| Time: 1:00 P.M., Thursday, June 16, 1904 Scene: the Lunch; Bloom moves south and across the Liffey to Davy Byrne's pub at 21 Duke Street and thence to the National Library, not far to the east. Organ: esophagus Art: architecture Colors: none Symbol: constables Technique: peristaltic* Correspondences: Anziphazes--hunger; The Decoy [Antiphates' daugh- ter]--food; Lestrygonians--teeth. Background: In Book 10 of The Odyssey, Odysseus recounts his dis- appointing ad-\ventures with Aeolus, the wind king; re- buffed by Aeolus, Odysseus and his men take to the sea once more. They reach the island of the Lestrygonians, where all the ships except Odysseus's anchor in a "cur- ious bay" circled "with mountain walls of stone". Ody- sseus cannily anchors "on the sea side." A shore party from the ships anchored in the bay is lured by a "stal- wart / young girl." to the lodge of her father, Anti- phates, king of the Lestrygonians. The king turns out to be a giant and a cannibal, who promptly eats one of the shore party and then leads his tribe in the dest- ruction of all the landlocked ships and the slaughter of their crews. Only Odysseus and his crew escape to Circe's island. |
Pineapple rock, lemon platt,1 butter scotch. A sugarsticky girl shovelling
scoopfuls of creams for a christian brother.2 Some school treat. Bad for
their tummies. Lozenge and comfit manufacturer to His Majesty the King.3
God. Save. Our.4 Sitting on his throne sucking red jujubes5 white.
A sombre Y.M.C.A.6 young man, watchful among the warm sweet fumes of
Graham Lemon's, placed a throwaway in a hand of Mr Bloom.
Heart to heart talks.
Bloo . . . Me? No.
Blood of the Lamb.
His slow feet walked him riverward, reading. Are you saved? All are washed
in the blood of the lamb.7 God wants blood victim. Birth, hymen,8 martyr,
war, foundation of a building,9 sacrifice,10 kidney burntoffering,11 druids'
altars.12 Elijah is coming.13 Dr John Alexander Dowie14 restorer of the
church in Zion is coming.
Is coming! Is coming!! Is coming!!!
All heartily welcome.
Paying game. Torry and Alexander15 last year. Polygamy.16 His wife will
put the stopper on that. Where was that ad some Birmingham firm the
luminous crucifix. Our Saviour. Wake up in the dead of night and see
him on the wall, hanging. Pepper's ghost idea.17 Iron nails ran in.18
Phosphorus it must be done with. If you leave a bit of codfish for in-
stance. I could see the bluey silver over it. Night I went down to the
pantry in the kitchen. Don't like all the smells in it waiting to rush
out.
What was it she wanted? The Malaga raisins. Thinking of Spain. Before
Rudy was born. The phosphorescence, that bluey greeny. Very good
for the brain.
From Butler's monument house corner19 he glanced along Bachelor's
walk. Dedalus' daughter there still outside Dillon's auctionrooms.20 Must
be selling off some old furniture. Knew her eyes at once from the father.
Lobbing21 about waiting for him. Home always breaks up when the mother
goes. Fifteen children he had. Birth every year almost. That's in their
theology or the priest won't give the poor woman the confession, the
absolution.22 Increase and multiply.23 Did you ever hear such an idea? Eat
you out of house and home. No families themselves to feed. Living on the
fat of the land.24 Their butteries and larders. I'd like to see them do the
black fast Yom Kippur.25 Crossbuns.26 One meal and a collation27 for fear
he'd collapse on the altar. A housekeeper of one28 of those fellows if you
could pick it out of her. Never pick it out of her. Like getting l.s.d.29 out of
him. Does himself well. No guests. All for number one. Watching his water.
Bring your own bread and butter.30 His reverence: mum's the word.
Good Lord, that poor child's dress is in flitters.31 Underfed she looks too.
Potatoes and marge, marge and potatoes.32 It's after they feel it. Proof of
the pudding.33 Undermines the constitution.
As he set foot on O'Connell bridge a puffball of smoke plumed up from
the parapet. Brewery barge with export stout.34 England. Sea air sours it,
I heard. Be interesting some day get a pass through Hancock to see the
brewery.35 Regular world in itself. Vats of porter wonderful. Rats get in too.
Drink themselves bloated as big as a collie floating. Dead drunk on the
porter. Drink till they puke again like christians.36 Imagine drinking that!
Rats: vats. Well, of course, if we knew all the things.
Looking down he saw flapping strongly, wheeling between the gaunt quay-
walls, gulls. Rough weather outside. If I threw myself down? Reuben
J's son must have swallowed a good bellyful of that sewage.37 One and
eightpence too much. Hhhhm. It's the droll way he comes out with the
things. Knows how to tell a story too.
They wheeled lower. Looking for grub. Wait.
He threw down among them a crumpled paper ball. Elijah thirtytwo feet per
sec is com.38 Not a bit. The ball bobbed unheeded on the wake of swells,
floated under by the bridgepiers. Not such damn fools. Also the day I
threw that stale cake out of the Erin's King39 picked it up in the wake
fifty yards astern. Live by their wits. They wheeled, flapping.
The hungry famished gull
Flaps o'er the waters dull.40
That is how poets write, the similar sounds. But then Shakespeare has
no rhymes:41 blank verse. The flow of the language it is. The thoughts.
Solemn.
Hamlet, I am thy father's spirit
Doomed for a certain time to walk the Earth.42
--Two apples a penny! Two for a penny!
His gaze passed over the glazed apples serried on her stand.Australians
they must be this time of year.43 Shiny peels: polishes them up with a rag
or a handkerchief.
Wait. Those poor birds.
He halted again and bought from the old applewoman two Banbury cakes
for a penny and broke the brittle paste and threw its fragments down
into the Liffey.44 See that? The gulls swooped silently, two, then all
from their heights, pouncing on prey.45 Gone. Every morsel. Aware of
their greed and cunning he shook the powdery crumb from his hands.
They never expected that. Manna.46 Live on fish, fishy flesh they have,
all seabirds, gulls, seagoose. Swans from Anna Liffey47 swim down here
sometimes to preen themselves. No accounting for tastes. Wonder what
kind is swanmeat. Robinson Crusoe had to live on them.48
They wheeled flapping weakly. I'm not going to throw any more. Penny
quite enough. Lot of thanks I get. Not even a caw. They spread foot
and mouth disease too.49 If you cram a turkey say on chestnutmeal it
tastes like that. Eat pig like pig. But then why is it that saltwater
fish are not salty? How is that?
His eyes sought answer from the river and saw a rowboat rock at anchor
on the treacly swells lazily its plastered board.
Kino's
11/-
Trousers 50
Good idea that. Wonder if he pays rent to the corporation. How can you
own water really? It's always flowing in a stream, never the same, which
in the stream of life we trace.51 Because life is a stream. All kinds of
places are good for ads. That quack doctor for the clap used to be stuck
up in all the greenhouses.52 Never see it now. Strictly confidential. Dr Hy
Franks.53 Didn't cost him a red54 like Maginni the dancing master55 self ad-
vertisement. Got fellows to stick them up or stick them up himself for
that
matter on the q. t. running in to loosen a button. Flybynight. Just the
place
too. Post no Bills. Post 110 Pills. Some chap with a dose burning him.
If he . . .?
O!
Eh?
No . . . No.
No, no. I don't believe it. He wouldn't surely?
No, no.
Mr Bloom moved forward, raising his troubled eyes. Think no more about that.
After one. Timeball on the ballastoffice is down. Dunsink time.56 Fascinating
little book that is of sir Robert Ball's.57 Parallax.58 I never exactly under-
stood. There's a priest. Could ask him. Par it's Greek:59 parallel, parallax.
Met him pike hoses60 she called it till I told her about the transmigration.
O rocks!
Mr Bloom smiled O rocks at two windows of the ballastoffice. She's right
after all. Only big words for ordinary things on account of the sound.
She's not exactly witty. Can be rude too. Blurt out what I was thinking.
Still, I don't know. She used to say Ben Dollard had a base barreltone
voice. He has legs like barrels and you'd think he was singing into a barrel.
Now, isn't that wit. They used to call him big Ben. Not half as witty as
calling him base barreltone. Appetite like an albatross. Get outside of a
baron of beef.61 Powerful man he was at stowing away number one Bass.62
Barrel of Bass. See? It all works out.
A procession of whitesmocked sandwichmen marched slowly towards him a-
long the gutter, scarlet sashes across their boards. Bargains. Like that priest
they are this morning: we have sinned: we have suffered.63 He read the scar-
let letters on their five tall white hats: H. E. L. Y. S. Wisdom Hely's.64 Y
lagging behind drew a chunk of bread from under his foreboard, crammed
it into his mouth and munched as he walked. Our staple food. Three bob a
day, walking along the gutters, street after street. Just keep skin and
bone together, bread and skilly.65 They are not Boyl: no, M Glade's66 men.
