on. Follow
me up to Carlow.

(HE EXECUTES A DAREDEVIL SALMON LEAP IN THE AIR AND IS ENGULFED IN THE
COALHOLE. TWO DISCS ON THE COLUMNS WOBBLE, EYES OF NOUGHT. ALL RECEDES.
BLOOM PLODGES FORWARD AGAIN THROUGH THE SUMP. KISSES CHIRP AMID THE RIFTS
OF FOG A PIANO SOUNDS. HE STANDS BEFORE A LIGHTED HOUSE, LISTENING. THE
KISSES, WINGING FROM THEIR BOWERS FLY ABOUT HIM, TWITTERING, WARBLING,
COOING.)

THE KISSES: (WARBLING) Leo! (TWITTERING) Icky licky micky sticky for Leo!
(COOING) Coo coocoo! Yummyyum, Womwom! (WARBLING) Big comebig! Pirouette!
Leopopold! (TWITTERING) Leeolee! (WARBLING) O Leo!

(THEY RUSTLE, FLUTTER UPON HIS GARMENTS, ALIGHT, BRIGHT GIDDY FLECKS,
SILVERY SEQUINS.)

BLOOM: A man's touch. Sad music. Church music. Perhaps here.

(ZOE HIGGINS, A YOUNG WHORE IN A SAPPHIRE SLIP, CLOSED WITH THREE BRONZE
BUCKLES, A SLIM BLACK VELVET FILLET ROUND HER THROAT, NODS, TRIPS DOWN
THE STEPS AND ACCOSTS HIM.)

ZOE: Are you looking for someone? He's inside with his friend.

BLOOM: Is this Mrs Mack's?

ZOE: No, eightyone. Mrs Cohen's. You might go farther and fare worse.
Mother Slipperslapper. (FAMILIARLY) She's on the job herself tonight with
the vet her tipster that gives her all the winners and pays for her son
in Oxford. Working overtime but her luck's turned today. (SUSPICIOUSLY)
You're not his father, are you?

BLOOM: Not I!

ZOE: You both in black. Has little mousey any tickles tonight?

(HIS SKIN, ALERT, FEELS HER FINGERTIPS APPROACH. A HAND GLIDES OVER HIS
LEFT THIGH.)

ZOE: How's the nuts?

BLOOM: Off side. Curiously they are on the right. Heavier, I suppose. One
in a million my tailor, Mesias, says.

ZOE: (IN SUDDEN ALARM) You've a hard chancre.

BLOOM: Not likely.

ZOE: I feel it.

(HER HAND SLIDES INTO HIS LEFT TROUSER POCKET AND BRINGS OUT A HARD BLACK
SHRIVELLED POTATO. SHE REGARDS IT AND BLOOM WITH DUMB MOIST LIPS.)

BLOOM: A talisman. Heirloom.

ZOE: For Zoe? For keeps? For being so nice, eh?

(SHE PUTS THE POTATO GREEDILY INTO A POCKET THEN LINKS HIS ARM, CUDDLING
HIM WITH SUPPLE WARMTH. HE SMILES UNEASILY. SLOWLY, NOTE BY NOTE,
ORIENTAL MUSIC IS PLAYED. HE GAZES IN THE TAWNY CRYSTAL OF HER EYES,
RINGED WITH KOHOL. HIS SMILE SOFTENS.)

ZOE: You'll know me the next time.

BLOOM: (FORLORNLY) I never loved a dear gazelle but it was sure to ...

(GAZELLES ARE LEAPING, FEEDING ON THE MOUNTAINS. NEAR ARE LAKES. ROUND
THEIR SHORES FILE SHADOWS BLACK OF CEDARGROVES. AROMA RISES, A STRONG
HAIRGROWTH OF RESIN. IT BURNS, THE ORIENT, A SKY OF SAPPHIRE, CLEFT BY
THE BRONZE FLIGHT OF EAGLES. UNDER IT LIES THE WOMANCITY NUDE, WHITE,
STILL, COOL, IN LUXURY. A FOUNTAIN MURMURS AMONG DAMASK ROSES. MAMMOTH
ROSES MURMUR OF SCARLET WINEGRAPES. A WINE OF SHAME, LUST, BLOOD EXUDES,
STRANGELY MURMURING.)

ZOE: (MURMURING SINGSONG WITH THE MUSIC, HER ODALISK LIPS LUSCIOUSLY
SMEARED WITH SALVE OF SWINEFAT AND ROSEWATER) SCHORACH ANI WENOWACH,
BENOITH HIERUSHALOIM.

BLOOM: (FASCINATED) I thought you were of good stock by your accent.

ZOE: And you know what thought did?

(SHE BITES HIS EAR GENTLY WITH LITTLE GOLDSTOPPED TEETH, SENDING ON HIM A
CLOYING BREATH OF STALE GARLIC. THE ROSES DRAW APART, DISCLOSE A
SEPULCHRE OF THE GOLD OF KINGS AND THEIR MOULDERING BONES.)

BLOOM: (DRAWS BACK, MECHANICALLY CARESSING HER RIGHT BUB WITH A FLAT
AWKWARD HAND) Are you a Dublin girl?

ZOE: (CATCHES A STRAY HAIR DEFTLY AND TWISTS IT TO HER COIL) No bloody
fear. I'm English. Have you a swaggerroot?

BLOOM: (AS BEFORE) Rarely smoke, dear. Cigar now and then. Childish
device. (LEWDLY) The mouth can be better engaged than with a cylinder of
rank weed.

ZOE: Go on. Make a stump speech out of it.

BLOOM: (IN WORKMAN'S CORDUROY OVERALLS, BLACK GANSY WITH RED FLOATING TIE
AND APACHE CAP) Mankind is incorrigible. Sir Walter Ralegh brought from
the new world that potato and that weed, the one a killer of pestilence
by absorption, the other a poisoner of the ear, eye, heart, memory, will
understanding, all. That is to say he brought the poison a hundred years
before another person whose name I forget brought the food. Suicide.
Lies. All our habits. Why, look at our public life!

(MIDNIGHT CHIMES FROM DISTANT STEEPLES.)

THE CHIMES: Turn again, Leopold! Lord mayor of Dublin!

BLOOM: (IN ALDERMAN'S GOWN AND CHAIN) Electors of Arran Quay, Inns Quay,
Rotunda, Mountjoy and North Dock, better run a tramline, I say, from the
cattlemarket to the river. That's the music of the future. That's my
programme. CUI BONO? But our bucaneering Vanderdeckens in their phantom
ship of finance ...

AN ELECTOR: Three times three for our future chief magistrate!

(THE AURORA BOREALIS OF THE TORCHLIGHT PROCESSION LEAPS.)

THE TORCHBEARERS: Hooray!

(SEVERAL WELLKNOWN BURGESSES, CITY MAGNATES AND FREEMEN OF THE CITY SHAKE
HANDS WITH BLOOM AND CONGRATULATE HIM. TIMOTHY HARRINGTON, LATE THRICE
LORD MAYOR OF DUBLIN, IMPOSING IN MAYORAL SCARLET, GOLD CHAIN AND WHITE
SILK TIE, CONFERS WITH COUNCILLOR LORCAN SHERLOCK, LOCUM TENENS. THEY NOD
VIGOROUSLY IN AGREEMENT.)

LATE LORD MAYOR HARRINGTON: (IN SCARLET ROBE WITH MACE, GOLD MAYORAL
CHAIN AND LARGE WHITE SILK SCARF) That alderman sir Leo Bloom's speech be
printed at the expense of the ratepayers. That the house in which he was
born be ornamented with a commemorative tablet and that the thoroughfare
hitherto known as Cow Parlour off Cork street be henceforth designated
Boulevard Bloom.

COUNCILLOR LORCAN SHERLOCK: Carried unanimously.

BLOOM: (IMPASSIONEDLY) These flying Dutchmen or lying Dutchmen as they
recline in their upholstered poop, casting dice, what reck they? Machines
is their cry, their chimera, their panacea. Laboursaving apparatuses,
supplanters, bugbears, manufactured monsters for mutual murder, hideous
hobgoblins produced by a horde of capitalistic lusts upon our prostituted
labour. The poor man starves while they are grassing their royal mountain
stags or shooting peasants and phartridges in their purblind pomp of pelf
and power. But their reign is rover for rever and ever and ev ...

