No More Learning

Married.

ZOE: It was a commercial traveller married her and took her away with
him.

FLORRY: _(Nods)_ Mr Lambe from London.

STEPHEN: Lamb of London, who takest away the sins of our world.

LYNCH: _(Embracing Kitty on the sofa, chants deeply) Dona nobis pacem. _

_(The cigarette slips from Stephen 's fingers. Bloom picks it up and
throws it in the grate. )_

BLOOM: Don't smoke. You ought to eat. Cursed dog I met. _(To Zoe)_ You
have nothing?

ZOE: Is he hungry?

STEPHEN: _(Extends his hand to her smiling and chants to the air of the
bloodoath in the_ Dusk of the Gods)

Hangende Hunger,
Fragende Frau,
Macht uns alle kaputt.


ZOE: _(Tragically)_ Hamlet, I am thy father's gimlet! _(She takes
his hand)_ Blue eyes beauty I'll read your hand. _(She points to his
forehead)_ No wit, no wrinkles. _(She counts)_ Two, three, Mars, that's
courage. _(Stephen shakes his head)_ No kid.

LYNCH: Sheet lightning courage. The youth who could not shiver and
shake. _(To Zoe)_ Who taught you palmistry?

ZOE: _(Turns)_ Ask my ballocks that I haven't got. _(To Stephen)_ I see
it in your face. The eye, like that. _(She frowns with lowered head)_

LYNCH: _(Laughing, slaps Kitty behind twice)_ Like that. Pandybat.

_(Twice loudly a pandybat cracks, the coffin of the pianola flies open,
the bald little round jack-in-the-box head of Father Dolan springs up. )_

FATHER DOLAN: Any boy want flogging? Broke his glasses? Lazy idle little
schemer. See it in your eye.

_(Mild, benign, rectorial, reproving, the head of Don John Conmee rises
from the pianola coffin. )_

DON JOHN CONMEE: Now, Father Dolan! Now. I'm sure that Stephen is a very
good little boy!

ZOE: _(Examining Stephen's palm)_ Woman's hand.

STEPHEN: _(Murmurs)_ Continue. Lie. Hold me. Caress. I never could read
His handwriting except His criminal thumbprint on the haddock.

ZOE: What day were you born?

STEPHEN: Thursday. Today.

ZOE: Thursday's child has far to go. _(She traces lines on his hand)_
Line of fate. Influential friends.

FLORRY: _(Pointing)_ Imagination.

ZOE: Mount of the moon. You'll meet with a. . . _(She peers at his hands
abruptly)_ I won't tell you what's not good for you. Or do you want to
know?

BLOOM: _(Detaches her fingers and offers his palm)_ More harm than good.
Here. Read mine.

BELLA: Show. _(She turns up bloom's hand)_ I thought so. Knobby knuckles
for the women.

ZOE: _(Peering at bloom's palm)_ Gridiron. Travels beyond the sea and
marry money.

BLOOM: Wrong.

ZOE: _(Quickly)_ O, I see. Short little finger. Henpecked husband. That
wrong?

_(Black Liz, a huge rooster hatching in a chalked circle, rises,
stretches her wings and clucks. )_

BLACK LIZ: Gara. Klook. Klook. Klook.

_(She sidles from her newlaid egg and waddles off)_

BLOOM: _(Points to his hand)_ That weal there is an accident. Fell and
cut it twentytwo years ago. I was sixteen.

ZOE: I see, says the blind man. Tell us news.

STEPHEN: See? Moves to one great goal. I am twentytwo. Sixteen years ago
he was twentytwo too. Sixteen years ago I twentytwo tumbled. Twentytwo
years ago he sixteen fell off his hobbyhorse. _(He winces)_ Hurt my hand
somewhere. Must see a dentist. Money?

_(Zoe whispers to Florry. They giggle. Bloom releases his hand and
writes idly on the table in backhand, pencilling slow curves. )_

FLORRY: What?

_(A hackneycar, number three hundred and twentyfour, with a
gallantbuttocked mare, driven by James Barton, Harmony Avenue,
Donnybrook, trots past. Blazes Boylan and Lenehan sprawl swaying on the
sideseats. The Ormond boots crouches behind on the axle. Sadly over the
crossblind Lydia Douce and Mina Kennedy gaze. )_

THE BOOTS: _(Jogging, mocks them with thumb and wriggling wormfingers)_
Haw haw have you the horn?

