No More Learning

Stimulate the caloric. Winding of his ticker. Stopped short never to go
again when the old. Absinthe for me, savvy? _Caramba! _ Have an eggnog or
a prairie oyster. Enemy? Avuncular's got my timepiece. Ten to. Obligated
awful. Don't mention it. Got a pectoral trauma, eh, Dix? Pos fact. Got
bet be a boomblebee whenever he wus settin sleepin in hes bit garten.
Digs up near the Mater. Buckled he is. Know his dona? Yup, sartin I do.
Full of a dure. See her in her dishybilly. Peels off a credit. Lovey
lovekin. None of your lean kine, not much. Pull down the blind, love.
Two Ardilauns. Same here. Look slippery. If you fall don't wait to get
up. Five, seven, nine. Fine! Got a prime pair of mincepies, no kid. And
her take me to rests and her anker of rum. Must be seen to be believed.
Your starving eyes and allbeplastered neck you stole my heart, O
gluepot. Sir? Spud again the rheumatiz? All poppycock, you'll scuse me
saying. For the hoi polloi. I vear thee beest a gert vool. Well, doc?
Back fro Lapland? Your corporosity sagaciating O K? How's the squaws
and papooses? Womanbody after going on the straw? Stand and deliver.
Password. There's hair. Ours the white death and the ruddy birth. Hi!
Spit in your own eye, boss! Mummer's wire. Cribbed out of Meredith.
Jesified, orchidised, polycimical jesuit! Aunty mine's writing Pa Kinch.
Baddybad Stephen lead astray goodygood Malachi.

Hurroo! Collar the leather, youngun. Roun wi the nappy. Here, Jock braw
Hielentman's your barleybree. Lang may your lum reek and your kailpot
boil! My tipple. _Merci. _ Here's to us. How's that? Leg before wicket.
Don't stain my brandnew sitinems. Give's a shake of peppe, you there.
Catch aholt. Caraway seed to carry away. Twig? Shrieks of silence. Every
cove to his gentry mort. Venus Pandemos. _Les petites femmes_. Bold bad
girl from the town of Mullingar. Tell her I was axing at her. Hauding
Sara by the wame. On the road to Malahide. Me? If she who seduced me had
left but the name. What do you want for ninepence? Machree, macruiskeen.
Smutty Moll for a mattress jig. And a pull all together. _Ex! _

Waiting, guvnor? Most deciduously. Bet your boots on. Stunned like,
seeing as how no shiners is acoming. Underconstumble? He've got the
chink _ad lib_. Seed near free poun on un a spell ago a said war hisn.
Us come right in on your invite, see? Up to you, matey. Out with the
oof. Two bar and a wing. You larn that go off of they there Frenchy
bilks? Won't wash here for nuts nohow. Lil chile velly solly. Ise de
cutest colour coon down our side. Gawds teruth, Chawley. We are nae fou.
We're nae tha fou. Au reservoir, mossoo. Tanks you.

'Tis, sure. What say? In the speakeasy. Tight. I shee you, shir. Bantam,
two days teetee. Bowsing nowt but claretwine. Garn! Have a glint, do.
Gum, I'm jiggered. And been to barber he have. Too full for words. With
a railway bloke. How come you so? Opera he'd like? Rose of Castile. Rows
of cast. Police! Some H2O for a gent fainted. Look at Bantam's flowers.
Gemini. He's going to holler. The colleen bawn. My colleen bawn. O,
cheese it! Shut his blurry Dutch oven with a firm hand. Had the winner
today till I tipped him a dead cert. The ruffin cly the nab of Stephen
Hand as give me the jady coppaleen. He strike a telegramboy paddock wire
big bug Bass to the depot. Shove him a joey and grahamise. Mare on form
hot order. Guinea to a goosegog. Tell a cram, that. Gospeltrue. Criminal
diversion? I think that yes. Sure thing. Land him in chokeechokee if the
harman beck copped the game. Madden back Madden's a maddening back. O
lust our refuge and our strength. Decamping. Must you go? Off to mammy.
Stand by. Hide my blushes someone. All in if he spots me. Come ahome,
our Bantam. Horryvar, mong vioo. Dinna forget the cowslips for hersel.
Cornfide. Wha gev ye thon colt? Pal to pal. Jannock. Of John Thomas, her
spouse. No fake, old man Leo. S'elp me, honest injun. Shiver my timbers
if I had. There's a great big holy friar. Vyfor you no me tell? Vel,
I ses, if that aint a sheeny nachez, vel, I vil get misha mishinnah.
Through yerd our lord, Amen.

