No More Learning

Tight boots? No. She's lame! O!

Mr Bloom watched her as she limped away. Poor girl! That's why she's
left on the shelf and the others did a sprint. Thought something was
wrong by the cut of her jib. Jilted beauty. A defect is ten times worse
in a woman. But makes them polite. Glad I didn't know it when she was on
show. Hot little devil all the same. I wouldn't mind. Curiosity like a
nun or a negress or a girl with glasses. That squinty one is delicate.
Near her monthlies, I expect, makes them feel ticklish. I have such
a bad headache today. Where did I put the letter? Yes, all right. All
kinds of crazy longings. Licking pennies. Girl in Tranquilla convent
that nun told me liked to smell rock oil. Virgins go mad in the end I
suppose. Sister? How many women in Dublin have it today? Martha, she.
Something in the air. That's the moon. But then why don't all women
menstruate at the same time with the same moon, I mean? Depends on the
time they were born I suppose. Or all start scratch then get out of
step. Sometimes Molly and Milly together. Anyhow I got the best of that.
Damned glad I didn't do it in the bath this morning over her silly I
will punish you letter. Made up for that tramdriver this morning. That
gouger M'Coy stopping me to say nothing. And his wife engagement in the
country valise, voice like a pickaxe. Thankful for small mercies.
Cheap too. Yours for the asking. Because they want it themselves. Their
natural craving. Shoals of them every evening poured out of offices.
Reserve better. Don't want it they throw it at you. Catch em alive, O.
Pity they can't see themselves. A dream of wellfilled hose. Where was
that? Ah, yes. Mutoscope pictures in Capel street: for men only. Peeping
Tom. Willy's hat and what the girls did with it. Do they snapshot those
girls or is it all a fake? _Lingerie_ does it. Felt for the curves
inside her _deshabille. _ Excites them also when they're. I'm all clean
come and dirty me. And they like dressing one another for the sacrifice.
Milly delighted with Molly's new blouse. At first. Put them all on to
take them all off. Molly. Why I bought her the violet garters. Us too:
the tie he wore, his lovely socks and turnedup trousers. He wore a pair
of gaiters the night that first we met. His lovely shirt was shining
beneath his what? of jet. Say a woman loses a charm with every pin she
takes out. Pinned together. O, Mairy lost the pin of her. Dressed up to
the nines for somebody. Fashion part of their charm. Just changes when
you're on the track of the secret. Except the east: Mary, Martha: now as
then. No reasonable offer refused. She wasn't in a hurry either. Always
off to a fellow when they are. They never forget an appointment. Out on
spec probably. They believe in chance because like themselves. And the
others inclined to give her an odd dig. Girl friends at school, arms
round each other's necks or with ten fingers locked, kissing and
whispering secrets about nothing in the convent garden. Nuns with
whitewashed faces, cool coifs and their rosaries going up and down,
vindictive too for what they can't get. Barbed wire. Be sure now and
write to me. And I'll write to you. Now won't you? Molly and Josie
Powell. Till Mr Right comes along, then meet once in a blue moon.
_Tableau! _ O, look who it is for the love of God! How are you at all?
What have you been doing with yourself? Kiss and delighted to, kiss,
to see you. Picking holes in each other's appearance. You're looking
splendid. Sister souls. Showing their teeth at one another. How many
have you left? Wouldn't lend each other a pinch of salt.

Ah!

Devils they are when that's coming on them. Dark devilish appearance.
Molly often told me feel things a ton weight. Scratch the sole of my
foot. O that way! O, that's exquisite! Feel it myself too. Good to rest
once in a way. Wonder if it's bad to go with them then. Safe in one way.
Turns milk, makes fiddlestrings snap. Something about withering plants I
read in a garden. Besides they say if the flower withers she wears she's
a flirt. All are. Daresay she felt 1. When you feel like that you often
meet what you feel. Liked me or what? Dress they look at. Always know a
fellow courting: collars and cuffs. Well cocks and lions do the same
and stags. Same time might prefer a tie undone or something. Trousers?
Suppose I when I was? No. Gently does it. Dislike rough and tumble. Kiss
in the dark and never tell. Saw something in me. Wonder what. Sooner
have me as I am than some poet chap with bearsgrease plastery hair,
lovelock over his dexter optic. To aid gentleman in literary. Ought to
attend to my appearance my age. Didn't let her see me in profile. Still,
you never know. Pretty girls and ugly men marrying. Beauty and the
beast. Besides I can't be so if Molly. Took off her hat to show her
hair. Wide brim. Bought to hide her face, meeting someone might know
her, bend down or carry a bunch of flowers to smell. Hair strong in rut.
Ten bob I got for Molly's combings when we were on the rocks in Holles
street. Why not? Suppose he gave her money. Why not? All a prejudice.
She's worth ten, fifteen, more, a pound. What? I think so. All that for
nothing. Bold hand: Mrs Marion. Did I forget to write address on
that letter like the postcard I sent to Flynn? And the day I went to
Drimmie's without a necktie. Wrangle with Molly it was put me off. No,
I remember. Richie Goulding: he's another. Weighs on his mind. Funny
my watch stopped at half past four. Dust. Shark liver oil they use to
clean. Could do it myself. Save. Was that just when he, she?