_(Bronze by gold they whisper. )_

ZOE: _(To Florry)_ Whisper.

_(They whisper again)_

_(Over the well of the car Blazes Boylan leans, his boater straw set
sideways, a red flower in his mouth. Lenehan in yachtsman's cap and
white shoes officiously detaches a long hair from Blazes Boylan's coat
shoulder. )_

LENEHAN: Ho! What do I here behold? Were you brushing the cobwebs off a
few quims?

BOYLAN: _(Seated, smiles)_ Plucking a turkey.

LENEHAN: A good night's work.

BOYLAN: _(Holding up four thick bluntungulated fingers, winks)_ Blazes
Kate! Up to sample or your money back. _(He holds out a forefinger)_
Smell that.

LENEHAN: _(Smells gleefully)_ Ah! Lobster and mayonnaise. Ah!

ZOE AND FLORRY: _(Laugh together)_ Ha ha ha ha.

BOYLAN: _(Jumps surely from the car and calls loudly for all to hear)_
Hello, Bloom! Mrs Bloom dressed yet?

BLOOM: _(In flunkey's prune plush coat and kneebreeches, buff stockings
and powdered wig)_ I'm afraid not, sir. The last articles. . .

BOYLAN: _(Tosses him sixpence)_ Here, to buy yourself a gin and splash.
_(He hangs his hat smartly on a peg of Bloom's antlered head)_ Show me
in. I have a little private business with your wife, you understand?

BLOOM: Thank you, sir. Yes, sir. Madam Tweedy is in her bath, sir.

MARION: He ought to feel himself highly honoured. _(She plops splashing
out of the water)_ Raoul darling, come and dry me. I'm in my pelt. Only
my new hat and a carriage sponge.

BOYLAN: _(A merry twinkle in his eye)_ Topping!

BELLA: What? What is it?

_(Zoe whispers to her. )_

MARION: Let him look, the pishogue! Pimp! And scourge himself! I'll
write to a powerful prostitute or Bartholomona, the bearded woman, to
raise weals out on him an inch thick and make him bring me back a signed
and stamped receipt.

BOYLAN: (clasps himself) Here, I can't hold this little lot much longer.
(he strides off on stiff cavalry legs)

BELLA: _(Laughing)_ Ho ho ho ho.

BOYLAN: _(To Bloom, over his shoulder)_ You can apply your eye to the
keyhole and play with yourself while I just go through her a few times.

BLOOM: Thank you, sir. I will, sir. May I bring two men chums to witness
the deed and take a snapshot? _(He holds out an ointment jar)_ Vaseline,
sir? Orangeflower. . . ? Lukewarm water. . . ?

KITTY: _(From the sofa)_ Tell us, Florry. Tell us. What.

_(Florry whispers to her. Whispering lovewords murmur, liplapping
loudly, poppysmic plopslop. )_

MINA KENNEDY: _(Her eyes upturned)_ O, it must be like the scent of
geraniums and lovely peaches! O, he simply idolises every bit of her!
Stuck together! Covered with kisses!

LYDIA DOUCE: _(Her mouth opening)_ Yumyum. O, he's carrying her round
the room doing it! Ride a cockhorse. You could hear them in Paris and
New York. Like mouthfuls of strawberries and cream.

KITTY: _(Laughing)_ Hee hee hee.

BOYLAN'S VOICE: _(Sweetly, hoarsely, in the pit of his stomach)_ Ah!
Gooblazqruk brukarchkrasht!

MARION'S VOICE: _(Hoarsely, sweetly, rising to her throat)_ O!
Weeshwashtkissinapooisthnapoohuck?

BLOOM: _(His eyes wildly dilated, clasps himself)_ Show! Hide! Show!
Plough her! More! Shoot!

BELLA, ZOE, FLORRY, KITTY: Ho ho! Ha ha! Hee hee!

LYNCH: _(Points)_ The mirror up to nature. _(He laughs)_ Hu hu hu hu hu!