(PROLONGED APPLAUSE. VENETIAN MASTS, MAYPOLES AND FESTAL ARCHES SPRING
UP. A STREAMER BEARING THE LEGENDS Cead Mile Failte AND Mah Ttob Melek
Israel SPANS THE STREET. ALL THE WINDOWS ARE THRONGED WITH SIGHTSEERS,
CHIEFLY LADIES. ALONG THE ROUTE THE REGIMENTS OF THE ROYAL DUBLIN
FUSILIERS, THE KING'S OWN SCOTTISH BORDERERS, THE CAMERON HIGHLANDERS AND
THE WELSH FUSILIERS STANDING TO ATTENTION, KEEP BACK THE CROWD. BOYS FROM
HIGH SCHOOL ARE PERCHED ON THE LAMPPOSTS, TELEGRAPH POLES, WINDOWSILLS,
CORNICES, GUTTERS, CHIMNEYPOTS, RAILINGS, RAINSPOUTS, WHISTLING AND
CHEERING THE PILLAR OF THE CLOUD APPEARS. A FIFE AND DRUM BAND IS HEARD
IN THE DISTANCE PLAYING THE KOL NIDRE. THE BEATERS APPROACH WITH IMPERIAL
EAGLES HOISTED, TRAILING BANNERS AND WAVING ORIENTAL PALMS. THE
CHRYSELEPHANTINE PAPAL STANDARD RISES HIGH, SURROUNDED BY PENNONS OF THE
CIVIC FLAG. THE VAN OF THE PROCESSION APPEARS HEADED BY JOHN HOWARD
PARNELL, CITY MARSHAL, IN A CHESSBOARD TABARD, THE ATHLONE POURSUIVANT
AND ULSTER KING OF ARMS. THEY ARE FOLLOWED BY THE RIGHT HONOURABLE JOSEPH
HUTCHINSON, LORD MAYOR OF DUBLIN, HIS LORDSHIP THE LORD MAYOR OF CORK,
THEIR WORSHIPS THE MAYORS OF LIMERICK, GALWAY, SLIGO AND WATERFORD,
TWENTYEIGHT IRISH REPRESENTATIVE PEERS, SIRDARS, GRANDEES AND MAHARAJAHS
BEARING THE CLOTH OF ESTATE, THE DUBLIN METROPOLITAN FIRE BRIGADE, THE
CHAPTER OF THE SAINTS OF FINANCE IN THEIR PLUTOCRATIC ORDER OF
PRECEDENCE, THE BISHOP OF DOWN AND CONNOR, HIS EMINENCE MICHAEL CARDINAL
LOGUE, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH, PRIMATE OF ALL IRELAND, HIS GRACE, THE MOST
REVEREND DR WILLIAM ALEXANDER, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH, PRIMATE OF ALL
IRELAND, THE CHIEF RABBI, THE PRESBYTERIAN MODERATOR, THE HEADS OF THE
BAPTIST, ANABAPTIST, METHODIST AND MORAVIAN CHAPELS AND THE HONORARY
SECRETARY OF THE SOCIETY OF FRIENDS. AFTER THEM MARCH THE GUILDS AND
TRADES AND TRAINBANDS WITH FLYING COLOURS: COOPERS, BIRD FANCIERS,
MILLWRIGHTS, NEWSPAPER CANVASSERS, LAW SCRIVENERS, MASSEURS, VINTNERS,
TRUSSMAKERS, CHIMNEYSWEEPS, LARD REFINERS, TABINET AND POPLIN WEAVERS,
FARRIERS, ITALIAN WAREHOUSEMEN, CHURCH DECORATORS, BOOTJACK
MANUFACTURERS, UNDERTAKERS, SILK MERCERS, LAPIDARIES, SALESMASTERS,
CORKCUTTERS, ASSESSORS OF FIRE LOSSES, DYERS AND CLEANERS, EXPORT
BOTTLERS, FELLMONGERS, TICKETWRITERS, HERALDIC SEAL ENGRAVERS, HORSE
REPOSITORY HANDS, BULLION BROKERS, CRICKET AND ARCHERY OUTFITTERS,
RIDDLEMAKERS, EGG AND POTATO FACTORS, HOSIERS AND GLOVERS, PLUMBING
CONTRACTORS. AFTER THEM MARCH GENTLEMEN OF THE BEDCHAMBER, BLACK ROD,
DEPUTY GARTER, GOLD STICK, THE MASTER OF HORSE, THE LORD GREAT
CHAMBERLAIN, THE EARL MARSHAL, THE HIGH CONSTABLE CARRYING THE SWORD OF
STATE, SAINT STEPHEN'S IRON CROWN, THE CHALICE AND BIBLE. FOUR BUGLERS ON
FOOT BLOW A SENNET. BEEFEATERS REPLY, WINDING CLARIONS OF WELCOME. UNDER
AN ARCH OF TRIUMPH BLOOM APPEARS, BAREHEADED, IN A CRIMSON VELVET MANTLE
TRIMMED WITH ERMINE, BEARING SAINT EDWARD'S STAFF THE ORB AND SCEPTRE
WITH THE DOVE, THE CURTANA. HE IS SEATED ON A MILKWHITE HORSE WITH LONG
FLOWING CRIMSON TAIL, RICHLY CAPARISONED, WITH GOLDEN HEADSTALL. WILD
EXCITEMENT. THE LADIES FROM THEIR BALCONIES THROW DOWN ROSEPETALS. THE
AIR IS PERFUMED WITH ESSENCES. THE MEN CHEER. BLOOM'S BOYS RUN AMID THE
BYSTANDERS WITH BRANCHES OF HAWTHORN AND WRENBUSHES.)

BLOOM'S BOYS:

The wren, the wren,

The king of all birds,

Saint Stephen's his day

Was caught in the furze.

A BLACKSMITH: (MURMURS) For the honour of God! And is that Bloom? He
scarcely looks thirtyone.

A PAVIOR AND FLAGGER: That's the famous Bloom now, the world's greatest
reformer. Hats off!

(ALL UNCOVER THEIR HEADS. WOMEN WHISPER EAGERLY.)

A MILLIONAIRESS: (RICHLY) Isn't he simply wonderful?

A NOBLEWOMAN: (NOBLY) All that man has seen!

A FEMINIST: (MASCULINELY) And done!

A BELLHANGER: A classic face! He has the forehead of a thinker.

(BLOOM'S WEATHER. A SUNBURST APPEARS IN THE NORTHWEST.)

THE BISHOP OF DOWN AND CONNOR: I here present your undoubted emperor-
president and king-chairman, the most serene and potent and very puissant
ruler of this realm. God save Leopold the First!

ALL: God save Leopold the First!

BLOOM: (IN DALMATIC AND PURPLE MANTLE, TO THE BISHOP OF DOWN AND CONNOR,
WITH DIGNITY) Thanks, somewhat eminent sir.

WILLIAM, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH: (IN PURPLE STOCK AND SHOVEL HAT) Will you
to your power cause law and mercy to be executed in all your judgments in
Ireland and territories thereunto belonging?

BLOOM: (PLACING HIS RIGHT HAND ON HIS TESTICLES, SWEARS) So may the
Creator deal with me. All this I promise to do.

MICHAEL, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH: (POURS A CRUSE OF HAIROIL OVER BLOOM'S
HEAD) GAUDIUM MAGNUM ANNUNTIO VOBIS. HABEMUS CARNEFICEM. Leopold,
Patrick, Andrew, David, George, be thou anointed!

(BLOOM ASSUMES A MANTLE OF CLOTH OF GOLD AND PUTS ON A RUBY RING. HE
ASCENDS AND STANDS ON THE STONE OF DESTINY. THE REPRESENTATIVE PEERS PUT
ON AT THE SAME TIME THEIR TWENTYEIGHT CROWNS. JOYBELLS RING IN CHRIST
CHURCH, SAINT PATRICK'S, GEORGE'S AND GAY MALAHIDE. MIRUS BAZAAR
FIREWORKS GO UP FROM ALL SIDES WITH SYMBOLICAL PHALLOPYROTECHNIC DESIGNS.
THE PEERS DO HOMAGE, ONE BY ONE, APPROACHING AND GENUFLECTING.)

THE PEERS: I do become your liege man of life and limb to earthly
worship.

(BLOOM HOLDS UP HIS RIGHT HAND ON WHICH SPARKLES THE KOH-I-NOOR DIAMOND.
HIS PALFREY NEIGHS. IMMEDIATE SILENCE. WIRELESS INTERCONTINENTAL AND
INTERPLANETARY TRANSMITTERS ARE SET FOR RECEPTION OF MESSAGE.)

BLOOM: My subjects! We hereby nominate our faithful charger Copula Felix
hereditary Grand Vizier and announce that we have this day repudiated our
former spouse and have bestowed our royal hand upon the princess Selene,
the splendour of night.

(THE FORMER MORGANATIC SPOUSE OF BLOOM IS HASTILY REMOVED IN THE BLACK
MARIA. THE PRINCESS SELENE, IN MOONBLUE ROBES, A SILVER CRESCENT ON HER
HEAD, DESCENDS FROM A SEDAN CHAIR, BORNE BY TWO GIANTS. AN OUTBURST OF
CHEERING.)

JOHN HOWARD PARNELL: (RAISES THE ROYAL STANDARD) Illustrious Bloom!
Successor to my famous brother!

