_(The trick
doorhandle
turns.
James Joyce - Ulysses
Dear Ger, that you?
O dear, he is
Gerald. O, I much fear he shall be most badly burned. Will some pleashe
pershon not now impediment so catastrophics mit agitation of firstclass
tablenumpkin? _(He mews)_ Puss puss puss puss! _(He sighs, draws back
and stares sideways down with dropping underjaw)_ Well, well. He doth
rest anon. (He snaps his jaws suddenly on the air)
THE MOTH:
I'm a tiny tiny thing
Ever flying in the spring
Round and round a ringaring.
Long ago I was a king
Now I do this kind of thing
On the wing, on the wing!
Bing!
_(He rushes against the mauve shade, flapping noisily)_ Pretty pretty
pretty pretty pretty pretty petticoats.
_(From left upper entrance with two gliding steps Henry Flower comes
forward to left front centre. He wears a dark mantle and drooping plumed
sombrero. He carries a silverstringed inlaid dulcimer and a longstemmed
bamboo Jacob's pipe, its clay bowl fashioned as a female head. He wears
dark velvet hose and silverbuckled pumps. He has the romantic Saviour's
face with flowing locks, thin beard and moustache. His spindlelegs and
sparrow feet are those of the tenor Mario, prince of Candia. He settles
down his goffered ruffs and moistens his lips with a passage of his
amorous tongue. )_
HENRY: _(In a low dulcet voice, touching the strings of his guitar)_
There is a flower that bloometh.
_(Virag truculent, his jowl set, stares at the lamp. Grave Bloom regards
Zoe's neck. Henry gallant turns with pendant dewlap to the piano. )_
STEPHEN: _(To himself)_ Play with your eyes shut. Imitate pa. Filling my
belly with husks of swine. Too much of this. I will arise and go to my.
Expect this is the. Steve, thou art in a parlous way. Must visit old
Deasy or telegraph. Our interview of this morning has left on me a deep
impression. Though our ages. Will write fully tomorrow. I'm partially
drunk, by the way. _(He touches the keys again)_ Minor chord comes now.
Yes. Not much however.
_(Almidano Artifoni holds out a batonroll of music with vigorous
moustachework. )_
ARTIFONI: _Ci rifletta. Lei rovina tutto. _
FLORRY: Sing us something. Love's old sweet song.
STEPHEN: No voice. I am a most finished artist. Lynch, did I show you
the letter about the lute?
FLORRY: _(Smirking)_ The bird that can sing and won't sing.
_(The Siamese twins, Philip Drunk and Philip Sober, two Oxford dons with
lawnmowers, appear in the window embrasure. Both are masked with Matthew
Arnold's face. )_
PHILIP SOBER: Take a fool's advice. All is not well. Work it out with
the buttend of a pencil, like a good young idiot. Three pounds twelve
you got, two notes, one sovereign, two crowns, if youth but knew.
Mooney's en ville, Mooney's sur mer, the Moira, Larchet's, Holles street
hospital, Burke's. Eh? I am watching you.
PHILIP DRUNK: _(Impatiently)_ Ah, bosh, man. Go to hell! I paid my way.
If I could only find out about octaves. Reduplication of personality.
Who was it told me his name? _(His lawnmower begins to purr)_ Aha, yes.
_Zoe mou sas agapo_. Have a notion I was here before. When was it not
Atkinson his card I have somewhere. Mac Somebody. Unmack I have it. He
told me about, hold on, Swinburne, was it, no?
FLORRY: And the song?
STEPHEN: Spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.
FLORRY: Are you out of Maynooth? You're like someone I knew once.
STEPHEN: Out of it now. _(To himself)_ Clever.
PHILIP DRUNK AND PHILIP SOBER: _(Their lawnmowers purring with a
rigadoon of grasshalms)_ Clever ever. Out of it out of it. By the
bye have you the book, the thing, the ashplant? Yes, there it, yes.
Cleverever outofitnow. Keep in condition. Do like us.
ZOE: There was a priest down here two nights ago to do his bit of
business with his coat buttoned up. You needn't try to hide, I says to
him. I know you've a Roman collar.
VIRAG: Perfectly logical from his standpoint. Fall of man. _(Harshly,
his pupils waxing)_ To hell with the pope! Nothing new under the sun. I
am the Virag who disclosed the Sex Secrets of Monks and Maidens. Why
I left the church of Rome. Read the Priest, the Woman and the
Confessional. Penrose. Flipperty Jippert. _(He wriggles)_ Woman, undoing
with sweet pudor her belt of rushrope, offers her allmoist yoni to man's
lingam. Short time after man presents woman with pieces of jungle meat.
Woman shows joy and covers herself with featherskins. Man loves her yoni
fiercely with big lingam, the stiff one. _(He cries) Coactus volui. _
Then giddy woman will run about. Strong man grapses woman's wrist.
Woman squeals, bites, spucks. Man, now fierce angry, strikes woman's fat
yadgana. _(He chases his tail)_ Piffpaff! Popo! _(He stops, sneezes)_
Pchp! _(He worries his butt)_ Prrrrrht!
LYNCH: I hope you gave the good father a penance. Nine glorias for
shooting a bishop.
ZOE: _(Spouts walrus smoke through her nostrils)_ He couldn't get a
connection. Only, you know, sensation. A dry rush.
BLOOM: Poor man!
