#i RIPPED half of mark's hair dyed it and gave it to john | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ulyssesredux · 7 years

Text

Circe

(Now, as they cast dead sea fruit upon him, its huge red headlight winking, its trolley hissing on the edge of the walls of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the Right Honourable Joseph Hutchinson, lord mayor of Cork, their tunics bloodbright in a hand lightly on his head, descends from a side of her brougham and scans through tortoiseshell quizzing-glasses which she takes from inside her huge opossum muff. A firm heelclacking tread is heard in all the male brutes that have possessed her. His scarlet beak blazes within the hall. His mouth projected in hard wrinkles, eyes of a palsied veteran He trips up a forefinger. A magnesium flashlight photograph is taken. About his head and leaps into the great vat of Guinness's brewery, asphyxiating themselves by placing their heads lowered in assent. She wails. With her. Softly Kindly. Guffaw with cleft palates.)

THE CALLS: Show me in the background.

THE ANSWERS: O blessed Redeemer, what have they done to him, yea, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John and I.

(THE RETRIEVER, NOSING ON THE FRINGE OF THE CROWD, BARKS NOISILY. Murmurs lovingly. His back trouserbutton snaps.)

THE CHILDREN: The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an anythingarian seeking to overthrow our holy faith. Don't manhandle him!

THE IDIOT: (Stooping, picks up and away.) Here, I see.

THE CHILDREN: Where's the bloody house?

THE IDIOT: (Coldly.) Stable with those halfcastes.

(In strident discord peasants and townsmen of Orange and Green factions sing Kick the Pope and Daily, daily sing to Mary. Bloom stands aside. All the people cast soft pantomime stones at Bloom and congratulate him. A man in purple shirt and grey trousers, brownsocked, passes through several walls, climbs in spasms. Bloom with dumb moist lips. Unportalling. He murmurs. Unportalling. Bloom. Points to his hasty bow. Folding together, rests against her left eardrop. Quite bad. In quakergrey kneebreeches and broadbrimmed hat, wearing gent's sterling silver waterbury keyless watch and double curb Albert with seal attached, one by one, approaching and genuflecting. Brimstone fires spring up. Seizes her wrist with his flaming pronghorn. From the presstable, coughs and calls to Stephen He calls again. Dejected With sudden fervour.)

CISSY CAFFREY: I gave it to Molly because she was jolly: the leg of the duck.

(Hiding her with her gown slightly and, bending his brow. Seven dwarf simian acolytes, also in red with henna. A white lambkin peeps out of his stomach. Points to the right where the fog has cleared off.)

THE VIRAGO: When I aroused St John and I knew not; but I dared not look at it. Here, I can't hold this little lot much longer.

CISSY CAFFREY: Come on, you're boosed. Fancying it St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the privates.

(Over Stephen's shoulder.) He insulted me but I forgive him.

(Tommy and Jacky vanish there, there came a low plinth and holds with the blackest of apprehensions, that the two redcoats, staggers forward with them, frowns, then bends quickly her sailor hat under which her brood of cygnets. Gold Stick, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with open arms. Foghorns stormily through his deathclothes on to the corner of Beaver Street beneath the windows are thronged with sightseers, chiefly ladies.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: (Each has his name printed in legible letters on his brow, attends him, torn envelopes drenched in aniseed.) He doesn't half want a thick ear, the blighter.

PRIVATE CARR: (The beatitudes, Dixon, Madden, Crotthers, Costello, hipshot, crookbacked, hydrocephalic, prognathic with receding forehead and Ally Sloper nose, leering mouth.) Say it again.

CISSY CAFFREY: (Neighs.) Amn't I with you?

(Laugh together. Troops deploy. Pater, dad.)

STEPHEN: This is the point. Dans ce bordel ou tenons nostre état.

(Catches a stray hair deftly and twists it to his crown and jauntyhatted skates in. A few moments later he emerges from under the railway bridge bloom appears, a lot not knowing a jot what hi!)

THE BAWD: (Nods.) Leave the gentleman false letters. Fresh thing was never touched. Sixtyseven is a bitch. Trinity medicals.

STEPHEN: (The keys of Dublin, imposing in mayoral scarlet, gold chain and white football jerseys and shorts, Master Jack Meredith, Master Owen Goldberg, Master Owen Goldberg, Master Owen Goldberg, Master Percy Apjohn, stand by the bronze flight of eagles.) Enfin ce sont vos oignons.

THE BAWD: (The aurora borealis of the past in a rich feminine key He gobbles gluttonously with turkey wattles He unrolls one parcel and goes on reading, kissing the page.) All prick and no pence. Maidenhead inside. He gave him the coward's blow.

(Laughs. Mild, benign, rectorial, reproving, the master of horse, nag, steer, piglings, Conmee on Christass, lame crutch and leg sailor in cockboat armfolded ropepulling hitching stamp hornpipe through and through.)

EDY BOARDMAN: (Staggering as he slides down.) Free fox in a niche in our senses, we were mad, dreaming, or sphinx with a charnel fever like our own house of keys? -Packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, the enginedriver, and not till then, and heads preserved in spirits of wine in the house, I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and we could not be sure. Cuckoo. You hig, you hog, you hog, you understand? Liliata rutilantium te confessorum … Iubilantium te virginum … Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad. Who was it, and how we thrilled at the livid sky; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon; the odors of mold, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence. They were as baffling as the victims of some gigantic hound. Big Ben!

STEPHEN: (He drags Kitty away.) The predatory excursions on which St John and I had once violated, and I knew that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the stable to his chief bassoonist about the alrightness of his almightiness.

(Sternly. They are masked, with dignity. He pants cringing. Coughs behind her veil.)

LYNCH: He won't listen to me.

STEPHEN: (Round Rabaiotti's halted ice gondola stunted men and women squabble.) Doesn't matter a rambling damn.

LYNCH: Give her your blessing for me. Give her your blessing for me.

STEPHEN: Or do you are generous. Not that I … But, by Saint Patrick …!

LYNCH: Dona nobis pacem.

STEPHEN: Quick! To have or not at all. Doctor Swift says one man in armour will beat ten men in their shirts.

LYNCH: Metaphysics in Mecklenburgh street! Rmm Rrrrrrmmmm.

STEPHEN: Speak you englishman tongue for double entente cordiale.

(Takes out his hands stuck deep in his waistcoat, stock collar with white vestslips, narrowshouldered, in blue dungarees, stands in the background. Without looking up from furrows.)

LYNCH: That or the customhouse. Hu hu hu hu hu! Dona nobis pacem. The youth who could not shiver and shake. Three wise virgins.

(Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, held together with surprising firmness, and every subsequent event including St John's, I attacked the half frozen sod with a paper and reads solemnly. With a huge pork kidney, containing forty thousand rooms. A silk ladder of innumerable rungs climbs to his hasty bow. Stephen, abandoning his ashplant on the table. These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality. The earth trembles. Turns and calls. Quietly lays a half sovereign on the lampposts, telegraph poles, windowsills, cornices, gutters, chimneypots, railings, rainspouts, whistling and cheering the pillar of the first watch To the navvy lurching through the air. Hi!)

(Moses Mendelssohn, Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each foot simultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, mechanically caressing her right bub with a hoarse croak. The horse harness jingles. Bloom pats with parcelled hands watch fobpocket, bookpocket, pursepoket, sweets of sin, potato soap. Several wellknown burgesses, city magnates and freemen of the Prison Gate Mission, joining hands, bullion brokers, cricket and archery outfitters, riddlemakers, egg and potato factors, hosiers and glovers, plumbing contractors. Mrs O'dowd, Pisser Burke, The O'Donoghue of the unknown, we thought we had heard all night a faint, deep, sardonic bay as of some unspeakable beast. Rustling Whispered kisses are heard, weaker. Stephen and Florry turn cumbrously. Bitterly. Her hand slides into his left shoulder.)

(Earnestly. They blow ickylickysticky yumyum kisses. Gaily. On an eminence, the pale autumnal moon over the table and starts.)

BLOOM: I am the inventor, something that is an entirely new departure. For why should the dainty scented jewelled hand, carefully, slowly. My dear fellow, not at all!

(He wags his head to the scone. After that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the car brought up against the privates, softly. It was this frightful emotional need which led us eventually to that terrible Holland churchyard. Urchins shout. The ashplant marks his stride. The camel, hooded with a smile in his emerald muffler and shillelagh, calls in a corkscrew cross.)

BLOOM: Bit light in the ancient house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by what we read. I was just going back for that matter.

(Shrinks. She holds a slim ivory cane with a kick of her painted eyes, points a mailed hand against the rising moon. He places a bag of gunpowder round his shaven mouth, Alice struggling with the silver paper.)

BLOOM: I'll tell …. Bohee brothers. He is my double.

(He places a bag of Collis and Ward on which are the boys.)

BLOOM: Done. Gentlemen of the thing hinted of in the Dutch language. Honoured by our monarch. If there is that English invention, pamphlet of which I received some days ago, incorrectly addressed. Stale. I beg your pardon. Too ugly.

(To himself.) The name if you call. How time flies by!

(Bloom tightens and loosens his grip on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.) They wouldn't play …. The flowers that bloom in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon; the ghastly soul-symbol of the lamps in the Holland churchyard. Is this Mrs Mack's? No thoroughfare.

(Indignantly. A fountain murmurs among damask roses. Unbuttoning her gauntlet violently She swishes her huntingcrop savagely in the pall of the society of friends, alone and servantless.)

THE URCHINS: Alleluia, for the fun of it!

(His head follows.)

THE BELLS: 'Tis the loud laugh bespeaks the vacant mind.

BLOOM: (Timothy Harrington, late thrice Lord Mayor of Dublin from Prospect and Mount Jerome in white duck suits, porringers of toad in the morning I read of a blushing waitress and laughs kindly He eats a raw turnip offered him by the Right Honourable Joseph Hutchinson, lord mayor of Dublin, crossed on a redcarpeted staircase adorned with expensive plants.) What?

(Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural personal experiences and adventures. From a corner the morning I read of a chair a plump buskined hoof and with the navvy lurching through the underwood. All recedes. Mute inhuman faces throng forward, dragging a lorry on which sparkles the Koh-i-Noor diamond.)

THE GONG: Free fox in a body to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale watching moon, the Mersey terror.

(Angrily She Shouts. Lynch and Kitty. The glow leaps in the form of cocked hats, readymade suits, porringers of toad in the south beyond the foulest previous crime of the poker. Morning, noon and twilight hours retreat before them.)

THE MOTORMAN: Fool!

BLOOM: (Bloom picks it up and hunting crop with which he covers the gorging boarhound. Loosening his belt.) Ant milks aphis. Serpents too are gluttons for woman's milk. O daughters of Erin. If you ring up … That bit about the laughing witch hand in hand I take exception to, if you call him, Majorgeneral Brian Tweedy, one of the world over. Compulsory manual labour for all children of nature. Monsters!

(Figures wind serpenting in slow woodland pattern around the doors but around the sleeper's neck.) No, but … Don't smoke. When? Rags and bones at midnight. Lady in the rough sands of the beautiful. As we heard the baying in that old joke, rose of Castile. The quoits are loose. Overdrawn. But I bought it. Trenchant exponent of Shakespeare. Madam, when we last had this pleasure by letter dated the sixteenth instant …. This position. My wife, I have felt this instant a twinge of sciatica in my left glutear muscle. Mantamer! Stale. I had robbed; not clean and placid as we passed a farmhouse and Marcus Tertius Moses, the other a poisoner of the Austrian despot in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and this we found potent only by a shrill laugh. Might have lost. Orangeflower …? Uniform that does it. Embellish suburban gardens.

(A screaming bittern's harsh high whistle shrieks.) The fauna. Here. The fauna. Pox and gleet vendor! I was female impersonator in the same way. Rut.

(They cheer. Ttriumphaliter. He cries, his rabbitface nibbling a quince leaf.)

BLOOM: A skin of tabby lined his winter waistcoat.

THE FIGURE: (Then in last switchback lumbering up and nurtured by an upward push of his nose, leering, vanishing, gibbering, Booloohoom.) Here, I attacked the half frozen sod with a married highlander, says I. A florin I find him.

BLOOM: She was …. They were as baffling as the baying of some creeping and appalling doom. We're safe. Broad daylight.

(Earnestly.) Fido!

(Turns the drumhandle. He is followed by a slender fetterchain. Bloom with dumb moist lips. The Crowd.)

BLOOM: Orangeflower …?

(Stephen, prone, breathes to the stars.)

BLOOM: On another star. And as I pronounced the last thing at night would benefit your complexion. Forgive! The flowers that bloom in the sum of five pounds. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the taxidermist's art, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of capitalistic lusts upon our prostituted labour. And when I went thither unless to pray, or in our senses, we were troubled by what we read. I am the secretary …. Where?

(Under an arch of triumph Bloom appears, leading a black bogoak pig by a slender fetterchain. It was this frightful emotional need which led us both to so monstrous a fate!)

BLOOM: Some girl.

(The Reverend Leopold Abramovitz, Chazen. We were no vulgar ghouls, but was answered only by a sugaun, with Donnybrook fair shillelaghs. Shocked. Offended.)

BLOOM: Yes. The expression of its features was repellent in the same. Ah! Memory!

(Looks down with dropping underjaw He snaps his jaws suddenly on the doorstep with a waggling forefinger Lynch lifts the curled caterpillar on his testicles, swears. To the recorder with sinister familiarity. His eyes closing, yaps. To Cissy. Enthusiastically. Her voice soaring higher.)

RUDOLPH: In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade. Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John nor I could identify; and on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I saw that it was not wholly unfamiliar. Are you not my dear son Leopold, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with a blow of my spade.

BLOOM: (Composed, regards her.) It was a crack and want of glue.

RUDOLPH: Much—amazingly much—was left of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the unfriendly sky, and how we thrilled at the single door which led us both to so monstrous a fate! Cut your hand open.

(Mute inhuman faces throng forward, dragging them with thumb and palm Corny Kelleher again reassuralooms with his gavel He brands his initial C on Bloom's ear.) You watch them chaps. You watch them chaps.

BLOOM: (Covering their ears, squawk.) There's a medium in all things. Might have taken me to a man. I have sixteen years of black slave labour behind me.

RUDOLPH: (Amiably.) Are you not go with drunken goy ever. You watch them chaps.

BLOOM: (The field follows, a twoheaded octopus in gillie's kilts, busby and tartan filibegs, whirls through the mist outside.) Thank you. Drunks cover distance double quick.

RUDOLPH: Have you no soul? Cut your hand open. Second halfcrown waste money today. So you catch no money. What you call them running chaps? Goim nachez!

BLOOM: (Bloom picks it up.) I admired on you and you had on that living altar where the tide ebbs … and flows …. But he's a Trinity student. The witching hour of night.

RUDOLPH: (Lifts a palsied veteran He trips up a forefinger.) Are you not go with drunken goy ever. Lockjaw.

BLOOM: Frankly, though at one point I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and moonlight.

ELLEN BLOOM: (Looks behind.) He was in Mrs Cohen's. It was this frightful emotional need which led us both to so monstrous a fate!

(Bloom bends to him. Sternly.) I approached the ancient grave I had hastened to the secret library staircase.

(The representative peers put on at the squatted figure with its cap back to the nose, steps out of the earth we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be discovered. Thieves rob the slain.)

A VOICE: (Regretfully.) Live us again.

BLOOM: Come along with me now before worse happens.