Doesn't bring in any business either. I suggested to him about a transpa-
rent showcart with two smart girls sitting inside writing letters, copy-
books, envelopes, blottingpaper. I bet that would have caught on. Smart
girls writing something catch the eye at once. Everyone dying to know what
she's writing. Get twenty of them round you if you stare at nothing. Have
a finger in the pie. Women too. Curiosity. Pillar of salt.67 Wouldn't have
it of course because he didn't think of it himself first. Or the inkbottle
I suggested with a false stain of black celluloid. His ideas for ads like
Plumtree's potted under the obituaries, cold meat department. You can't
lick 'em. What? Our envelopes. Hello, Jones, where are you going? Can't
stop, Robinson, I am hastening to purchase the only reliable inkeraser
Kansell, sold by Hely's Ltd, 85 Dame street.68 Well out of that ruck69 I am.
Devil of a job it was collecting accounts of those convents. Tranquilla
convent.70 That was a nice nun there, really sweet face. Wimple suited her
small head. Sister? Sister? I am sure she was crossed in love by her eyes.
Very hard to bargain with that sort of a woman. I disturbed her at her
devotions that morning. But glad to communicate with the outside world.
Our great day, she said. Feast of Our Lady of Mount Carmel.71 Sweet name
too: caramel. She knew I, I think she knew by the way she. If she had
married she would have changed. I suppose they really were short of mo-
ney. Fried everything in the best butter all the same. No lard for them.
My heart's broke eating dripping.72 They like buttering themselves in and
out. Molly tasting it, her veil up. Sister? Pat Claffey, the pawnbroker's
daughter.73 It was a nun they say invented barbed wire.74
He crossed Westmoreland street75 when apostrophe S had plodded by. Rover
cycleshop.76 Those races are on today.77 How long ago is that? Year Phil
Gilligan died.78 We were in Lombard street west. Wait: was in Thom's. Got
the job in Wisdom Hely's year we married. Six years. Ten years ago: nine-
tyfour he died yes that's right the big fire at Arnott's.79 Val Dillon80 was
lord mayor. The Glencree dinner.81 Alderman Robert O'Reilly82 emptying the
port into his soup before the flag fell.83 Bobbob lapping it for the inner
alderman.84 Couldn't hear what the band played.85 For what we have already
received may the Lord make us.86 Milly was a kiddy then. Molly had that el-
ephantgrey dress with the braided frogs. Mantailored with selfcovered but-
tons. She didn't like it because I sprained my ankle first day she wore
choir picnic at the Sugarloaf.87 As if that. Old Goodwin's tall hat done up
with some sticky stuff. Flies' picnic too. Never put a dress on her back
like it. Fitted her like a glove, shoulders and hips. Just beginning to
plump it out well. Rabbitpie we had that day. People looking after her.
Happy. Happier then. Snug little room that was with the red wallpaper.
Dockrell's,88 one and ninepence a dozen.89 Milly's tubbing night. American
soap I bought: elderflower. Cosy smell of her bathwater. Funny she look-
ed soaped all over. Shapely too. Now photography. Poor papa's daguerreo-
type atelier90 he told me of. Hereditary taste.
He walked along the curbstone.
Stream of life. What was the name of that priestylooking chap was always
squinting in when he passed? Weak eyes, woman. Stopped in Citron's saint
Kevin's parade.91 Pen something. Pendennis? My memory is getting. Pen . . .?92
Of course it's years ago. Noise of the trams probably. Well, if he couldn't
remember the dayfather's name that he sees every day.93
Bartell d'Arcy94 was the tenor, just coming out then. Seeing her home after
practice. Conceited fellow with his waxedup moustache. Gave her that song
Winds that blow from the south.95
Windy night that was I went to fetch her there was that lodge meeting
on about those lottery tickets96 after Goodwin's concert in the supperroom
or oakroom of the Mansion house.97 He and I behind. Sheet of her music
blew out of my hand against the High school railings.98 Lucky it didn't.
Thing like that spoils the effect of a night for her. Professor Goodwin
link-
ing her in front. Shaky on his pins, poor old sot. His farewell concerts. Pos-
itively last appearance on any stage. May be for months and may be for
never.99 Remember her laughing at the wind, her blizzard collar up. Corner
of Harcourt road100 remember that gust. Brrfoo! Blew up all her skirts and
her boa nearly smothered old Goodwin. She did get flushed in the wind.
Remember when we got home raking up the fire and frying up those pieces
of lap of mutton for her supper with the Chutney sauce she liked. And the
mulled rum. Could see her in the bedroom from the hearth unclamping the
busk of her stays: white.
Swish and soft flop her stays made on the bed. Always warm from her. Al-
ways liked to let her self out. Sitting there after till near two taking
out her hairpins. Milly tucked up in beddyhouse. Happy. Happy. That was
the night . . .
--O, Mr Bloom, how do you do?
--O, how do you do, Mrs Breen?101
--No use complaining. How is Molly those times? Haven't seen her for
ages.
--In the pink, Mr Bloom said gaily. Milly has a position down in Mullingar,
you know.
--Go away! Isn't that grand for her?
--Yes. In a photographer's there. Getting on like a house on fire. How are
all your charges?
--All on the baker's list,102 Mrs Breen said.
How many has she? No other in sight.
--You're in black, I see. You have no . . .
--No, Mr Bloom said. I have just come from a funeral.
Going to crop up all day, I foresee. Who's dead, when and what did he die
of? Turn up like a bad penny.103
--O, dear me, Mrs Breen said. I hope it wasn't any near relation.
May as well get her sympathy.
--Dignam, Mr Bloom said. An old friend of mine. He died quite suddenly, poor
fellow. Heart trouble, I believe. Funeral was this morning.
Your funeral's tomorrow
While you're coming through the rye.
Diddlediddle dumdum
Diddlediddle . . .104
--Sad to lose the old friends, Mrs Breen's womaneyes said melancholily.
Now that's quite enough about that. Just: quietly: husband.
--And your lord and master?
Mrs Breen turned up her two large eyes. Hasn't lost them anyhow.
--O, don't be talking! she said. He's a caution to rattlesnakes.105 He's in
there now with his lawbooks finding out the law of libel. He has me heart-
scalded.106 Wait till I show you.
Hot mockturtle vapour and steam of newbaked jampuffs rolypoly107 poured out
from Harrison's.108 The heavy noonreek tickled the top of Mr Bloom's gullet.
Want to make good pastry, butter, best flour, Demerara sugar,109 or they'd
taste it with the hot tea. Or is it from her? A barefoot arab stood over
the grating, breathing in the fumes. Deaden the gnaw of hunger that way.
Pleasure or pain is it? Penny dinner. Knife and fork chained to the ta-
ble.110
Opening her handbag, chipped leather. Hatpin: ought to have a guard on
those things. Stick it in a chap's eye in the tram. Rummaging. Open.
Money. Please take one. Devils if they lose sixpence. Raise Cain. Hus-
band barging.111 Where's the ten shillings I gave you on Monday? Are you
feeding your little brother's family? Soiled handkerchief: medicinebot-
tle. Pastille that was fell. What is she? . . .
--There must be a new moon out,112 she said. He's always bad then. Do you
know what he did last night?
Her hand ceased to rummage. Her eyes fixed themselves on him, wide in
alarm, yet smiling.
--What? Mr Bloom asked.
Let her speak. Look straight in her eyes. I believe you. Trust me.
--Woke me up in the night, she said. Dream he had, a nightmare.
Indiges.113
--Said the ace of spades114 was walking up the stairs.
--The ace of spades! Mr Bloom said.
She took a folded postcard from her handbag.
--Read that, she said. He got it this morning.
--What is it? Mr Bloom asked, taking the card. U.P.?
--U.P.: up,115 she said. Someone taking a rise out of him. It's a great shame
for them whoever he is.
--Indeed it is, Mr Bloom said.
She took back the card, sighing.
--And now he's going round to Mr Menton's office. He's going to take an
action for ten thousand pounds, he says.
She folded the card into her untidy bag and snapped the catch.
Same blue serge dress she had two years ago, the nap bleaching. Seen its
best days. Wispish hair over her ears. And that dowdy toque: three old
grapes to take the harm out of it. Shabby genteel. She used to be a tasty
dresser. Lines round her mouth. Only a year or so older than Molly.
See the eye that woman gave her, passing. Cruel. The unfair sex.
He looked still at her, holding back behind his look his discontent. Pun-
gent mockturtle oxtail mulligatawny. I'm hungry too. Flakes of pastry on
the gusset of her dress: daub of sugary flour stuck to her cheek. Rhubarb
tart with liberal fillings, rich fruit interior. Josie Powell116 that was. In
Luke Doyle's long ago. Dolphin's Barn,117 the charades. U.P.: up.
Change the subject.
--Do you ever see anything of Mrs Beaufoy? Mr Bloom asked.
--Mina Purefoy?118 she said.
Philip Beaufoy I was thinking. Playgoers' Club. Matcham often thinks of
the masterstroke.119 Did I pull the chain? Yes. The last act.
--Yes.
--I just called to ask on the way in is she over it. She's in the lying-in
hos-
pital120 in Holles street. Dr Horne121 got her in. She's three days bad now.122
--O, Mr Bloom said. I'm sorry to hear that.