ZOE: _(Lightly)_ Only for what happened him.
BLOOM: How?
VIRAG: _(A diabolic rictus of black luminosity contracting his visage,
cranes his scraggy neck forward. He lifts a mooncalf nozzle and howls. )
Verfluchte Goim! _ He had a father, forty fathers. He never existed. Pig
God! He had two left feet. He was Judas Iacchia, a Libyan eunuch, the
pope's bastard. _(He leans out on tortured forepaws, elbows bent rigid,
his eye agonising in his flat skullneck and yelps over the mute world)_
A son of a whore. Apocalypse.
KITTY: And Mary Shortall that was in the lock with the pox she got from
Jimmy Pidgeon in the blue caps had a child off him that couldn't swallow
and was smothered with the convulsions in the mattress and we all
subscribed for the funeral.
PHILIP DRUNK: _(Gravely) Qui vous a mis dans cette fichue position,
Philippe? _
PHILIP SOBER: _(Gaily) c'etait le sacre pigeon, Philippe. _
_(Kitty unpins her hat and sets it down calmly, patting her henna hair.
And a prettier, a daintier head of winsome curls was never seen on a
whore's shoulders. Lynch puts on her hat. She whips it off. )_
LYNCH: _(Laughs)_ And to such delights has Metchnikoff inoculated
anthropoid apes.
FLORRY: _(Nods)_ Locomotor ataxy.
ZOE: _(Gaily)_ O, my dictionary.
LYNCH: Three wise virgins.
VIRAG: _(Agueshaken, profuse yellow spawn foaming over his bony
epileptic lips)_ She sold lovephiltres, whitewax, orangeflower. Panther,
the Roman centurion, polluted her with his genitories. _(He sticks out
a flickering phosphorescent scorpion tongue, his hand on his fork)_
Messiah! He burst her tympanum. _(With gibbering baboon's cries he jerks
his hips in the cynical spasm)_ Hik! Hek! Hak! Hok! Huk! Kok! Kuk!
_(Ben Jumbo Dollard, Rubicund, musclebound, hairynostrilled,
hugebearded, cabbageeared, shaggychested, shockmaned, fat-papped, stands
forth, his loins and genitals tightened into a pair of black bathing
bagslops. )_
BEN DOLLARD: _(Nakkering castanet bones in his huge padded paws, yodels
jovially in base barreltone)_ When love absorbs my ardent soul.
_(The virgins Nurse Callan and Nurse Quigley burst through the
ringkeepers and the ropes and mob him with open arms. )_
THE VIRGINS: _(Gushingly)_ Big Ben! Ben my Chree!
A VOICE: Hold that fellow with the bad breeches.
BEN DOLLARD: _(Smites his thigh in abundant laughter)_ Hold him now.
HENRY: _(Caressing on his breast a severed female head, murmurs)_ Thine
heart, mine love. _(He plucks his lutestrings)_ When first I saw. . .
VIRAG: _(Sloughing his skins, his multitudinous plumage moulting)_ Rats!
_(He yawns, showing a coalblack throat, and closes his jaws by an upward
push of his parchmentroll)_ After having said which I took my departure.
Farewell. Fare thee well. _Dreck! _
_(Henry Flower combs his moustache and beard rapidly with a pocketcomb
and gives a cow's lick to his hair. Steered by his rapier, he glides to
the door, his wild harp slung behind him. Virag reaches the door in two
ungainly stilthops, his tail cocked, and deftly claps sideways on the
wall a pusyellow flybill, butting it with his head. )_
THE FLYBILL: K. II. Post No Bills. Strictly confidential. Dr Hy Franks.
HENRY: All is lost now.
_(Virag unscrews his head in a trice and holds it under his arm. )_
VIRAG'S HEAD: Quack!
_(Exeunt severally. )_
STEPHEN: _(Over his shoulder to zoe)_ You would have preferred
the fighting parson who founded the protestant error. But beware
Antisthenes, the dog sage, and the last end of Arius Heresiarchus. The
agony in the closet.
LYNCH: All one and the same God to her.
STEPHEN: _(Devoutly)_ And sovereign Lord of all things.
FLORRY: _(To Stephen)_ I'm sure you're a spoiled priest. Or a monk.
LYNCH: He is. A cardinal's son.
STEPHEN: Cardinal sin. Monks of the screw.
_(His Eminence Simon Stephen Cardinal Dedalus, Primate of all Ireland,
appears in the doorway, dressed in red soutane, sandals and socks. Seven
dwarf simian acolytes, also in red, cardinal sins, uphold his train,
peeping under it. He wears a battered silk hat sideways on his head. His
thumbs are stuck in his armpits and his palms outspread. Round his
neck hangs a rosary of corks ending on his breast in a corkscrew cross.
Releasing his thumbs, he invokes grace from on high with large wave
gestures and proclaims with bloated pomp:)_
THE CARDINAL:
Conservio lies captured
He lies in the lowest dungeon
With manacles and chains around his limbs
Weighing upwards of three tons.
_(He looks at all for a moment, his right eye closed tight, his left
cheek puffed out. Then, unable to repress his merriment, he rocks to and
fro, arms akimbo, and sings with broad rollicking humour:)_
O, the poor little fellow
Hihihihihis legs they were yellow
He was plump, fat and heavy and brisk as a snake
But some bloody savage
To graize his white cabbage
He murdered Nell Flaherty's duckloving drake.