_(Stephen and Bloom gaze in the mirror. The face of William Shakespeare,
beardless, appears there, rigid in facial paralysis, crowned by the
reflection of the reindeer antlered hatrack in the hall. )_

SHAKESPEARE: _(In dignified ventriloquy)_ 'Tis the loud laugh bespeaks
the vacant mind. _(To Bloom)_ Thou thoughtest as how thou wastest
invisible. Gaze. _(He crows with a black capon's laugh)_ Iagogo! How my
Oldfellow chokit his Thursdaymornun. Iagogogo!

BLOOM: _(Smiles yellowly at the three whores)_ When will I hear the
joke?

ZOE: Before you're twice married and once a widower.

BLOOM: Lapses are condoned. Even the great Napoleon when measurements
were taken next the skin after his death. . .

_(Mrs Dignam, widow woman, her snubnose and cheeks flushed with
deathtalk, tears and Tunney's tawny sherry, hurries by in her weeds,
her bonnet awry, rouging and powdering her cheeks, lips and nose, a
pen chivvying her brood of cygnets. Beneath her skirt appear her late
husband's everyday trousers and turnedup boots, large eights. She holds
a Scottish widows' insurance policy and a large marquee umbrella under
which her brood run with her, Patsy hopping on one shod foot, his collar
loose, a hank of porksteaks dangling, freddy whimpering, Susy with a
crying cod's mouth, Alice struggling with the baby. She cuffs them on,
her streamers flaunting aloft. )_

FREDDY: Ah, ma, you're dragging me along!

SUSY: Mamma, the beeftea is fizzing over!
SHAKESPEARE: _(With paralytic rage)_ Weda seca whokilla farst.

_(The face of Martin Cunningham, bearded, refeatures Shakespeare's
beardless face. The marquee umbrella sways drunkenly, the children run
aside. Under the umbrella appears Mrs Cunningham in Merry Widow hat and
kimono gown. She glides sidling and bowing, twirling japanesily. )_

MRS CUNNINGHAM: _(Sings)_

And they call me the jewel of Asia!

MARTIN CUNNINGHAM: _(Gazes on her, impassive)_ Immense! Most bloody
awful demirep!

STEPHEN: _Et exaltabuntur cornua iusti. _ Queens lay with prize bulls.
Remember Pasiphae for whose lust my grandoldgrossfather made the first
confessionbox. Forget not Madam Grissel Steevens nor the suine scions
of the house of Lambert. And Noah was drunk with wine. And his ark was
open.

BELLA: None of that here. Come to the wrong shop.

LYNCH: Let him alone. He's back from Paris.

ZOE: _(Runs to stephen and links him)_ O go on! Give us some parleyvoo.

_(Stephen claps hat on head and leaps over to the fireplace where he
stands with shrugged shoulders, finny hands outspread, a painted smile
on his face. )_

LYNCH: _(Oommelling on the sofa)_ Rmm Rmm Rmm Rrrrrrmmmm.

STEPHEN: _(Gabbles with marionette jerks)_ Thousand places of
entertainment to expense your evenings with lovely ladies saling gloves
and other things perhaps hers heart beerchops perfect fashionable
house very eccentric where lots cocottes beautiful dressed much about
princesses like are dancing cancan and walking there parisian clowneries
extra foolish for bachelors foreigns the same if talking a poor english
how much smart they are on things love and sensations voluptuous.
Misters very selects for is pleasure must to visit heaven and hell show
with mortuary candles and they tears silver which occur every night.
Perfectly shocking terrific of religion's things mockery seen in
universal world. All chic womans which arrive full of modesty then
disrobe and squeal loud to see vampire man debauch nun very fresh young
with _dessous troublants_. _(He clacks his tongue loudly)_ _Ho, la la!
Ce pif qu'il a! _

LYNCH: _Vive le vampire! _

THE WHORES: Bravo! Parleyvoo!