--Yes, Mrs Breen said. And a houseful of kids at home. It's a very stiff
birth, the nurse told me.
---O, Mr Bloom said.
His heavy pitying gaze absorbed her news. His tongue clacked in compassion.
Dth! Dth!
--I'm sorry to hear that, he said. Poor thing! Three days! That's terrible
for her.
Mrs Breen nodded.
--She was taken bad on the Tuesday . . .
Mr Bloom touched her funnybone gently, warning her:
--Mind! Let this man pass.
A bony form strode along the curbstone from the river staring with a rapt
gaze into the sunlight through a heavystringed glass.123 Tight as a skullpiece
a tiny hat gripped his head. From his arm a folded dustcoat, a stick and an
umbrella dangled to his stride.
--Watch him, Mr Bloom said. He always walks outside the lampposts. Watch!
--Who is he if it's a fair question? Mrs Breen asked. Is he dotty?
--His name is Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell,124 Mr Bloom
said smiling. Watch!
--He has enough of them, she said. Denis125 will be like that one of these days.
She broke off suddenly.
--There he is, she said. I must go after him. Goodbye. Remember me to Molly,
won't you?
--I will, Mr Bloom said.
He watched her dodge through passers towards the shopfronts. Denis Breen
in
skimpy frockcoat and blue canvas shoes shuffled out of Harrison's hugging
two heavy tomes to his ribs. Blown in from the bay.126 Like old times.He suf-
fered her to overtake him without surprise and thrust his dull grey beard
towards her, his loose jaw wagging as he spoke earnestly.
Meshuggah.127 Off his chump.128
Mr Bloom walked on again easily, seeing ahead of him in sunlight the tight
skullpiece, the dangling stickumbrelladustcoat.129 Going the two days.130
Watch him! Out he goes again. One way of getting on in the world. And
that other old mosey lunatic in those duds.131 Hard time she must have
with him.
U.P.: up. I'll take my oath that's Alf Bergan132 or Richie Goulding. Wrote
it for a lark in the Scotch house133 I bet anything. Round to Menton's of-
fice. His oyster eyes staring at the postcard. Be a feast for the gods.
He passed the Irish Times.134 There might be other answers Iying there.
Like to answer them all. Good system for criminals. Code. At their lunch
now.
Clerk with the glasses there doesn't know me. O, leave them there to sim-
mer. Enough bother wading through fortyfour of them. Wanted, smart lady
typist to aid gentleman in literary work. I called you naughty darling
be-
cause I do not like that other world. Please tell me what is the meaning.
Please tell me what perfume does your wife. Tell me who made the world.
The way they spring those questions on you. And the other one Lizzie
Twigg.135 My literary efforts have had the good fortune to meet with the
approval of the eminent poet A. E. (Mr Geo. Russell). No time to do her
hair drinking sloppy tea with a book of poetry.
Best paper by long chalks136 for a small ad. Got the provinces now.137 Cook
and general, exc. cuisine, housemaid kept.138 Wanted live man for spirit
counter. Resp.139 girl (R.C.) wishes to hear of post in fruit or pork shop.
James Carlisle140 made that. Six and a half per cent dividend.141 Made a big
deal on Coates's shares.142 Ca' canny.143 Cunning old Scotch hunks.144 All
the toady news. Our gracious and popular vicereine. Bought the Irish Field 145
now. Lady Mountcashel146 has quite recovered after her confinement and rode
out with the Ward Union staghounds147 at the enlargement148 yesterday at
Rathoath.149 Uneatable fox.150 Pothunters too.151 Fear injects juices make
it tender enough for them.152 Riding astride. Sit her horse like a man. Weight-
carrying153 huntress. No sidesaddle or pillion for her, not for Joe.154 First to
the meet and in at the death.155 Strong as a brood mare some of those hors-
ey wo-men. Swagger around livery stables. Toss off a glass of brandy neat
while you'd say knife.156 That one at the Grosvenor157 this morning. Up with
her on the car: wishswish. Stonewall or fivebarred gate put her mount to
it.158
Think that pugnosed driver did it out of spite. Who is this she was like?
O
yes! Mrs Miriam Dandrade159 that sold me her old wraps and black under-
clothes in the Shelbourne hotel.160 Divorced Spanish American. Didn't take a
feather out of her161 my handling them. As if I was her clotheshorse. Saw
her in the viceregal party when Stubbs the park ranger162 got me in with
Whelan of the Express.163 Scavenging what the quality left. High tea. Mayo-
nnaise I poured on the plums thinking it was custard. Her ears ought to
have tingled for a few weeks after. Want to be a bull for her. Born cour-
tesan. No nursery work for her, thanks.164
Poor Mrs Purefoy! Methodist husband. Method in his madness.165 Saffron bun
and milk and soda lunch in the educational dairy.166 Y. M. C. A. Eating with
a stopwatch, thirtytwo chews to the minute. And still his muttonchop whis-
kers grew. Supposed to be well connected. Theodore's cousin167 in Dublin
Castle.168 One tony169 relative in every family. Hardy annuals he presents her
with. Saw him out at the Three Jolly Topers170 marching along bareheaded
and his eldest boy carrying one in a marketnet. The squallers.171 Poor thing!
Then having to give the breast year after year all hours of the night.
Selfish
those t.t's172 are. Dog in the manger.173 Only one lump of sugar in my tea,
if you please.
He stood at Fleet street crossing.174 Luncheon interval. A sixpenny at Rowe's?175
Must look up that ad in the national library. An eightpenny in the Burton.176
Better. On my way.
He walked on past Bolton's Westmoreland house.177 Tea. Tea. Tea. I forgot to
tap Tom Kernan.
Sss. Dth, dth, dth! Three days imagine groaning on a bed with a vineg-
ared handkerchief round her forehead,178 her belly swollen out. Phew!
Dreadful simply! Child's head too big: forceps. Doubled up inside her
trying to butt its way out blindly, groping for the way out. Kill me that
would. Lucky Molly got over hers lightly. They ought to invent something
to stop that. Life with hard labour. Twilight sleep idea:179 queen Victoria
was given that. Nine she had.180 A good layer.181 Old woman that lived in a
shoe she had so many children.182 Suppose he was consumptive.183 Time
someone thought about it instead of gassing about the what was it the pensive
bosom of the silver effulgence.184 Flapdoodle to feed fools on.185 They could
easily have big establishments whole thing quite painless out of all the
taxes give every child born five quid at compound interest up to twenty-
one five per cent is a hundred shillings and five tiresome pounds multi-
ply by twenty decimal system encourage people to put by money save hund-
red and ten and a bit twentyone years want to work it out on paper come
to a tidy sum more than you think.186
Not stillborn of course. They are not even registered. Trouble for no-
thing.
Funny sight two of them together, their bellies out. Molly and Mrs Moisel.187
Mothers' meeting. Phthisis retires for the time being, then returns.188 How
flat they look all of a sudden after. Peaceful eyes. Weight off their mind.
Old Mrs Thornton was a jolly old soul.189 All my babies, she said. The spoon
of pap in her mouth before she fed them. O, that's nyumnyum. Got her hand
crushed by old Tom Wall's son.190 His first bow to the public. Head like a
prize pumpkin. Snuffy Dr Murren.191 People knocking them up at all hours. For
God' sake, doctor. Wife in her throes. Then keep them waiting months for
their fee. To attendance on your wife. No gratitude in people. Humane doc-
tors, most of them.
Before the huge high door of the Irish house of parliament192 a flock of pige-
ons flew. Their little frolic after meals. Who will we do it on? I pick
the fel-
low in black. Here goes. Here's good luck. Must be thrilling from the air.
Ap-
john,193 myself and Owen Goldberg194 up in the trees near Goose green195
playing the monkeys. Mackerel they called me.196
A squad of constables debouched from College street,197 marching in
Indian file. Goosestep. Foodheated faces, sweating helmets, patting their
truncheons. After their feed with a good load of fat soup under their belts.
Policeman's lot is oft a happy one.198 They split up in groups and scattered,
saluting, towards their beats. Let out to graze. Best moment to attack one in
pudding time. A punch in his dinner. A squad of others, marching irregularly,
rounded Trinity railings making for the station. Bound for their troughs.
Prepare to receive cavalry.199 Prepare to receive soup.
He crossed under Tommy Moore's roguish finger.200 They did right to put him
up over a urinal: meeting of the waters. Ought to be places for women.
Runn-
ing into cakeshops. Settle my hat straight. There is not in this wide world a
vallee.201 Great song of Julia Morkan's.202 Kept her voice up to the very last.
Pupil of Michael Balfe's,203 wasn't she?
He gazed after the last broad tunic. Nasty customers to tackle. Jack Pow-
er could a tale unfold:204 father a G man.205 If a fellow gave them trouble
being lagged206 they let him have it hot and heavy in the bridewell.207 Can't
blame them after all with the job they have especially the young hornies.208
That horsepoliceman the day Joe Chamberlain was given his degree in
Trinity209 he got a run for his money. My word he did! His horse's hoofs
clattering after us down Abbey street.210 Lucky I had the presence of mind
to dive into Manning's211 or I was souped.212 He did come a wallop, by George.