BLOOM: (EMBRACES JOHN HOWARD PARNELL) We thank you from our heart, John,
for this right royal welcome to green Erin, the promised land of our
common ancestors.

(THE FREEDOM OF THE CITY IS PRESENTED TO HIM EMBODIED IN A CHARTER. THE
KEYS OF DUBLIN, CROSSED ON A CRIMSON CUSHION, ARE GIVEN TO HIM. HE SHOWS
ALL THAT HE IS WEARING GREEN SOCKS.)

TOM KERNAN: You deserve it, your honour.

BLOOM: On this day twenty years ago we overcame the hereditary enemy at
Ladysmith. Our howitzers and camel swivel guns played on his lines with
telling effect. Half a league onward! They charge! All is lost now! Do we
yield? No! We drive them headlong! Lo! We charge! Deploying to the left
our light horse swept across the heights of Plevna and, uttering their
warcry BONAFIDE SABAOTH, sabred the Saracen gunners to a man.

THE CHAPEL OF FREEMAN TYPESETTERS: Hear! Hear!

JOHN WYSE NOLAN: There's the man that got away James Stephens.

A BLUECOAT SCHOOLBOY: Bravo!

AN OLD RESIDENT: You're a credit to your country, sir, that's what you
are.

AN APPLEWOMAN: He's a man like Ireland wants.

BLOOM: My beloved subjects, a new era is about to dawn. I, Bloom, tell
you verily it is even now at hand. Yea, on the word of a Bloom, ye shall
ere long enter into the golden city which is to be, the new Bloomusalem
in the Nova Hibernia of the future.

(THIRTYTWO WORKMEN, WEARING ROSETTES, FROM ALL THE COUNTIES OF IRELAND,
UNDER THE GUIDANCE OF DERWAN THE BUILDER, CONSTRUCT THE NEW BLOOMUSALEM.
IT IS A COLOSSAL EDIFICE WITH CRYSTAL ROOF, BUILT IN THE SHAPE OF A HUGE
PORK KIDNEY, CONTAINING FORTY THOUSAND ROOMS. IN THE COURSE OF ITS
EXTENSION SEVERAL BUILDINGS AND MONUMENTS ARE DEMOLISHED. GOVERNMENT
OFFICES ARE TEMPORARILY TRANSFERRED TO RAILWAY SHEDS. NUMEROUS HOUSES ARE
RAZED TO THE GROUND. THE INHABITANTS ARE LODGED IN BARRELS AND BOXES, ALL
MARKED IN RED WITH THE LETTERS: L. B. SEVERAL PAUPERS FILL FROM A LADDER.
A PART OF THE WALLS OF DUBLIN, CROWDED WITH LOYAL SIGHTSEERS, COLLAPSES.)

THE SIGHTSEERS: (DYING) MORITURI TE SALUTANT. (THEY DIE)

(A MAN IN A BROWN MACINTOSH SPRINGS UP THROUGH A TRAPDOOR. HE POINTS AN
ELONGATED FINGER AT BLOOM.)

THE MAN IN THE MACINTOSH: Don't you believe a word he says. That man is
Leopold M'Intosh, the notorious fireraiser. His real name is Higgins.

BLOOM: Shoot him! Dog of a christian! So much for M'Intosh!

(A CANNONSHOT. THE MAN IN THE MACINTOSH DISAPPEARS. BLOOM WITH HIS
SCEPTRE STRIKES DOWN POPPIES. THE INSTANTANEOUS DEATHS OF MANY POWERFUL
ENEMIES, GRAZIERS, MEMBERS OF PARLIAMENT, MEMBERS OF STANDING COMMITTEES,
ARE REPORTED. BLOOM'S BODYGUARD DISTRIBUTE MAUNDY MONEY, COMMEMORATION
MEDALS, LOAVES AND FISHES, TEMPERANCE BADGES, EXPENSIVE HENRY CLAY
CIGARS, FREE COWBONES FOR SOUP, RUBBER PRESERVATIVES IN SEALED ENVELOPES
TIED WITH GOLD THREAD, BUTTER SCOTCH, PINEAPPLE ROCK, billets doux IN THE
FORM OF COCKED HATS, READYMADE SUITS, PORRINGERS OF TOAD IN THE HOLE,
BOTTLES OF JEYES' FLUID, PURCHASE STAMPS, 40 DAYS' INDULGENCES, SPURIOUS
COINS, DAIRYFED PORK SAUSAGES, THEATRE PASSES, SEASON TICKETS AVAILABLE
FOR ALL TRAMLINES, COUPONS OF THE ROYAL AND PRIVILEGED HUNGARIAN LOTTERY,
PENNY DINNER COUNTERS, CHEAP REPRINTS OF THE WORLD'S TWELVE WORST BOOKS:
FROGGY AND FRITZ (POLITIC), CARE OF THE BABY (INFANTILIC), 50 MEALS FOR
7/6 (CULINIC), WAS JESUS A SUN MYTH? (HISTORIC), EXPEL THAT PAIN (MEDIC),
INFANT'S COMPENDIUM OF THE UNIVERSE (COSMIC), LET'S ALL CHORTLE
(HILARIC), CANVASSER'S VADE MECUM (JOURNALIC), LOVELETTERS OF MOTHER
ASSISTANT (EROTIC), WHO'S WHO IN SPACE (ASTRIC), SONGS THAT REACHED OUR
HEART (MELODIC), PENNYWISE'S WAY TO WEALTH (PARSIMONIC). A GENERAL RUSH
AND SCRAMBLE. WOMEN PRESS FORWARD TO TOUCH THE HEM OF BLOOM'S ROBE. THE
LADY GWENDOLEN DUBEDAT BURSTS THROUGH THE THRONG, LEAPS ON HIS HORSE AND
KISSES HIM ON BOTH CHEEKS AMID GREAT ACCLAMATION. A MAGNESIUM FLASHLIGHT
PHOTOGRAPH IS TAKEN. BABES AND SUCKLINGS ARE HELD UP.)

THE WOMEN: Little father! Little father!

THE BABES AND SUCKLINGS:

Clap clap hands till Poldy comes home,

Cakes in his pocket for Leo alone.

(BLOOM, BENDING DOWN, POKES BABY BOARDMAN GENTLY IN THE STOMACH.)

BABY BOARDMAN: (HICCUPS, CURDLED MILK FLOWING FROM HIS MOUTH) Hajajaja.

BLOOM: (SHAKING HANDS WITH A BLIND STRIPLING) My more than Brother!
(PLACING HIS ARMS ROUND THE SHOULDERS OF AN OLD COUPLE) Dear old friends!
(HE PLAYS PUSSY FOURCORNERS WITH RAGGED BOYS AND GIRLS) Peep! Bopeep! (HE
WHEELS TWINS IN A PERAMBULATOR) Ticktacktwo wouldyousetashoe? (HE
PERFORMS JUGGLER'S TRICKS, DRAWS RED, ORANGE, YELLOW, GREEN, BLUE, INDIGO
AND VIOLET SILK HANDKERCHIEFS FROM HIS MOUTH) Roygbiv. 32 feet per
second. (HE CONSOLES A WIDOW) Absence makes the heart grow younger. (HE
DANCES THE HIGHLAND FLING WITH GROTESQUE ANTICS) Leg it, ye devils! (HE
KISSES THE BEDSORES OF A PALSIED VETERAN) Honourable wounds! (HE TRIPS UP
A FIT POLICEMAN) U. p: up. U. p: up. (HE WHISPERS IN THE EAR OF A
BLUSHING WAITRESS AND LAUGHS KINDLY) Ah, naughty, naughty! (HE EATS A RAW
TURNIP OFFERED HIM BY MAURICE BUTTERLY, FARMER) Fine! Splendid! (HE
REFUSES TO ACCEPT THREE SHILLINGS OFFERED HIM BY JOSEPH HYNES,
JOURNALIST) My dear fellow, not at all! (HE GIVES HIS COAT TO A BEGGAR)
Please accept. (HE TAKES PART IN A STOMACH RACE WITH ELDERLY MALE AND
FEMALE CRIPPLES) Come on, boys! Wriggle it, girls!

THE CITIZEN: (CHOKED WITH EMOTION, BRUSHES ASIDE A TEAR IN HIS EMERALD
MUFFLER) May the good God bless him!

(THE RAMS' HORNS SOUND FOR SILENCE. THE STANDARD OF ZION IS HOISTED.)

BLOOM: (UNCLOAKS IMPRESSIVELY, REVEALING OBESITY, UNROLLS A PAPER AND
READS SOLEMNLY) Aleph Beth Ghimel Daleth Hagadah Tephilim Kosher Yom
Kippur Hanukah Roschaschana Beni Brith Bar Mitzvah Mazzoth Askenazim
Meshuggah Talith.

(AN OFFICIAL TRANSLATION IS READ BY JIMMY HENRY, ASSISTANT TOWN CLERK.)