O, he did. Into her. She did. Done.

Ah!

Mr Bloom with careful hand recomposed his wet shirt. O Lord, that little
limping devil. Begins to feel cold and clammy. Aftereffect not pleasant.
Still you have to get rid of it someway. They don't care. Complimented
perhaps. Go home to nicey bread and milky and say night prayers with the
kiddies. Well, aren't they? See her as she is spoil all. Must have
the stage setting, the rouge, costume, position, music. The name too.
_Amours_ of actresses. Nell Gwynn, Mrs Bracegirdle, Maud Branscombe.
Curtain up. Moonlight silver effulgence. Maiden discovered with pensive
bosom. Little sweetheart come and kiss me. Still, I feel. The strength
it gives a man. That's the secret of it. Good job I let off there behind
the wall coming out of Dignam's. Cider that was. Otherwise I couldn't
have. Makes you want to sing after. _Lacaus esant taratara_. Suppose I
spoke to her. What about? Bad plan however if you don't know how to end
the conversation.
Ask them a question they ask you another. Good idea if
you're stuck. Gain time. But then you're in a cart. Wonderful of course
if you say: good evening, and you see she's on for it: good evening. O
but the dark evening in the Appian way I nearly spoke to Mrs Clinch O
thinking she was. Whew! Girl in Meath street that night. All the dirty
things I made her say. All wrong of course. My arks she called it. It's
so hard to find one who. Aho! If you don't answer when they solicit must
be horrible for them till they harden. And kissed my hand when I gave
her the extra two shillings. Parrots. Press the button and the bird will
squeak. Wish she hadn't called me sir. O, her mouth in the dark! And you
a married man with a single girl! That's what they enjoy. Taking a man
from another woman. Or even hear of it. Different with me. Glad to get
away from other chap's wife. Eating off his cold plate. Chap in the
Burton today spitting back gumchewed gristle. French letter still in
my pocketbook. Cause of half the trouble. But might happen sometime,
I don't think. Come in, all is prepared. I dreamt. What? Worst is
beginning. How they change the venue when it's not what they like. Ask
you do you like mushrooms because she once knew a gentleman who. Or ask
you what someone was going to say when he changed his mind and stopped.
Yet if I went the whole hog, say: I want to, something like that.
Because I did. She too. Offend her. Then make it up. Pretend to want
something awfully, then cry off for her sake. Flatters them. She must
have been thinking of someone else all the time. What harm? Must since
she came to the use of reason, he, he and he. First kiss does the trick.
The propitious moment. Something inside them goes pop. Mushy like, tell
by their eye, on the sly. First thoughts are best. Remember that till
their dying day. Molly, lieutenant Mulvey that kissed her under the
Moorish wall beside the gardens. Fifteen she told me. But her breasts
were developed. Fell asleep then. After Glencree dinner that was when we
drove home. Featherbed mountain. Gnashing her teeth in sleep. Lord mayor
had his eye on her too. Val Dillon. Apoplectic.

There she is with them down there for the fireworks. My fireworks. Up
like a rocket, down like a stick. And the children, twins they must
be, waiting for something to happen. Want to be grownups. Dressing in
mother's clothes. Time enough, understand all the ways of the world. And
the dark one with the mop head and the nigger mouth. I knew she could
whistle. Mouth made for that. Like Molly. Why that highclass whore in
Jammet's wore her veil only to her nose. Would you mind, please, telling
me the right time? I'll tell you the right time up a dark lane.
Say prunes and prisms forty times every morning, cure for fat lips.
Caressing the little boy too. Onlookers see most of the game. Of course
they understand birds, animals, babies. In their line.