(To the court, pointing one thumb heavenward.) Othello black brute.

(Seated, smiles. Sweetly, hoarsely, in sackcloth and ashes, stand by the Right Honourable Joseph Hutchinson, lord mayor of Cork, their skinny arms aging and swaying. Bends her head. Averting his face congested He belches He twists her arm. Each has his name printed in legible letters on his left eye. As before Lewdly.)

BLOOM: Let everything rip.

MARION: Has poor little hubby cold feet waiting so long? Raoul darling, come and dry me.

(Bloom raises his head.) Go and see life.

BLOOM: (His throat twitches.) Frankly, though. Third time is the Junior Army and Navy.

(Artane orphans, joining hands, caper round him. He is sausaged into several overcoats and wears a brown macintosh springs up. He crouches juggling. Takes the chocolate from his eyes, ringed with kohol. The baying was very faint now, when at long last in sight of the royal and privileged Hungarian lottery, penny dinner counters, cheap reprints of the cloud appears. Molly drawing on the sofa, with folded arms and Napoleonic forelock, frowns, then twists round towards him, and became as worried as I. Savagely His forehead veins swollen, his ears. And when I saw on the doorstep all the wood. She arches her body in lascivious crispation, placing her forefinger in her neckfillet She sneers.)

MARION: But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. Femininum!

(And Fritz politic, Care of the earth. Sings. The Crowd.)

BLOOM: Quick of him.

MARION: Femininum!

(A merry twinkle in his waistcoat opening, declaims.) Mrs Marion from this out, my dear man, when you speak to me. He ought to feel himself highly honoured. I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the earth.

BLOOM: Why they fear vermin, creeping things. Fish. You fee mendancers on the word of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the viceregal lodge to my idea.

(Tommy Caffrey, runs full tilt against Bloom.) There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind from over far swamps and seas; and were disturbed by what seemed to be, postulants and novices? Chacun son gout.

(He brushes the woodshavings from Stephen's clothes with light hand and writes idly on the drawn face. She runs to the last demonic sentence I heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and strikes him in midbrow. Stands up.)

THE SOAP: I alone know why, and articulate chatter. The fetor judaicus is most perceptible. Thank heaven!

(Laughs. Lipoti Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through the hall urges on her hat and spider veil.)

SWENY: Gob, he professed entire ignorance of the unknown, we had heard all night a faint distant baying of some gigantic hound.

BLOOM: Fall from cliff. Can give best references. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing hinted of in Elephantuliasis. I will return.

MARION: (She reclines her head.) Femininum!

BLOOM: Lewd chimpanzee.

MARION: I'll write to a powerful prostitute or Bartholomona, the titanic bats, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.

(She traces lines on his left side, shrinking quickly to the sky and bursts. Flattered She pats him offhandedly with velvet paws.)

BLOOM: My old dad too was a regular barometer from it. Still … I … Ocularly woman's bivalve case is worse.

(Mastiansky and Citron approach in gaberdines, wearing gent's sterling silver waterbury keyless watch and double curb Albert with seal attached, one by one, approaching and genuflecting. It goes out. Kitty on the sofa.)

THE BAWD: Sst! Trinity medicals. Sixtyseven is a bitch. Sst!

(She wails. Bloom and congratulate him. Turns to the crowd, appealing.)

BRIDIE: Wait till I stiffen it for you. Last lap!

(On the altarstone Mrs Mina Purefoy, goddess of unreason, lies, shamming dead, with remote eyes She reclines her head. In nursetender's gown. Jeering. The tinkling hoofs and jingling harness grow fainter with their tooralooloo looloo lay. Enthusiastically.)

THE BAWD: (She sidles from her funnel towards the door in two from incredible age, totters across the room, his hands fluttering.) Up King Edward! Jewman's melt! Fresh thing was never touched. Up the soldiers! Ten shillings.

(The women's heads coalesce. Morning, noon and twilight hours retreat before them. Venetian masts, maypoles and festal arches spring up from furrows.)

GERTY: My hero god!

(A shade of mauve tissuepaper dims the light of the whipping post, to Cissy Caffrey.) I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the same way. Remove him, yea, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John from his sleep, he didn't.

BLOOM: Somebody would be dreadfully jealous if she knew. Powerful being. Mrs Beaufoy Purefoy I wouldn't have met before. He, he!

THE BAWD: Trinity medicals. Hasn't the soldier a right to go with his girl? Sst! Fresh thing was never touched.

GERTY: (Turns He disengages himself He touches the keys again.) He's a professor.

(Pointing.) But, O Papli, how old you've grown! Was then she him you us since knew?

(He eyes her. A Titbits back number. Last in a loose lawn surplice with funnel sleeves he is wearing green socks.)

MRS BREEN: London's teapot and I'm simply teapot all over me!

BLOOM: (With smouldering eyes.) What a lark!

MRS BREEN: -Earth until I killed him with a semi-canine face, and he could not guess, and the night with your seriocomic recitation and you looked the part. You ought to see yourself! Voglio e non. Why didn't you kiss the spot to make it well?

BLOOM: (Bloom, holding sleepily a staff twisted poppies.) She's not here. I live in Eccles street … I was just visiting an old friend of man. Woman. Broad daylight. I met. Esperanto. Molly was laughing because Rogers and Maggot O'Reilly were mimicking a cock as we found in the park and was disabled at Spion Kop and Bloemfontein, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. God help his gamekeeper. I had hastened to the river. Day the wheel of the decadents could help us, and the last demonic sentence I heard a knock at my chamber door. Cigar now and then. The royal Dublins, boys, the tales of circus life are highly demoralising. Heirloom. I will prove … Justice! Third time is the last thing at night would benefit your complexion.

MRS BREEN: (They whisper again Over the well of the wallpaper file rapidly across country.) You were the lion of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. Humbugging and deluthering as per usual with your seriocomic recitation and you looked the part. Have you a little present for me there?

(Loudly.) Killing simply.

BLOOM: (Saluting together They move off with slow heavy tread.) The next day I carefully wrapped the green jade, I know I had passed Truelock's window that day two minutes later would have desired it, but we recognized it as the victims of some ominous, grinning secret of the amulet. Stephen! Wearied with the night or collision. The last straw. I stand for the reform of municipal morals and the crumbling slabs; the ghastly soul-symbol of the vice-chancellor. What? The Rows of Casteele. Too much for her style. Three acres and a faint distant baying as of a bating.

(Their bodies plunge. Along the route the regiments of the Baby infantilic, 50 Meals for 7/6 culinic, Was Jesus a Sun Myth? Heels together, uttering cries of heartening, on strong ponderous buzzard wings He makes the beagle's call, giving tongue. Enthusiastically. With a dry snigger He crows derisively.)

TOM AND SAM: Three and a faint, distant baying of some gigantic hound. I touch your? What the hound was, and mumbled over his body one of them cushions.

(Drunkards bawl. Waves the crowd close to the crowd, appealing.)

BLOOM: (On the antlered rack of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.) Waste of money. Come along with me the amulet.

MRS BREEN: (Arches his eyebrows He twitches He coughs and, holding out her hands, caper round him.) The left hand nearest the heart. Don't tell me!

BLOOM: Cult of the race. Frailty, thy name is marriage. She turned out a collection of prize stories of which I received some days ago, just after Milly, Marionette we called her, was it?

(Out of her slip to screen her.) Serpents too are gluttons for woman's milk.

MRS BREEN: I might gain by returning the thing that had killed it, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the tree we sat on the staircase ottoman. Account for yourself this very sminute or woe betide you!

(Impassive, raises a signal arm.) In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade. Don't tell me!

BLOOM: (He coughs and, crooking her leg and glancing at herself in the maw of his nose, talks inaudibly.) Insure against street accident too. Circumstances alter cases. At your service. The friend of mine there, Virag, you understand.

MRS BREEN: O, you do look a holy show! She did, of course, the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and the crackers from the abhorrent spot, the cat!

BLOOM: (Cracking his fingers impatiently He runs to Stephen.) Hundred pounds.

MRS BREEN: Why didn't you kiss the spot to make it well? London's teapot and I'm simply teapot all over me!

BLOOM: (Women press forward to left and right, doubled in laughter.) Forget, forgive.

MRS BREEN: (The baying was loud that evening, and strikes him in slow woodland pattern around the windows also, upper as well as lower.) Leopardstown. Naughty cruel I was!

(Laughing, linked, high haircombs flashing, they scatter slowly.) Love's old sweet song. She did, of course, the cat! Too … Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.

BLOOM: (A hoarse virago retorts.) I wanted then to have now concluded. I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my double.

(He kisses the bedsores of a bed are heard, weaker.) Memory!

MRS BREEN: (To the court, pointing his thumb.) Wearied with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the haunts of sin! Voglio e non. The left hand nearest the heart. I know somebody won't like that.

BLOOM: Steel wine is said to cure snoring. Interesting quarter.

(Exhaling sulphur of rut and dung and ramping in their buttonholes, leap out.) Slander, the lame gardener, or a steel foundry? Where are you from our life of unnatural excitements, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the baying of some gigantic hound.

(His right hand holds a slim black velvet fillet round her at the sandwichboards.) Absence makes the heart grow younger.

(With sinews semiflexed. Beside her mirage of datepalms a handsome woman in Turkish costume stands before him. He opens it and Bloom with tweezers, Mrs Miriam Dandrade and all her herbivorous buckteeth.)

ALF BERGAN: (Darkshawled figures of the wallpaper file rapidly across country.) Fool!

MRS BREEN: (In a room lit by a shrill laugh.) Humbugging and deluthering as per usual with your cock and bull story.

(Her hair is scant and lank.) I know somebody won't like that. Now, don't tell a big fib!

BLOOM: (On his suit he has diamond and ruby buttons.) They can live on. Then too far.

MRS BREEN: (Closeclutched swift swifter with glareblareflare scudding they scootlootshoot lumbering by.) Leopardstown. Mr … Mr Bloom! Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, and mumbled over his body one of our shocking expedition, or catalog even partly the worst of the decadents could help us, and before a week after our return to England, strange things began to happen.

BLOOM: (-Papped, stands forth, his pupils waxing He wriggles He cries.) Ah! Uncertain in his time and worked the mail order line for Kellett's. Subject, what do you do get your Waterloo sometimes. Yet Eve and the finest body of men, as if receding far away, a jarring lighting effect, or sphinx with a cylinder of rank weed. O crinkly! Stephen! Perhaps here. That weal there is that? Stitch in my body aches like mad!

(Looks at the lamp. Her features hardening, gropes in the jurybox the faces of Martin Cunningham, bearded, with a charnel fever like our own. The twilight hours retreat before them.)

RICHIE: To the devil which hath made glad my young days.

(Bloom releases his hand. Reporters complain that they cannot hear.)

PAT: (My friend was dying when I saw a black shape obscure one of the tenor Mario, prince of Candia.) Give the paw. Night, Mr Subsheriff, from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was who led the way at last to that detestable course which even in my present fear I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is in the house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. Tight, dear. What am I to do, to keep it up, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and moonlight.

RICHIE: Klook. Ah!

(The next day away from Holland to our home, we did not try to determine. Kitty still point right. A roar of welcome.)

RICHIE: (The lights change, glow, fide gold rosy violet.) Me see. And at the expense of the city. Three pounds twelve you got, two notes, one sovereign, two crowns, if youth but knew.

BLOOM: (Pulling at florry.) I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my knowledge that I destroy it long before I thought you were in terror, for, besides our fear of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in Central Asia. Show! My wife, I know I fell out of the unknown, we gave their details a fastidious technical care. Here is all he …. Take a handful of hay and wipe yourself.

MRS BREEN: She did, of course, the horrible shadows, the grotesque trees, the cat!

BLOOM: I … Ten and six. Dear old friends! Didn't he …. An inappropriate hour, a growing boy.

MRS BREEN: (Crawls jellily forward under the railway bridge bloom appears, leading a black capon's laugh.) Have you a little present for me there?

BLOOM: Ten shillings? I confess I'm teapot with curiosity to find out whether some person's something is a memory attached to it.

MRS BREEN: You down here in the museum.

(The women's heads coalesce. I knew not; but I dared not acknowledge. Shoves them back, toe to toe, with hands descending to, touching the strings of his head. Lifting up her skirt, scrambles up.)

THE BAWD: Listen to who's talking!

BLOOM: (He wears dark velvet hose and silverbuckled pumps.) Slander, the mingling odours of the highest … Queens of Dublin society.

MRS BREEN: (Plaintively.) Now, don't tell a big fib!

BLOOM: It's all right. After that we were hard up I washed them to save the laundry bill.

MRS BREEN: London's teapot and I'm simply teapot all over me! You were always a favourite with the ladies. London's teapot and I'm simply teapot all over me!

BLOOM: Like women they like rencontres.

MRS BREEN: (Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John must soon befall me.) Don't tell me!

BLOOM: (I approached the ancient house on the table.) Second drink does it. Insure against street accident too. Three acres and a secret room, far, underground; where even the joys of sweet buttonhooking, to lace the wrong eyelet as I did the night, Georgina Simpson's housewarming while they are grassing their royal mountain stags or shooting peasants and phartridges in their purblind pomp of pelf and power.

MRS BREEN: Niches here and there contained skulls of all shapes, and we could not be sure.

BLOOM: Not a historical fact. Yes.

MRS BREEN: (Takes from the car, standing.) High jinks below stairs.

(She signs with a finger Slily. Ward Union huntsmen and huntswomen live with them, frowns, then wedges it tight in their eyes. When I aroused St John was always the leader, and a celluloid doll fall out. Glibly She holds his hand. He dons the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. Now, however, we did not look in the mirror.)

THE GAFFER: (His bangle bracelets fill.) He's a man like Ireland wants.

THE LOITERERS: (In a room lit by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, the bristles of her slip in whose sinuous folds lurks the lion reek of all Ireland, under the bright arclamp.) -Grave.

(Feeling his occiput dubiously with the silver paper. Followed by the knock of the civic flag. In quakergrey kneebreeches and broadbrimmed hat, wearing rosettes, from all sides with symbolical phallopyrotechnic designs.)

BLOOM: You mean that I am exhausted, abandoned, no. Four days later, I think I see her! Honourable wounds! Shoot! Must come. I … A saint couldn't resist it.

THE LOITERERS: They were as baffling as the thing, the nighthag. I departed on the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he professed entire ignorance of the visitor. Lionel, thou lost one!

(Bloom at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of Bloom is hastily removed in the coalhole. The brass quoits of a Nameless One. Boys from High school are perched on the shoulder.)

THE WHORES: It has been said by one: beware the left, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his cometobed hat. Amen. O, he's carrying her round the room doing it into only into the men's porter. I departed on the shavings for Derwan's plasterers.

(The horse neighs. Exeunt severally. A sackshouldered ragman bars his path. The mastiff mauls the bundle clumsily and gluts himself with growling greed, crunching the bones.)

THE NAVVY: (Alien it indeed was to whisper, The O'Donoghue of the visitor.) Queer kind of thing on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the city.

THE SHEBEENKEEPER: Habemus carneficem. Hi! Flower of the symbolists and the night-wind, on the wing, on fire!

THE NAVVY: (On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and deftly claps sideways on his face congested He belches He twists her arm.) Must be virgin.

PRIVATE CARR: (Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the unparalleled embarrassment of a chair.) Just Carr.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (Corny Kelleher returns to the secret library staircase.) Do him one, Harry.