JIMMY HENRY: The Court of Conscience is now open. His Most Catholic
Majesty will now administer open air justice. Free medical and legal
advice, solution of doubles and other problems. All cordially invited.
Given at this our loyal city of Dublin in the year I of the Paradisiacal
Era.

PADDY LEONARD: What am I to do about my rates and taxes?

BLOOM: Pay them, my friend.

PADDY LEONARD: Thank you.

NOSEY FLYNN: Can I raise a mortgage on my fire insurance?

BLOOM: (OBDURATELY) Sirs, take notice that by the law of torts you are
bound over in your own recognisances for six months in the sum of five
pounds.

J. J. O'MOLLOY: A Daniel did I say? Nay! A Peter O'Brien!

NOSEY FLYNN: Where do I draw the five pounds?

PISSER BURKE: For bladder trouble?

BLOOM:

ACID. NIT. HYDROCHLOR. DIL., 20 minims

TINCT. NUX VOM., 5 minims

EXTR. TARAXEL. IIQ., 30 minims.

AQ. DIS. TER IN DIE.

CHRIS CALLINAN: What is the parallax of the subsolar ecliptic of
Aldebaran?

BLOOM: Pleased to hear from you, Chris. K. II.

JOE HYNES: Why aren't you in uniform?

BLOOM: When my progenitor of sainted memory wore the uniform of the
Austrian despot in a dank prison where was yours?

BEN DOLLARD: Pansies?

BLOOM: Embellish (beautify) suburban gardens.

BEN DOLLARD: When twins arrive?

BLOOM: Father (pater, dad) starts thinking.

LARRY O'ROURKE: An eightday licence for my new premises. You remember me,
sir Leo, when you were in number seven. I'm sending around a dozen of
stout for the missus.

BLOOM: (COLDLY) You have the advantage of me. Lady Bloom accepts no
presents.

CROFTON: This is indeed a festivity.

BLOOM: (SOLEMNLY) You call it a festivity. I call it a sacrament.

ALEXANDER KEYES: When will we have our own house of keys?

BLOOM: I stand for the reform of municipal morals and the plain ten
commandments. New worlds for old. Union of all, jew, moslem and gentile.
Three acres and a cow for all children of nature. Saloon motor hearses.
Compulsory manual labour for all. All parks open to the public day and
night. Electric dishscrubbers. Tuberculosis, lunacy, war and mendicancy
must now cease. General amnesty, weekly carnival with masked licence,
bonuses for all, esperanto the universal language with universal
brotherhood. No more patriotism of barspongers and dropsical impostors.
Free money, free rent, free love and a free lay church in a free lay
state.

O'MADDEN BURKE: Free fox in a free henroost.

DAVY BYRNE: (YAWNING) Iiiiiiiiiaaaaaaach!

BLOOM: Mixed races and mixed marriage.

LENEHAN: What about mixed bathing?

(BLOOM EXPLAINS TO THOSE NEAR HIM HIS SCHEMES FOR SOCIAL REGENERATION.
ALL AGREE WITH HIM. THE KEEPER OF THE KILDARE STREET MUSEUM APPEARS,
DRAGGING A LORRY ON WHICH ARE THE SHAKING STATUES OF SEVERAL NAKED
GODDESSES, VENUS CALLIPYGE, VENUS PANDEMOS, VENUS METEMPSYCHOSIS, AND
PLASTER FIGURES, ALSO NAKED, REPRESENTING THE NEW NINE MUSES, COMMERCE,
OPERATIC MUSIC, AMOR, PUBLICITY, MANUFACTURE, LIBERTY OF SPEECH, PLURAL
VOTING, GASTRONOMY, PRIVATE HYGIENE, SEASIDE CONCERT ENTERTAINMENTS,
PAINLESS OBSTETRICS AND ASTRONOMY FOR THE PEOPLE.)

FATHER FARLEY: He is an episcopalian, an agnostic, an anythingarian
seeking to overthrow our holy faith.

MRS RIORDAN: (TEARS UP HER WILL) I'm disappointed in you! You bad man!

MOTHER GROGAN: (REMOVES HER BOOT TO THROW IT AT BLOOM) You beast! You
abominable person!

NOSEY FLYNN: Give us a tune, Bloom. One of the old sweet songs.

BLOOM: (WITH ROLLICKING HUMOUR)

I vowed that I never would leave her,

She turned out a cruel deceiver.

With my tooraloom tooraloom tooraloom tooraloom.

HOPPY HOLOHAN: Good old Bloom! There's nobody like him after all.

PADDY LEONARD: Stage Irishman!

BLOOM: What railway opera is like a tramline in Gibraltar? The Rows of
Casteele. (LAUGHTER.)

LENEHAN: Plagiarist! Down with Bloom!

THE VEILED SIBYL: (ENTHUSIASTICALLY) I'm a Bloomite and I glory in it. I
believe in him in spite of all. I'd give my life for him, the funniest
man on earth.

BLOOM: (WINKS AT THE BYSTANDERS) I bet she's a bonny lassie.

THEODORE PUREFOY: (IN FISHINGCAP AND OILSKIN JACKET) He employs a
mechanical device to frustrate the sacred ends of nature.

THE VEILED SIBYL: (STABS HERSELF) My hero god! (SHE DIES)

(MANY MOST ATTRACTIVE AND ENTHUSIASTIC WOMEN ALSO COMMIT SUICIDE BY
STABBING, DROWNING, DRINKING PRUSSIC ACID, ACONITE, ARSENIC, OPENING
THEIR VEINS, REFUSING FOOD, CASTING THEMSELVES UNDER STEAMROLLERS, FROM
THE TOP OF NELSON'S PILLAR, INTO THE GREAT VAT OF GUINNESS'S BREWERY,
ASPHYXIATING THEMSELVES BY PLACING THEIR HEADS IN GASOVENS, HANGING
THEMSELVES IN STYLISH GARTERS, LEAPING FROM WINDOWS OF DIFFERENT
STOREYS.)

ALEXANDER J DOWIE: (VIOLENTLY) Fellowchristians and antiBloomites, the
man called Bloom is from the roots of hell, a disgrace to christian men.
A fiendish libertine from his earliest years this stinking goat of Mendes
gave precocious signs of infantile debauchery, recalling the cities of
the plain, with a dissolute granddam. This vile hypocrite, bronzed with
infamy, is the white bull mentioned in the Apocalypse. A worshipper of
the Scarlet Woman, intrigue is the very breath of his nostrils. The stake
faggots and the caldron of boiling oil are for him. Caliban!

THE MOB: Lynch him! Roast him! He's as bad as Parnell was. Mr Fox!

(MOTHER GROGAN THROWS HER BOOT AT BLOOM. SEVERAL SHOPKEEPERS FROM UPPER
AND LOWER DORSET STREET THROW OBJECTS OF LITTLE OR NO COMMERCIAL VALUE,
HAMBONES, CONDENSED MILK TINS, UNSALEABLE CABBAGE, STALE BREAD, SHEEP'S
TAILS, ODD PIECES OF FAT.)

BLOOM: (EXCITEDLY) This is midsummer madness, some ghastly joke again. By
heaven, I am guiltless as the unsunned snow! It was my brother Henry. He
is my double. He lives in number 2 Dolphin's Barn. Slander, the viper,
has wrongfully accused me. Fellowcountrymen, SGENL INN BAN BATA COISDE
GAN CAPALL. I call on my old friend, Dr Malachi Mulligan, sex specialist,
to give medical testimony on my behalf.

DR MULLIGAN: (IN MOTOR JERKIN, GREEN MOTORGOGGLES ON HIS BROW) Dr Bloom
is bisexually abnormal. He has recently escaped from Dr Eustace's private
asylum for demented gentlemen. Born out of bedlock hereditary epilepsy is
present, the consequence of unbridled lust. Traces of elephantiasis have
been discovered among his ascendants. There are marked symptoms of
chronic exhibitionism. Ambidexterity is also latent. He is prematurely
bald from selfabuse, perversely idealistic in consequence, a reformed
rake, and has metal teeth. In consequence of a family complex he has
temporarily lost his memory and I believe him to be more sinned against
than sinning. I have made a pervaginal examination and, after application
of the acid test to 5427 anal, axillary, pectoral and pubic hairs, I
declare him to be VIRGO INTACTA.

(BLOOM HOLDS HIS HIGH GRADE HAT OVER HIS GENITAL ORGANS.)

DR MADDEN: Hypsospadia is also marked. In the interest of coming
generations I suggest that the parts affected should be preserved in
spirits of wine in the national teratological museum.

DR CROTTHERS: I have examined the patient's urine. It is albuminoid.
Salivation is insufficient, the patellar reflex intermittent.

DR PUNCH COSTELLO: The FETOR JUDAICUS is most perceptible.