_(A multitude of midges swarms white over his robe. He scratches himself
with crossed arms at his ribs, grimacing, and exclaims:)_
I'm suffering the agony of the damned. By the hoky fiddle, thanks be to
Jesus those funny little chaps are not unanimous. If they were they'd
walk me off the face of the bloody globe.
_(His head aslant he blesses curtly with fore and middle fingers,
imparts the Easter kiss and doubleshuffles off comically, swaying
his hat from side to side, shrinking quickly to the size of his
trainbearers. The dwarf acolytes, giggling, peeping, nudging, ogling,
Easterkissing, zigzag behind him. His voice is heard mellow from afar,
merciful male, melodious:)_
Shall carry my heart to thee,
Shall carry my heart to thee,
And the breath of the balmy night
Shall carry my heart to thee!
_(The trick doorhandle turns. )_
THE DOORHANDLE: Theeee!
ZOE: The devil is in that door.
_(A male form passes down the creaking staircase and is heard taking
the waterproof and hat from the rack. Bloom starts forward involuntarily
and, half closing the door as he passes, takes the chocolate from his
pocket and offers it nervously to Zoe. )_
ZOE: _(Sniffs his hair briskly)_ Hmmm! Thank your mother for the
rabbits. I'm very fond of what I like.
BLOOM: _(Hearing a male voice in talk with the whores on the doorstep,
pricks his ears)_ If it were he? After? Or because not? Or the double
event?
ZOE: _(Tears open the silverfoil)_ Fingers was made before forks. _(She
breaks off and nibbles a piece gives a piece to Kitty Ricketts and then
turns kittenishly to Lynch)_ No objection to French lozenges? _(He nods.
She taunts him. )_ Have it now or wait till you get it? _(He opens his
mouth, his head cocked. She whirls the prize in left circle. His head
follows. She whirls it back in right circle. He eyes her. )_ Catch!
_(She tosses a piece. With an adroit snap he catches it and bites it
through with a crack. )_
KITTY: _(Chewing)_ The engineer I was with at the bazaar does have
lovely ones. Full of the best liqueurs. And the viceroy was there with
his lady. The gas we had on the Toft's hobbyhorses. I'm giddy still.
BLOOM: _(In Svengali's fur overcoat, with folded arms and Napoleonic
forelock, frowns in ventriloquial exorcism with piercing eagle glance
towards the door. Then rigid with left foot advanced he makes a swift
pass with impelling fingers and gives the sign of past master, drawing
his right arm downwards from his left shoulder. )_ Go, go, go, I conjure
you, whoever you are!
_(A male cough and tread are heard passing through the mist outside.
Bloom's features relax. He places a hand in his waistcoat, posing
calmly. Zoe offers him chocolate. )_
BLOOM: _(Solemnly)_ Thanks.
ZOE: Do as you're bid. Here!
_(A firm heelclacking tread is heard on the stairs. )_
BLOOM: _(Takes the chocolate)_ Aphrodisiac? Tansy and pennyroyal. But I
bought it. Vanilla calms or? Mnemo. Confused light confuses memory. Red
influences lupus. Colours affect women's characters, any they have. This
black makes me sad. Eat and be merry for tomorrow. _(He eats)_ Influence
taste too, mauve. But it is so long since I. Seems new. Aphro. That
priest. Must come. Better late than never. Try truffles at Andrews.
_(The door opens. Bella Cohen, a massive whoremistress, enters. She
is dressed in a threequarter ivory gown, fringed round the hem with
tasselled selvedge, and cools herself flirting a black horn fan like
Minnie Hauck in_ Carmen. _On her left hand are wedding and keeper rings.
Her eyes are deeply carboned. She has a sprouting moustache. Her
olive face is heavy, slightly sweated and fullnosed with orangetainted
nostrils. She has large pendant beryl eardrops. )_
BELLA: My word! I'm all of a mucksweat.
_(She glances round her at the couples. Then her eyes rest on Bloom with
hard insistence. Her large fan winnows wind towards her heated faceneck
and embonpoint. Her falcon eyes glitter. )_
THE FAN: _(Flirting quickly, then slowly)_ Married, I see.
BLOOM: Yes. Partly, I have mislaid. . .
THE FAN: _(Half opening, then closing)_ And the missus is master.
Petticoat government.
BLOOM: _(Looks down with a sheepish grin)_ That is so.
THE FAN: _(Folding together, rests against her left eardrop)_ Have you
forgotten me?
BLOOM: Yes. Yo.
THE FAN: _(Folded akimbo against her waist)_ Is me her was you dreamed
before? Was then she him you us since knew? Am all them and the same now
we?
_(Bella approaches, gently tapping with the fan. )_
BLOOM: _(Wincing)_ Powerful being. In my eyes read that slumber which
women love.
THE FAN: _(Tapping)_ We have met. You are mine. It is fate.
BLOOM: _(Cowed)_ Exuberant female. Enormously I desiderate your
domination. I am exhausted, abandoned, no more young. I stand, so to
speak, with an unposted letter bearing the extra regulation fee before
the too late box of the general postoffice of human life. The door
and window open at a right angle cause a draught of thirtytwo feet per
second according to the law of falling bodies. I have felt this instant
a twinge of sciatica in my left glutear muscle. It runs in our family.