Must have cracked his skull on the cobblestones. I oughtn't to have got
myself swept along with those medicals. And the Trinity jibs in their
mortarboards.213 Looking for trouble. Still I got to know that young Dixon214
who dressed that sting for me in the Mater215 and now he's in Holles street216
where Mrs Purefoy. Wheels within wheels.217 Police whistle in my ears still.
All skedaddled. Why he fixed on me. Give me in charge.218 Right here it be-
gan.
--Up the Boers!219
--Three cheers for De Wet!220
--We'll hang Joe Chamberlain on a sourapple tree.221
Silly billies: mob of young cubs yelling their guts out. Vinegar hill.222 The
Butter exchange band.223 Few years' time half of them magistrates and civil
servants.224 War comes on: into the army helterskelter: same fellows used
to. Whether on the scaffold high.225
Never know who you're talking to. Corny Kelleher he has Harvey Duff226 in his
eye. Like that Peter or Denis or James Carey that blew the gaff on the in-
vincibles.227 Member of the corporation too.228 Egging raw youths on to get in
the know all the time drawing secret service pay from the castle.229 Drop him
like a hot potato. Why those plainclothes men are always courting slaveys.230
Easily twig231 a man used to uniform. Squarepushing232 up against a backdoor.
Maul her a bit. Then the next thing on the menu. And who is the gentleman
does be visiting there? Was the young master saying anything? Peeping Tom233
through the keyhole. Decoy duck.234 Hotblooded young student fooling round
her fat arms ironing.
--Are those yours, Mary?
--I don't wear such things . . . Stop or I'll tell the missus on you. Out
half the night.
--There are great times coming, Mary. Wait till you see.235
--Ah, gelong with your great times coming.
Barmaids too. Tobaccoshopgirls.
James Stephens' idea was the best. He knew them. Circles of ten so that
a fellow couldn't round on more than his own ring.236 Sinn Fein.237 Back out
you get the knife. Hidden hand. Stay in. The firing squad.238 Turnkey's
daughter got him out of Richmond, off from Lusk. Putting up in the
Buckingham Palace hotel under their very noses.239 Garibaldi.240
You must have a certain fascination: Parnell. Arthur Griffith is a square-
headed241 fellow but he has no go in him for the mob.242 Or gas about our
lovely land. Gammon and spinach.243 Dublin Bakery Company's tearoom.244
Debating societies.245 That republicanism is the best form of government.
That the language question should take precedence of the economic ques-
tion.246 Have your daughters inveigling them to your house. Stuff them
up with meat and drink. Michaelmas goose.247 Here's a good lump of thyme
seasoning under the apron for you.248 Have another quart of goosegrease
before it gets too cold. Halffed enthusiasts. Penny roll and a walk with the
band.249 No grace for the carver.250 The thought that the other chap pays
best sauce in the world. Make themselves thoroughly at home. Show us
over those apricots, meaning peaches. The not far distant day. Homerule
sun rising up in the northwest.251
His smile faded as he walked, a heavy cloud hiding the sun slowly,
shadowing Trinity's surly front.252 Trams passed one another, ingoing,
outgoing, clanging. Useless words. Things go on same, day after day:
squads of police marching out, back: trams in, out. Those two loonies
mooching about. Dignam carted off. Mina Purefoy swollen belly on a bed
groaning to have a child tugged out of her. One born every second some-
where. Other dying every second. Since I fed the birds five minutes.
Three hundred kicked the bucket. Other three hundred born, washing the
blood off, all are washed in the blood of the lamb, bawling maaaaaa.253
Cityful passing away, other cityful coming, passing away too: other com-
ing on, passing on. Houses, lines of houses, streets, miles of pavements,
piledup bricks, stones. Changing hands. This owner, that. Landlord never
dies they say. Other steps into his shoes when he gets his notice to quit.254
They buy the place up with gold and still they have all the gold. Swindle
in
it somewhere. Piled up in cities, worn away age after age. Pyramids in sand.
Built on bread and onions.255 Slaves Chinese wall. Babylon.256 Big stones
left. Round towers.257 Rest rubble, sprawling suburbs, jerrybuilt. Kerwan's
mushroom houses built of breeze.258 Shelter, for the night.
No-one is anything.
This is the very worst hour of the day. Vitality. Dull, gloomy: hate this
hour. Feel as if I had been eaten and spewed.
Provost's house. The reverend Dr Salmon: tinned salmon.259 Well tinned in
there. Like a mortuary chapel.260 Wouldn't live in it if they paid me. Hope
they have liver and bacon today. Nature abhors a vacuum.
The sun freed itself slowly and lit glints of light among the silverware
op-
posite in Walter Sexton's window261 by which John Howard Parnell262 passed,
unseeing.
There he is: the brother. Image of him. Haunting face. Now that's a
coincidence. Course hundreds of times you think of a person and don't
meet him. Like a man walking in his sleep. No-one knows him. Must be a
corporation meeting today.263 They say he never put on the city marshal's
uniform since he got the job. Charley Kavanagh264 used to come out on his
high horse, cocked hat, puffed, powdered and shaved. Look at the woebe-
gone walk of him. Eaten a bad egg. Poached eyes on ghost. I have a pain.
Great man's brother: his brother's brother.265 He'd look nice on the city
charger. Drop into the D.B.C.266 probably for his coffee, play chess there.
His brother used men as pawns. Let them all go to pot. Afraid to pass a
remark on him. Freeze them up with that eye of his. That's the fascination:
the name. All a bit touched. Mad Fanny267 and his other sister Mrs Dickin-
son268 driving about with scarlet harness. Bolt upright lik surgeon M'Ardle.269
Still David Sheehy beat him for south Meath.270 Apply for the Chiltern Hun-
dreds271 and retire into public life. The patriot's banquet. Eating orange-
peels in the park.272 Simon Dedalus said when they put him in parliament
that Parnell would come back from the grave and lead him out of the
house of commons by the arm.
--Of the twoheaded octopus, one of whose heads is the head upon which
the ends of the world have forgotten to come while the other speaks with
a
Scotch accent.273 The tentacles . . .
They passed from behind Mr Bloom along the curbstone. Beard and bicycle.
Young woman.
And there he is too. Now that's really a coincidence: second time. Com-
ing events cast their shadows before.274 With the approval of the eminent
poet, Mr Geo. Russell. That might be Lizzie Twigg with him. A. E.: what
does
that mean?275 Initials perhaps. Albert Edward,276 Arthur Edmund,277 Alphonsus
Eb Ed El Esquire. What was he saying? The ends of the world with a Scotch
accent. Tentacles: octopus. Something occult: symbolism. Holding forth.
She's
taking it all in. Not saying a word. To aid gentleman in literary work.
His eyes followed the high figure in homespun,278 beard and bicycle,279 a
listening woman at his side. Coming from the vegetarian.280 Only wegge-
bobbles and fruit. Don't eat a beefsteak. If you do the eyes of that
cow will pursue you through all eternity.281 They say it's healthier.
Windandwatery though. Tried it. Keep you on the run all day. Bad as a
bloater.282 Dreams all night. Why do they call that thing they gave me
nutsteak?283 Nutarians. Fruitarians.285 To give you the idea you are eating
rumpsteak. Absurd. Salty too. They cook in soda.286 Keep you sitting by
the tap all night.
Her stockings are loose over her ankles. I detest that: so tasteless. Those
literary etherial people they are all. Dreamy, cloudy, symbolistic. Esthetes
they are. I wouldn't be surprised if it was that kind of food you see pro-
duces the like waves of the brain the poetical. For example one of those
policemen sweating Irish stew287 into their shirts you couldn't squeeze a
line of poetry out of him. Don't know what poetry is even. Must be in a
certain mood.
The dreamy cloudy gull
Waves o'er the waters dull.
He crossed at Nassau street288 corner and stood before the window of
Yeates and Son,289 pricing the fieldglasses. Or will I drop into old Harris's290
and have a chat with young Sinclair?291 Wellmannered fellow. Probably at
his lunch. Must get those old glasses of mine set right. Goerz lenses292 six
guineas. Germans making their way everywhere. Sell on easy terms to cap-
ture trade. Undercutting.293 Might chance on a pair in the railway lost pro-
perty office.294 Astonishing the things people leave behind them in trains
and cloakrooms. What do they be thinking about? Women too. Incredible.
Last year travelling to Ennis had to pick up that farmer's daughter's ba
and hand it to her at Limerick junction.295 Unclaimed money too. There's a
little watch up there on the roof of the bank to test those glasses by.296
His lids came down on the lower rims of his irides. Can't see it. If you
imagine it's there you can almost see it. Can't see it.
He faced about and, standing between the awnings, held out his right hand
at arm's length towards the sun. Wanted to try that often. Yes: completely.