STEPHEN: _(Grimacing with head back, laughs loudly, clapping himself)_
Great success of laughing. Angels much prostitutes like and holy
apostles big damn ruffians. _Demimondaines_ nicely handsome sparkling of
diamonds very amiable costumed. Or do you are fond better what belongs
they moderns pleasure turpitude of old mans? _(He points about him with
grotesque gestures which Lynch and the whores reply to)_ Caoutchouc
statue woman reversible or lifesize tompeeptom of virgins nudities very
lesbic the kiss five ten times. Enter, gentleman, to see in mirror every
positions trapezes all that machine there besides also if desire act
awfully bestial butcher's boy pollutes in warm veal liver or omlet on
the belly _piece de Shakespeare. _

BELLA: _(Clapping her belly sinks back on the sofa, with a shout of
laughter)_ An omelette on the. . . Ho! ho! ho! ho! . . . omelette on the. . .

STEPHEN: _(Mincingly)_ I love you, sir darling. Speak you englishman
tongue for _double entente cordiale. _ O yes, _mon loup_. How much cost?
Waterloo. Watercloset. _(He ceases suddenly and holds up a forefinger)_

BELLA: _(Laughing)_ Omelette. . .

THE WHORES: _(Laughing)_ Encore! Encore!

STEPHEN: Mark me. I dreamt of a watermelon.

ZOE: Go abroad and love a foreign lady.

LYNCH: Across the world for a wife.

FLORRY: Dreams goes by contraries.

STEPHEN: _(Extends his arms)_ It was here. Street of harlots. In
Serpentine avenue Beelzebub showed me her, a fubsy widow. Where's the
red carpet spread?

BLOOM: _(Approaching Stephen)_ Look. . .

STEPHEN: No, I flew. My foes beneath me. And ever shall be. World
without end. _(He cries) P_ater! Free!

BLOOM: I say, look. . .

STEPHEN: Break my spirit, will he? _O merde alors! (He cries, his
vulture talons sharpened)_ Hola! Hillyho!

_(Simon Dedalus' voice hilloes in answer, somewhat sleepy but ready. )_

SIMON: That's all right. _(He swoops uncertainly through the air,
wheeling, uttering cries of heartening, on strong ponderous buzzard
wings)_ Ho, boy! Are you going to win? Hoop! Pschatt! Stable with those
halfcastes. Wouldn't let them within the bawl of an ass. Head up! Keep
our flag flying! An eagle gules volant in a field argent displayed.
Ulster king at arms! Haihoop! _(He makes the beagle's call, giving
tongue)_ Bulbul! Burblblburblbl! Hai, boy!

_(The fronds and spaces of the wallpaper file rapidly across country.
A stout fox, drawn from covert, brush pointed, having buried his
grandmother, runs swift for the open, brighteyed, seeking badger earth,
under the leaves. The pack of staghounds follows, nose to the ground,
sniffing their quarry, beaglebaying, burblbrbling to be blooded. Ward
Union huntsmen and huntswomen live with them, hot for a kill. From Six
Mile Point, Flathouse, Nine Mile Stone follow the footpeople with knotty
sticks, hayforks, salmongaffs, lassos, flockmasters with stockwhips,
bearbaiters with tomtoms, toreadors with bullswords, greynegroes
waving torches. The crowd bawls of dicers, crown and anchor players,
thimbleriggers, broadsmen. Crows and touts, hoarse bookies in high
wizard hats clamour deafeningly. )_

THE CROWD:

Card of the races. Racing card!
Ten to one the field!
Tommy on the clay here! Tommy on the clay!
Ten to one bar one! Ten to one bar one!
Try your luck on Spinning Jenny!
Ten to one bar one!
Sell the monkey, boys! Sell the monkey!
I'll give ten to one!
Ten to one bar one!

_(A dark horse, riderless, bolts like a phantom past the winningpost,
his mane moonfoaming, his eyeballs stars. The field follows, a bunch of
bucking mounts. Skeleton horses, Sceptre, Maximum the Second, Zinfandel,
the Duke of Westminster's Shotover, Repulse, the Duke of Beaufort's
Ceylon, prix de Paris. Dwarfs ride them, rustyarmoured, leaping, leaping
in their, in their saddles. Last in a drizzle of rain on a brokenwinded
isabelle nag, Cock of the North, the favourite, honey cap, green jacket,
orange sleeves, Garrett Deasy up, gripping the reins, a hockeystick at
the ready. His nag on spavined whitegaitered feet jogs along the rocky
road. )_

THE ORANGE LODGES: _(Jeering)_ Get down and push, mister. Last lap!
You'll be home the night!