Poor dear papa, a widower, was a regular barometer from it. He believed
in animal heat. A skin of tabby lined his winter waistcoat. Near the
end, remembering king David and the Sunamite, he shared his bed with
Athos, faithful after death. A dog's spittle as you probably. . . _(He
winces)_ Ah!
RICHIE GOULDING: _(Bagweighted, passes the door)_ Mocking is catch. Best
value in Dub. Fit for a prince's. Liver and kidney.
THE FAN: _(Tapping)_ All things end. Be mine. Now.
BLOOM: _(Undecided)_ All now? I should not have parted with my talisman.
Rain, exposure at dewfall on the searocks, a peccadillo at my time of
life. Every phenomenon has a natural cause.
THE FAN: _(Points downwards slowly)_ You may.
BLOOM: _(Looks downwards and perceives her unfastened bootlace)_ We are
observed.
THE FAN: _(Points downwards quickly)_ You must.
BLOOM: _(With desire, with reluctance)_ I can make a true black knot.
Learned when I served my time and worked the mail order line for
Kellett's. Experienced hand. Every knot says a lot. Let me. In courtesy.
I knelt once before today. Ah!
_(Bella raises her gown slightly and, steadying her pose, lifts to the
edge of a chair a plump buskined hoof and a full pastern, silksocked.
Bloom, stifflegged, aging, bends over her hoof and with gentle fingers
draws out and in her laces. )_
BLOOM: _(Murmurs lovingly)_ To be a shoefitter in Manfield's was my
love's young dream, the darling joys of sweet buttonhooking, to lace
up crisscrossed to kneelength the dressy kid footwear satinlined, so
incredibly impossibly small, of Clyde Road ladies. Even their wax model
Raymonde I visited daily to admire her cobweb hose and stick of rhubarb
toe, as worn in Paris.
THE HOOF: Smell my hot goathide. Feel my royal weight.
BLOOM: _(Crosslacing)_ Too tight?
THE HOOF: If you bungle, Handy Andy, I'll kick your football for you.
BLOOM: Not to lace the wrong eyelet as I did the night of the bazaar
dance. Bad luck. Hook in wrong tache of her. . . person you mentioned.
That night she met. . . Now!
_(He knots the lace. Bella places her foot on the floor. Bloom raises
his head. Her heavy face, her eyes strike him in midbrow. His eyes grow
dull, darker and pouched, his nose thickens. )_
BLOOM: _(Mumbles)_ Awaiting your further orders we remain, gentlemen,. . .
BELLO: _(With a hard basilisk stare, in a baritone voice)_ Hound of
dishonour!
BLOOM: _(Infatuated)_ Empress!
BELLO: _(His heavy cheekchops sagging)_ Adorer of the adulterous rump!
BLOOM: _(Plaintively)_ Hugeness!
BELLO: Dungdevourer!
BLOOM: _(With sinews semiflexed)_ Magmagnificence!
BELLO: Down! _(He taps her on the shoulder with his fan)_ Incline feet
forward! Slide left foot one pace back! You will fall. You are falling.
On the hands down!
BLOOM: _(Her eyes upturned in the sign of admiration, closing, yaps)_
Truffles!
_(With a piercing epileptic cry she sinks on all fours, grunting,
snuffling, rooting at his feet: then lies, shamming dead, with eyes shut
tight, trembling eyelids, bowed upon the ground in the attitude of most
excellent master. )_
BELLO: _(With bobbed hair, purple gills, fit moustache rings round his
shaven mouth, in mountaineer's puttees, green silverbuttoned coat, sport
skirt and alpine hat with moorcock's feather, his hands stuck deep in
his breeches pockets, places his heel on her neck and grinds it in)_
Footstool! Feel my entire weight. Bow, bondslave, before the throne of
your despot's glorious heels so glistening in their proud erectness.
BLOOM: _(Enthralled, bleats)_ I promise never to disobey.
BELLO: _(Laughs loudly)_ Holy smoke! You little know what's in store for
you. I'm the Tartar to settle your little lot and break you in! I'll bet
Kentucky cocktails all round I shame it out of you, old son. Cheek me,
I dare you. If you do tremble in anticipation of heel discipline to be
inflicted in gym costume.
_(Bloom creeps under the sofa and peers out through the fringe. )_
ZOE: _(Widening her slip to screen her)_ She's not here.
BLOOM: _(Closing her eyes)_ She's not here.
FLORRY: _(Hiding her with her gown)_ She didn't mean it, Mr Bello.
She'll be good, sir.
KITTY: Don't be too hard on her, Mr Bello. Sure you won't, ma'amsir.
BELLO: _(Coaxingly)_ Come, ducky dear, I want a word with you, darling,
just to administer correction. Just a little heart to heart talk,
sweety. _(Bloom puts out her timid head)_ There's a good girly now.
_(Bello grabs her hair violently and drags her forward)_ I only want
to correct you for your own good on a soft safe spot. How's that tender
behind? O, ever so gently, pet. Begin to get ready.
BLOOM: _(Fainting)_ Don't tear my. . .
BELLO: _(Savagely)_ The nosering, the pliers, the bastinado, the hanging
hook, the knout I'll make you kiss while the flutes play like the Nubian
slave of old. You're in for it this time! I'll make you remember me for
the balance of your natural life. _(His forehead veins swollen, his face
congested)_ I shall sit on your ottoman saddleback every morning after
my thumping good breakfast of Matterson's fat hamrashers and a bottle
of Guinness's porter.