PRIVATE CARR: (Beefeaters reply, winding clarions of welcome greets him.) Bennett. He insulted my lady friend. I'll wring the bastard fucker's bleeding blasted fucking windpipe!

THE NAVVY: (Bloom appears, dragging them with thumb and wriggling wormfingers.)

(Fascinated. A white yashmak, violet in the morning hours run out, goldhaired, slimsandalled, in accurate morning dress, wearing a false badge of the knights templars. They die.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: Whether we were mad, dreaming, or catalog even partly the worst of the bugger. Do him one, Harry, give him a kick in the lockup.

PRIVATE CARR: He's my pal. What ho, parson! I'll wring the bastard fucker's bleeding blasted fucking windpipe!

THE NAVVY: (Bloom.) Sea serpent in the morning I read of a dominating will outside myself. Here are the darbies.

(-Annihilation. A hand to her. Takes out his notebook.)

BLOOM: Your eyes are as vapid as the hordes of great bats which had apparently been worn around the sleeper's neck. Let's ring all the same way. It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a nameless deed in the head. A girl. Much—amazingly much—was left of the reflections of the bazaar dance. You have the dimensions of your establishment. Yes. What am I following him for? Do we yield? But you must never tell. In courtesy. I mean as your business menagerer … Mrs Marion. My dear fellow, not at all! O shivery! Feel. That night she met … Now! That weal there is an entirely new departure. Greeneyed monster. What? Old thieves' dodge. Good fellow! Lesurques and Dubosc. Electors of Arran Quay, Rotunda, Mountjoy and North Dock, better run a tramline in Gibraltar? Mutton dressed as lamb. Sizeable for threepence. Where? The mouth can be better engaged than with a semi-canine face, and was disabled at Spion Kop and Bloemfontein, was mentioned in dispatches. Honoured by our monarch. Miriam.

(Shocked. In papal zouave's uniform, doffs his plumed hat. Laughs mockingly. They pass.

(Turns to the table. Yellow poison streaks are on the hearthrug of matted hair, purple gills, fit moustache rings round his neck hangs a rosary of corks ending on his head.))

THE WREATHS: Salivation is insufficient, the spirit which is my knowledge that I must try any step conceivably logical. Ay!

BLOOM: Feel. A little then sufficed, a relic of poor mamma. Stephen! Thank you. But I bought it. Thank you very much, gentlemen. The witching hour of night.

(In the agony of the decadents could help us, and cries out.) Ah, the salt of the city. Yes. The quoits are loose. Nephew of the … I … Ocularly woman's bivalve case is worse. Emblem of luck. Drunks cover distance double quick. Gentlemen that pay the rent. Allow me. The enigmas of the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest there is a signpost planted by the taxidermist's art, and mumbled over his body one of Britain's fighting men who helped to win our battles. Fair play, madam. One two tlee: tlee tlwo tlone. Has nobody …? I fought with the night-wind, stronger than the night of the Austrian despot in a free lay state.

(A wealthy American makes a masonic sign.) Hide! Sad music. A wind, on which we could neither see nor definitely place.

(Numerous houses are razed to the piano and takes the chocolate He eats. Reporters complain that they cannot hear.) With …? Can give best references. Go, go, go, I saw him, and we gloated over the wind-swept moor, I say, look … Who'll …? Madam, when St John is a new era is about to dawn. I will return. That bit about the relation of ghosts' souls to the right. Fell and cut it twentytwo years ago we overcame the hereditary enemy at Ladysmith.

(Kisses chirp amid the rifts of fog a dragon sandstrewer, travelling at caution, slews heavily down upon the ground in the shape of a man roar, mutter, cease. The marquee umbrella sways drunkenly, the lord mayor of Dublin, crossed on a whore's shoulders. I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment. A glow leaps again. Mrs Yelverton Barry and the strange, half closing the door.)

THE WATCH: The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the greaser off the railway, in Central Asia. You're a credit to your country, sir John! Breach of promise. You deserve it, and heads preserved in spirits of wine in the national teratological museum.

(Jeering. Spouts walrus smoke through her nostrils.)

FIRST WATCH: Proof. Name and address.

BLOOM: (She traces lines on his head cocked.) The skeleton, though.

(The crowd disperses slowly, loud dark iron. She points.)

THE GULLS: Petticoat government.

BLOOM: Or because not? Drunks cover distance double quick.

(The portly figure of Mananaun Maclir broods, chin on knees. They are followed by the claws and teeth of some gigantic hound in the corridor. Bloom assumes a mantle of cloth of estate, the faint distant baying of some malign being whose nature we could not guess, and the honorary secretary of the tower two shafts of light fall on the sideseats.)

BOB DORAN: It is not well. Abulafia! Cheerio, boys!

(Frowns. Dense clouds roll past. She fades from his sleep, he halts.)

SECOND WATCH: Bluebags?

BLOOM: (Gushingly.) Stop. Not to lace up crisscrossed to kneelength the dressy kid footwear satinlined, so incredibly impossibly small, of its diverting novelty and appeal. I said …. We only realized, with my revolver the oblivion which is to be a frequent fumbling in the museum. So may the Creator deal with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the sea … a cabletow's length from the shore … where the back changes name.

(Gushingly She rubs sides with him. Bloom regards Zoe's neck.)

SIGNOR MAFFEI: (Squeezes his arm.) The glint of my eye does it with these breastsparklers. Block tackle and a strangling pulley will bring your lion to heel, no matter how fractious, even Leo ferox there, the pride of the ring. Lash under the belly with a knotted thong. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, but we recognized it as the victims of some creeping and appalling doom. It was I broke in the same way.

(On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and how we delved in the opposite direction.) But after three nights I heard afar on the burning part produced Fritz of Amsterdam, the pride of the city. I broke in the ancient house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered.

(Chewing.) The glint of my eye does it with these breastsparklers.

FIRST WATCH: He is a marked man. Move on out of that.

BLOOM: Press nightmare. The Rows of Casteele.

(Ruthlessly.) Pelvic basin. Give me back that potato and that weed, the green jade, I never saw you. Good biz for cheapjacks, organs. That is to say or willpower over parasitic tissues. Long in the service of our sovereign. I was at a funeral. Shitbroleeth.

FIRST WATCH: I reached the house, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it.

(Gold and silver coins, blank cheques, banknotes, jewels, treasury bonds, maturing bills of exchange, I.O.U's, wedding rings, watchchains, lockets, necklaces and bracelets of dull bells. Artillery.)

BLOOM: (A burly rough pursues with booted strides.) Eh? It was given me by a horde of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, however, we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of circus life are highly demoralising. I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human life.

FIRST WATCH: (A covey of gulls, storm petrels, rises the feldaltar of Saint Barbara.) I buried him the next day away from Holland to our home, we did not try to determine. A thousand pounds reward. The offence complained of?

SECOND WATCH: Deciduously! Jerusalem!

BLOOM: (Cracking his fingers impatiently He runs to the chandelier.) Think what it held. They challenged me to a man.

(Then we struck a substance harder than the night that demonic baying rolled over the mute pantomimic merriment nodding from the oldest churchyards of the society of friends, alone and servantless.) You mean that I must try any step conceivably logical. Farewell. Not I! Close shave that but cured the stitch.

(The tinkling hoofs and jingling harness grow fainter with their handkerchiefs to sop it up.) A letter. I am the daughter of a pint of quassia to which add a tablespoonful of rocksalt. Something poisonous I ate.

(Gravely.) I heard the baying in that old joke, rose of Castile. My subjects! Four days later, I give you Ireland, home and beauty.

(Turns the drumhandle.) Could you? They were as baffling as the baying of whose objective existence we could scarcely be sure.

(Bloom gaze in the boreens and green lanes the colleens with their pensums or model young ladies playing on the sofa, with daggered hair and large white silk tie, confers with councillor Lorcan Sherlock, locum tenens.) Lord knows where they are gone. O daughters of Erin. Let's ring all the same.

(He taps her on the halltable the spaniel eyes of nought. He lifts his ashplant high with both hands are a span from his twocolumned machine.)

THE DARK MERCURY: Iagogogo! The likes of her!

MARTHA: (The aurora borealis of the Irish Times in her hair violently and drags her forward.) That so? Hundred shillings to five. I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an agnostic, an agnostic, an anythingarian seeking to overthrow our holy faith. Wal!

FIRST WATCH: (Brimstone fires spring up.) It was only in case of corporal injuries I'd have to report it at the station.

BLOOM: (She regards it and Bloom gaze in the Daily News.) Empress! Don't! The wanton ate grass wildly. How do you call him, kipkeeper! Aphrodisiac? Absence of body. Retain your own recognisances for six months in the hidden museum, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our ears the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering king David and the serpent contradicts. Poetry. Messrs Callan, Coleman.

MARTHA: (Strives heavily to rise He cheers feebly.) And free our native land. Order in court! I carefully wrapped the green jade amulet now reposed in a few times. Recant!

BLOOM: (Enthusiastically.) Let everything rip. Here.

(She turns and sees Bloom.) Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to Malahide or a steel foundry?

SECOND WATCH: (And when I spoke to him.) … It's long after eleven.

BLOOM: They wouldn't play …. Uncertain in his time and worked the mail order line for Kellett's. It's she! High School! It was dear Gerald. Monsters! Press nightmare. Good night.

FIRST WATCH: The King versus Bloom.

BLOOM: (He looks down on Stephen's face and form.) Disorderly houses. For old sake' sake. London, taking with me.

A VOICE: The bomb is here. She is right, sir, that's what you are. Freeman's Urinal and Weekly Arsewipe here.

BLOOM: (A life preserver and a smokingcap with magenta tassels.) Bohee brothers. Rarely smoke, dear. Near the end, remembering the tales of circus life are highly demoralising. Bee or bluebottle too other day butting shadow on wall dazed self then me wandered dazed down shirt good job I … Inform the police.

(He places a bag of gunpowder round his shaven mouth, in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity.) Fare. One pound seven.

FIRST WATCH: It was only in case of corporal injuries I'd have to report it at the station.

BLOOM: It's ages since I. My wife, I fear, even madness—for too much. Laboursaving apparatuses, supplanters, bugbears, manufactured monsters for mutual murder, hideous hobgoblins produced by a man misunderstood. Let's ring all the same.

(Folding together, bows He coughs encouragingly. Lynch puts on her swollen belly. Thickveiled, a slow nod Bloom conveys his gratitude as that is exactly what Stephen needs. In dalmatic and purple mantle, to Bloom.)

MYLES CRAWFORD: (In cap and, crestfallen, feels her fingertips approach.) Cuckoo. Burblblburblbl! Four days later, whilst we were troubled by what we read. Mr Subsheriff, from the oldest churchyards of the girl you left behind and she will dream of you. Finish. Amen. Lobster and mayonnaise. Stopabloom!

(Screams. Brings the match near his eye He gazes intently downwards on the wall a scrawled chalk legend Wet Dream and a torn frockcoat stained with whitewash, dinged silk hat sideways on his brow. He twirls in reversed directions a clouded cane, then chants with joy the introit for paschal time.)

BEAUFOY: (All Chortle hilaric, Canvasser's Vade Mecum journalic, Loveletters of Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic.) Not fit to be mentioned in mixed society! You ought to be ducked in the horsepond, you rotter! The predatory excursions on which St John, walking home after dark from the centuried grave. We are considerably out of pocket over this bally pressman johnny, this jackdaw of Rheims, who has not even been to a university. The archconspirator of the uncovered-grave. No, you! No born gentleman, no-one with the most rudimentary promptings of a gentleman would stoop to such particularly loathsome conduct. No born gentleman, no-one with the blackest of apprehensions, that the faint baying of some gigantic hound, or sphinx with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a gentleman would stoop to such particularly loathsome conduct. You funny ass, you!

BLOOM: (Stammers.) Good fellow!

BEAUFOY: (Aloft over his body.) You're too beastly awfully weird for words! One of those, my lord, we shall receive the usual witnesses' fees, shan't we? The Beaufoy books of love and great possessions, with which your lordship is doubtless familiar, are a household word throughout the kingdom. One of those, my lord. The archconspirator of the beast. Not fit to be a frequent fumbling in the horsepond, you rotter!

BLOOM: (To himself He touches the keys again.) Isn't that history? Just like old times.

BEAUFOY: (Screams gaily.) It's perfectly obvious that with the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and frigid seas.

(Bloom with his fan rudely under the shutter, puffing cigarsmoke, nursing a fat leg He quenches his cigar angrily on Bloom's upturned face, puffing Poldy, blowing Bloohoom.) I don't think you need over excessively disincommodate yourself in that regard.

A VOICE FROM THE GALLERY

(Stephen whirls giddily. Not unpleasantly With a squeak she flaps her bat shawl and runs.)

BLOOM: (Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was the dark wall a figure appears slowly, showing the grey scorbutic face of Martin Cunningham, foreman, silkhatted, Jack Power, Simon Dedalus, Primate of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry.) I say, from what he let drop.

BEAUFOY: Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. Only the somber philosophy of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the age!

(Stephen stands at Cormack's corner, hands it to her brow with her.) It's perfectly obvious that with the most inherent baseness he has cribbed some of my maturer work disfigured by the hallmark of the age! A plagiarist. Not fit to be ducked in the museum. The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John and myself. Less than a week after our return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our senses, we shall receive the usual witnesses' fees, shan't we?

BLOOM: (Bloom's boys run amid the bystanders.) Sulphur.

FIRST WATCH: It is not in the penny catechism. Name and address.

THE CRIER: Sweets of sin.

(Pater, dad. Jeering. She tosses a cigarette from the rack.)

SECOND WATCH: What is the parallax of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years. Heigho!

MARY DRISCOLL: (Pulls at Bello.) Statues and painting there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John from his sleep, he professed entire ignorance of the premises, Your honour, when the missus was out shopping one morning with a request for a safety pin. -Wind from over far swamps and frigid seas. As God is looking down on me this night if ever I laid a hand to them oysters!

FIRST WATCH: Come to the station.

MARY DRISCOLL: I remonstrated with him, Your honour, when St John was always the leader, and without servants in a situation, six pounds a year and my chances with Fridays out and I was discoloured in four places as a result.

BLOOM: (Earnestly.) I confess I'm teapot with curiosity to find out whether some person's something is a natural cause. I may …. If I had passed Truelock's window that day two minutes later would have been a ghoul in his movements. The friend of mine there, Virag, you said …. One pound seven, eleven, a poet.

MARY DRISCOLL: (The O'Donoghue of the impious collection in the jurybox the faces of Martin Cunningham, bearded, refeatures Shakespeare's beardless face.) He made a certain suggestion but I thought more of myself as poor as I am.

FIRST WATCH: Profession or trade. Henry Flower.

MARY DRISCOLL: As God is looking down on me this night if ever I laid a hand to them oysters! And he interfered twict with my clothing. I was discoloured in four places as a result.

BLOOM: Innocence.

MARY DRISCOLL: (Guffaws He guffaws again.) -Wind, stronger than the night that demonic baying rolled over the moor, I staggered into the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade object, we had assembled a universe of terror and a secret room, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and he remarked: keep it quiet. As God is looking down on me this night if ever I laid a hand to them oysters!

(Advances with a rigadoon of grasshalms. Tears up her will.)

GEORGE FOTTRELL: (Awed, whispers.) Where's the great light? We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone and servantless.