GARRETT DEASY: _(Bolt upright, his nailscraped face plastered with
postagestamps, brandishes his hockeystick, his blue eyes flashing in the
prism of the chandelier as his mount lopes by at schooling gallop)_

_Per vias rectas! _

_(A yoke of buckets leopards all over him and his rearing nag a torrent
of mutton broth with dancing coins of carrots, barley, onions, turnips,
potatoes. )_

THE GREEN LODGES: Soft day, sir John! Soft day, your honour!

_(Private Carr, Private Compton and Cissy Caffrey pass beneath the
windows, singing in discord. )_

STEPHEN: Hark! Our friend noise in the street.

ZOE: _(Holds up her hand)_ Stop!

PRIVATE CARR, PRIVATE COMPTON AND CISSY CAFFREY:

Yet I've a sort a Yorkshire relish for. . .

ZOE: That's me. _(She claps her hands)_ Dance! Dance! _(She runs to the
pianola)_ Who has twopence?

BLOOM: Who'll. . . ?

LYNCH: _(Handing her coins)_ Here.

STEPHEN: _(Cracking his fingers impatiently)_ Quick! Quick! Where's my
augur's rod? _(He runs to the piano and takes his ashplant, beating his
foot in tripudium)_

ZOE: _(Turns the drumhandle)_ There.

_(She drops two pennies in the slot. Gold, pink and violet lights
start forth. The drum turns purring in low hesitation waltz. Professor
Goodwin, in a bowknotted periwig, in court dress, wearing a stained
inverness cape, bent in two from incredible age, totters across the
room, his hands fluttering. He sits tinily on the pianostool and lifts
and beats handless sticks of arms on the keyboard, nodding with damsel's
grace, his bowknot bobbing)_

ZOE: _(Twirls round herself, heeltapping)_ Dance. Anybody here for
there? Who'll dance? Clear the table.

_(The pianola with changing lights plays in waltz time the prelude of_
My Girl's a Yorkshire Girl. _Stephen throws his ashplant on the table
and seizes Zoe round the waist. Florry and Bella push the table towards
the fireplace. Stephen, arming Zoe with exaggerated grace, begins to
waltz her round the room. Bloom stands aside. Her sleeve filling from
gracing arms reveals a white fleshflower of vaccination. Between the
curtains Professor Maginni inserts a leg on the toepoint of which spins
a silk hat. With a deft kick he sends it spinning to his crown and
jauntyhatted skates in. He wears a slate frockcoat with claret silk
lapels, a gorget of cream tulle, a green lowcut waistcoat, stock collar
with white kerchief, tight lavender trousers, patent pumps and canary
gloves. In his buttonhole is an immense dahlia. He twirls in reversed
directions a clouded cane, then wedges it tight in his oxter. He places
a hand lightly on his breastbone, bows, and fondles his flower and
buttons. )_

MAGINNI: The poetry of motion, art of calisthenics. No connection
with Madam Legget Byrne's or Levenston's. Fancy dress balls arranged.
Deportment. The Katty Lanner step. So. Watch me! My terpsichorean
abilities. _(He minuets forward three paces on tripping bee's feet) Tout
le monde en avant! Reverence! Tout le monde en place! _

_(The prelude ceases. Professor Goodwin, beating vague arms shrivels,
sinks, his live cape filling about the stool. The air in firmer waltz
time sounds. Stephen and Zoe circle freely. The lights change, glow,
fide gold rosy violet. )_

THE PIANOLA:

Two young fellows were talking about their girls, girls, girls,
Sweethearts they'd left behind. . .

_(From a corner the morning hours run out, goldhaired, slimsandalled,
in girlish blue, waspwaisted, with innocent hands. Nimbly they dance,
twirling their skipping ropes. The hours of noon follow in amber gold.
Laughing, linked, high haircombs flashing, they catch the sun in mocking
mirrors, lifting their arms. )_

MAGINNI: _(Clipclaps glovesilent hands) Carre! Avant deux! _ Breathe
evenly!