Gerald. O, I much fear he shall be most badly burned. Will some pleashe
pershon not now impediment so catastrophics mit agitation of firstclass
tablenumpkin? _(He mews)_ Puss puss puss puss! _(He sighs, draws back
and stares sideways down with dropping underjaw)_ Well, well. He doth
rest anon. (He snaps his jaws suddenly on the air)
THE MOTH:
I'm a tiny tiny thing
Ever flying in the spring
Round and round a ringaring.
Long ago I was a king
Now I do this kind of thing
On the wing, on the wing!
Bing!
_(He rushes against the mauve shade, flapping noisily)_ Pretty pretty
pretty pretty pretty pretty petticoats.
_(From left upper entrance with two gliding steps Henry Flower comes
forward to left front centre. He wears a dark mantle and drooping plumed
sombrero. He carries a silverstringed inlaid dulcimer and a longstemmed
bamboo Jacob's pipe, its clay bowl fashioned as a female head. He wears
dark velvet hose and silverbuckled pumps. He has the romantic Saviour's
face with flowing locks, thin beard and moustache. His spindlelegs and
sparrow feet are those of the tenor Mario, prince of Candia. He settles
down his goffered ruffs and moistens his lips with a passage of his
amorous tongue. )_
HENRY: _(In a low dulcet voice, touching the strings of his guitar)_
There is a flower that bloometh.
_(Virag truculent, his jowl set, stares at the lamp. Grave Bloom regards
Zoe's neck. Henry gallant turns with pendant dewlap to the piano. )_
STEPHEN: _(To himself)_ Play with your eyes shut. Imitate pa. Filling my
belly with husks of swine. Too much of this. I will arise and go to my.
Expect this is the. Steve, thou art in a parlous way. Must visit old
Deasy or telegraph. Our interview of this morning has left on me a deep
impression. Though our ages. Will write fully tomorrow. I'm partially
drunk, by the way. _(He touches the keys again)_ Minor chord comes now.
Yes. Not much however.
_(Almidano Artifoni holds out a batonroll of music with vigorous
moustachework. )_
ARTIFONI: _Ci rifletta. Lei rovina tutto. _
FLORRY: Sing us something. Love's old sweet song.
STEPHEN: No voice. I am a most finished artist. Lynch, did I show you
the letter about the lute?
FLORRY: _(Smirking)_ The bird that can sing and won't sing.
_(The Siamese twins, Philip Drunk and Philip Sober, two Oxford dons with
lawnmowers, appear in the window embrasure. Both are masked with Matthew
Arnold's face. )_
PHILIP SOBER: Take a fool's advice. All is not well. Work it out with
the buttend of a pencil, like a good young idiot. Three pounds twelve
you got, two notes, one sovereign, two crowns, if youth but knew.
Mooney's en ville, Mooney's sur mer, the Moira, Larchet's, Holles street
hospital, Burke's. Eh? I am watching you.
PHILIP DRUNK: _(Impatiently)_ Ah, bosh, man. Go to hell! I paid my way.
If I could only find out about octaves. Reduplication of personality.
Who was it told me his name? _(His lawnmower begins to purr)_ Aha, yes.
_Zoe mou sas agapo_. Have a notion I was here before. When was it not
Atkinson his card I have somewhere. Mac Somebody. Unmack I have it. He
told me about, hold on, Swinburne, was it, no?
FLORRY: And the song?
STEPHEN: Spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.
FLORRY: Are you out of Maynooth? You're like someone I knew once.
STEPHEN: Out of it now. _(To himself)_ Clever.
PHILIP DRUNK AND PHILIP SOBER: _(Their lawnmowers purring with a
rigadoon of grasshalms)_ Clever ever. Out of it out of it. By the
bye have you the book, the thing, the ashplant? Yes, there it, yes.
Cleverever outofitnow. Keep in condition. Do like us.
ZOE: There was a priest down here two nights ago to do his bit of
business with his coat buttoned up. You needn't try to hide, I says to
him. I know you've a Roman collar.
VIRAG: Perfectly logical from his standpoint. Fall of man. _(Harshly,
his pupils waxing)_ To hell with the pope! Nothing new under the sun. I
am the Virag who disclosed the Sex Secrets of Monks and Maidens. Why
I left the church of Rome. Read the Priest, the Woman and the
Confessional. Penrose. Flipperty Jippert. _(He wriggles)_ Woman, undoing
with sweet pudor her belt of rushrope, offers her allmoist yoni to man's
lingam. Short time after man presents woman with pieces of jungle meat.
Woman shows joy and covers herself with featherskins. Man loves her yoni
fiercely with big lingam, the stiff one. _(He cries) Coactus volui. _
Then giddy woman will run about. Strong man grapses woman's wrist.
Woman squeals, bites, spucks. Man, now fierce angry, strikes woman's fat
yadgana. _(He chases his tail)_ Piffpaff! Popo! _(He stops, sneezes)_
Pchp! _(He worries his butt)_ Prrrrrht!
LYNCH: I hope you gave the good father a penance. Nine glorias for
shooting a bishop.
ZOE: _(Spouts walrus smoke through her nostrils)_ He couldn't get a
connection. Only, you know, sensation. A dry rush.
BLOOM: Poor man!
ZOE: _(Lightly)_ Only for what happened him.
BLOOM: How?