Didn't look back when she was going down the strand. Wouldn't give that
satisfaction. Those girls, those girls, those lovely seaside girls. Fine
eyes she had, clear. It's the white of the eye brings that out not so
much the pupil. Did she know what I? Course. Like a cat sitting beyond
a dog's jump. Women never meet one like that Wilkins in the high school
drawing a picture of Venus with all his belongings on show. Call that
innocence? Poor idiot! His wife has her work cut out for her. Never see
them sit on a bench marked _Wet Paint_. Eyes all over them. Look under
the bed for what's not there. Longing to get the fright of their lives.
Sharp as needles they are. When I said to Molly the man at the corner of
Cuffe street was goodlooking, thought she might like, twigged at once he
had a false arm. Had, too. Where do they get that? Typist going up Roger
Greene's stairs two at a time to show her understandings. Handed down
from father to, mother to daughter, I mean. Bred in the bone. Milly for
example drying her handkerchief on the mirror to save the ironing. Best
place for an ad to catch a woman's eye on a mirror. And when I sent
her for Molly's Paisley shawl to Prescott's by the way that ad I must,
carrying home the change in her stocking! Clever little minx. I never
told her. Neat way she carries parcels too. Attract men, small thing
like that. Holding up her hand, shaking it, to let the blood flow back
when it was red. Who did you learn that from? Nobody. Something the
nurse taught me. O, don't they know! Three years old she was in front of
Molly's dressingtable, just before we left Lombard street west. Me have
a nice pace. Mullingar. Who knows? Ways of the world. Young student.
Straight on her pins anyway not like the other. Still she was game.
Lord, I am wet. Devil you are. Swell of her calf. Transparent stockings,
stretched to breaking point. Not like that frump today. A. E. Rumpled
stockings. Or the one in Grafton street. White. Wow! Beef to the heel.

A monkey puzzle rocket burst, spluttering in darting crackles. Zrads and
zrads, zrads, zrads. And Cissy and Tommy and Jacky ran out to see and
Edy after with the pushcar and then Gerty beyond the curve of the rocks.
Will she? Watch! Watch! See! Looked round. She smelt an onion. Darling,
I saw, your. I saw all.

Lord!

Did me good all the same. Off colour after Kiernan's, Dignam's. For
this relief much thanks. In _Hamlet,_ that is. Lord! It was all things
combined. Excitement. When she leaned back, felt an ache at the butt
of my tongue. Your head it simply swirls. He's right. Might have made a
worse fool of myself however. Instead of talking about nothing. Then
I will tell you all. Still it was a kind of language between us. It
couldn't be? No, Gerty they called her. Might be false name however like
my name and the address Dolphin's barn a blind.

_Her maiden name was Jemina Brown And she lived with her mother in
Irishtown. _

Place made me think of that I suppose. All tarred with the same brush
Wiping pens in their stockings. But the ball rolled down to her as if
it understood. Every bullet has its billet. Course I never could throw
anything straight at school. Crooked as a ram's horn. Sad however
because it lasts only a few years till they settle down to potwalloping
and papa's pants will soon fit Willy and fuller's earth for the baby
when they hold him out to do ah ah. No soft job. Saves them. Keeps
them out of harm's way. Nature. Washing child, washing corpse. Dignam.
Children's hands always round them. Cocoanut skulls, monkeys, not even
closed at first, sour milk in their swaddles and tainted curds. Oughtn't
to have given that child an empty teat to suck. Fill it up with wind.
Mrs Beaufoy, Purefoy. Must call to the hospital. Wonder is nurse Callan
there still. She used to look over some nights when Molly was in the
Coffee Palace. That young doctor O'Hare I noticed her brushing his coat.
And Mrs Breen and Mrs Dignam once like that too, marriageable. Worst
of all at night Mrs Duggan told me in the City Arms. Husband rolling in
drunk, stink of pub off him like a polecat. Have that in your nose in
the dark, whiff of stale boose. Then ask in the morning: was I drunk
last night? Bad policy however to fault the husband. Chickens come home
to roost. They stick by one another like glue. Maybe the women's fault
also. That's where Molly can knock spots off them. It's the blood of the
south. Moorish.