You move a motion? Steve boy, you're going it some. More bluggy
drunkables? Will immensely splendiferous stander permit one stooder of
most extreme poverty and one largesize grandacious thirst to terminate
one expensive inaugurated libation? Give's a breather. Landlord,
landlord, have you good wine, staboo? Hoots, mon, a wee drap to pree.
Cut and come again. Right. Boniface! Absinthe the lot. _Nos omnes
biberimus viridum toxicum diabolus capiat posterioria nostria_.
Closingtime, gents. Eh? Rome boose for the Bloom toff. I hear you say
onions? Bloo? Cadges ads. Photo's papli, by all that's gorgeous. Play
low, pardner. Slide. _Bonsoir la compagnie_. And snares of the poxfiend.
Where's the buck and Namby Amby? Skunked? Leg bail. Aweel, ye maun e'en
gang yer gates. Checkmate. King to tower. Kind Kristyann wil yu help
yung man hoose frend tuk bungellow kee tu find plais whear tu lay crown
of his hed 2 night. Crickey, I'm about sprung. Tarnally dog gone my
shins if this beent the bestest puttiest longbreak yet. Item, curate,
couple of cookies for this child. Cot's plood and prandypalls, none!
Not
a pite of sheeses? Thrust syphilis down to hell and with him those other
licensed spirits. Time, gents! Who wander through the world. Health all!
_a la votre_!

Golly, whatten tunket's yon guy in the mackintosh? Dusty Rhodes. Peep
at his wearables. By mighty! What's he got? Jubilee mutton. Bovril,
by James. Wants it real bad. D'ye ken bare socks? Seedy cuss in the
Richmond? Rawthere! Thought he had a deposit of lead in his penis.
Trumpery insanity. Bartle the Bread we calls him. That, sir, was once
a prosperous cit. Man all tattered and torn that married a maiden all
forlorn. Slung her hook, she did. Here see lost love. Walking Mackintosh
of lonely canyon. Tuck and turn in. Schedule time. Nix for the hornies.
Pardon? Seen him today at a runefal? Chum o' yourn passed in his checks?
Ludamassy! Pore piccaninnies! Thou'll no be telling me thot, Pold veg!
Did ums blubble bigsplash crytears cos fren Padney was took off in black
bag? Of all de darkies Massa Pat was verra best. I never see the like
since I was born. _Tiens, tiens_, but it is well sad, that, my faith,
yes. O, get, rev on a gradient one in nine. Live axle drives are souped.
Lay you two to one Jenatzy licks him ruddy well hollow. Jappies? High
angle fire, inyah! Sunk by war specials. Be worse for him, says he, nor
any Rooshian. Time all. There's eleven of them. Get ye gone. Forward,
woozy wobblers! Night. Night. May Allah the Excellent One your soul this
night ever tremendously conserve.

Your attention! We're nae tha fou. The Leith police dismisseth us. The
least tholice. Ware hawks for the chap puking. Unwell in his abominable
regions. Yooka. Night. Mona, my true love. Yook. Mona, my own love. Ook.

Hark! Shut your obstropolos. Pflaap! Pflaap! Blaze on. There she goes.
Brigade! Bout ship. Mount street way. Cut up! Pflaap! Tally ho. You not
come? Run, skelter, race. Pflaaaap!

Lynch! Hey? Sign on long o' me. Denzille lane this way. Change here for
Bawdyhouse. We two, she said, will seek the kips where shady Mary is.
Righto, any old time. _Laetabuntur in cubilibus suis_. You coming long?
Whisper, who the sooty hell's the johnny in the black duds? Hush! Sinned
against the light and even now that day is at hand when he shall come to
judge the world by fire. Pflaap! _Ut implerentur scripturae_. Strike
up a ballad. Then outspake medical Dick to his comrade medical Davy.
Christicle, who's this excrement yellow gospeller on the Merrion
hall? Elijah is coming! Washed in the blood of the Lamb. Come on you
winefizzling, ginsizzling, booseguzzling existences! Come on, you
dog-gone, bullnecked, beetlebrowed, hogjowled, peanutbrained, weaseleyed
fourflushers, false alarms and excess baggage! Come on, you triple
extract of infamy! Alexander J Christ Dowie, that's my name, that's
yanked to glory most half this planet from Frisco beach to Vladivostok.
The Deity aint no nickel dime bumshow. I put it to you that He's on the
square and a corking fine business proposition. He's the grandest thing
yet and don't you forget it. Shout salvation in King Jesus. You'll
need to rise precious early you sinner there, if you want to diddle the
Almighty God. Pflaaaap! Not half. He's got a coughmixture with a punch
in it for you, my friend, in his back pocket. Just you try it on.