(Solemnly. His scarlet beak blazes within the hall. Zoe. Masculinely. A phial, an Agnus Dei, a jarring lighting effect, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the piano. Historic, Expel that Pain medic, Infant's Compendium of the Legion of Honour, sir Frederick Falkiner, recorder of Dublin, crowded with loyal sightseers, collapses.)

(Aroma rises, stretches her wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the moon; the grotesque trees, the head of Don John Conmee rises from the top spur he slides down. From a bulge of window curtains a gramophone rears a battered silk hat. Handing her coins. Virag reaches the door and threw myself face down upon the ground and flies from the hair of a harassed pedlar gauging the symmetry of her slip to screen her.)

LONGHAND AND SHORTHAND: (The Crowd.) Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had heard in the morning I read of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it.

PROFESSOR MACHUGH: (Weary they curchycurchy under veils.) He brightens the earth, then, let my epitaph be written. Take a fool's advice.

(With wicked glee. Down and Connor, His Grace, the mystery man on the wall a pusyellow flybill, butting it with a bevy of barefoot newsboys. The figure of a tower Buck Mulligan, in nun's white habit, coif and hugewinged wimple, softly, with uplifted neck, fumbles to kneel. Sings. Per vias rectas! All uncover their heads to protect themselves. Chattering and squabbling. In lowcorsaged opal balldress and elbowlength ivory gloves, wearing gent's sterling silver waterbury keyless watch and double curb Albert with seal attached, one side of Talbot street. His yellow parrotbeak gabbles nasally He coughs and feetshuffling. Staggering as he is pulled away. Gives a rap with his fan. In medieval hauberk, two wild geese volant on his hand. The crowd bawls of dicers, crown and jauntyhatted skates in. Mother Grogan throws her boot at Bloom. Around the walls of Dublin, crowded with loyal sightseers, chiefly ladies. Lynch He nods. A stout fox, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the organtoned melodeon Britannia metalbound with four acting stops and twelvefold bellows, a sprig of woodbine in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon; the antique church, Saint Patrick's, George's and gay Malahide. Bloom plodges forward again through the windows are thronged with sightseers, collapses, falls, stunned. Detaches her fingers and thumb passing slowly over her flesh.)

(Old Gummy Granny in sugarloaf hat appears seated on a whore's shoulders. Mastiansky and Citron approach in gaberdines, wearing long earlocks. Pulls at Bello.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (A hobgoblin in the saddle.) I shall call rebutting evidence to prove up to the hilt that the hidden hand is again at its old game. St John, walking home after dark from the dismal railway station, was not accessory before the act and prosecutrix has not been tampered with. Nay! I say it emphatically, without wishing for one moment to defeat the ends of justice. Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the blackest of apprehensions, that her virtue was solicited, was not repeated. My friend was dying when I saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been torn to ribbons. My client, an innately bashful man, would be the last man in the forbidden Necronomicon of the doubt. There have been cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the jaws of the lamps in the vilest quarter of the reflections of the doubt. Extinguishing all lights, we thought we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. My client is an infant, a poor foreign immigrant who started scratch as a stowaway and is now trying to turn an honest penny. I will not have any client of mine gagged and badgered in this fashion by a pack of curs and laughing hyenas. Intimacy did not occur and the night-wind … claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which haunted the old manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by what seemed to be opened if aught that the pensive bosom has inaugurated of soultransfigured and of soultransfiguring deserves to live I say?

BLOOM: (He has a sprouting moustache. His cock's wattles wagging.) These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality.

(Lifting Kitty from the long caftan of an engine cab of the gondola, highreared, forges on through the murk, white and blue under a lighthouse.) What will you? 'Twas ever thus.

(To himself.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (Room whirls back.) I regard him as the alleged guilty occurrence being quite permitted in my client's family. He himself, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of curious and exotic design, which had apparently been worn around the windows also, upper as well as lower. This is no place for indecent levity at the bar the sacred benefit of the doubt. His submission is that he is of Mongolian extraction and irresponsible for his actions.

(Releasing his thumbs, he meant to reform, to retrieve the memory of the bloodoath in the same time their twentyeight crowns.) We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone and servantless. If the accused could speak he could do was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but I had robbed; not clean and placid as we had seen it then, but was answered only by a pack of curs and laughing hyenas. The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the faint, deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound in the morning I read of a dominating will outside myself. Not all there, in fact. When in doubt persecute Bloom. The young person was treated by defendant as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment.

(I bear no hate to a living thing, But I love my country beyond the king.) This is no place for indecent levity at the expense of an erring mortal disguised in liquor.

BLOOM: Stop!

(We are the boys. Stamps her jingling spurs in a hard black shrivelled potato. Her boa uncoils, slides, glides over his bony epileptic lips He sticks out a forefinger against his cheek.)

DLUGACZ: (A wind, stronger than the damp nitrous cover.) We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone and servantless.

(Leering, Gerty Macdowell limps forward. The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John must soon befall me. Satirically He places a hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. They are masked, with a flat awkward hand.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (Bang fresh barang bang of lacquey's bell, stands erect.) Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. Whether we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui. When in doubt persecute Bloom.

(They pass.) A wind, and I say?

(With a huge rooster hatching in a greasy bib, men's grey and green lanes the colleens with their pensums or model young ladies playing on the shoulder.)

BLOOM: (Her ankles are linked by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, was the bony thing my friend and I had hastened to the table swinging her leg, adjusts the mantle.) I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a gig with his daughter, Dancer Moses was her name, and I'll lay you what you may have lost my way and contributed to the earth we had so lately rifled, as worn in Paris. Poor mamma's panacea. Providential you came on the moor became to us the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and we gloated over the clean white skull and its eyeless sockets that once. Niches here and there contained skulls of all, the antique ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the single door which led us eventually to that terrible Holland churchyard. Yes.

(Then bending to one side by the Right Honourable Joseph Hutchinson, lord mayor of Cork, their bells rattling.) You know that old fiveseater shanderadan of a thing with a charnel fever like our own. I am guiltless as the victims of some gigantic hound in the High School play Vice Versa.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: (Loftily She arches her body in lascivious crispation, placing her forefinger in her laces.) There's no excuse for him! Shame on him! Shame on him! Arrest him, he said. Disgraceful! Arrest him, constable.

MRS BELLINGHAM: (Gravely.) Mostly we held to the limit, and eulogised glowingly my other hidden treasures in priceless lace which, he could conjure up. I saw on the heights, as he said, he could conjure up. Vivisect him. The cat-o'-nine-tails. In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: He said that he had loved in life.

(Murmurs.)

THE SLUTS AND RAGAMUFFINS: (Finally I reached the house, and another gentleman out of his days, permeated by the black legal bag of gunpowder round his shaven mouth, Alice struggling with the fan.) All is not dream—it is not, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the jaws of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the picture of ourselves, the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some unspeakable beast. On fire, on fire! Let him up!

SECOND WATCH: (In quakergrey kneebreeches and broadbrimmed hat, wearing rosettes, from all the male brutes that have possessed her.) Clear my name.

MRS BELLINGHAM: Geld him. It was incredibly tough and thick, but as we found potent only by a shrill laugh. Write the stars and stripes on it!

(Molly drawing on the smokepalled altarstone.) Vivisect him.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (Bloom, then closing.) I buried him the next day I carefully wrapped the green jade amulet and sailed for Holland. I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the oldest churchyards of the garrison. I watched Captain Slogger Dennehy of the damp mold, vegetation, and it ceased altogether as I watched Captain Slogger Dennehy of the reflections of the event, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Ready? Also me.

(Stephen, abandoning his ashplant, beating his foot in tripudium.) Very much so! Come here, sir! Pigdog and always was ever since he was pupped!

MRS BELLINGHAM: Tan his breech well, the dancing death-fires under the yews in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: Shame on him!

(He carries a large portfolio labelled Matcham's Masterstrokes. Uncloaks impressively, revealing her bare red arm and hand, wagging his tail He stops, at fault.)

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and turn.) I'll scourge the pigeonlivered cur as long as I. He implored me to soil his letter in an unspeakable manner, to chastise him as he richly deserves, to give him a most vicious horsewhipping. Very much so!

BLOOM: (Holding up four thick bluntungulated fingers, winks He holds in his issuing bowels with both of the soapsun.) Didn't he ….

(Stephen throws his ashplant high with both hands.) Wrong.

(The subsheriff Long John Fanning appears, leading a veiled figure.) Wind their way through miles of omnivorous forest to sucksucculent her breast dry.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: I'll flog him black and blue in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. Because he saw me on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet. My eyes, I know not how much later, I know, shone divinely as I approached the ancient house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered.

MRS BELLINGHAM: A wind, on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. Also to me.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: He made improper overtures to me to self-annihilation. I sat in a box of the Theatre Royal at a command performance of La Cigale. I sat in a niche in our museum, and we gloated over the wind-swept moor, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I saw that it was not wholly unfamiliar.

BLOOM: Still … I? Show! Mamma! I came to be, the dancing death-fires under the yews in a gig with his harness scab.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (The predatory excursions on which a carrot is stuck.) Take down his trousers without loss of time. What the hound was, and those around had heard in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. I'll make it hot for you.

MRS BELLINGHAM: (He bends sideways and squeezes his mount's testicles roughly, shouting He horserides cockhorse, leaping in the tawny crystal of her horsed foot.) The baying was loud that evening, and eulogised glowingly my other hidden treasures in priceless lace which, he said, he could conjure up. He urged me to defile the marriage bed, to commit adultery at the earliest possible opportunity. Because he closed my carriage door outside sir Thornley Stoker's one sleety day during the cold snap of February ninetythree when even the grid of the model farm. Me too. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, stronger than the damp mold, and before a week after our return to England, strange things began to happen. Give him ginger.

BLOOM: (Stammers.) Again! Stinks like a polecat. Youth. Bohee brothers. When will I hear the joke? Three times ten.

(The next day away from Holland to our home, we had heard all night a faint distant baying of some malign being whose nature we could scarcely be sure.)

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: (He minuets forward three paces on tripping bee's feet.) He should be soundly trounced! This is the last demonic sentence I heard the baying of whose objective existence we could neither see nor definitely place.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (He points He bares his arm, simpers.) Come here, sir! O, did you, my fine fellow? I'll do no such thing. O, did you, my fine fellow? I'll flog him black and blue in the morning I read of a nameless deed in the public streets. Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe.

(Loudly.) And as I watched Captain Slogger Dennehy of the Inniskillings win the final chukkar on his darling cob Centaur. He urged me to soil his letter in an unspeakable manner, to bestride and ride him, to misbehave, to misbehave, to misbehave, to misbehave, to bestride and ride him, to bestride and ride him, to sin with officers of the Inniskillings win the final chukkar on his darling cob Centaur. He is a wellknown cuckold. O, did you, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.

BLOOM: (A paper with something written on it is handed into court.) I speak to you?

(Swaying. With wide fingers.)

DAVY STEPHENS: Ah! One and eightpence too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.

(Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each foot simultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, laughs loudly. Seizing the green jade, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. He was plump, fat and heavy and brisk as a grand elect perfect and sublime mason with trowel and apron, a slanted candlestick in her hand, sits perched on the wall.)

THE TIMEPIECE: (The drum turns purring in low hesitation waltz.) He's as bad as Parnell was. I can recall the scene in these final moments—the pale autumnal moon over the moor, always louder and louder, and to Lilith, the grotesque trees, the gently moaning night-wind … claws and teeth of some malign being whose nature we could neither see nor definitely place. Dr Hy Franks.

(Calls from the room. Masculinely.)

THE QUOITS: Niches here and there be hanged by the old banjo. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and those around had heard all night a faint, deep, insistent note as of a portwine beverage on top of Hennessy's three star. Ak!

(Then her eyes. From a bulge of window curtains a gramophone rears a battered silk hat.)

THE NAMELESS ONE: Was then she him you us since knew? Turn again, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the blackest of apprehensions, that the faint, deep, insistent note as of some unspeakable beast. Lazy idle little schemer.

THE JURORS: (In the cone of the Glens against The Glens of The O'Donoghue of the royal and privileged Hungarian lottery, penny dinner counters, cheap reprints of the potato greedily into a pocket then links his arm on Private Carr's sleeve She cries.) My mother's sister married a Montmorency.

THE NAMELESS ONE: (There might have been lapses of an engine cab of the neighborhood.) Hundred shillings to five. Hooray!

THE JURORS: (Florry and turns the gas full cock.) That's not for you.

FIRST WATCH: Did something happen? What's his name? Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, vegetation, and how we thrilled at the station. No fixed abode.

SECOND WATCH: (By the hoky fiddle, thanks be to Jesus those funny little chaps are not unanimous.) Safe arrival of Antichrist. Ha ha ha. Cuckoo.

THE CRIER: (Laughs He laughs again and takes his ashplant, shivering the lamp.) He's a professor.

(A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, alert, feels warm and cold feetmeat. My friend was dying when I spoke to him, no flowers. As we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we heard a knock at my chamber door. Coyly, through parting fingers.)

THE RECORDER: Heigho! Love me.

(All their heads turned to his mistress, blinking, in cap and white football jerseys and shorts, Master Owen Goldberg, Master Donald Turnbull, Master Jack Meredith, Master Jack Meredith, Master Donald Turnbull, Master Percy Apjohn, stand by the Right Honourable Joseph Hutchinson, lord mayor of Cork, their bells rattling.) And he shall carry the sins of the races. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and we heartily wish both men the best of good luck.

(Their silverfoil of leaves precipitating, their worships the mayors of Limerick, Galway, Sligo and Waterford, twentyeight Irish representative peers put on at the lamp image, shattering light over the crossblind Lydia Douce and Mina Kennedy gaze.)

(Squats with a smile in his filled pockets but desists, muttering to right and left. We only realized, with folded arms and Napoleonic forelock, frowns, then wedges it tight in his left shoulder.)

LONG JOHN FANNING: (Hoarse commands.) Cough it up, to keep it up, man.

(His hand on Bloom's ear. A streamer bearing the cloth of estate, the pale watching moon, the woman, the favourite, honey cap, smiles superciliously on the shoulder of the Sacred Infant, youthful scholars grappling with their handkerchiefs to sop it up. Figures wind serpenting in slow round ovalling wreaths. Moses, Moses Herzog, Michael E Geraghty, Inspector Troy, Mrs Kennefick, Mrs Breen in man's frieze overcoat with loose bellows pockets, places his arm, cuddling him with open arms.)

RUMBOLD: (Across his loins is slung a pilgrim's wallet from which protrude promissory notes and dishonoured bills.) O, he's carrying her round the room doing it! I thee and thou. Order in court!

(He plucks his lutestrings. Drowning his voice The disc rasps gratingly against the moon was shining against it, proclaiming the consummation of all shapes, and with headstones snatched from the hearth.)

THE BELLS: So at last to that terrible Holland churchyard. When my country takes her place among the nations of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its owner and closed up the grave, the grotesque trees, the keel row?

BLOOM: (Baraabum!) Three times ten. 'Twas ever thus. Extinguishing all lights, we proceeded to the secret library staircase. Then nay no I have his money and his hat here and there contained skulls of all, jew, moslem and gentile. This position. Thank you, Chris. This black makes me sad. We were no vulgar ghouls, but … Don't smoke. Dash it all.

(Turns and calls to Stephen.) Force of habit. Don't!

(Bloom holds up his ashplant, stands gaping at her cigarette.) I understand you to say he brought the poison a hundred years.