DR DIXON: (READS A BILL OF HEALTH) Professor Bloom is a finished example
of the new womanly man. His moral nature is simple and lovable. Many have
found him a dear man, a dear person. He is a rather quaint fellow on the
whole, coy though not feebleminded in the medical sense. He has written a
really beautiful letter, a poem in itself, to the court missionary of the
Reformed Priests' Protection Society which clears up everything. He is
practically a total abstainer and I can affirm that he sleeps on a straw
litter and eats the most Spartan food, cold dried grocer's peas. He wears
a hairshirt of pure Irish manufacture winter and summer and scourges
himself every Saturday. He was, I understand, at one time a firstclass
misdemeanant in Glencree reformatory. Another report states that he was a
very posthumous child. I appeal for clemency in the name of the most
sacred word our vocal organs have ever been called upon to speak. He is
about to have a baby.

(GENERAL COMMOTION AND COMPASSION. WOMEN FAINT. A WEALTHY AMERICAN MAKES
A STREET COLLECTION FOR BLOOM. GOLD AND SILVER COINS, BLANK CHEQUES,
BANKNOTES, JEWELS, TREASURY BONDS, MATURING BILLS OF EXCHANGE, I. O. U'S,
WEDDING RINGS, WATCHCHAINS, LOCKETS, NECKLACES AND BRACELETS ARE RAPIDLY
COLLECTED.)

BLOOM: O, I so want to be a mother.

MRS THORNTON: (IN NURSETENDER'S GOWN) Embrace me tight, dear. You'll be
soon over it. Tight, dear.

(BLOOM EMBRACES HER TIGHTLY AND BEARS EIGHT MALE YELLOW AND WHITE
CHILDREN. THEY APPEAR ON A REDCARPETED STAIRCASE ADORNED WITH EXPENSIVE
PLANTS. ALL THE OCTUPLETS ARE HANDSOME, WITH VALUABLE METALLIC FACES,
WELLMADE, RESPECTABLY DRESSED AND WELLCONDUCTED, SPEAKING FIVE MODERN
LANGUAGES FLUENTLY AND INTERESTED IN VARIOUS ARTS AND SCIENCES. EACH HAS
HIS NAME PRINTED IN LEGIBLE LETTERS ON HIS SHIRTFRONT: NASODORO,
GOLDFINGER, CHRYSOSTOMOS, MAINDOREE, SILVERSMILE, SILBERSELBER,
VIFARGENT, PANARGYROS. THEY ARE IMMEDIATELY APPOINTED TO POSITIONS OF
HIGH PUBLIC TRUST IN SEVERAL DIFFERENT COUNTRIES AS MANAGING DIRECTORS OF
BANKS, TRAFFIC MANAGERS OF RAILWAYS, CHAIRMEN OF LIMITED LIABILITY
COMPANIES, VICECHAIRMEN OF HOTEL SYNDICATES.)

A VOICE: Bloom, are you the Messiah ben Joseph or ben David?

BLOOM: (DARKLY) You have said it.

BROTHER BUZZ: Then perform a miracle like Father Charles.

BANTAM LYONS: Prophesy who will win the Saint Leger.

(BLOOM WALKS ON A NET, COVERS HIS LEFT EYE WITH HIS LEFT EAR, PASSES
THROUGH SEVERAL WALLS, CLIMBS NELSON'S PILLAR, HANGS FROM THE TOP LEDGE
BY HIS EYELIDS, EATS TWELVE DOZEN OYSTERS (SHELLS INCLUDED), HEALS
SEVERAL SUFFERERS FROM KING'S EVIL, CONTRACTS HIS FACE SO AS TO RESEMBLE
MANY HISTORICAL PERSONAGES, LORD BEACONSFIELD, LORD BYRON, WAT TYLER,
MOSES OF EGYPT, MOSES MAIMONIDES, MOSES MENDELSSOHN, HENRY IRVING, RIP
VAN WINKLE, KOSSUTH, JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU, BARON LEOPOLD ROTHSCHILD,
ROBINSON CRUSOE, SHERLOCK HOLMES, PASTEUR, TURNS EACH FOOT SIMULTANEOUSLY
IN DIFFERENT DIRECTIONS, BIDS THE TIDE TURN BACK, ECLIPSES THE SUN BY
EXTENDING HIS LITTLE FINGER.)

BRINI, PAPAL NUNCIO: (IN PAPAL ZOUAVE'S UNIFORM, STEEL CUIRASSES AS
BREASTPLATE, ARMPLATES, THIGHPLATES, LEGPLATES, LARGE PROFANE MOUSTACHES
AND BROWN PAPER MITRE) LEOPOLDI AUTEM GENERATIO. Moses begat Noah and
Noah begat Eunuch and Eunuch begat O'Halloran and O'Halloran begat
Guggenheim and Guggenheim begat Agendath and Agendath begat Netaim and
Netaim begat Le Hirsch and Le Hirsch begat Jesurum and Jesurum begat
MacKay and MacKay begat Ostrolopsky and Ostrolopsky begat Smerdoz and
Smerdoz begat Weiss and Weiss begat Schwarz and Schwarz begat Adrianopoli
and Adrianopoli begat Aranjuez and Aranjuez begat Lewy Lawson and Lewy
Lawson begat Ichabudonosor and Ichabudonosor begat O'Donnell Magnus and
O'Donnell Magnus begat Christbaum and Christbaum begat ben Maimun and ben
Maimun begat Dusty Rhodes and Dusty Rhodes begat Benamor and Benamor
begat Jones-Smith and Jones-Smith begat Savorgnanovich and Savorgnanovich
begat Jasperstone and Jasperstone begat Vingtetunieme and Vingtetunieme
begat Szombathely and Szombathely begat Virag and Virag begat Bloom ET
VOCABITUR NOMEN EIUS EMMANUEL.

A DEADHAND: (WRITES ON THE WALL) Bloom is a cod.

CRAB: (IN BUSHRANGER'S KIT) What did you do in the cattlecreep behind
Kilbarrack?

A FEMALE INFANT: (SHAKES A RATTLE) And under Ballybough bridge?

A HOLLYBUSH: And in the devil's glen?

BLOOM: (BLUSHES FURIOUSLY ALL OVER FROM FRONS TO NATES, THREE TEARS
FILLING FROM HIS LEFT EYE) Spare my past.

THE IRISH EVICTED TENANTS: (IN BODYCOATS, KNEEBREECHES, WITH DONNYBROOK
FAIR SHILLELAGHS) Sjambok him!

(BLOOM WITH ASSES' EARS SEATS HIMSELF IN THE PILLORY WITH CROSSED ARMS,
HIS FEET PROTRUDING. HE WHISTLES Don Giovanni, a cenar teco. ARTANE
ORPHANS, JOINING HANDS, CAPER ROUND HIM. GIRLS OF THE PRISON GATE
MISSION, JOINING HANDS, CAPER ROUND IN THE OPPOSITE DIRECTION.)

THE ARTANE ORPHANS:

You hig, you hog, you dirty dog!

You think the ladies love you!

THE PRISON GATE GIRLS:

If you see Kay

Tell him he may

See you in tea

Tell him from me.

HORNBLOWER: (IN EPHOD AND HUNTINGCAP, ANNOUNCES) And he shall carry the
sins of the people to Azazel, the spirit which is in the wilderness, and
to Lilith, the nighthag. And they shall stone him and defile him, yea,
all from Agendath Netaim and from Mizraim, the land of Ham.

(ALL THE PEOPLE CAST SOFT PANTOMIME STONES AT BLOOM. MANY BONAFIDE
TRAVELLERS AND OWNERLESS DOGS COME NEAR HIM AND DEFILE HIM. MASTIANSKY
AND CITRON APPROACH IN GABERDINES, WEARING LONG EARLOCKS. THEY WAG THEIR
BEARDS AT BLOOM.)

MASTIANSKY AND CITRON: Belial! Laemlein of Istria, the false Messiah!
Abulafia! Recant!

(GEORGE R MESIAS, BLOOM'S TAILOR, APPEARS, A TAILOR'S GOOSE UNDER HIS
ARM, PRESENTING A BILL)

MESIAS: To alteration one pair trousers eleven shillings.

BLOOM: (RUBS HIS HANDS CHEERFULLY) Just like old times. Poor Bloom!

(REUBEN J DODD, BLACKBEARDED ISCARIOT, BAD SHEPHERD, BEARING ON HIS
SHOULDERS THE DROWNED CORPSE OF HIS SON, APPROACHES THE PILLORY.)

REUBEN J: (WHISPERS HOARSELY) The squeak is out. A split is gone for the
flatties. Nip the first rattler.

THE FIRE BRIGADE: Pflaap!

BROTHER BUZZ: (INVESTS BLOOM IN A YELLOW HABIT WITH EMBROIDERY OF PAINTED
FLAMES AND HIGH POINTED HAT. HE PLACES A BAG OF GUNPOWDER ROUND HIS NECK
AND HANDS HIM OVER TO THE CIVIL POWER, SAYING) Forgive him his
trespasses.