The tip of his little finger blotted out the sun's disk.297 Must be the focus
where the rays cross. If I had black glasses. Interesting. There was a lot
of talk about those sunspots when we were in Lombard street west. Looking
up from the back garden. Terrific explosions they are.298 There will be a to-
tal eclipse this year: autumn some time.299
Now that I come to think of it that ball falls at Greenwich time.300 It's the
clock is worked by an electric wire from Dunsink. Must go out there some
first Saturday of the month. If I could get an introduction to professor
Jo-
ly301 or learn up something about his family. That would do to: man always
feels complimented. Flattery where least expected. Nobleman proud to be
descended from some king's mistress. His foremother.302 Lay it on with a
trowel. Cap in hand goes through the land.303 Not go in and blurt out what
you know you're not to: what's parallax? Show this gentleman the door.
Ah.
His hand fell to his side again.
Never know anything about it. Waste of time. Gasballs spinning about,
crossing each other, passing. Same old dingdong always. Gas: then sol-
id: then world: then cold: then dead shell drifting around, frozen rock,304
like that pineapple rock. The moon. Must be a new moon out,305 she said.
I believe there is.
He went on by la maison Claire.306
Wait. The full moon307 was the night we were Sunday fortnight exactly there
is a new moon. Walking down by the Tolka. Not bad for a Fairview moon.308
She was humming. The young May moon she's beaming, love. He other side
of her. Elbow, arm. He. Glowworm's la-amp is gleaming, love.309 Touch. Fin-
gers.310 Asking. Answer. Yes.
Stop. Stop. If it was it was. Must.
Mr Bloom, quickbreathing, slowlier walking passed Adam court.311
With a keep quiet relief his eyes took note this is the street here
middle of the day of Bob Doran's bottle shoulders. On his annual bend,
M Coy said. They drink in order to say or do something or cherchez la
femme.312 Up in the Coombe313 with chummies314 and streetwalkers
and then the rest of the year sober as a judge.
Yes. Thought so. Sloping315 into the Empire.316 Gone. Plain soda would do
him good. Where Pat Kinsella317 had his Harp theatre before Whitbred318 ran
the Queen's. Broth of a boy.319 Dion Boucicault business with his harvest-
moon face320 in a poky bonnet. Three Purty Maids from School.321 How time
flies, eh? Showing long red pantaloons under his skirts. Drinkers, drink-
ing, laughed spluttering, their drink against their breath. More power,322
Pat. Coarse red: fun for drunkards: guffaw and smoke. Take off that white
hat.323 His parboiled eyes.324 Where is he now? Beggar somewhere. The
harp that once did starve us all.325
I was happier then. Or was that I? Or am I now I? Twentyeight I was. She
twentythree.326 When we left Lombard street west something changed. Could
never like it again after Rudy. Can't bring back time. Like holding wa-
ter in your hand. Would you go back to then? Just beginning then. Would
you? Are you not happy in your home you poor little naughty boy? Wants
to sew on buttons for me. I must answer. Write it in the library.
Grafton street327 gay with housed awnings lured his senses. Muslin prints,
silkdames and dowagers, jingle of harnesses, hoofthuds lowringing in the
baking causeway.328 Thick feet that woman has in the white stockings. Hope
the rain mucks them up on her. Countrybred chawbacon.329 All the beef to
the heels were in.330 Always gives a woman clumsy feet. Molly looks out of
plumb.
He passed, dallying, the windows of Brown Thomas,331 silk mercers. Cascades
of ribbons. Flimsy China silks. A tilted urn poured from its mouth a flood of
bloodhued poplin: lustrous blood. The huguenots brought that here.332 La
causa e santa! Tara Tara. Great chorus that. Taree tara. Must be washed
in rainwater.333 Meyerbeer. Tara: bom bom bom.334
Pincushions. I'm a long time threatening to buy one. Sticking them all
over the place. Needles in window curtains.
He bared slightly his left forearm. Scrape: nearly gone. Not today any-
how. Must go back for that lotion. For her birthday perhaps. Junejulyaug-
september eighth.335 Nearly three months off. Then she mightn't like it.
Women won't pick up pins. Say it cuts lo.336
Gleaming silks, petticoats on slim brass rails, rays of flat silk stock-
ings.
Useless to go back. Had to be. Tell me all.
High voices. Sunwarm silk. Jingling harnesses. All for a woman, home
and houses, silkwebs, silver, rich fruits spicy from Jaffa. Agendath
Netaim.337 Wealth of the world.
A warm human plumpness settled down on his brain. His brain yielded.
Perfume of embraces all him assailed. With hungered flesh obscurely,
he mutely craved to adore.
Duke street. Here we are. Must eat. The Burton.338 Feel better then.
He turned Combridge's corner,339 still pursued. Jingling, hoofthuds.
Perfumed bodies, warm, full. All kissed, yielded: in deep summer fields,
tangled pressed grass, in trickling hallways of tenements, along sofas,
creaking beds.
--Jack, love!
--Darling!
--Kiss me, Reggy!
--My boy!
--Love!
His heart astir he pushed in the door of the Burton restaurant. Stink
gripped his trembling breath: pungent meatjuice, slush of greens. See
the animals feed.
Men, men, men.
Perched on high stools by the bar, hats shoved back, at the tables call-
ing for more bread no charge, swilling, wolfing gobfuls of sloppy food,
their eyes bulging, wiping wetted moustaches. A pallid suetfaced young
man polished his tumbler knife fork and spoon with his napkin. New set
of microbes. A man with an infant's saucestained napkin tucked round him
shovelled gurgling soup down his gullet. A man spitting back on his plate:
halfmasticated gristle: gums: no teeth to chewchewchew it. Chump chop from
the grill. Bolting to get it over. Sad booser's eyes. Bitten off more than he
can chew. Am I like that? See ourselves as others see us.340 Hungry man
is an angry man. Working tooth and jaw. Don't! O! A bone! That last pagan
king of Ireland Cormac in the schoolpoem choked himself at Sletty south-
ward of the Boyne. Wonder what he was eating. Something galoptious.341
Saint Patrick converted him to Christianity.342 Couldn't swallow it all how-
ever.
--Roast beef and cabbage.
--One stew.
Smells of men. Spaton sawdust, sweetish warmish cigarette smoke, reek of
plug, spilt beer, men's beery piss, the stale of ferment.
His gorge rose.
Couldn't eat a morsel here. Fellow sharpening knife and fork to eat all be-
fore him, old chap picking his tootles.343 Slight spasm, full, chewing the cud.
Before and after. Grace after meals. Look on this picture then on that.344
Scoffing345 up stewgravy with sopping sippets of bread. Lick it off the plate,
man! Get out of this.
He gazed round the stooled and tabled eaters, tightening the wings of his
nose.
--Two stouts here.
--One corned and cabbage.
That fellow ramming a knifeful of cabbage down as if his life depended on
it. Good stroke.346 Give me the fidgets to look. Safer to eat from his three
hands.347 Tear it limb from limb. Second nature to him. Born with a silver
knife in his mouth. That's witty, I think. Or no. Silver means born rich.
Born with a knife. But then the allusion is lost.
An illgirt server gathered sticky clattering plates. Rock, the head bailiff,348
standing at the bar blew the foamy crown from his tankard. Well up: it
splashed yellow near his boot. A diner, knife and fork upright, elbows
on table, ready for a second helping stared towards the foodlift across
his stained square of newspaper. Other chap telling him something with
his mouth full. Sympathetic listener. Table talk.349 I munched hum un thu
Unchster Bunk un Munchday. Ha?350 Did you, faith?
Mr Bloom raised two fingers doubtfully to his lips. His eyes said:
--Not here. Don't see him.
Out. I hate dirty eaters.351
He backed towards the door. Get a light snack in Davy Byrne's.352 Stopgap.
Keep me going. Had a good breakfast.
--Roast and mashed here.
--Pint of stout.
Every fellow for his own, tooth and nail. Gulp. Grub. Gulp. Gobstuff.353
He came out into clearer air and turned back towards Grafton street. Eat
or be eaten. Kill! Kill!
Suppose that communal kitchen years to come perhaps. All trotting down
with porringers and tommycans354 to be filled. Devour contents in the street.
John Howard Parnell example the provost of Trinity every mother's son355
don't talk of your provosts and provost of Trinity women and children cab-
men priests parsons fieldmarshals archbishops. From Ailesbury road, Clyde
road,356 artisans' dwellings, north Dublin union,357 lord mayor in his ginger-
bread coach,358 old queen in a bathchair.359 My plate's empty. After you
with our incorporated drinkingcup.360 Like sir Philip Crampton's fountain.361
Rub off the microbes with your handkerchief. Next chap rubs on a new
batch with his. Father O'Flynn would make hares of them all.362 Have rows
all the same. All for number one. Children fighting for the scrapings of
thepot. Want a souppot as big as the Phoenix park. Harpooning flitches
and hindquarters out of it.363 Hate people all round you. City Arms hotel364
table d'Hote she called it. Soup, joint and sweet.365 Never know whose
thoughts you're chewing. Then who'd wash up all the plates and forks?
Might be all feeding on tabloids that time.366 Teeth getting worse and
worse.
After all there's a lot in that vegetarian fine flavour of things from the
earth garlic of course it stinks after Italian organgrinders crisp of onions
mushrooms truffles. Pain to the animal too. Pluck and draw fowl. Wretched
brutes there at the cattlemarket367 waiting for the poleaxe to split their skulls
open. Moo. Poor trembling calves. Meh. Staggering bob.368 Bubble and squeak.369
Butchers' buckets wobbly lights. Give us that brisket off the hook. Plup.