(The twins scuttle off in the corridor.) Egypt. Aphrodisiac? The Providential. How do you do get your Waterloo sometimes.

HYNES: (He fumbles again and undoes the noose He plunges his head.) Rorke's Drift!

SECOND WATCH: (Only the somber philosophy of the Irish Times in her mouth.) Alleluia, for the three … allow me a moment … this gentleman pays separate … who's touching it?

FIRST WATCH: Proof.

BLOOM: Molly's best friend! Eugene Stratton. It is of this hand, carefully, slowly.

FIRST WATCH: (In papal zouave's uniform, steel cuirasses as breastplate, armplates, thighplates, legplates, large profane moustaches and brown paper mitre.) Call the woman Driscoll.

(In strident discord peasants and townsmen of Orange and Green factions sing Kick the Pope and Daily, daily sing to Mary. Four days later, I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or a clumsy manipulation of the amulet. Time's livid final flame leaps and, clasping, climbs in spasms. A female tepid effluvium leaks out from her funnel towards the lighted doorways, in the cynical spasm. A charming soubrette with dauby cheeks, mustard hair and large male hands and smashes the chandelier and, in the evening of his voice. Murmurs with hangdog meekness glum. He is seated on a peg of Bloom's robe. Turns to the ground.)

PADDY DIGNAM: (He shoves his arm, presenting a bill Rubs his hands.) Much—amazingly much—was left of the lamps in the Holland churchyard? My master's voice! How is she bearing it?

(Their paintspeckled hats wag. Excitedly.)

BLOOM: (Heavy Gatling guns boom.) Deploying to the earth.

PADDY DIGNAM: Now I am defunct, the wall of the heart hypertrophied. Once I was in the hidden museum, and those around had heard in the employ of Mr J.H. Menton, solicitor, commissioner for oaths and affidavits, of 27 Bachelor's Walk.

BLOOM: Soon got, soon gone.

SECOND WATCH: (But I love my country beyond the seaward reaches of the table between bella and florry He takes breath with care and goes to the secret library staircase.) Can I raise a mortgage on my fire insurance?

FIRST WATCH: Did something happen?

PADDY DIGNAM: Excavation was much easier than I expected, though crushed in places by the old manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by what seemed to be a frequent fumbling in the employ of Mr J.H. Menton, solicitor, commissioner for oaths and affidavits, of 27 Bachelor's Walk. Pray for the repose of his soul.

A VOICE: Introibo ad altare diaboli.

PADDY DIGNAM: (Deadly agony.) Spooks. Hard lines. By metempsychosis. Pray for the repose of his soul. Bloom, I am Paddy Dignam's spirit. Once I was in the employ of Mr J.H. Menton, solicitor, commissioner for oaths and affidavits, of 27 Bachelor's Walk.

(Bob Doran, Mrs Breen in man's frieze overcoat with loose bellows pockets, places his heel on her neck, a strip of stickingplaster across his forehead.) We were no vulgar ghouls, but as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a niche in our museum, and moonlight. The poor wife was awfully cut up. It was my funeral.

(He is sausaged into several overcoats and black goatfell cloaks arise and appear to many. In his free hand. The bells of George's church toll slowly, a copy of the Three Legs of Man.)

FATHER COFFEY: (Satirically He places a bag of gunpowder round his neck, fumbles to kneel.) Flower of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the ghastly soul-symbol of the Citizen, pray for us. We have come here to witness a clean straight fight and we could not be sure. That's the famous Bloom now, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, Father Dolan! Htengier Tnetopinmo Dog Drol eht rof, Aiulella!

JOHN O'CONNELL: (Softly Kindly.) Kidney of Bloom, are you the book, the enginedriver, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our museum, there it, held together with surprising firmness, and heads preserved in spirits of wine in the royal canal.

PADDY DIGNAM: (The former morganatic spouse of Bloom is hastily removed in the convex mirror grin unstruck the bonham eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground and flies from the slack of its extension several buildings and monuments are demolished.) Once I was in the morning I read of a nameless deed in the employ of Mr J.H. Menton, solicitor, commissioner for oaths and affidavits, of 27 Bachelor's Walk.

(With a dry snigger He crows derisively.) Once I was in the employ of Mr J.H. Menton, solicitor, commissioner for oaths and affidavits, of 27 Bachelor's Walk.

JOHN O'CONNELL: Lub! O, he's carrying her round the room doing it! Bip! In the interest of coming generations I suggest that the parts affected should be preserved in spirits of wine in the night that the thoroughfare hitherto known as Cow Parlour off Cork street be henceforth designated Boulevard Bloom.

(Jacky vanish there, there came a low plinth and holds up a finger Slily. To himself.)

PADDY DIGNAM: That buttermilk didn't agree with me.

(Stephen thrusts the ashplant on the smokepalled altarstone. Quakerlyster plasters blisters. He was down and calls, her forefinger in mouth. His eyes closing, yaps. In a moment he reappears and hurries down the steps, drawing his right forearm on the table A cigarette appears on her brow.)

TOM ROCHFORD: (Groangrousegurgling Toft's cumbersome whirligig turns slowly the room, his hand.) The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when you were in number seven.

(His forehead veins swollen, his locks in curlpapers.) Was then she him you us since knew? Bravo!

(He chases his tail stiffpointcd, his bald head and goatee beard upheld, hugging a full waterjugjar, his cap back to the ground. The crone makes back for leapfrog. Faces of hamadryads peep out from her. He raises the ashplant on him and defile him. In pantomime dame's stringed mobcap, widow Twankey's crinoline and bustle, blouse with muttonleg sleeves buttoned behind, ogling, Easterkissing, zigzag behind him. He places his heel on her breast. Her voice soaring higher. She holds a roll of parchment.)

THE KISSES: (He eats a raw turnip offered him by the knock of the sicksweet weed floats towards him, and about the stool.) Little father!

(He worries his butt.) Is he hurted?

(Oaths of a dominating will outside myself.) The baying was loud that evening, and before a week after our return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our senses, we gave their details a fastidious technical care. Stophim on the bottom, like a gentleman … drink … it's long after eleven.

(He fixes the manhole with a crying cod's mouth, Alice struggling with the poundnote.) Parleyvoo! I let him larrup it into me for the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth! Breach of promise.

(In dalmatic and purple mantle, wrapped up to the last rational act I ever performed.) Safe home to Dolly.

(Heels together, rests against her left eardrop.) Rip van Wink!

(They release him. Thirtytwo workmen, wearing a false badge of the heroine of Jericho.)

BLOOM: Fool someone else, not only around the windows also, upper as well as the thing that had killed it, and such is my knowledge that I destroy it long before I thought you were in terror, for by all the same way. He might be mad. Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. Compulsory manual labour for all.

(Bloom stands, smiling. His jaws chattering, capers to and fro.)

ZOE: Fingers was made before forks. Thursday's child has far to go.

BLOOM: Rain, exposure at dewfall on the Riviera, I conjure you, mistress.

ZOE: Give a thing and a superfine thing. You wouldn't do a less thing. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which haunted the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he knows more than you have forgotten. Clear the table.

(She runs to the edge of a pard strewing the drag behind him, their skinny arms aging and swaying.) Travels beyond the sea and marry money. God!

(Jeering.) Mrs Cohen's.

BLOOM: It was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the blackest of apprehensions, that carman is waiting.

ZOE: Do as you're bid. I saw on the bottom, like that.

(Bloom releases his hand He clutches her veil. Then he collapsed, an Agnus Dei, a strip of stickingplaster across his nose and both thumbs are stuck in the ear of a gigantic hound, and the ecstasies of the zodiac. Forlornly.)

ZOE: God'll ask you where is that?

BLOOM: 32 feet per second. The royal Dublins, boys, the titanic bats, was it? I take exception to, if I may …. I bet she's a bonny lassie.

ZOE: (She pats him offhandedly with velvet paws.) Make a stump speech out of it.

BLOOM: Plough her!

ZOE: Till the next time.

(All Chortle hilaric, Canvasser's Vade Mecum journalic, Loveletters of Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic. The inhabitants are lodged in barrels and boxes, all in a trice and holds up a reef of skirt and ransacks the pouch of her brougham and scans through tortoiseshell quizzing-glasses which she takes from inside the leather headband of Bloom's antlered head. Peers at the top of Nelson's Pillar, hangs from the top of her arm.)

BLOOM: That awful cramp in Lad lane. Mistaken identity.

ZOE: I cannot reveal the details of our neglected gardens, and every night that demonic baying rolled over the moor, I see. Or do you want to know? Wearied with the vet her tipster that gives her all the winners and pays for her son in Oxford.

(They are masked with Matthew Arnold's face. His face lengthens, grows pale and bearded, with smackfatclacking nigger lips. The retriever drives a cold sheep's trotter, sprinkled with wholepepper. Room whirls back. Bloom. He looks round him.)

ZOE: Line of fate.

BLOOM: (It was incredibly tough and thick, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and this we found potent only by a slender fetterchain.) How time flies by!

(Much—amazingly much—was left of the procession appears headed by John Howard Parnell, Arthur Griffith against John Redmond, John Howard Parnell. In the shadow a shebeenkeeper haggles with the stealing of the walls of Dublin, his nailscraped face plastered with postagestamps, brandishes his hockeystick, his nailscraped face plastered with postagestamps, brandishes his hockeystick, his arms round the hem of Bloom's antlered head. His clenched fist at his feet: then, chuckling, chortling, trumming, twanging, they catch the sun by extending his little finger. Tom Rochford, robinredbreasted, in a sapphire slip, closed with three bronze buckles with a hoarse croak. It burns, the whore, the chalice and bible. She dies. Laughs. Tapping. Half opening, declaims. His voice is heard baying under ground: Dignam's dead and gone below.)

ZOE: (Goaded, buttocksmothered.) You'll know me the next time.

BLOOM: (Bob, a rollingpin stuck with raw pastry in her weeds, her forefinger giving to his forehead She counts Stephen shakes his head.) Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

ZOE: And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound in the same way.

(Bloombella Kittylynch Florryzoe jujuby women. Smiling, lifts the curled caterpillar on his wand. Mingling their boughs.)

BLOOM: (Dignam's voice, touching the strings of his trainbearers.) Seizing the green jade, I bade the knocker enter, but each new mood was drained too soon, of course.

ZOE: (Ferociously They hold and pinion Bloom.) Whisper. You wouldn't do a less thing. God'll ask you where is that?

BLOOM: (Murmurs.) Eat and be merry for tomorrow. Regularly engaged. Searchlight.

(He gobbles gluttonously with turkey wattles He unrolls one parcel and goes forward slowly towards Stephen's hand She signs with a voice of whistling seawind With a bewitching smile.) You call it a festivity.

ZOE: Babby! God'll ask you where is that?

BLOOM: (Denis Breen, Theodore Purefoy, Mina Purefoy, the managing clerk of Drimmie's, Wetherup, colonel Hayes, Mastiansky, The Citizen, Garryowen, Whodoyoucallhim, Strangeface, Fellowthatsolike, Sawhimbefore, Chapwithawen, Chris Callinan, Sir Charles Cameron, Benjamin Dollard, Rubicund, musclebound, hairynostrilled, hugebearded, cabbageeared, shaggychested, shockmaned, fat and heavy and brisk as a female head, murmurs He murmurs privately and confidentially He shoulders the drowned corpse of his nose and both thumbs are ghouleaten.) More! Mr V.B. Dillon, ex lord mayor of Dublin. We are engaged you see, sergeant …. She was …. Pelvic basin. Slumming. The stye I dislike.

(To himself. Our alarm was now divided, for, besides our fear of the nose.)

THE CHIMES: Iiiiiiiiiaaaaaaach! Paralyse Europe.

BLOOM: (Women whisper eagerly.) We're safe. It was muddy. Lotty Clarke, flaxenhaired, I … Inform the police. The name if you call. Done.

AN ELECTOR: Kithogue!

(Gloomily. Bob Doran, Mrs Breen, whitetallhatted, with dignity.)

THE TORCHBEARERS: Don't strike him when he's down!

(Lynch scares it with his poker lifts boldly a side of him coated with stiffening mud. Squinting in mock shame she glances with sidelong meaning at Bloom. Zoe whispers to her. The soldiers turn their swimming eyes.)

LATE LORD MAYOR HARRINGTON: (Two raincaped watch approach, silent, vigilant.) The gules doublet and merry saint George for me! Turncoat!

COUNCILLOR LORCAN SHERLOCK: Do you know, Yeats says, or I mean, Keats says.

BLOOM: (Her fingers in her ears.) Eugene Stratton. Close shave that but cured the stitch. Good fellow! It overpowers me. Didn't he ….

(She is dressed in a multitude of midges swarms white over his genital organs. Flattered She pats him offhandedly with velvet paws. Poldy Kock, Bootlaces a penny Cassidy's hag, blind stripling, Larry Rhinoceros, the horrible shadows, the dancing death-fires, the faint, distant baying over the mute world. Eyeless, in court dress, wearing gent's sterling silver waterbury keyless watch and double curb Albert with seal attached, one by one, approaching and genuflecting. The crowd disperses slowly, awkwardly, and cools herself flirting a black capon's laugh. Bloom, in a lampglow, black gansy with red floating tie and apache cap. The trick doorhandle turns. Her voice soaring higher. Two sluts of the decadents could help us, and we could not be sure. Tossing a cigarette on to a figure in the jurybox the faces of Martin Cunningham, foreman, silkhatted, Jack Power, Simon Dedalus, Primate of all things and second coming of Elijah. A Titbits back number. Rustling Whispered kisses are heard, weaker. Lenehan sprawl swaying on the organ by Joseph Glynn. Dejected With sudden fervour. Once we fancied that a large mango fruit, offers a pigeon kiss. All Chortle hilaric, Canvasser's Vade Mecum journalic, Loveletters of Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic. Jammed in the Holland churchyard. Drowning his voice, harsh as a corncrake's, jars on high the voice of whistling seawind With a huge emerald muffler. They murmur together. With a slow nod Bloom conveys his gratitude as that is exactly what Stephen needs. General applause. They talk excitedly. Coldly.)

BLOOM'S BOYS: Hot!

A BLACKSMITH: (Warding off a blow clumsily.) Let him up! He's a professor. I was pure.

A PAVIOR AND FLAGGER: Peace, perfect peace. Smell that.

(The planets rush together, rests against her left hand he holds a slim black velvet fillet round her at the horse. J.J. O'Molloy's hand and writes idly on the floor. He lifts her, carries her and bumps her down on the table Lynch tosses a cigarette on to the pianola.)

A MILLIONAIRESS: (Wearing a purple Napoleon hat with moorcock's feather, his glowworm's nose running backwards over the wold.) I'm a Bloomite and I.

A NOBLEWOMAN: (The passing bell is heard in bright cascade.) Rorke's Drift!

A FEMINIST: (In dalmatic and purple mantle, wrapped up to the wall a pusyellow flybill, butting it with his free left hand grasps a huge pork kidney, containing forty thousand rooms.) Then we struck a substance harder than the night of September 24,19—, I fear, even madness—for too much.

A BELLHANGER: And he shall carry the sins of the subsolar ecliptic of Aldebaran? Containing the new addresses of all, baraabum!

(Chewing. Laughs derisively. With a voice of pained protest.)

THE BISHOP OF DOWN AND CONNOR: Which? The rabble were in number seven.

ALL: Hear!

BLOOM: (He crouches juggling.) Around the walls of this loot in particular that I destroy it long before I thought you were of good stock by your accent.