(LIEUTENANT MYERS OF THE DUBLIN FIRE BRIGADE BY GENERAL REQUEST SETS FIRE
TO BLOOM. LAMENTATIONS.)

THE CITIZEN: Thank heaven!

BLOOM: (IN A SEAMLESS GARMENT MARKED I. H. S. STANDS UPRIGHT AMID PHOENIX
FLAMES) Weep not for me, O daughters of Erin.

(HE EXHIBITS TO DUBLIN REPORTERS TRACES OF BURNING. THE DAUGHTERS OF
ERIN, IN BLACK GARMENTS, WITH LARGE PRAYERBOOKS AND LONG LIGHTED CANDLES
IN THEIR HANDS, KNEEL DOWN AND PRAY.)

THE DAUGHTERS OF ERIN:

Kidney of Bloom, pray for us

Flower of the Bath, pray for us

Mentor of Menton, pray for us

Canvasser for the Freeman, pray for us

Charitable Mason, pray for us

Wandering Soap, pray for us

Sweets of Sin, pray for us

Music without Words, pray for us

Reprover of the Citizen, pray for us

Friend of all Frillies, pray for us

Midwife Most Merciful, pray for us

Potato Preservative against Plague and Pestilence, pray for us.

(A CHOIR OF SIX HUNDRED VOICES, CONDUCTED BY VINCENT O'BRIEN, SINGS THE
CHORUS FROM HANDEL'S MESSIAH ALLELUIA FOR THE LORD GOD OMNIPOTENT
REIGNETH, ACCOMPANIED ON THE ORGAN BY JOSEPH GLYNN. BLOOM BECOMES MUTE,
SHRUNKEN, CARBONISED.)

ZOE: Talk away till you're black in the face.

BLOOM: (IN CAUBEEN WITH CLAY PIPE STUCK IN THE BAND, DUSTY BROGUES, AN
EMIGRANT'S RED HANDKERCHIEF BUNDLE IN HIS HAND, LEADING A BLACK BOGOAK
PIG BY A SUGAUN, WITH A SMILE IN HIS EYE) Let me be going now, woman of
the house, for by all the goats in Connemara I'm after having the father
and mother of a bating. (WITH A TEAR IN HIS EYE) All insanity.
Patriotism, sorrow for the dead, music, future of the race. To be or not
to be. Life's dream is o'er. End it peacefully. They can live on. (HE
GAZES FAR AWAY MOURNFULLY) I am ruined. A few pastilles of aconite. The
blinds drawn. A letter. Then lie back to rest. (HE BREATHES SOFTLY) No
more. I have lived. Fare. Farewell.

ZOE: (STIFFLY, HER FINGER IN HER NECKFILLET) Honest? Till the next time.
(SHE SNEERS) Suppose you got up the wrong side of the bed or came too
quick with your best girl. O, I can read your thoughts!

BLOOM: (BITTERLY) Man and woman, love, what is it? A cork and bottle. I'm
sick of it. Let everything rip.

ZOE: (IN SUDDEN SULKS) I hate a rotter that's insincere. Give a bleeding
whore a chance.

BLOOM: (REPENTANTLY) I am very disagreeable. You are a necessary evil.
Where are you from? London?

ZOE: (GLIBLY) Hog's Norton where the pigs plays the organs. I'm Yorkshire
born. (SHE HOLDS HIS HAND WHICH IS FEELING FOR HER NIPPLE) I say, Tommy
Tittlemouse. Stop that and begin worse. Have you cash for a short time?
Ten shillings?

BLOOM: (SMILES, NODS SLOWLY) More, houri, more.

ZOE: And more's mother? (SHE PATS HIM OFFHANDEDLY WITH VELVET PAWS) Are
you coming into the musicroom to see our new pianola? Come and I'll peel
off.

BLOOM: (FEELING HIS OCCIPUT DUBIOUSLY WITH THE UNPARALLELED EMBARRASSMENT
OF A HARASSED PEDLAR GAUGING THE SYMMETRY OF HER PEELED PEARS) Somebody
would be dreadfully jealous if she knew. The greeneyed monster.
(EARNESTLY) You know how difficult it is. I needn't tell you.

ZOE: (FLATTERED) What the eye can't see the heart can't grieve for. (SHE
PATS HIM) Come.

BLOOM: Laughing witch! The hand that rocks the cradle.

ZOE: Babby!

BLOOM: (IN BABYLINEN AND PELISSE, BIGHEADED, WITH A CAUL OF DARK HAIR,
FIXES BIG EYES ON HER FLUID SLIP AND COUNTS ITS BRONZE BUCKLES WITH A
CHUBBY FINGER, HIS MOIST TONGUE LOLLING AND LISPING) One two tlee: tlee
tlwo tlone.

THE BUCKLES: Love me. Love me not. Love me.

ZOE: Silent means consent. (WITH LITTLE PARTED TALONS SHE CAPTURES HIS
HAND, HER FOREFINGER GIVING TO HIS PALM THE PASSTOUCH OF SECRET MONITOR,
LURING HIM TO DOOM.) Hot hands cold gizzard.

(HE HESITATES AMID SCENTS, MUSIC, TEMPTATIONS. SHE LEADS HIM TOWARDS THE
STEPS, DRAWING HIM BY THE ODOUR OF HER ARMPITS, THE VICE OF HER PAINTED
EYES, THE RUSTLE OF HER SLIP IN WHOSE SINUOUS FOLDS LURKS THE LION REEK
OF ALL THE MALE BRUTES THAT HAVE POSSESSED HER.)

THE MALE BRUTES: (EXHALING SULPHUR OF RUT AND DUNG AND RAMPING IN THEIR
LOOSEBOX, FAINTLY ROARING, THEIR DRUGGED HEADS SWAYING TO AND FRO) Good!

(ZOE AND BLOOM REACH THE DOORWAY WHERE TWO SISTER WHORES ARE SEATED. THEY
EXAMINE HIM CURIOUSLY FROM UNDER THEIR PENCILLED BROWS AND SMILE TO HIS
HASTY BOW. HE TRIPS AWKWARDLY.)

ZOE: (HER LUCKY HAND INSTANTLY SAVING HIM) Hoopsa! Don't fall upstairs.

BLOOM: The just man falls seven times. (HE STANDS ASIDE AT THE THRESHOLD)
After you is good manners.

ZOE: Ladies first, gentlemen after.

(SHE CROSSES THE THRESHOLD. HE HESITATES. SHE TURNS AND, HOLDING OUT HER
HANDS, DRAWS HIM OVER. HE HOPS. ON THE ANTLERED RACK OF THE HALL HANG A
MAN 'S HAT AND WATERPROOF. BLOOM UNCOVERS HIMSELF BUT, SEEING THEM,
FROWNS, THEN SMILES, PREOCCUPIED. A DOOR ON THE RETURN LANDING IS FLUNG
OPEN. A MAN IN PURPLE SHIRT AND GREY TROUSERS, BROWNSOCKED, PASSES WITH
AN APE'S GAIT, HIS BALD HEAD AND GOATEE BEARD UPHELD, HUGGING A FULL
WATERJUGJAR, HIS TWOTAILED BLACK BRACES DANGLING AT HEELS. AVERTING HIS
FACE QUICKLY BLOOM BENDS TO EXAMINE ON THE HALLTABLE THE SPANIEL EYES OF
A RUNNING FOX: THEN, HIS LIFTED HEAD SNIFFING, FOLLOWS ZOE INTO THE
MUSICROOM. A SHADE OF MAUVE TISSUEPAPER DIMS THE LIGHT OF THE CHANDELIER.
ROUND AND ROUND A MOTH FLIES, COLLIDING, ESCAPING. THE FLOOR IS COVERED
WITH AN OILCLOTH MOSAIC OF JADE AND AZURE AND CINNABAR RHOMBOIDS.
FOOTMARKS ARE STAMPED OVER IT IN ALL SENSES, HEEL TO HEEL, HEEL TO
HOLLOW, TOE TO TOE, FEET LOCKED, A MORRIS OF SHUFFLING FEET WITHOUT BODY
PHANTOMS, ALL IN A SCRIMMAGE HIGGLEDYPIGGLEDY. THE WALLS ARE TAPESTRIED
WITH A PAPER OF YEWFRONDS AND CLEAR GLADES. IN THE GRATE IS SPREAD A
SCREEN OF PEACOCK FEATHERS. LYNCH SQUATS CROSSLEGGED ON THE HEARTHRUG OF
MATTED HAIR, HIS CAP BACK TO THE FRONT. WITH A WAND HE BEATS TIME SLOWLY.
KITTY RICKETTS, A BONY PALLID WHORE IN NAVY COSTUME, DOESKIN GLOVES
ROLLED BACK FROM A CORAL WRISTLET, A CHAIN PURSE IN HER HAND, SITS
PERCHED ON THE EDGE OF THE TABLE SWINGING HER LEG AND GLANCING AT HERSELF
IN THE GILT MIRROR OVER THE MANTELPIECE. A TAG OF HER CORSETLACE HANGS
SLIGHTLY BELOW HER JACKET. LYNCH INDICATES MOCKINGLY THE COUPLE AT THE
PIANO.)