VIRAG: _(A diabolic rictus of black luminosity contracting his visage,
cranes his scraggy neck forward. He lifts a mooncalf nozzle and howls. )
Verfluchte Goim! _ He had a father, forty fathers. He never existed. Pig
God! He had two left feet. He was Judas Iacchia, a Libyan eunuch, the
pope's bastard. _(He leans out on tortured forepaws, elbows bent rigid,
his eye agonising in his flat skullneck and yelps over the mute world)_
A son of a whore. Apocalypse.
KITTY: And Mary Shortall that was in the lock with the pox she got from
Jimmy Pidgeon in the blue caps had a child off him that couldn't swallow
and was smothered with the convulsions in the mattress and we all
subscribed for the funeral.
PHILIP DRUNK: _(Gravely) Qui vous a mis dans cette fichue position,
Philippe? _
PHILIP SOBER: _(Gaily) c'etait le sacre pigeon, Philippe. _
_(Kitty unpins her hat and sets it down calmly, patting her henna hair.
And a prettier, a daintier head of winsome curls was never seen on a
whore's shoulders. Lynch puts on her hat. She whips it off. )_
LYNCH: _(Laughs)_ And to such delights has Metchnikoff inoculated
anthropoid apes.
FLORRY: _(Nods)_ Locomotor ataxy.
ZOE: _(Gaily)_ O, my dictionary.
LYNCH: Three wise virgins.
VIRAG: _(Agueshaken, profuse yellow spawn foaming over his bony
epileptic lips)_ She sold lovephiltres, whitewax, orangeflower. Panther,
the Roman centurion, polluted her with his genitories. _(He sticks out
a flickering phosphorescent scorpion tongue, his hand on his fork)_
Messiah! He burst her tympanum. _(With gibbering baboon's cries he jerks
his hips in the cynical spasm)_ Hik! Hek! Hak! Hok! Huk! Kok! Kuk!
_(Ben Jumbo Dollard, Rubicund, musclebound, hairynostrilled,
hugebearded, cabbageeared, shaggychested, shockmaned, fat-papped, stands
forth, his loins and genitals tightened into a pair of black bathing
bagslops. )_
BEN DOLLARD: _(Nakkering castanet bones in his huge padded paws, yodels
jovially in base barreltone)_ When love absorbs my ardent soul.
_(The virgins Nurse Callan and Nurse Quigley burst through the
ringkeepers and the ropes and mob him with open arms. )_
THE VIRGINS: _(Gushingly)_ Big Ben! Ben my Chree!
A VOICE: Hold that fellow with the bad breeches.
BEN DOLLARD: _(Smites his thigh in abundant laughter)_ Hold him now.
HENRY: _(Caressing on his breast a severed female head, murmurs)_ Thine
heart, mine love. _(He plucks his lutestrings)_ When first I saw. . .
VIRAG: _(Sloughing his skins, his multitudinous plumage moulting)_ Rats!
_(He yawns, showing a coalblack throat, and closes his jaws by an upward
push of his parchmentroll)_ After having said which I took my departure.
Farewell. Fare thee well. _Dreck! _
_(Henry Flower combs his moustache and beard rapidly with a pocketcomb
and gives a cow's lick to his hair. Steered by his rapier, he glides to
the door, his wild harp slung behind him. Virag reaches the door in two
ungainly stilthops, his tail cocked, and deftly claps sideways on the
wall a pusyellow flybill, butting it with his head. )_
THE FLYBILL: K. II. Post No Bills. Strictly confidential. Dr Hy Franks.
HENRY: All is lost now.
_(Virag unscrews his head in a trice and holds it under his arm. )_
VIRAG'S HEAD: Quack!
_(Exeunt severally. )_
STEPHEN: _(Over his shoulder to zoe)_ You would have preferred
the fighting parson who founded the protestant error. But beware
Antisthenes, the dog sage, and the last end of Arius Heresiarchus. The
agony in the closet.
LYNCH: All one and the same God to her.
STEPHEN: _(Devoutly)_ And sovereign Lord of all things.
FLORRY: _(To Stephen)_ I'm sure you're a spoiled priest. Or a monk.
LYNCH: He is. A cardinal's son.
STEPHEN: Cardinal sin. Monks of the screw.
_(His Eminence Simon Stephen Cardinal Dedalus, Primate of all Ireland,
appears in the doorway, dressed in red soutane, sandals and socks. Seven
dwarf simian acolytes, also in red, cardinal sins, uphold his train,
peeping under it. He wears a battered silk hat sideways on his head. His
thumbs are stuck in his armpits and his palms outspread. Round his
neck hangs a rosary of corks ending on his breast in a corkscrew cross.
Releasing his thumbs, he invokes grace from on high with large wave
gestures and proclaims with bloated pomp:)_
THE CARDINAL:
Conservio lies captured
He lies in the lowest dungeon
With manacles and chains around his limbs
Weighing upwards of three tons.
_(He looks at all for a moment, his right eye closed tight, his left
cheek puffed out. Then, unable to repress his merriment, he rocks to and
fro, arms akimbo, and sings with broad rollicking humour:)_
O, the poor little fellow
Hihihihihis legs they were yellow
He was plump, fat and heavy and brisk as a snake
But some bloody savage
To graize his white cabbage
He murdered Nell Flaherty's duckloving drake.