_The Mabbot street entrance of nighttown, before which stretches
an uncobbled tramsiding set with skeleton tracks, red and green
will-o'-the-wisps and danger signals. Rows of grimy houses with gaping
doors. Rare lamps with faint rainbow fins. Round Rabaiotti's halted ice
gondola stunted men and women squabble. They grab wafers between which
are wedged lumps of coral and copper snow. Sucking, they scatter slowly.
Children. The swancomb of the gondola, highreared, forges on through the
murk, white and blue under a lighthouse. Whistles call and answer. _

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

THE ANSWERS: Round behind the stable.

_(A deafmute idiot with goggle eyes, his shapeless mouth dribbling,
jerks past, shaken in Saint Vitus' dance. A chain of children 's hands
imprisons him. )_

THE CHILDREN: Kithogue! Salute!

THE IDIOT: _(Lifts a palsied left arm and gurgles)_ Grhahute!

THE CHILDREN: Where's the great light?

THE IDIOT: _(Gobbing)_ Ghaghahest.

_(They release him. He jerks on. A pigmy woman swings on a rope slung
between two railings, counting. A form sprawled against a dustbin and
muffled by its arm and hat snores, groans, grinding growling teeth, and
snores again. On a step a gnome totting among a rubbishtip crouches
to shoulder a sack of rags and bones. A crone standing by with a smoky
oillamp rams her last bottle in the maw of his sack. He heaves his
booty, tugs askew his peaked cap and hobbles off mutely. The crone
makes back for her lair, swaying her lamp. A bandy child, asquat on the
doorstep with a paper shuttlecock, crawls sidling after her in spurts,
clutches her skirt, scrambles up. A drunken navvy grips with both hands
the railings of an area, lurching heavily. At a comer two night watch in
shouldercapes, their hands upon their staffholsters, loom tall. A plate
crashes: a woman screams: a child wails. Oaths of a man roar, mutter,
cease. Figures wander, lurk, peer from warrens. In a room lit by a
candle stuck in a bottleneck a slut combs out the tatts from the hair
of a scrofulous child. Cissy Caffrey's voice, still young, sings shrill
from a lane. )_

CISSY CAFFREY:

_I gave it to Molly
Because she was jolly,
The leg of the duck,
The leg of the duck. _

_(Private Carr and Private Compton, swaggersticks tight in their oxters,
as they march unsteadily rightaboutface and burst together from their
mouths a volleyed fart. Laughter of men from the lane. A hoarse virago
retorts. )_

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

CISSY CAFFREY: More luck to me. Cavan, Cootehill and Belturbet. _(She
sings)_

_I gave it to Nelly
To stick in her belly,
The leg of the duck,
The leg of the duck. _

_(Private Carr and Private Compton turn and counterretort, their tunics
bloodbright in a lampglow, black sockets of caps on their blond cropped
polls. Stephen Dedalus and Lynch pass through the crowd close to the
redcoats. )_

PRIVATE COMPTON: _(Jerks his finger)_ Way for the parson.

PRIVATE CARR: _(Turns and calls)_ What ho, parson!

CISSY CAFFREY: _(Her voice soaring higher)_

_She has it, she got it,
Wherever she put it,
The leg of the duck. _

_(Stephen, flourishing the ashplant in his left hand, chants with joy
the_ introit _for paschal time. Lynch, his jockeycap low on his brow,
attends him, a sneer of discontent wrinkling his face. )_

STEPHEN: _Vidi aquam egredientem de templo a latere dextro. Alleluia_.

_(The famished snaggletusks of an elderly bawd protrude from a
doorway. )_

THE BAWD: _(Her voice whispering huskily)_ Sst! Come here till I tell
you. Maidenhead inside. Sst!

STEPHEN: _(Altius aliquantulum) Et omnes ad quos pervenit aqua ista_.

THE BAWD: _(Spits in their trail her jet of venom)_ Trinity medicals.
Fallopian tube. All prick and no pence.

_(Edy Boardman, sniffling, crouched with bertha supple, draws her shawl
across her nostrils. )_

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

STEPHEN: _(Ttriumphaliter) Salvi facti sunt. _

_(He flourishes his ashplant, shivering the lamp image, shattering light
over the world. A liver and white spaniel on the prowl slinks after him,
growling. Lynch scares it with a kick. )_

LYNCH: So that?

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

LYNCH: Pornosophical philotheology. Metaphysics in Mecklenburgh street!

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

LYNCH: Ba!

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

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

STEPHEN: Lecherous lynx, _to la belle dame sans merci,_ Georgina
Johnson, _ad deam qui laetificat iuventutem meam. _

_(Stephen thrusts the ashplant on him and slowly holds out his hands,
his head going back till both hands are a span from his breast, down
turned, in planes intersecting, the fingers about to part, the left
being higher. )_

LYNCH: Which is the jug of bread? It skills not.