Raw-
head and bloody bones.370 Flayed glasseyed sheep hung from their haunches,
sheepsnouts bloodypapered snivelling nosejam on sawdust. Top and lashers371
going out. Don't maul them pieces, young one.
Hot fresh blood they prescribe for decline.372 Blood always needed. Insidious.
Lick it up smokinghot, thick sugary. Famished ghosts.373
Ah, I'm hungry.
He entered Davy Byrne's. Moral pub. He doesn't chat. Stands a drink
now and then. But in leapyear once in four. Cashed a cheque for me
once.
What will I take now? He drew his watch. Let me see now. Shandygaff?374
--Hello, Bloom, Nosey Flynn said from his nook.375
--Hello, Flynn.
--How's things?
--Tiptop...Let me see. I'll take a glass of burgundy and...let me see.
Sardines on the shelves. Almost taste them by looking. Sandwich? Ham
and his descendants musterred and bred there.376 Potted meats. What is
home without Plumtree's potted meat? Incomplete. What a stupid ad!
Under the obituary notices they stuck it. All up a plumtree.377 Dignam's
potted meat. Cannibals would with lemon and rice. White missionary too
salty.378 Like pickled pork. Expect the chief consumes the parts of honour.
Ought to be tough from exercise. His wives in a row to watch the effect.
There was a right royal old nigger. Who ate or something the somethings
of the Reverend Mr Mactrigger. With it an abode of bliss. Lord knows what
concoction. Cauls mouldy tripes windpipes faked and minced up. Puzzle find
the meat. Kosher.379 No meat and milk together.380 Hygiene that was381
what they call now. Yom Kippur fast spring cleaning of inside.382 Peace and
war depend on some fellow's digestion. Religions. Christmas turkeys and
geese. Slaughter of innocents.383 Eat drink and be merry.384 Then casual
wards385 full after. Heads bandaged. Cheese digests all but itself.386 Mity
cheese.
--Have you a cheese sandwich?
--Yes, sir.
Like a few olives too if they had them. Italian I prefer. Good glass of
burgundy take away that. Lubricate. A nice salad, cool as a cucumber, Tom
Kernan can dress. Puts gusto into it. Pure olive oil. Milly served me that
cutlet with a sprig of parsley. Take one Spanish onion. God made food, the
devil the cooks.387 Devilled crab.
--Wife well?
--Quite well, thanks . . . A cheese sandwich, then. Gorgonzola, have you?
--Yes, sir.
Nosey Flynn sipped his grog.
--Doing any singing those times?
Look at his mouth. Could whistle in his own ear. Flap ears to match. Music.
Knows as much about it as my coachman. Still better tell him. Does no harm.
Free ad.
--She's engaged for a big tour end of this month.388 You may have heard
perhaps.
--No. O, that's the style. Who's getting it up?
The curate served.389
--How much is that?
--Seven d., sir . . . Thank you, sir.
Mr Bloom cut his sandwich into slender strips. Mr Mactrigger. Easier than
the dreamy creamy stuff. His five hundred wives. Had the time of their
lives.
--Mustard, sir?
--Thank you.
He studded under each lifted strip yellow blobs. Their lives. I have it.
It grew bigger and bigger and bigger.
--Getting it up? he said. Well, it's like a company idea, you see. Part shares
and part profits.
--Ay, now I remember, Nosey Flynn said, putting his hand in his pocket to
scratch his groin. Who is this was telling me? Isn't Blazes Boylan mixed up
in it?
A warm shock of air heat of mustard hanched on Mr Bloom's heart.390 He
raised his eyes and met the stare of a bilious clock. Two. Pub clock five
minutes fast.391 Time going on. Hands moving. Two. Not yet.
His midriff yearned then upward, sank within him, yearned more longly,
longingly.
Wine.
He smellsipped the cordial juice and, bidding his throat strongly to speed
it, set his wineglass delicately down.
--Yes, he said. He's the organiser in point of fact.
No fear: no brains.
Nosey Flynn snuffled and scratched. Flea having a good square meal.
--He had a good slice of luck, Jack Mooney392 was telling me, over that
boxingmatch Myler Keogh won again that soldier393 in the Portobello bar-
racks.394 By God, he had the little kipper395 down in the county Carlow396
he was telling me . . .
Hope that dewdrop doesn't come down into his glass. No, snuffled it
up.
--For near a month, man, before it came off. Sucking duck eggs by God till
further orders. Keep him off the boose, see? O, by God, Blazes is a hairy
chap.397
Davy Byrne came forward from the hindbar in tuckstitched shirtsleeves,
cleaning his lips with two wipes of his napkin. Herring's blush. Whose
smile upon each feature plays with such and such replete.398 Too much
fat on the parsnips.399
--And here's himself and pepper on him,400 Nosey Flynn said. Can you give
us a good one for the Gold cup?401
--I'm off that, Mr Flynn, Davy Byrne answered. I never put anything on a
horse.
--You're right there, Nosey Flynn said.
Mr Bloom ate his strips of sandwich, fresh clean bread, with relish of dis-
gust pungent mustard, the feety savour of green cheese. Sips of his wine
soothed his palate. Not logwood that.402 Tastes fuller this weather with the
chill off.
Nice quiet bar. Nice piece of wood in that counter. Nicely planed. Like the
way it curves there.
--I wouldn't do anything at all in that line, Davy Byrne said. It ruined
many a man, the same horses.
Vintners' sweepstake.403 Licensed for the sale of beer, wine and spirits for
consumption on the premises.404 Heads I win tails you lose.
--True for you, Nosey Flynn said. Unless you're in the know. There's no
straight sport going now. Lenehan gets some good ones. He's giving Scep-
tre today. Zinfandel's the favourite, lord Howard de Walden's, won at Epsom.
Morny Cannon405 is riding him. I could have got seven to one against Saint
Amant a fortnight before.406
--That so? Davy Byrne said . . .
He went towards the window and, taking up the pettycash book, scanned its
pages.
--I could, faith, Nosey Flynn said, snuffling. That was a rare bit of horse-
flesh. Saint Frusquin was her sire. She won in a thunderstorm, Rothschild's
filly, with wadding in her ears. Blue jacket and yellow cap. Bad luck to big
Ben Dollard and his John O'Gaunt.407 He put me off it. Ay.
He drank resignedly from his tumbler, running his fingers down the
flutes.
--Ay, he said, sighing.
Mr Bloom, champing, standing, looked upon his sigh. Nosey numbskull. Will
I tell him that horse Lenehan? He knows already. Better let him forget. Go
and lose more. Fool and his money.408 Dewdrop coming down again. Cold nose
he'd have kissing a woman. Still they might like. Prickly beards they like.
Dogs' cold noses. Old Mrs Riordan with the rumbling stomach's Skye terrier
in the City Arms hotel. Molly fondling him in her lap. O, the big doggybow-
wowsywowsy!
Wine soaked and softened rolled pith of bread mustard a moment mawkish
cheese. Nice wine it is. Taste it better because I'm not thirsty. Bath of course
does that. Just a bite or two. Then about six o'clock I can. Six. Six.
Time will
be gone then. She . . .
Mild fire of wine kindled his veins. I wanted that badly. Felt so off col-
our. His eyes unhungrily saw shelves of tins: sardines, gaudy lobsters' claws.
All the odd things people pick up for food. Out of shells, periwinkles with
a pin, off trees, snails out of the ground the French eat, out of the sea
with bait on a hook. Silly fish learn nothing in a thousand years. If you
didn't know risky putting anything into your mouth. Poisonous berries. John-
ny Magories.409 Roundness you think good. Gaudy colour warns you off. One
fellow told another and so on. Try it on the dog first. Led on by the smell
or the look. Tempting fruit. Ice cones. Cream. Instinct. Orangegroves for
instance. Need artificial irrigation. Bleibtreustrasse. Yes but what about
oysters. Unsightly like a clot of phlegm. Filthy shells. Devil to open them
too. Who found them out? Garbage, sewage they feed on. Fizz and Red bank
oysters. Effect on the sexual. Aphrodis. He was in the Red Bank410 this morn-
ing. Was he oysters old fish at table perhaps he young flesh in bed no June
has no ar no oysters.411 But there are people like things high. Tainted game.
Jugged hare.412 First catch your hare.413 Chinese eating eggs fifty years old,
blue and green again.414 Dinner of thirty courses. Each dish harmless might
mix inside. Idea for a poison mystery. That archduke Leopold415 was it no yes
or was it Otto one of those Habsburgs?416 Or who was it used to eat the scruff
off his own head? Cheapest lunch in town. Of course aristocrats, then the
others copy to be in the fashion. Milly too rock oil and flour. Raw pastry I
like myself. Half the catch of oysters they throw back in the sea to keep
up the price.417 Cheap no-one would buy. Caviare. Do the grand. Hock
in green glasses.418 Swell blowout. Lady this. Powdered bosom pearls. The
elite. Creme de la creme. They want special dishes to pretend they're.