_(A multitude of midges swarms white over his robe. He scratches himself
with crossed arms at his ribs, grimacing, and exclaims:)_
I'm suffering the agony of the damned. By the hoky fiddle, thanks be to
Jesus those funny little chaps are not unanimous. If they were they'd
walk me off the face of the bloody globe.
_(His head aslant he blesses curtly with fore and middle fingers,
imparts the Easter kiss and doubleshuffles off comically, swaying
his hat from side to side, shrinking quickly to the size of his
trainbearers. The dwarf acolytes, giggling, peeping, nudging, ogling,
Easterkissing, zigzag behind him. His voice is heard mellow from afar,
merciful male, melodious:)_
Shall carry my heart to thee,
Shall carry my heart to thee,
And the breath of the balmy night
Shall carry my heart to thee!
_(The trick doorhandle turns. )_
THE DOORHANDLE: Theeee!
ZOE: The devil is in that door.
_(A male form passes down the creaking staircase and is heard taking
the waterproof and hat from the rack. Bloom starts forward involuntarily
and, half closing the door as he passes, takes the chocolate from his
pocket and offers it nervously to Zoe. )_
ZOE: _(Sniffs his hair briskly)_ Hmmm! Thank your mother for the
rabbits. I'm very fond of what I like.
BLOOM: _(Hearing a male voice in talk with the whores on the doorstep,
pricks his ears)_ If it were he? After? Or because not? Or the double
event?
ZOE: _(Tears open the silverfoil)_ Fingers was made before forks. _(She
breaks off and nibbles a piece gives a piece to Kitty Ricketts and then
turns kittenishly to Lynch)_ No objection to French lozenges? _(He nods.
She taunts him. )_ Have it now or wait till you get it? _(He opens his
mouth, his head cocked. She whirls the prize in left circle. His head
follows. She whirls it back in right circle. He eyes her. )_ Catch!
_(She tosses a piece. With an adroit snap he catches it and bites it
through with a crack. )_
KITTY: _(Chewing)_ The engineer I was with at the bazaar does have
lovely ones. Full of the best liqueurs. And the viceroy was there with
his lady. The gas we had on the Toft's hobbyhorses. I'm giddy still.
BLOOM: _(In Svengali's fur overcoat, with folded arms and Napoleonic
forelock, frowns in ventriloquial exorcism with piercing eagle glance
towards the door. Then rigid with left foot advanced he makes a swift
pass with impelling fingers and gives the sign of past master, drawing
his right arm downwards from his left shoulder. )_ Go, go, go, I conjure
you, whoever you are!
_(A male cough and tread are heard passing through the mist outside.
Bloom's features relax. He places a hand in his waistcoat, posing
calmly. Zoe offers him chocolate. )_
BLOOM: _(Solemnly)_ Thanks.
ZOE: Do as you're bid. Here!
_(A firm heelclacking tread is heard on the stairs. )_
BLOOM: _(Takes the chocolate)_ Aphrodisiac? Tansy and pennyroyal. But I
bought it. Vanilla calms or? Mnemo. Confused light confuses memory. Red
influences lupus. Colours affect women's characters, any they have. This
black makes me sad. Eat and be merry for tomorrow. _(He eats)_ Influence
taste too, mauve. But it is so long since I. Seems new. Aphro. That
priest. Must come. Better late than never. Try truffles at Andrews.
_(The door opens. Bella Cohen, a massive whoremistress, enters. She
is dressed in a threequarter ivory gown, fringed round the hem with
tasselled selvedge, and cools herself flirting a black horn fan like
Minnie Hauck in_ Carmen. _On her left hand are wedding and keeper rings.
Her eyes are deeply carboned. She has a sprouting moustache. Her
olive face is heavy, slightly sweated and fullnosed with orangetainted
nostrils. She has large pendant beryl eardrops. )_
BELLA: My word! I'm all of a mucksweat.
_(She glances round her at the couples. Then her eyes rest on Bloom with
hard insistence. Her large fan winnows wind towards her heated faceneck
and embonpoint. Her falcon eyes glitter. )_
THE FAN: _(Flirting quickly, then slowly)_ Married, I see.
BLOOM: Yes. Partly, I have mislaid. . .
THE FAN: _(Half opening, then closing)_ And the missus is master.
Petticoat government.
BLOOM: _(Looks down with a sheepish grin)_ That is so.
THE FAN: _(Folding together, rests against her left eardrop)_ Have you
forgotten me?
BLOOM: Yes. Yo.
THE FAN: _(Folded akimbo against her waist)_ Is me her was you dreamed
before? Was then she him you us since knew? Am all them and the same now
we?
_(Bella approaches, gently tapping with the fan. )_
BLOOM: _(Wincing)_ Powerful being. In my eyes read that slumber which
women love.
THE FAN: _(Tapping)_ We have met. You are mine. It is fate.
BLOOM: _(Cowed)_ Exuberant female. Enormously I desiderate your
domination. I am exhausted, abandoned, no more young. I stand, so to
speak, with an unposted letter bearing the extra regulation fee before
the too late box of the general postoffice of human life. The door
and window open at a right angle cause a draught of thirtytwo feet per
second according to the law of falling bodies. I have felt this instant
a twinge of sciatica in my left glutear muscle. It runs in our family.