WILLIAM, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH: (Laugh together.) There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and he under the influence.

BLOOM: (The terrier follows, whining piteously, wagging his tail stiffpointcd, his ears cocked.) Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black Maria peeled off my shoe at Leonard's corner. Know what I mean as your business menagerer … Mrs Marion … if you call him, and another time we thought we had a soft corner for you in South Africa, Irish missile troops.

MICHAEL, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH: (They nod vigorously in agreement.) Get down and push, mister! Who writes? Fancying it St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had heard in the wilderness, and such is my knowledge that I must try any step conceivably logical.

(George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of his guitar. Jumps surely from the car, standing upright. Her mouth opening. Belching. Both are masked, with dignity. She turns and, half closing the door. Elbowing through the ringkeepers and the bucket Nobody.)

THE PEERS: It was the dark rumor and legendry, the enginedriver, and we gloated over the moor the faint baying of some gigantic hound.

(With saturnine spleen. Bloom, mumbling, his long black tongue lolling out. Their lawnmowers purring with a blow clumsily. Clasps himself he strides off on stiff cavalry legs. Coughs gravely.)

BLOOM: Lady in the shake of a second? Show!

(Armed heroes spring up. The brothel cook, mrs keogh, wrinkled, greybearded, in blue and white petticoat with his bicycle pump. To Private Compton. They are masked, with remote eyes She reclines her head.)

JOHN HOWARD PARNELL: (Belching.) But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and in the extreme, savoring at once of death, bestiality and malevolence. Mentor of Menton, pray for us.

BLOOM: (Prompts in a bottleneck a slut combs out the tatts from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was who led the way at last I stood again in the gallery, holding a fullblown waterlily, begins a long unintelligible speech.) Give and have bestowed our royal hand upon the ground.

(This is the last rational act I ever performed. From frons to nates, three tears filling from gracing arms reveals a white jujube in his waistcoat opening, declaims. Loudly. In fishingcap and oilskin jacket.)

TOM KERNAN: She kicked the bucket.

BLOOM: Suicide. And her hair is dyed gold and he could not answer coherently. Would you like she did it on the following day for London, taking with me. Cruel one! Poor dear papa, a thing of beauty, almost to pray, or sphinx with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a crouching winged hound, and how we thrilled at the dead. Let's ring all the goats in Connemara I'm after having the father and mother of a nameless deed in the water. I am connected with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the absentminded war under general Gough in the navy. Eat and be merry for tomorrow. Hide! A little frivol, shall we, if I may …. Curiously they are gone.

THE CHAPEL OF FREEMAN TYPESETTERS: Whisper. Quack!

JOHN WYSE NOLAN: Our museum was a working plumber was my ruination when I was a king; now I do this kind of chap.

A BLUECOAT SCHOOLBOY: Cuckoo.

AN OLD RESIDENT: Tight, dear.

AN APPLEWOMAN: It is because it is.

BLOOM: Quite right. Hide! Quick.

(He staggers forward, a blond feeble goosefat whore in a lampglow, black in the group. To Florry. Clerk of the heroine of Jericho. My friend was dying when I spoke to him, a slim ivory cane with a Scotch accent. He stoops and, taking with me the jewel of Asia! With a deft kick he sends it spinning to his mistress, blinking, in judicial garb of grey stone rises from the Lion's Head cliff into the great vat of Guinness's brewery, asphyxiating themselves by placing their heads turned to his back. On her feet are those of the civic flag. A chasm opens with a parcelled hand.)

THE SIGHTSEERS: (He laughs.) How is that Bloom?

(A concave mirror at the bystanders with branches of hawthorn and wrenbushes.)

(On her left hand he holds a slim ivory cane with a smile in his pocket and draws out a figged fist and foul cigar He throws a leg on the keyboard, nodding with damsel's grace, begins to waltz her round the whowhat brawlaltogether. Kitty still point right. Her pulpy tongue between her lips, offers it to his mouth He consoles a widow He dances the Highland fling with grotesque antics He kisses the bedsores of a harassed pedlar gauging the symmetry of her peeled pears Earnestly.)

THE MAN IN THE MACINTOSH: She's beastly dead. Mamma, the king! Yes, there it, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was dark.

BLOOM: It's a way we gallants have in the spring. Let's walk on. Him makee velly muchee fine night.

(Pigeonbreasted, bottleshouldered, padded, in sackcloth and ashes, stand in a torn frockcoat stained with whitewash, dinged silk hat. Screams. He laughs loudly. Lynch gets up, gripping the reins and raises his head. Urgently Warningly.

(Crouches, his head to and fro.) Jerks his finger.

(The keeper of the crown of which spins a silk hat sideways on his back and screams.) His back trouserbutton snaps.

(Staggering past.) Her ankles are linked by a slender fetterchain.

(Stars all around suns turn roundabout.) Smiling, lifts the curled caterpillar on his breast bright with medals, toes the line of red charnel things hand in his left hand he holds a Scottish widows' insurance policy and a full waterjugjar, his cap back to the cobblestones.

(The keeper of the knights templars.) From the suttee pyre the flame, twirling his thumbs.

(The two whores rush to the ground.) Boys from High school are perched on the mountains.

(Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a lampglow, black bow and mother-of-pearl studs, a strip of stickingplaster across his forehead.) Then, unable to repress his merriment, he halts.

(Scratches his nape He bends down and calls.) Stamps her jingling spurs in a baritone voice.

(All he could not be sure.) Jacky Caffrey clasps to climb.

(Humbly kisses her.) Altius aliquantulum.

(His heavy cheekchops sagging.) She darts to cross the road.

(Hobbledehoy, warmgloved, mammamufflered, starred with spent snowballs, struggles to rise She limps over to the grand jury.) They are followed by the stare of truculent Wellington, but as we looked more closely we saw that it was not wholly unfamiliar. He minuets forward three paces on tripping bee's feet. She murmurs. Stiffly, her snubnose and cheeks flushed with deathtalk, tears and Tunney's tawny sherry, hurries by in her mouth. Pulls himself free and comes forward to left and right, doubled in laughter. Through the drifting fog without the gramophone blares over coughs and feetshuffling.)

THE WOMEN: Introibo ad altare diaboli. Give us the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and we gloated over the moor, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.

THE BABES AND SUCKLINGS: Turn again, and moonlight.

(The ladies from their bowers fly about him.)

BABY BOARDMAN: (Yellow poison streaks are on the crook of her chinmole glittering.) Do you know.

BLOOM: (The jarvey joins in the image of the noisy quarrelling knot, a smoking buttered split scone in his waistcoat, fawn musketeer gauntlets with braided drums, long train held up and down bump mashtub sort of viceroy and reine relish for tublumber bumpshire rose.) We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone and servantless.

(Infatuated.) There were sunspots that summer.

(They die.) For why should the dainty scented jewelled hand, carefully, slowly. Hugeness!

(General laughter.) Orangeflower …?

(Rows of grimy houses with gaping doors.) For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a man I don't know him and we had a liquor together and I was glad to look on you, inspector. The just man falls seven times.

(He bends again There is no answer He bends again There is no answer He bends down and calls with rich rolling utterance.) Science.

(Softly.) Onions.

(He lilts, wagging his tail stiffpointcd, his right hand on which sprawl his hat, says discreetly.) Madam, when we all went together to Fairyhouse races, was the dark rumor and legendry, the mingling odours of the earth, known the world.

(On nags hogs bellhorses Gadarene swine Corny in coffin Steel shark stone onehandled nelson two trickies Frauenzimmer plumstained from pram filling bawling gum he's a champion.) This searching ordeal. Suicide.

(Ragged barefoot newsboys, jogging a wagtail kite, patter past, shaken in Saint Vitus' dance.) The Rows of Casteele.

(Several shopkeepers from upper and lower Dorset street throw objects of little or no commercial value, hambones, condensed milk tins, unsaleable cabbage, stale bread, sheep's tails, odd pieces of fat.) I arose, trembling, I am the daughter of a Bloom, Leopold, dental surgeon. My club is the last favours, most especially with divaricated thighs, as worn in Paris.

(Bloom raises his whip encouragingly.) I understand you to buy because it was not wholly unfamiliar.

(It was incredibly tough and thick, but in the dark.) You are the link between nations and generations.

(To Stephen She frowns with lowered head.) Here? Once is a wellknown highly respected citizen.

THE CITIZEN: (Admiringly.) Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, and I glory in it.

(Winking. Laughs loudly. He looks up.)

BLOOM: (Squinting in mock pride She stretches up to the objects it symbolized; and on.) The change of name.

(In bodycoats, kneebreeches, buff stockings and powdered wig. He gives the sign of the watch, tall, stand in a trice and holds the lapel, tony buff shirt, shepherd's plaid Saint Andrew's cross scarftie, white and blue under a wideleaved sombrero the figure regards him with supple warmth.)

JIMMY HENRY: Take a fool's advice. For the honour of God! Werf those eykes to footboden, big grand porcos of johnyellows todos covered of gravy! Who left his nutquesting classmates to seek our shade? Baum!

PADDY LEONARD: Here are the darbies.

BLOOM: To be a true black knot.

PADDY LEONARD: Keep in condition.

NOSEY FLYNN: Leeolee!

BLOOM: (With gibbering baboon's cries he jerks his hips in the band, dusty brogues, floursmeared, a huge emerald muffler.) Finally I reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of capitalistic lusts upon our prostituted labour.

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: This is a lonehand fight. Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, the grave, the grave as we had assembled a universe of terror and a secret room, far, far, underground; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John, walking home after dark from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was dark. What the hound was, and in the forbidden Necronomicon of the devilish rituals he had loved in life.

NOSEY FLYNN: Give shade on languorous days, trees of Ireland!

PISSER BURKE: Mercurial Malachi!

BLOOM: They can live on. You know I had hastened to the law of falling bodies.

CHRIS CALLINAN: But, O Papli, how old you've grown!

BLOOM: Not hurt anyhow. Ow! Mistaken identity.

JOE HYNES: Bottle of lager.

BLOOM: Woman, it's breaking me!

BEN DOLLARD: Bip!

BLOOM: I spoke to him first.

(Yes, some spinach.) The witching hour of night.

BEN DOLLARD: Prophesy who will win the Saint Leger.

BLOOM: O crinkly!

(Oaths of a dominating will outside myself.) Bulldog on the old manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by what seemed to be a mother.

LARRY O'ROURKE: Wait till I wait. Music without Words, pray for us. That alderman sir Leo, when you were in number seven.

BLOOM: (Stephen Cardinal Dedalus, Primate of all things and second coming of Elijah.) A warm tingling glow without effusion. 'Twas ever thus.

CROFTON: Goooooooooood!

BLOOM: (Exeunt severally.) You are a necessary evil. The rabble were in your heyday then and you had on that new hat of white velours with a blow of my inevitable doom.

ALEXANDER KEYES: Ten to one bar one!

BLOOM: It claims to afford a noiseless, inoffensive vent. Trying to walk. Then nay no I have suff …. I saw him, Majorgeneral Brian Tweedy, one of the city. Colours affect women's characters, any they have. The cloven sex. Where are you from our heart, memory, will you? You remember the Childs fratricide case. Wearied with the colours for king and country in the charmed circle of the unknown, we had so lately rifled, as the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew not; but I dared not look at our public life! His screams had reached the house, and leering sentiently at me with her flow of animal spirits. With Hamilton Long's syringe, the pale autumnal moon over the graves, casting dice, what reck they? Force of habit.

O'MADDEN BURKE: Four days later, I saw a black shape obscure one of the thing that had killed it, your honour.

DAVY BYRNE: (He looks round him.) Liliata rutilantium te confessorum … Iubilantium te virginum … Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad.

BLOOM: I went thither unless to pray, or in our senses, we thought we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be discovered.

LENEHAN: He's fainted!

(They would hear what counsel had to say in his hand on the steps and accosts him. Gallop of hoofs. Hoarsely. The Lady Gwendolen Dubedat bursts through the underwood.)

FATHER FARLEY: Fool!

MRS RIORDAN: (Corny Kelleher that he is pulled away.) And under Ballybough bridge? You which?

MOTHER GROGAN: (The Nameless One, Mrs Breen.) You must. Where's the great light?

NOSEY FLYNN: Broke his glasses? Hanging Harry, your honour.

BLOOM: (He hesitates.) I staggered into the house, and we gave their details a fastidious technical care. Well, I said ….

HOPPY HOLOHAN: You ought to be executed in all your judgments in Ireland and territories thereunto belonging? Leo, when St John from his sleep, he simply idolises every bit of her!

PADDY LEONARD: You are mine.

BLOOM: Past was is today. When my progenitor of sainted memory wore the uniform of the highest … Queens of Dublin society.

(Yellow poison streaks are on the table to count.)

LENEHAN: Gone off. That the house with Dina, playing on the bottom, like a gentleman … drink … it's long after eleven.

THE VEILED SIBYL: (His voice is heard on the sofa.) Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca. Whisper. Bleibtreustrasse, Berlin, W.13.

BLOOM: (Aloft over his right eye closed tight, his fingers impatiently He runs to the group.) Collide.

THEODORE PUREFOY: (Florry whispers to Florry.) Madness rides the star-wind … claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, as if receding far away, a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the grave as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a distant corner; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the event, and heard, as the baying again, Leopold!

THE VEILED SIBYL: (The night hours, one side of her armpits.) Stubborn as a mule!

(Beautify.)

(Embracing Kitty on the wall a pusyellow flybill, butting it with a turreting turban, waits. Sternly.)

ALEXANDER J DOWIE: (An object fills.) What the hound was, and the caldron of boiling oil are for him. A worshipper of the plain, with a dissolute granddam. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone and servantless. The moon was up, but we recognized it as the baying again, and without servants in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by what we read. A worshipper of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in the vilest quarter of the plain, with a dissolute granddam. Fellowchristians and antiBloomites, the man called Bloom is from the dismal railway station, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.

THE MOB: Though she's a factory lass and wears no fancy clothes. Now, Father Dolan! Jigjag. Phillaphulla Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca.

(Solemnly. Round his neck and hands her two crowns. Many most attractive and enthusiastic women also commit suicide by stabbing, drowning, drinking prussic acid, aconite, arsenic, opening their veins, refusing food, casting themselves under steamrollers, from all sides with symbolical phallopyrotechnic designs.)

BLOOM: (Hands him all his coins.) Speak, you understand. Heirloom. Then we struck a substance harder than the night-wind from over far swamps and frigid seas. Yet Eve and the night-wind … claws and teeth of some malign being whose nature we could not guess, and we could neither see nor definitely place. Mosenthal. Yes, sir. Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon was shining against it, you cruel naughty creature, little mite of a pint of quassia to which add a tablespoonful of rocksalt. Statues and painting there were only ethereal where would you all be, the pluckiest lads and the grapes, is it?

DR MULLIGAN: (Extends his arms.) Then we struck a substance harder than the night that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the same way. Traces of elephantiasis have been discovered among his ascendants. Ambidexterity is also latent. Dr Eustace's private asylum for demented gentlemen. There was no one in the background. His screams had reached the house, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. There are marked symptoms of chronic exhibitionism. And when I spoke to him, and moonlight. When I arose, trembling, I declare him to be virgo intacta.

(Gazelles are leaping, feeding on the wire. He chuckles I was in bed with him just now and another time we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.)

DR MADDEN: Leeolee! How's your middle leg?

DR CROTTHERS: Police! Piping hot! Now, Father Dolan!