KITTY: (COUGHS BEHIND HER HAND) She's a bit imbecillic. (SHE SIGNS WITH A
WAGGLING FOREFINGER) Blemblem. (LYNCH LIFTS UP HER SKIRT AND WHITE
PETTICOAT WITH HIS WAND SHE SETTLES THEM DOWN QUICKLY.) Respect yourself.
(SHE HICCUPS, THEN BENDS QUICKLY HER SAILOR HAT UNDER WHICH HER HAIR
GLOWS, RED WITH HENNA) O, excuse!

ZOE: More limelight, Charley. (SHE GOES TO THE CHANDELIER AND TURNS THE
GAS FULL COCK)

KITTY: (PEERS AT THE GASJET) What ails it tonight?

LYNCH: (DEEPLY) Enter a ghost and hobgoblins.

ZOE: Clap on the back for Zoe.

(THE WAND IN LYNCH'S HAND FLASHES: A BRASS POKER. STEPHEN STANDS AT THE
PIANOLA ON WHICH SPRAWL HIS HAT AND ASHPLANT. WITH TWO FINGERS HE REPEATS
ONCE MORE THE SERIES OF EMPTY FIFTHS. FLORRY TALBOT, A BLOND FEEBLE
GOOSEFAT WHORE IN A TATTERDEMALION GOWN OF MILDEWED STRAWBERRY, LOLLS
SPREADEAGLE IN THE SOFACORNER, HER LIMP FOREARM PENDENT OVER THE BOLSTER,
LISTENING. A HEAVY STYE DROOPS OVER HER SLEEPY EYELID.)

KITTY: (HICCUPS AGAIN WITH A KICK OF HER HORSED FOOT) O, excuse!

ZOE: (PROMPTLY) Your boy's thinking of you. Tie a knot on your shift.

(KITTY RICKETTS BENDS HER HEAD. HER BOA UNCOILS, SLIDES, GLIDES OVER HER
SHOULDER, BACK, ARM, CHAIR TO THE GROUND. LYNCH LIFTS THE CURLED
CATERPILLAR ON HIS WAND. SHE SNAKES HER NECK, NESTLING. STEPHEN GLANCES
BEHIND AT THE SQUATTED FIGURE WITH ITS CAP BACK TO THE FRONT.)

STEPHEN: As a matter of fact it is of no importance whether Benedetto
Marcello found it or made it. The rite is the poet's rest. It may be an
old hymn to Demeter or also illustrate COELA ENARRANT GLORIAM DOMINI. It
is susceptible of nodes or modes as far apart as hyperphrygian and
mixolydian and of texts so divergent as priests haihooping round David's
that is Circe's or what am I saying Ceres' altar and David's tip from the
stable to his chief bassoonist about the alrightness of his almightiness.
MAIS NOM DE NOM, that is another pair of trousers. JETEZ LA GOURME. FAUT
QUE JEUNESSE SE PASSE. (HE STOPS, POINTS AT LYNCH'S CAP, SMILES, LAUGHS)
Which side is your knowledge bump?

THE CAP: (WITH SATURNINE SPLEEN) Bah! It is because it is. Woman's
reason. Jewgreek is greekjew. Extremes meet. Death is the highest form of
life. Bah!

STEPHEN: You remember fairly accurately all my errors, boasts, mistakes.
How long shall I continue to close my eyes to disloyalty? Whetstone!

THE CAP: Bah!

STEPHEN: Here's another for you. (HE FROWNS) The reason is because the
fundamental and the dominant are separated by the greatest possible
interval which ...

THE CAP: Which? Finish. You can't.

STEPHEN: (WITH AN EFFORT) Interval which. Is the greatest possible
ellipse. Consistent with. The ultimate return. The octave. Which.

THE CAP: Which?

(OUTSIDE THE GRAMOPHONE BEGINS TO BLARE The Holy City.)

STEPHEN: (ABRUPTLY) What went forth to the ends of the world to traverse
not itself, God, the sun, Shakespeare, a commercial traveller, having
itself traversed in reality itself becomes that self. Wait a moment. Wait
a second. Damn that fellow's noise in the street. Self which it itself
was ineluctably preconditioned to become. ECCO!

LYNCH: (WITH A MOCKING WHINNY OF LAUGHTER GRINS AT BLOOM AND ZOE HIGGINS)
What a learned speech, eh?

ZOE: (BRISKLY) God help your head, he knows more than you have forgotten.

(WITH OBESE STUPIDITY FLORRY TALBOT REGARDS STEPHEN.)

FLORRY: They say the last day is coming this summer.

KITTY: No!

ZOE: (EXPLODES IN LAUGHTER) Great unjust God!

FLORRY: (OFFENDED) Well, it was in the papers about Antichrist. O, my
foot's tickling.

(RAGGED BAREFOOT NEWSBOYS, JOGGING A WAGTAIL KITE, PATTER PAST, YELLING.)

THE NEWSBOYS: Stop press edition. Result of the rockinghorse races. Sea
serpent in the royal canal. Safe arrival of Antichrist.

(STEPHEN TURNS AND SEES BLOOM.)

STEPHEN: A time, times and half a time.

(REUBEN I ANTICHRIST, WANDERING JEW, A CLUTCHING HAND OPEN ON HIS SPINE,
STUMPS FORWARD. ACROSS HIS LOINS IS SLUNG A PILGRIM'S WALLET FROM WHICH
PROTRUDE PROMISSORY NOTES AND DISHONOURED BILLS. ALOFT OVER HIS SHOULDER
HE BEARS A LONG BOATPOLE FROM THE HOOK OF WHICH THE SODDEN HUDDLED MASS
OF HIS ONLY SON, SAVED FROM LIFFEY WATERS, HANGS FROM THE SLACK OF ITS
BREECHES. A HOBGOBLIN IN THE IMAGE OF PUNCH COSTELLO, HIPSHOT,
CROOKBACKED, HYDROCEPHALIC, PROGNATHIC WITH RECEDING FOREHEAD AND ALLY
SLOPER NOSE, TUMBLES IN SOMERSAULTS THROUGH THE GATHERING DARKNESS.)

ALL: What?

THE HOBGOBLIN: (HIS JAWS CHATTERING, CAPERS TO AND FRO, GOGGLING HIS
EYES, SQUEAKING, KANGAROOHOPPING WITH OUTSTRETCHED CLUTCHING ARMS, THEN
ALL AT ONCE THRUSTS HIS LIPLESS FACE THROUGH THE FORK OF HIS THIGHS) IL
VIENT! C'EST MOI! L'HOMME QUI RIT! L'HOMME PRIMIGENE! (HE WHIRLS ROUND
AND ROUND WITH DERVISH HOWLS) SIEURS ET DAMES, FAITES VOS JEUX! (HE
CROUCHES JUGGLING. TINY ROULETTE PLANETS FLY FROM HIS HANDS.) LES JEUX
SONT FAITS! (THE PLANETS RUSH TOGETHER, UTTERING CREPITANT CRACKS) RIEN
VA PLUS! (THE PLANETS, BUOYANT BALLOONS, SAIL SWOLLEN UP AND AWAY. HE
SPRINGS OFF INTO VACUUM.)

FLORRY: (SINKING INTO TORPOR, CROSSING HERSELF SECRETLY) The end of the
world!

(A FEMALE TEPID EFFLUVIUM LEAKS OUT FROM HER. NEBULOUS OBSCURITY OCCUPIES
SPACE. THROUGH THE DRIFTING FOG WITHOUT THE GRAMOPHONE BLARES OVER COUGHS
AND FEETSHUFFLING.)

THE GRAMOPHONE: Jerusalem!

Open your gates and sing

Hosanna ...

(A ROCKET RUSHES UP THE SKY AND BURSTS. A WHITE STAR FILLS FROM IT,
PROCLAIMING THE CONSUMMATION OF ALL THINGS AND SECOND COMING OF ELIJAH.
ALONG AN INFINITE INVISIBLE TIGHTROPE TAUT FROM ZENITH TO NADIR THE END
OF THE WORLD, A TWOHEADED OCTOPUS IN GILLIE'S KILTS, BUSBY AND TARTAN
FILIBEGS, WHIRLS THROUGH THE MURK, HEAD OVER HEELS, IN THE FORM OF THE
THREE LEGS OF MAN.)

THE END OF THE WORLD: (WITH A SCOTCH ACCENT) Wha'll dance the keel row,
the keel row, the keel row?