Hermit with a platter of pulse419 keep down the stings of the flesh. Know me
come eat with me. Royal sturgeon420 high sheriff, Coffey, the butcher, right
to venisons of the forest from his ex.421 Send him back the half of a cow.
Spread I saw down in the Master of the Rolls'422 kitchen area. Whitehatted
chef like a rabbi.423 Combustible duck.424 Curly cabbage a la Duchesse de
Parme.425 Just as well to write it on the bill of fare so you can know what
you've eaten. Too many drugs spoil the broth. I know it myself. Dosing it with
Edwards' desiccated soup.426 Geese stuffed silly for them.427 Lobsters boiled
alive. Do ptake some ptarmigan. Wouldn't mind being a waiter in a swell
hotel.
Tips, evening dress, halfnaked ladies. May I tempt you to a little more
filleted
lemon sole, miss Dubedat?428 Yes, do bedad. And she did bedad. Huguenot
name429 I expect that. A miss Dubedat lived in Killiney,430 I remember. Du,
de la French. Still it's the same fish perhaps old Micky Hanlon431 of Moore
street ripped the guts out of making money hand over fist finger in fishes'
gills can't write his name on a cheque think he was painting the landscape
with his mouth twisted. Moooikill A Aitcha Ha432 ignorant as a kish of
brogues,433 worth fifty thousand pounds.
Stuck on the pane two flies buzzed, stuck.
Glowing wine on his palate lingered swallowed. Crushing in the winepress
grapes of Burgundy. Sun's heat it is. Seems to a secret touch telling me
memory. Touched his sense moistened remembered. Hidden under wild ferns
on Howth below us bay sleeping: sky. No sound. The sky. The bay purple by
the Lion's head. Green by Drumleck. Yellowgreen towards Sutton.434 Fields
of undersea, the lines faint brown in grass, buried cities.435 Pillowed on my
coat she had her hair, earwigs in the heather scrub my hand under her nape,
you'll toss me all. O wonder! Coolsoft with ointments her hand touched me,
caressed: her eyes upon me did not turn away. Ravished over her I lay, full
lips full open, kissed her mouth. Yum. Softly she gave me in my mouth the
seedcake warm and chewed. Mawkish pulp her mouth had mumbled sweetsour
of her spittle. Joy: I ate it: joy. Young life, her lips that gave me pouting.
Soft warm sticky gumjelly lips. Flowers her eyes were, take me, willing
eyes.
Pebbles fell. She lay still. A goat. No-one. High on Ben Howth rhododendrons
a nannygoat walking surefooted, dropping currants. Screened under ferns
she laughed warmfolded. Wildly I lay on her, kissed her: eyes, her lips,
her
stretched neck beating, woman's breasts full in her blouse of nun's veiling,
fat nipples upright. Hot I tongued her. She kissed me. I was kissed. All
yield-
ing she tossed my hair. Kissed, she kissed me.
Me. And me now.
Stuck, the flies buzzed.
His downcast eyes followed the silent veining of the oaken slab. Beauty:
it curves: curves are beauty. Shapely goddesses, Venus, Juno:436 curves
the world admires. Can see them library museum standing in the round hall,
naked goddesses.437 Aids to digestion. They don't care what man looks.
All to see. Never speaking. I mean to say to fellows like Flynn. Suppose
she did Pygmalion and Galatea438 what would she say first? Mortal! Put you
in your proper place. Quaffing nectar at mess with gods golden dishes,
all ambrosial. Not like a tanner lunch439 we have, boiled mutton, carrots
and turnips, bottle of Allsop.440 Nectar imagine it drinking electricity:
gods' food. Lovely forms of women sculped Junonian. Immortal lovely.
And we stuffing food in one hole441 and out behind: food, chyle, blood,
dung, earth, food: have to feed it like stoking an engine.442 They have no.
Never looked. I'll look today. Keeper won't see. Bend down let something
drop see if she.
Dribbling a quiet message from his bladder came to go to do not to do there
to do. A man and ready he drained his glass to the lees443 and walked, to men
too they gave themselves, manly conscious,444 lay with men lovers, a youth
enjoyed her,445 to the yard.
When the sound of his boots had ceased Davy Byrne said from his book:
--What is this he is? Isn't he in the insurance line?
--He's out of that long ago, Nosey Flynn said. He does canvassing for the
Freeman.
--I know him well to see, Davy Byrne said. Is he in trouble?
--Trouble? Nosey Flynn said. Not that I heard of. Why?
--I noticed he was in mourning.
--Was he? Nosey Flynn said. So he was, faith. I asked him how was all at
home. You're right, by God. So he was.
--I never broach the subject, Davy Byrne said humanely, if I see a gentle-
man is in trouble that way. It only brings it up fresh in their minds.
--It's not the wife anyhow, Nosey Flynn said. I met him the day before
yesterday and he coming out of that Irish farm dairy John Wyse Nolan's
wife has in Henry street446 with a jar of cream in his hand taking it home
to his better half. She's well nourished, I tell you. Plovers on toast.447
--And is he doing for the Freeman? Davy Byrne said.
Nosey Flynn pursed his lips.
---He doesn't buy cream on the ads he picks up. You can make bacon of
that.448
--How so? Davy Byrne asked, coming from his book.
Nosey Flynn made swift passes in the air with juggling fingers. He wink-
ed.
--He's in the craft,449 he said.
---Do you tell me so? Davy Byrne said.
--Very much so, Nosey Flynn said. Ancient free and accepted order. He's
an excellent brother. Light, life and love, by God.450 They give him a leg
up.451 I was told that by a --well, I won't say who.
--Is that a fact?
--O, it's a fine order, Nosey Flynn said. They stick to you when you're down.
I know a fellow was trying to get into it. But they're as close as damn
it.452
By God they did right to keep the women out of it.
Davy Byrne smiledyawnednodded all in one:
--Iiiiiichaaaaaaach!
--There was one woman, Nosey Flynn said, hid herself in a clock to find
out what they do be doing. But be damned but they smelt her out and swore
her in on the spot a master mason. That was one of the saint Legers of
Doneraile.453
Davy Byrne, sated after his yawn, said with tearwashed eyes:
--And is that a fact? Decent quiet man he is. I often saw him in here and I
never once saw him --you know, over the line.
--God Almighty couldn't make him drunk, Nosey Flynn said firmly. Slips off
when the fun gets too hot. Didn't you see him look at his watch? Ah, you
weren't there. If you ask him to have a drink first thing he does he outs
with the watch to see what he ought to imbibe. Declare to God he does.
--There are some like that, Davy Byrne said. He's a safe man, I'd say.454
--He's not too bad, Nosey Flynn said, snuffling it up. He's been known to
put his hand down too to help a fellow. Give the devil his due. O, Bloom
has his good points. But there's one thing he'll never do.
His hand scrawled a dry pen signature beside his grog.
--I know, Davy Byrne said.
--Nothing in black and white,455 Nosey Flynn said.
Paddy Leonard and Bantam Lyons came in. Tom Rochford456 followed frown-
ing, a plaining hand on his claret waistcoat.
--Day, Mr Byrne.
--Day, gentlemen.
They paused at the counter.
--Who's standing? Paddy Leonard asked.
--I'm sitting anyhow, Nosey Flynn answered.
--Well, what'll it be? Paddy Leonard asked.
--I'll take a stone ginger,457 Bantam Lyons said.
--How much? Paddy Leonard cried. Since when, for God' sake? What's yours,
Tom?
--How is the main drainage?458 Nosey Flynn asked, sipping.
For answer Tom Rochford pressed his hand to his breastbone and hiccupp-
ed.
--Would I trouble you for a glass of fresh water, Mr Byrne? he said.
--Certainly, sir.
Paddy Leonard eyed his alemates.
--Lord love a duck, he said. Look at what I'm standing drinks to! Cold
water and gingerpop! Two fellows that would suck whisky off a sore leg.459
He has some bloody horse up his sleeve for the Gold cup. A dead snip.460
--Zinfandel is it? Nosey Flynn asked.
Tom Rochford spilt powder from a twisted paper into the water set before
him.
--That cursed dyspepsia, he said before drinking.
--Breadsoda is very good, Davy Byrne said.
Tom Rochford nodded and drank.
--Is it Zinfandel?
--Say nothing! Bantam Lyons winked. I'm going to plunge five bob on my
own.
--Tell us if you're worth your salt and be damned to you, Paddy Leonard
said. Who gave it to you?
Mr Bloom on his way out raised three fingers in greeting.
--So long! Nosey Flynn said.
The others turned.
--That's the man now that gave it to me, Bantam Lyons whispered.
--Prrwht! Paddy Leonard said with scorn. Mr Byrne, sir, we'll take two of
your small Jamesons461 after that and a . . .
--Stone ginger, Davy Byrne added civilly.
--Ay, Paddy Leonard said. A suckingbottle for the baby.