Poor dear papa, a widower, was a regular barometer from it. He believed
in animal heat. A skin of tabby lined his winter waistcoat. Near the
end, remembering king David and the Sunamite, he shared his bed with
Athos, faithful after death. A dog's spittle as you probably. . . _(He
winces)_ Ah!
RICHIE GOULDING: _(Bagweighted, passes the door)_ Mocking is catch. Best
value in Dub. Fit for a prince's. Liver and kidney.
THE FAN: _(Tapping)_ All things end. Be mine. Now.
BLOOM: _(Undecided)_ All now? I should not have parted with my talisman.
Rain, exposure at dewfall on the searocks, a peccadillo at my time of
life. Every phenomenon has a natural cause.
THE FAN: _(Points downwards slowly)_ You may.
BLOOM: _(Looks downwards and perceives her unfastened bootlace)_ We are
observed.
THE FAN: _(Points downwards quickly)_ You must.
BLOOM: _(With desire, with reluctance)_ I can make a true black knot.
Learned when I served my time and worked the mail order line for
Kellett's. Experienced hand. Every knot says a lot. Let me. In courtesy.
I knelt once before today. Ah!
_(Bella raises her gown slightly and, steadying her pose, lifts to the
edge of a chair a plump buskined hoof and a full pastern, silksocked.
Bloom, stifflegged, aging, bends over her hoof and with gentle fingers
draws out and in her laces. )_
BLOOM: _(Murmurs lovingly)_ To be a shoefitter in Manfield's was my
love's young dream, the darling joys of sweet buttonhooking, to lace
up crisscrossed to kneelength the dressy kid footwear satinlined, so
incredibly impossibly small, of Clyde Road ladies. Even their wax model
Raymonde I visited daily to admire her cobweb hose and stick of rhubarb
toe, as worn in Paris.
THE HOOF: Smell my hot goathide. Feel my royal weight.
BLOOM: _(Crosslacing)_ Too tight?
THE HOOF: If you bungle, Handy Andy, I'll kick your football for you.
BLOOM: Not to lace the wrong eyelet as I did the night of the bazaar
dance. Bad luck. Hook in wrong tache of her. . . person you mentioned.
That night she met. . . Now!
_(He knots the lace. Bella places her foot on the floor. Bloom raises
his head. Her heavy face, her eyes strike him in midbrow. His eyes grow
dull, darker and pouched, his nose thickens. )_
BLOOM: _(Mumbles)_ Awaiting your further orders we remain, gentlemen,. . .
BELLO: _(With a hard basilisk stare, in a baritone voice)_ Hound of
dishonour!
BLOOM: _(Infatuated)_ Empress!
BELLO: _(His heavy cheekchops sagging)_ Adorer of the adulterous rump!
BLOOM: _(Plaintively)_ Hugeness!
BELLO: Dungdevourer!
BLOOM: _(With sinews semiflexed)_ Magmagnificence!
BELLO: Down! _(He taps her on the shoulder with his fan)_ Incline feet
forward! Slide left foot one pace back! You will fall. You are falling.
On the hands down!
BLOOM: _(Her eyes upturned in the sign of admiration, closing, yaps)_
Truffles!
_(With a piercing epileptic cry she sinks on all fours, grunting,
snuffling, rooting at his feet: then lies, shamming dead, with eyes shut
tight, trembling eyelids, bowed upon the ground in the attitude of most
excellent master. )_
BELLO: _(With bobbed hair, purple gills, fit moustache rings round his
shaven mouth, in mountaineer's puttees, green silverbuttoned coat, sport
skirt and alpine hat with moorcock's feather, his hands stuck deep in
his breeches pockets, places his heel on her neck and grinds it in)_
Footstool! Feel my entire weight. Bow, bondslave, before the throne of
your despot's glorious heels so glistening in their proud erectness.
BLOOM: _(Enthralled, bleats)_ I promise never to disobey.
BELLO: _(Laughs loudly)_ Holy smoke! You little know what's in store for
you. I'm the Tartar to settle your little lot and break you in! I'll bet
Kentucky cocktails all round I shame it out of you, old son. Cheek me,
I dare you. If you do tremble in anticipation of heel discipline to be
inflicted in gym costume.
_(Bloom creeps under the sofa and peers out through the fringe. )_
ZOE: _(Widening her slip to screen her)_ She's not here.
BLOOM: _(Closing her eyes)_ She's not here.
FLORRY: _(Hiding her with her gown)_ She didn't mean it, Mr Bello.
She'll be good, sir.
KITTY: Don't be too hard on her, Mr Bello. Sure you won't, ma'amsir.
BELLO: _(Coaxingly)_ Come, ducky dear, I want a word with you, darling,
just to administer correction. Just a little heart to heart talk,
sweety. _(Bloom puts out her timid head)_ There's a good girly now.
_(Bello grabs her hair violently and drags her forward)_ I only want
to correct you for your own good on a soft safe spot. How's that tender
behind? O, ever so gently, pet. Begin to get ready.
BLOOM: _(Fainting)_ Don't tear my. . .
BELLO: _(Savagely)_ The nosering, the pliers, the bastinado, the hanging
hook, the knout I'll make you kiss while the flutes play like the Nubian
slave of old. You're in for it this time! I'll make you remember me for
the balance of your natural life. _(His forehead veins swollen, his face
congested)_ I shall sit on your ottoman saddleback every morning after
my thumping good breakfast of Matterson's fat hamrashers and a bottle
of Guinness's porter.