(OVER THE POSSING DRIFT AND CHOKING BREATHCOUGHS, ELIJAH'S VOICE, HARSH
AS A CORNCRAKE'S, JARS ON HIGH. PERSPIRING IN A LOOSE LAWN SURPLICE WITH
FUNNEL SLEEVES HE IS SEEN, VERGERFACED, ABOVE A ROSTRUM ABOUT WHICH THE
BANNER OF OLD GLORY IS DRAPED. HE THUMPS THE PARAPET.)

ELIJAH: No yapping, if you please, in this booth. Jake Crane, Creole Sue,
Dove Campbell, Abe Kirschner, do your coughing with your mouths shut.
Say, I am operating all this trunk line. Boys, do it now. God's time is
12.25. Tell mother you'll be there. Rush your order and you play a slick
ace. Join on right here. Book through to eternity junction, the nonstop
run. Just one word more. Are you a god or a doggone clod? If the second
advent came to Coney Island are we ready? Florry Christ, Stephen Christ,
Zoe Christ, Bloom Christ, Kitty Christ, Lynch Christ, it's up to you to
sense that cosmic force. Have we cold feet about the cosmos? No. Be on
the side of the angels. Be a prism. You have that something within, the
higher self. You can rub shoulders with a Jesus, a Gautama, an Ingersoll.
Are you all in this vibration? I say you are. You once nobble that,
congregation, and a buck joyride to heaven becomes a back number. You got
me? It's a lifebrightener, sure. The hottest stuff ever was. It's the
whole pie with jam in. It's just the cutest snappiest line out. It is
immense, supersumptuous. It restores. It vibrates. I know and I am some
vibrator. Joking apart and, getting down to bedrock, A. J. Christ Dowie
and the harmonial philosophy, have you got that? O. K. Seventyseven west
sixtyninth street. Got me? That's it. You call me up by sunphone any old
time. Bumboosers, save your stamps. (HE SHOUTS) Now then our glory song.
All join heartily in the singing. Encore! (HE SINGS) Jeru ...

THE GRAMOPHONE: (DROWNING HIS VOICE) Whorusalaminyourhighhohhhh ... (THE
DISC RASPS GRATINGLY AGAINST THE NEEDLE)

THE THREE WHORES: (COVERING THEIR EARS, SQUAWK) Ahhkkk!

ELIJAH: (IN ROLLEDUP SHIRTSLEEVES, BLACK IN THE FACE, SHOUTS AT THE TOP
OF HIS VOICE, HIS ARMS UPLIFTED) Big Brother up there, Mr President, you
hear what I done just been saying to you. Certainly, I sort of believe
strong in you, Mr President. I certainly am thinking now Miss Higgins and
Miss Ricketts got religion way inside them. Certainly seems to me I don't
never see no wusser scared female than the way you been, Miss Florry,
just now as I done seed you. Mr President, you come long and help me save
our sisters dear. (HE WINKS AT HIS AUDIENCE) Our Mr President, he twig
the whole lot and he aint saying nothing.

KITTY-KATE: I forgot myself. In a weak moment I erred and did what I did
on Constitution hill. I was confirmed by the bishop and enrolled in the
brown scapular. My mother's sister married a Montmorency. It was a
working plumber was my ruination when I was pure.

ZOE-FANNY: I let him larrup it into me for the fun of it.

FLORRY-TERESA: It was in consequence of a portwine beverage on top of
Hennessy's three star. I was guilty with Whelan when he slipped into the
bed.

STEPHEN: In the beginning was the word, in the end the world without end.
Blessed be the eight beatitudes.

(THE BEATITUDES, DIXON, MADDEN, CROTTHERS, COSTELLO, LENEHAN, BANNON,
MULLIGAN AND LYNCH IN WHITE SURGICAL STUDENTS' GOWNS, FOUR ABREAST,
GOOSESTEPPING, TRAMP FIST PAST IN NOISY MARCHING)

THE BEATITUDES: (INCOHERENTLY) Beer beef battledog buybull businum barnum
buggerum bishop.

LYSTER: (IN QUAKERGREY KNEEBREECHES AND BROADBRIMMED HAT, SAYS
DISCREETLY) He is our friend. I need not mention names. Seek thou the
light.

(HE CORANTOS BY. BEST ENTERS IN HAIRDRESSER'S ATTIRE, SHINILY LAUNDERED,
HIS LOCKS IN CURLPAPERS. HE LEADS JOHN EGLINTON WHO WEARS A MANDARIN'S
KIMONO OF NANKEEN YELLOW, LIZARDLETTERED, AND A HIGH PAGODA HAT.)

BEST: (SMILING, LIFTS THE HAT AND DISPLAYS A SHAVEN POLL FROM THE CROWN
OF WHICH BRISTLES A PIGTAIL TOUPEE TIED WITH AN ORANGE TOPKNOT) I was
just beautifying him, don't you know. A thing of beauty, don't you know,
Yeats says, or I mean, Keats says.

JOHN EGLINTON: (PRODUCES A GREENCAPPED DARK LANTERN AND FLASHES IT
TOWARDS A CORNER: WITH CARPING ACCENT) Esthetics and cosmetics are for
the boudoir. I am out for truth. Plain truth for a plain man. Tanderagee
wants the facts and means to get them.

(IN THE CONE OF THE SEARCHLIGHT BEHIND THE COALSCUTTLE, OLLAVE, HOLYEYED,
THE BEARDED FIGURE OF MANANAUN MACLIR BROODS, CHIN ON KNEES. HE RISES
SLOWLY. A COLD SEAWIND BLOWS FROM HIS DRUID MOUTH. ABOUT HIS HEAD WRITHE
EELS AND ELVERS. HE IS ENCRUSTED WITH WEEDS AND SHELLS. HIS RIGHT HAND
HOLDS A BICYCLE PUMP. HIS LEFT HAND GRASPS A HUGE CRAYFISH BY ITS TWO
TALONS.)

MANANAUN MACLIR: (WITH A VOICE OF WAVES) Aum! Hek! Wal! Ak! Lub! Mor! Ma!
White yoghin of the gods. Occult pimander of Hermes Trismegistos. (WITH A
VOICE OF WHISTLING SEAWIND) Punarjanam patsypunjaub! I won't have my leg
pulled. It has been said by one: beware the left, the cult of Shakti.
(WITH A CRY OF STORMBIRDS) Shakti Shiva, darkhidden Father! (HE SMITES
WITH HIS BICYCLE PUMP THE CRAYFISH IN HIS LEFT HAND. ON ITS COOPERATIVE
DIAL GLOW THE TWELVE SIGNS OF THE ZODIAC. HE WAILS WITH THE VEHEMENCE OF
THE OCEAN.) Aum! Baum! Pyjaum! I am the light of the homestead! I am the
dreamery creamery butter.

(A SKELETON JUDASHAND STRANGLES THE LIGHT. THE GREEN LIGHT WANES TO
MAUVE. THE GASJET WAILS WHISTLING.)

THE GASJET: Pooah! Pfuiiiiiii!

(ZOE RUNS TO THE CHANDELIER AND, CROOKING HER LEG, ADJUSTS THE MANTLE.)

ZOE: Who has a fag as I'm here?

LYNCH: (TOSSING A CIGARETTE ON TO THE TABLE) Here.

ZOE: (HER HEAD PERCHED ASIDE IN MOCK PRIDE) Is that the way to hand the
POT to a lady? (SHE STRETCHES UP TO LIGHT THE CIGARETTE OVER THE FLAME,
TWIRLING IT SLOWLY, SHOWING THE BROWN TUFTS OF HER ARMPITS. LYNCH WITH
HIS POKER LIFTS BOLDLY A SIDE OF HER SLIP. BARE FROM HER GARTERS UP HER
FLESH APPEARS UNDER THE SAPPHIRE A NIXIE'S GREEN. SHE PUFFS CALMLY AT HER
CIGARETTE.) Can you see the beautyspot of my behind?

LYNCH: I'm not looking

ZOE: (MAKES SHEEP'S EYES) No? You wouldn't do a less thing. Would you
suck a lemon?

(SQUINTING IN MOCK SHAME SHE GLANCES WITH SIDELONG MEANING AT BLOOM, THEN
TWISTS ROUND TOWARDS HIM, PULLING HER SLIP FREE OF THE POKER. BLUE FLUID
AGAIN FLOWS OVER HER FLESH. BLOOM STANDS, SMILING DESIROUSLY, TWIRLING
HIS THUMBS. KITTY RICKETTS LICKS HER MIDDLE FINGER WITH HER SPITTLE AND,
GAZING IN THE MIRROR, SMOOTHS BOTH EYEBROWS. LIPOTI VIRAG,
BASILICOGRAMMATE, CHUTES RAPIDLY DOWN THROUGH THE CHIMNEYFLUE AND STRUTS
TWO STEPS TO THE LEFT ON GAWKY PINK STILTS. HE IS SAUSAGED INTO SEVERAL
OVERCOA