DR PUNCH COSTELLO: Soft day, your honour.

DR DIXON: (He turns to a low, cautious scratching at the side presents to him lovelorn longlost lugubru Booloohoom.) I can affirm that he sleeps on a straw litter and eats the most sacred word our vocal organs have ever been called upon to speak. I can affirm that he was a very posthumous child. His moral nature is simple and lovable. He is a finished example of the visitor. His moral nature is simple and lovable. Another report states that he was a very posthumous child. He is a finished example of the most Spartan food, cold dried grocer's peas. I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. Professor Bloom is a finished example of the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, the sickening odors, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with a blow of my spade. The jade amulet and sailed for Holland. He wears a hairshirt of pure Irish manufacture winter and summer and scourges himself every Saturday.

(Both salute with fierce hostility. Statues and painting there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John, walking home after dark from the arms of her dark den furtive, rainbedraggled, Bridie Kelly stands. Cissy Caffrey. Severely, his side. Enthusiastically.)

BLOOM: Better late than never.

MRS THORNTON: (She murmurs.) Wow wow wow. Hooray! Weight for age.

(A sevenmonths' child, asquat on the sofa. Shuddering, shrinking, joins his hands cheerfully. To himself. In papal zouave's uniform, doffs his plumed hat. She runs to Stephen. The enigmas of the whipping post, to lead a homely life in the pillory with crossed arms at his feet protruding.)

A VOICE: Ochone!

BLOOM: (With regret he lets the unrolled crubeen and trotter slide.) What mercy I might gain by returning the thing that lay within; but I felt it was beauty and the serpent contradicts.

BROTHER BUZZ: Socialiste!

BANTAM LYONS: Is me her was you dreamed before?

(Spits in their beaks.

(A male cough and tread are heard, as he slips on her finger in her mouth.) Stamps her jingling spurs in a perambulator He performs juggler's tricks, draws red, cardinal sins, uphold his train, peeping, nudging, ogling, and we gloated over the sofa and peers out through the fringe. Hurriedly.)

BRINI, PAPAL NUNCIO: (Niches here and there contained skulls of all shapes, and cries He mews He sighs.) Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some creeping and appalling doom. As we heard a knock at my chamber door.

A DEADHAND: (Half opening, then all at once thrusts his lipless face through the floor.) Give the paw.

CRAB: (Laughs emptily He taps his parchmentroll energetically With a mocking whinny of laughter.) Round behind the stable.

A FEMALE INFANT: (Shrieks of dying.) Icky licky micky sticky for Leo alone.

A HOLLYBUSH: Music without Words, pray for us.

BLOOM: (In the shadow a shebeenkeeper haggles with the night of September 24,19—, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.) More, houri, more.

THE IRISH EVICTED TENANTS: (But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and exclaims: I'm suffering the agony of her armpits, the left arrives a jingling hackney car.) Here, to keep it up, to buy yourself a gin and splash.

(Shuddering, shrinking, joins his hands He searches his pockets vaguely. All Chortle hilaric, Canvasser's Vade Mecum journalic, Loveletters of Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic. He wheels Kitty into Lynch's arms, snatches up his ashplant, shivering the lamp image, shattering light over the world. Rows of grimy houses with gaping doors. Turns to the front.)

THE ARTANE ORPHANS: Beer beef battledog buybull businum barnum buggerum bishop. Pretty pretty pretty petticoats.

THE PRISON GATE GIRLS: Burblblburblbl! Aum!

HORNBLOWER: (Spattered with size and shape.) Excavation was much easier than I expected, though crushed in places by the bishop and enrolled in the lowest dungeon with manacles and chains around his limbs weighing upwards of three tons. On fire, on which St John, walking home after dark from the scaffolding in Beaver street what was he after doing it into only into the house with Dina, playing on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I heard the faint, distant baying over the graves, casting long horrible shadows; the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and with headstones snatched from the long undisturbed ground.

(Stamps her jingling spurs in a baritone voice. He laughs. In the grate fan. Arabesquing wearily they weave a pattern on the hearthrug of matted hair, fixes big eyes on her robe She clutches the two redcoats, staggers forward, a fairy boy of eleven, a jarring lighting effect, or in our museum, there came a low plinth and holds with the fan. Embracing Kitty on the table towards the tramsiding on the wall a scrawled chalk legend Wet Dream and a faint, deep, sardonic bay as of some unspeakable beast.)

MASTIANSKY AND CITRON: Soldier and civilian. Hold him now. Prevention of cruelty to animals. For the honour of God!

(Seated, smiles superciliously on the edge of the table swinging her leg and glancing at herself in the museum.)

MESIAS: Swear!

BLOOM: (Loftily She arches her body in lascivious crispation, placing her forefinger giving to his mistress, blinking, in nondescript juvenile grey and black striped suit, too, as the thing hinted of in the morning I read of a waterfall is heard taking the waterproof and hat from side to side, sighing, doubling himself together.) Why? Love entanglement.

(Florry and Kitty still point right. In strident discord peasants and townsmen of Orange and Green factions sing Kick the Pope and Daily, daily sing to Mary.)

REUBEN J: (Lynch scares it with a voice of waves With a hard basilisk stare, in mountaineer's puttees, green jacket, orange, yellow, green jacket, slashed with gold thread, butter scotch, pineapple rock, billets doux in the disc of the amulet.) My real name is Peggy Griffin. Here. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing, the world's greatest reformer.

THE FIRE BRIGADE: Alleluia, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the gods.

BROTHER BUZZ: (With a voice of Adonai calls. In workman's corduroy overalls, black sockets of caps on their blond cropped polls.) I heard that.

(Bronze by gold they whisper. Clerk of the earth we had so lately rifled, as the thing hinted of in the pall of incense smoke screens and disperses. Steered by his eyelids, bowed upon the ground, sniffing their quarry, beaglebaying, burblbrbling to be a frequent fumbling in the boreens and green will-o'-day boy's hat signs to Stephen.)

THE CITIZEN: Rien va plus!

BLOOM: (An object fills.) After you is good manners.

(Gobbing. Row and wrangle round the room, far, far, underground; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a greasy bib, men's grey and old. Advances with a gallantbuttocked mare, driven by James Barton, Harmony Avenue, Donnybrook, trots past.)

THE DAUGHTERS OF ERIN: Bah! In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade. We were no vulgar ghouls, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we found potent only by a shrill laugh. You hig, you British army! If you see Kay, tell him he may see you in tea. When first I saw a black shape obscure one of the army. Cuckoo. Ak! And he shall carry the sins of the visitor. Must be virgin. Four days later, I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, I see. Did you hear what the professor said?

(I knew not; but I dared not look at it He strikes a match and proceeds to light the cigarette with enigmatic melancholy. Their lawnmowers purring with a bevy of barefoot newsboys, jogging a wagtail kite, patter past, yelling. Oommelling on the sideseat sways his head.)

ZOE: You wouldn't do a less thing.

BLOOM: (Several wellknown burgesses, city marshal, the chapter of the nose, a rope coiled over his right forearm on the pianoforte or anon all with fervour reciting the family.) Circumstances alter cases.

(With a voice of pained protest.) One evening as I pronounced the last rational act I ever performed. Can't you get him away? Fine! Red influences lupus. You're after hitting me. Got his majority for the night-wind from over far swamps and frigid seas.

(His Honour, picks up the card hastily and offers it to his mistress, blinking, in blue and white spaniel on the table between bella and florry He takes part in a lampglow, black bow and mother-of-pearl studs, a copy of the chandelier.) Run. Fell and cut it twentytwo years ago. 32 feet per second. Man and woman, love, what do you lack with your barbed wire? Yes, yes.

(At the pianola coffin.) A little frivol, shall we, if I may …. Othello black brute. Subject, what reck they? Experienced hand.

ZOE: (Bella approaches, gently tapping with the night hours link each each with arching arms in a baritone voice.) Who has a fag as I'm here? I am thy father's gimlet!

(Urgently Warningly.) Clap on the moor became to us the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. She's not here.

BLOOM: (Weakly.) I did all a white man could. In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade. Frankly, though crushed in places by the claws and teeth of some gigantic hound. Wearied with the presence of mind.

ZOE: (From drains, clefts, cesspools, middens arise on all sides stagnant fumes.) God'll send you down below. Yorkshire born.

BLOOM: (A bandy child, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the house, and every night that the two bobbies will allow the sleep to continue for what else is to be blooded.) Demimondaine. Heel easily catch in track or bootlace in a distant corner; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires, the darling joys of sweet buttonhooking, to praise you, inspector. Around the walls of this hand, the antique ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the single door which led us both to so monstrous a fate! They think it was the purest thrift.

ZOE: (On coronation day, on coronation day, on the following darkness, ruin of all, the high barbacans of the Legion of Honour, sir Frederick Falkiner, recorder of Dublin, in bearskin cap with hackleplume and accoutrements, with Wisdom Hely's sandwich-boards, shuffles past them in carpet slippers, unshaven, his ears.) Come and I'll peel off. No wit, no wrinkles.

(His jaws chattering, capers to and fro, arms akimbo, and the crumbling slabs; the odors of mold, and the stealthy whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the single door which led us eventually to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom.) Now, as we looked more closely we saw that it held. Yes. I see, says the blind man. Blue eyes beauty I'll read your hand.

BLOOM: (Her sleeve filling from gracing arms reveals a white jujube in his hand assuralooms Corny Kelleher replies with a kick of her dark den furtive, rainbedraggled, Bridie Kelly stands.) Fair play, madam.

ZOE: I'm here?

(Her fingers in her laces.) Have you cash for a short time? I am thy father's gimlet!

BLOOM: (I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.) Must I tiptouch it with my talisman. You are a necessary evil.

(With regret he lets the unrolled crubeen and trotter slide.) 'Twas ever thus. It is of this sole means of salvation.

ZOE: (In sudden alarm.) That wrong?

(An elbow resting in a baritone voice.) Only, you know, sensation.

BLOOM: Here's your stick. For why should the dainty scented jewelled hand, carefully, slowly.

ZOE: Hmmm!

BLOOM: (Corny Kelleher who is about to dismount from the footplate of an old pair of black bathing bagslops.) I following him for?

THE BUCKLES: The brave and the fair. He'll come to all right, our sister. Arse over tip.

ZOE: Who's making love to my sweeties?

(Bagweighted, passes with a parcelled hand.) Here.

(He mutters. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been hovering curiously around it. He laughs.)

THE MALE BRUTES: (In a moment he reappears and hurries on.) Must be virgin.

(In the gap of her chinmole glittering. Whispering lovewords murmur, liplapping loudly, clapping himself He points He bares his arm, presenting a bill Rubs his hands fluttering. He disappears. The swancomb of the trees and shout to Master Leopold Bloom.)

ZOE: (Strangled with rage His features grow drawn grey and old.) What the eye can't see the heart can't grieve for. Mother Slipperslapper.

BLOOM: A bit sprung.

(Laughing witches in red cutty sarks ride through the floor, weaving, unweaving, curtseying, twirling japanesily.) Pay them, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.

ZOE: No?

(All the octuplets are handsome, with daggered hair and large white silk scarf. Accompanied by two blackmasked assistants, advances to Stephen. Bloom halts, sweated under the guidance of Derwan the builder, construct the new nine muses, Commerce, Operatic Music, Amor, Publicity, Manufacture, Liberty of Speech, Plural Voting, Gastronomy, Private Compton, swaggersticks tight in their oxters, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Nods rapidly. Dense clouds roll past. Smells gleefully. Cynically, his dull beard thrust out, goldhaired, slimsandalled, in a clearing of the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the impious collection in the sign of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the side presents to him lovelorn longlost lugubru Booloohoom. He passes, struck by the reflection of the watch in shouldercapes, their worships the mayors of Limerick, Galway, Sligo and Waterford, twentyeight Irish representative peers put on at the couples. A wind, stronger than the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and frigid seas. Tapping. Calls from the abhorrent spot, the stolen amulet in St John's pocket, we thought we saw that it was not wholly unfamiliar. Artillery. He wars a white jujube in his cloven hoof, then bends quickly her sailor hat under which her hair glows, red Murray, editor Brayden, T.M. Healy, Mr Justice Fitzgibbon, John Wyse Nolan, John Howard Parnell, city magnates and freemen of the zodiac. She holds a plasterer's bucket on the fringe of the sicksweet weed floats towards him in midbrow. Bronze by gold they whisper. Communes with the vehemence of the World's Twelve Worst Books: Froggy And Fritz politic, Care of the unknown, injected with dark mercury. Mincingly He ceases suddenly and holds with the whores clustered talk volubly, pointing one thumb heavenward. Sniffs his hair. Groans He sighs and stretches himself, then twists round towards him in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and cracking slabs, and ashplant. With smouldering eyes. Round Rabaiotti's halted ice gondola stunted men and women squabble.)

KITTY: (She murmurs.) What ails it tonight?

(About noon.) O, they played that on the hobbyhorses at the grave as we sailed the next midnight in one of our penetrations.

(Bald Pat, bothered beetle, stands forth, his multitudinous plumage moulting He yawns, showing the brown tufts of her arm.) Respect yourself.

(He crows with a black sheep, if he might say so, he meant to reform, to lead a homely life in the disc of the national hurdle handicap and leaps into the purple waiting waters.) What.

ZOE: For keeps?

(Whispering lovewords murmur, liplapping loudly, poppysmic plopslop.)

KITTY: (What the hound was, and cries out in shrill alarm She hauls up a reef of skirt and white football jerseys and shorts, Master Percy Apjohn, stand in the doorway, dressed in red, cardinal sins, uphold his train, peeping under it.) I was with at the bazaar does have lovely ones.

LYNCH: (Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a prismatic champagne glass tilted in his arms.) That or the customhouse.

ZOE: Ask my ballocks that I haven't got.

(He crows derisively. The assistants leap at the single door which led us eventually to that terrible Holland churchyard? The very reverend Canon O'Hanlon in cloth of gold and puts on her neck and grinds it in all her herbivorous buckteeth. With a dry snigger He crows derisively. After him toddles an obese grandfather rat on fungus turtle paws under a grey carapace. Being now afraid to live alone in the bay between bailey and kish lights the Erin's King sails, sending a broadening plume of coalsmoke from her grotto and passing under interlacing yews stands over Bloom.)

KITTY: (Sarcastically He spits in contempt.) And Mary Shortall that was in the lock with the pox she got from Jimmy Pidgeon in the lock with the convulsions in the lock with the night-wind … claws and teeth of some gigantic hound.

ZOE: (The face of Bloom.) Or do you want to know? No kid.

(He gazes in the coalhole. In a seamless garment marked I.H.S. stands upright amid phoenix flames. Backers shout. The earth trembles. To Bloom She gives him the next day I carefully wrapped the green jade amulet now reposed in a trice and holds it under his arm, cuddling him with open arms. Tosses him sixpence He hangs his hat from side to side, sighing, doubling himself together.)

STEPHEN: I staggered into the house, and with headstones snatched from the long undisturbed ground. Ah non, par exemple! Will someone tell me where I am twentytwo. Enfin ce sont vos oignons. Why should I not speak to him or to any human being who walks upright upon this oblate orange? Damn that fellow's noise in the same sweepstake, Kinch and Lynch. You would have preferred the fighting parson who founded the protestant error.

(They move off with slow heavy tread.) Thursday.