Mr Bloom walked towards Dawson street,462 his tongue brushing his teeth
smooth. Something green it would have to be: spinach, say. Then with
those Rontgen rays searchlight you could.463
At Duke lane464 a ravenous terrier choked up a sick knuckly cud on the
cobblestones and lapped it with new zest. Surfeit. Returned with thanks
having fully digested the contents. First sweet then savoury. Mr Bloom
coasted warily. Ruminants. His second course. Their upper jaw they move.465
Wonder if Tom Rochford will do anything with that invention of his?466
Wasting time explaining it to Flynn's mouth. Lean people long mouths.
Ought to be a hall or a place where inventors could go in and invent
free. Course then you'd have all the cranks pestering.
He hummed, prolonging in solemn echo the closes of the bars:
Don Giovanni, a cenar teco
M'invitasti.467
Feel better. Burgundy. Good pick me up. Who distilled first?468 Some chap in
the blues.469 Dutch courage.470 That Kilkenny People471 in the national library
now I must.
Bare clean closestools waiting in the window of William Miller, plumber,472
turned back his thoughts. They could: and watch it all the way down, swal-
low a pin sometimes come out of the ribs years after, tour round the body
changing biliary duct spleen squirting liver gastric juice coils of intest-
ines like pipes. But the poor buffer would have to stand all the time
with his insides entrails on show. Science.
--A cenar teco.
What does that teco mean?473 Tonight perhaps.
--Don Giovanni, thou hast me invited
To come to supper tonight,
The rum the rumdum.
Doesn't go properly.
Keyes: two months if I get Nannetti to. That'll be two pounds ten about
two pounds eight. Three Hynes owes me. Two eleven. Prescott's dyeworks
van over there. If I get Billy Prescott's ad:474 two fifteen. Five guineas
about. On the pig's back.475
Could buy one of those silk petticoats for Molly, colour of her new
garters.
Today. Today. Not think.
Tour the south then. What about English wateringplaces? Brighton, Margate.476
Piers by moonlight. Her voice floating out. Those lovely seaside girls.477
Against John Long's a drowsing loafer lounged in heavy thought, gnawing
a crusted knuckle. Handy man wants job. Small wages. Will eat any-
thing.
Mr Bloom turned at Gray's478 confectioner's window of unbought tarts and
passed the reverend Thomas Connellan's bookstore.479 Why I left the Church
of Rome.480 Birds' nest women run him.481 They say they used to give pauper
children soup to change to protestants in the time of the potato blight.482
Society over the way papa went to for the conversion of poor jews.483 Same
bait. Why we left the church of Rome.
A blind stripling stood tapping the curbstone with his slender cane. No
tram in sight. Wants to cross.
--Do you want to cross? Mr Bloom asked.
The blind stripling did not answer. His wallface frowned weakly. He moved
his head uncertainly.
--You're in Dawson street, Mr Bloom said. Molesworth street484 is opposite.
Do you want to cross? There's nothing in the way.
The cane moved out trembling to the left. Mr Bloom's eye followed its line
and saw again the dyeworks' van drawn up before Drago's.485 Where I saw
his brillantined hair just when I was. Horse drooping. Driver in John Long's.
Slaking his drouth.
--There's a van there, Mr Bloom said, but it's not moving. I'll see you
across. Do you want to go to Molesworth street?
--Yes, the stripling answered. South Frederick street.486
--Come, Mr Bloom said.
He touched the thin elbow gently: then took the limp seeing hand to guide
it forward.
Say something to him. Better not do the condescending. They mistrust what
you tell them. Pass a common remark.
--The rain kept off.
No answer.
Stains on his coat. Slobbers his food, I suppose. Tastes all different for
him. Have to be spoonfed first. Like a child's hand, his hand. Like Milly's
was. Sensitive. Sizing me up I daresay from my hand. Wonder if he has a name.
Van. Keep his cane clear of the horse's legs: tired drudge get his doze.
That's right. Clear. Behind a bull: in front of a horse.487
--Thanks, sir.
Knows I'm a man. Voice.
--Right now? First turn to the left.
The blind stripling tapped the curbstone and went on his way, drawing his
cane back, feeling again.
Mr Bloom walked behind the eyeless feet, a flatcut suit of herringbone
tweed. Poor young fellow! How on earth did he know that van was there?
Must have felt it. See things in their forehead perhaps: kind of sense
of volume. Weight or size of it, something blacker than the dark. Wonder
would he feel it if something was removed. Feel a gap. Queer idea of Dub-
lin he must have, tapping his way round by the stones. Could he walk in
a beeline if he hadn't that cane? Bloodless pious face like a fellow going
in to be a priest.
Penrose!488 That was that chap's name.
Look at all the things they can learn to do. Read with their fingers.
Tune pianos. Or we are surprised they have any brains. Why we think a
deformed person or a hunchback clever if he says something we might say.
Of course the other senses are more. Embroider. Plait baskets. People
ought to help. Workbasket I could buy for Molly's birthday. Hates sewing.
Might take an objection. Dark men they call them.489
Sense of smell must be stronger too. Smells on all sides, bunched together.
Each street different smell. Each person too. Then the spring, the summer:
smells. Tastes? They say you can't taste wines with your eyes shut or a
cold in the head. Also smoke in the dark they say get no pleasure.
And with a woman, for instance. More shameless not seeing. That girl pass-
ing the Stewart institution,490 head in the air. Look at me. I have them all
on. Must be strange not to see her. Kind of a form in his mind's eye. The
voice, temperatures: when he touches her with his fingers must almost see
the lines, the curves. His hands on her hair, for instance. Say it was black,
for instance. Good. We call it black. Then passing over her white skin.
Different feel perhaps. Feeling of white.
Postoffice.491 Must answer. Fag today. Send her a postal order two shillings,
half a crown. Accept my little present. Stationer's492 just here too. Wait.
Think over it.
With a gentle finger he felt ever so slowly the hair combed back above his
ears. Again. Fibres of fine fine straw. Then gently his finger felt the skin
of his right cheek. Downy hair there too. Not smooth enough. The belly is
the smoothest. No-one about. There he goes into Frederick street. Perhaps
to Levenston's dancing academy piano.493 Might be settling my braces.
Walking by Doran's publichouse494 he slid his hand between his waistcoat
and trousers and, pulling aside his shirt gently, felt a slack fold of his bel-
ly. But I know it's whitey yellow. Want to try in the dark to see.
He withdrew his hand and pulled his dress to.
Poor fellow! Quite a boy. Terrible. Really terrible. What dreams would he
have, not seeing? Life a dream for him. Where is the justice being born
that way? All those women and children excursion beanfeast burned and
drowned in New York. Holocaust.495 Karma they call that496 transmigra-
tion for sins you did in a past life the reincarnation met him pike hoses.
Dear, dear, dear. Pity, of course: but somehow you can't cotton on to
them someway.
Sir Frederick Falkiner497 going into the freemasons' hall. Solemn as Troy.498
After his good lunch in Earlsfort terrace.499 Old legal cronies cracking a
magnum. Tales of the bench and assizes and annals of the bluecoat school.500
I sentenced him to ten years. I suppose he'd turn up his nose at that stuff
I drank. Vintage wine for them, the year marked on a dusty bottle. Has his
own ideas of justice in the recorder's court.501 Wellmeaning old man. Police
chargesheets crammed with cases get their percentage manufacturing crime.
Sends them to the rightabout.502 The devil on moneylenders. Gave Reuben J. a
great strawcalling.503 Now he's really what they call a dirty jew. Power those
judges have. Crusty old topers in wigs. Bear with a sore paw.504 And may the
Lord have mercy on your soul.505
Hello, placard. Mirus bazaar.506 His Excellency the lord lieutenant. Sixteenth.
Today it is. In aid of funds for Mercer's hospital.507 The Messiah was first
given for that.508 Yes. Handel. What about going out there: Ballsbridge. Drop
in on Keyes.509 No use sticking to him like a leech. Wear out my welcome.
Sure to know someone on the gate.
Mr Bloom came to Kildare street. First I must. Library.510
Straw hat in sunlight. Tan shoes. Turnedup trousers.511 It is. It is.
His heart quopped softly. To the right. Museum. Goddesses. He swerved to the
right.
Is it? Almost certain. Won't look. Wine in my face. Why did I? Too heady.
Yes, it is. The walk. Not see. Get on.
Making for the museum gate with long windy steps he lifted his eyes. Hand-
some building. Sir Thomas Deane designed.512 Not following me?
Didn't see me perhaps. Light in his eyes.
The flutter of his breath came forth in short sighs. Quick. Cold statues:
quiet there. Safe in a minute.513
No. Didn't see me. After two. Just at the gate.
My heart!
His eyes beating looked steadfastly at cream curves of stone. Sir Thomas Deane
was the Greek architecture.514
Look for something I.
His hasty hand went quick into a pocket, took out, read unfolded Agendath
Netaim.515
Where did I?
Busy looking.
He thrust back quick Agendath.
Afternoon she said.
I am looking for that. Yes, that. Try all pockets. Handker. Freeman. Where did
I? Ah, yes. Trousers. Potato. Purse. Where?
Hurry. Walk quietly. Moment more. My heart.
His hand looking for the where did I put found in his hip pocket soap lotion have
to call tepid paper stuck. Ah soap there I yes. Gate.
Safe!
* * * * *