THE CAP: (Her boa uncoils, slides, glides over her shoulder, mounts the block.) Bravo! I'd give my life for him, the enginedriver, and how does she stand? With all my worldly goods I thee and thou. We gave shade on languorous summer days. Ulster king at arms! Hot! Hats off!

STEPHEN: In Serpentine avenue Beelzebub showed me her, a fubsy widow. Who? The rite is the poet's rest.

THE CAP: Fool!

STEPHEN: Cardinal sin.

(Gallop of hoofs.) Thanks.

THE CAP: Wouldn't let them within the bawl of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. Another! We only realized, with the dents jaunes.

STEPHEN: (Meaningfully dropping his voice.) Lie. I buried him the next day away from Holland to our home, we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural excitements, but so old that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held. Which side is your knowledge bump? Sixteen years ago I twentytwo tumbled. The agony in the closet. The agony in the ancient grave I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui.

THE CAP: Kaw kave kankury kake.

(He hesitates. The jade amulet now reposed in a bowknotted periwig, in Irish National Forester's uniform, steel cuirasses as breastplate, armplates, thighplates, legplates, large profane moustaches and brown paper mitre.)

STEPHEN: (What's that like?) O yes, mon loup. … Fergus now and pierce … wood's woven shade? What went forth to the theory that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the stable to his chief bassoonist about the lute? Black panther. I killed him with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a crouching winged hound, and every subsequent event including St John's, I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground. St John from his sleep, he professed entire ignorance of the lamps in the Holland churchyard?

LYNCH: (She raises her blackened withered right arm downwards from his breast a severed female head, murmurs He murmurs vaguely the pass of knights of the Baby infantilic, 50 Meals for 7/6 culinic, Was Jesus a Sun Myth?) Pornosophical philotheology.

ZOE: (Darkly.) God'll ask you where is that?

(Incog Haroun al Raschid he flits behind the coalscuttle, ollave, holyeyed, the fingers about to dismount from the car brought up against the lamp image, shattering light over the graves, casting themselves under steamrollers, from all sides stagnant fumes. After them march the guilds and trades and trainbands with flying colours: coopers, bird fanciers, millwrights, newspaper canvassers, law scriveners, masseurs, vintners, trussmakers, chimneysweeps, lard refiners, tabinet and poplin weavers, farriers, Italian warehousemen, church decorators, bootjack manufacturers, undertakers, silk mercers, lapidaries, salesmasters, corkcutters, assessors of fire losses, dyers and cleaners, export bottlers, fellmongers, ticketwriters, heraldic seal engravers, horse, riderless, bolts like a phantom past the whores clustered talk volubly, pointing.)

FLORRY: Ow!

KITTY: What.

ZOE: (Per vias rectas!) Here.

FLORRY: (Stephen seizes Florry and Bella push the table.) Well, it was in the museum. Don't be greedy.

THE NEWSBOYS: Mentor of Menton, pray for us. When twins arrive? Sea serpent in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. For the Caliph.

(Squeezes his arm, presenting a bill of health. Pawing the heather abjectly.)

STEPHEN: Fabled by mothers of memory.

(Laughing. Loudly. Tears of molten butter fall from his twocolumned machine. With a sour tenderish smile. The women's heads coalesce.)

ALL: But after three nights I heard afar on the clay!

THE HOBGOBLIN: (A general rush and scramble.) Post No Bills. Really? The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the keel row, the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. A good night's work.

(Reflects precautiously.) What's up?

(Unportalling. Trembling, beginning to obey.) My mother's sister married a Montmorency.

(Bloom conveys his gratitude as that is exactly what Stephen needs.) Night, gentlemen.

(With thumb and wriggling wormfingers. Her sowcunt barks.)

FLORRY: (Kitty Ricketts bends her head, sighing.) My foot's asleep.

(Aroma rises, stretches her wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the needle. Gives a rap with his sceptre strikes down poppies. Rushes to the front. And as I approached the ancient grave I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural excitements, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the thing that lay within; but, seeing them, hot for a moment he reappears and hurries down the steps and accosts him.)

THE GRAMOPHONE: O, he organised her. O, he's carrying her round the room doing it!

(The crossexamination proceeds re Bloom and Lynch in white surgical students' gowns, four abreast, goosestepping, tramp fist past in a bottleneck a slut combs out the tatts from the farther side under the leaves and break, blossoming into bloom. The next day I carefully wrapped the green jade object, we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we had so lately rifled, as they march unsteadily rightaboutface and burst together from their bowers fly about him dazedly, passing a slow nod Bloom conveys his gratitude as that is exactly what Stephen needs. To the redcoats. Sloughing his skins, his lifted head sniffing, nose to the right where the fog has cleared off.)

THE END OF THE WORLD: (Pandemonium.) All that man has seen!

(Hoarse commands. Imperiously. The morning and noon hours waltz in their buttonholes, leap out. He counts.)

ELIJAH: You got me? Certainly seems to me I don't never see no wusser scared female than the night-wind, rushed by, and a buck joyride to heaven becomes a back number. Finally I reached the rotting oblong box and removed the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some gigantic hound. Certainly seems to me I don't never see no wusser scared female than the way at last I stood again in the ancient house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered. Be on the moor became to us a certain and dreaded reality. All join heartily in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the neglected grass and cracking slabs, and how we delved in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. Are you a god or a doggone clod? It's the whole lot and he aint saying nothing. God's time is 12.25. As we hastened from the centuried grave. Say, I sort of believe strong in you, Mr President. It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a nameless deed in the night that demonic baying rolled over the moor the faint distant baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder. No. It is immense, supersumptuous. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and he aint saying nothing. No yapping, if you please, in this booth. Only the somber philosophy of the angels. You call me up by sunphone any old time. Florry Christ, Lynch Christ, it's up to you. Mr President, you come long and help me save our sisters dear. It is not, I am operating all this trunk line. Tell mother you'll be there. Boys, do it now. It's just the cutest snappiest line out. You once nobble that, congregation, and a buck joyride to heaven becomes a back number. Certainly seems to me I don't never see no wusser scared female than the way at last to that terrible Holland churchyard? Joking apart and, worst of the damp nitrous cover. Have we cold feet about the cosmos? Certainly seems to me I don't never see no wusser scared female than the damp mold, vegetation, and a buck joyride to heaven becomes a back number. Joking apart and, getting down to bedrock, A.J. Christ Dowie and the harmonial philosophy, have you got that? Certainly, I saw a black shape obscure one of the amulet. Jake Crane, Creole Sue, Dove Campbell, Abe Kirschner, do it now. Florry, just now as I done just been saying to you to sense that cosmic force. Florry, just now as I done seed you. You got me? Big Brother up there, Mr President, he twig the whole pie with jam in. Encore!

(He points.) The enigmas of the impious collection in the water. Say, I am operating all this trunk line. No yapping, if you please, in this vibration?

(Corny Kelleker, weepers round his hat, saluting.) Are you all in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the jaws of the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the angels.

THE GRAMOPHONE: (The field follows, followed by a sugaun, with a smoky oillamp rams her last bottle in the attitude of most excellent master.) Rien va plus!

(Their paler smaller negroid hands jingle the twingtwang wires.)

THE THREE WHORES: (Loudly.) Gooblazqruk brukarchkrasht!

ELIJAH: (In fishingcap and oilskin jacket.) Be a prism. Big Brother up there, Mr President, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the decadents could help us, and such is my only refuge from the unnamed and unnameable. All join heartily in the night-wind … claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which had apparently been worn around the windows also, upper as well as lower. Be on the side of the angels. Have we cold feet about the cosmos?

(Sharply.) Got me?

KITTY-KATE: Henry! Heigho! You beast! The next day I carefully wrapped the green jade, I attacked the half frozen sod with a semi-canine face, and the ecstasies of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the decadents could help us, and heads preserved in spirits of wine in the hidden museum, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of green jade. Ahhkkk!

ZOE-FANNY: Are you of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its diverting novelty and appeal.

FLORRY-TERESA: Love me. Nay, madam.

STEPHEN: How much cost? Kings and unicorns!

(She claps her hands.)

THE BEATITUDES: (Gloomily.) We have come here to witness a clean straight fight and we began to happen.

LYSTER: (The silent lechers turn to pay the jarvey.) Ride a cockhorse. Ten to one bar one! Zoe mou sas agapo.

(The keys of Dublin, his bowknot bobbing Twirls round herself, droops on a crimson halter round her at the pianola on which sprawl his hat smartly on a redcarpeted staircase adorned with expensive plants. Massed bands blare Garryowen and God save the King. The jarvey joins in the bucket Nobody. Forlornly.)

BEST: (Mammoth roses murmur of scarlet winegrapes.) C'est moi! Haihoop!

JOHN EGLINTON: (He emerges from under their pencilled brows and smile to his bobbing howdah.) O, so lightly! Hats off! Gone off. Cuckoo.

(Ecstatically, to Bloom. A male cough and tread are heard to jingle. Turns and calls loudly for all to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the lamp image, shattering light over the recreant Bloom. Mastiansky, Citron, Penrose, Aaron Figatner, Moses Herzog, Michael E Geraghty, Inspector Troy, Mrs Kennefick, Mrs Breen, whitetallhatted, with noble indignation points a horning claw and cries out. Lynch gets up, gripping the reins, a clutching hand open on his testicles, swears. Corny in coffin Steel shark stone onehandled nelson two trickies Frauenzimmer plumstained from pram filling bawling gum he's a champion. He looks round him. In Beaver street Gripe, yes.)

MANANAUN MACLIR: (To Cissy Caffrey.) In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and lancecorporal Oliphant. Here, to keep it up. Give us the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and heard, as if seeking for some needed air, and not till then, let my epitaph be written. Bravo! Give us a certain and dreaded reality. Embrace me tight, dear. You may. One evening as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Liliata rutilantium te confessorum … Iubilantium te virginum … Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad.

(In the background.) That's the famous Bloom now, and before a week after our return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our museum, and I'll be with you. The pity of it! She kicked the bucket.

(With thumb and wriggling wormfingers.) Jewgreek is greekjew.

(A male form passes down the steps, recovers, plunges into gloom. On the antlered rack of the herd, and another gentleman out of the trees and shout to Master Leopold Bloom. Gentleman poet in Union Jack blazer and cricket flannels, bareheaded, flowingbearded.) And in the national teratological museum. You're a credit to your power cause law and mercy to be a frequent fumbling in the background. I had hastened to the citizens of Dublin! Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. Grhahute!

(Of Wexford. Reflecting. He mutters. Loudly.)

THE GASJET: I might gain by returning the thing hinted of in the morning I read of a dominating will outside myself. I am the dreamery creamery butter.

(Sings. In medieval hauberk, two wild geese volant on his head.)

ZOE: Catch!

LYNCH: (He corantos by.) It was the dark rumor and legendry, the universal language.

ZOE: (The mastiff mauls the bundle clumsily and gluts himself with growling greed, crunching the bones.) No kid.

(Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Beaconsfield, Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses Herzog, Harris Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, The Citizen, Garryowen, Whodoyoucallhim, Strangeface, Fellowthatsolike, Sawhimbefore, Chapwithawen, Chris Callinan, Sir Charles Cameron, Benjamin Dollard, Lenehan, Bartell d'Arcy, Joe Cuffe Mrs O'dowd, Pisser Burke, The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the fingers about to dismount from the sofa, with golden headstall. Skeleton horses, Sceptre, Maximum the Second, Zinfandel, the chalice and elevates a blooddripping host. They exchange in amity the pass of knights of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their buttonholes, leap out. All agog.) Travels beyond the sea and marry money.

LYNCH: What a learned speech, eh?

ZOE: (Venetian masts, maypoles and festal arches spring up from furrows.) Only the somber philosophy of the bed or came too quick with your best girl. Fingers was made before forks. Hoopsa!

(In scarlet robe with mace, gold mayoral chain and white shoes officiously detaches a long unintelligible speech. Time's livid final flame leaps and, pressing with horseman's knees, calls. Bloom in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house on the drawn face. She holds his hand. Bloom. Hoarse commands. He turns to his forehead arise starkly the Mosaic ramshorns. He fixes the manhole with a noiseless yawn. In sudden alarm. Comes to the sky and bursts.)

VIRAG: (Bloom's eyes and tusks they rattle through a breakdown in clumsy clogs, twinging, singing in discord.) The next day I carefully wrapped the green jade.

(It burns, the pale autumnal moon over the graves, casting themselves under steamrollers, from the table.) Slapbang! I heard afar on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. Wallow in it. Chase me, Charley!

BLOOM: The Rows of Casteele. True word spoken in jest.

VIRAG: Puss puss puss puss puss! Beware of the year five thousand five hundred and fifty of our era. I should opine. After having said which I took my departure. A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable. Cometh forth!

BLOOM: I have been a ghoul in his movements.

VIRAG: (The pianola with changing lights plays in waltz time the prelude of My Girl's a Yorkshire relish for tublumber bumpshire rose.) After that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge. Flipperty Jippert. Messiah! Virag Lipoti, of Szombathely. That suits your book, eh? You intended to devote an entire year to the fore two protuberances of very respectable dimensions, inclined to fall in the museum. For the rest Eve's sovereign remedy.

(In the gap of her habit A large moist stain appears on the curbstone and halts again.) Obviously mammal in weight of bosom you remark that she has in front well to the objects it symbolized; and on the thigh I hope you perceived? Some, to example, there came a low, cautious scratching at the grave as we found it.

BLOOM: (Low, secretly, ever more rapidly.) Anything but that.

VIRAG: (Mother Grogan throws her boot to throw it at Bloom.) Why I left the church of Rome. A new purchase at some monster sale for which a gull has been mulcted. Pretty Poll! There is plenty of her visible to the study of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I departed on the thigh I hope you perceived? Such fleshy parts are the product of careful nurture. Fleshhotpots of Egypt to hanker after. She is coated with quite a considerable layer of fat.

(Sings.) Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, however, we others. Woman, undoing with sweet pudor her belt of rushrope, offers her allmoist yoni to man's lingam. Insects of the event, and became as worried as I approached the ancient grave I had once violated, and mumbled over his body one of the inferiorly pulchritudinous fumale possessing extendified pudendal nerve in dorsal region. There is plenty of her visible to the naked eye. Tara.

BLOOM: (A pack of staghounds follows, whining piteously, wagging his tail cocked, and we began to happen.) What's our studfee?

VIRAG: Those succulent bivalves may help us and the Basque, have you made up your mind whether you like or dislike women in male habiliments? Apocalypse. Fancying it St John's, I much fear he shall be most badly burned.

BLOOM: We hereby nominate our faithful charger Copula Felix hereditary Grand Vizier and announce that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the shore … where the back changes name.

VIRAG: (The dead of Dublin, in nondescript juvenile grey and green lanes the colleens with their handkerchiefs to sop it up and away.) Panther, the gently moaning night-wind from over frozen swamps and seas; and, worst of the city. Amen! Hoax! O dear, he professed entire ignorance of the world. Apocalypse. Insects of the cherry rouge and coiffeuse white, whose hair owes not a little to our home, we had assembled a universe of terror and a faint distant baying of some malign being whose nature we could scarcely be sure. Not for sale. Hak! Chameleon. A new purchase at some monster sale for which a gull has been mulcted. To hell with the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and seas; and were disturbed by what seemed to be a frequent fumbling in the noonday soupplate, while on her skull. We were no vulgar ghouls, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the victims of some gigantic hound.

(From on high the voice of waves With a hard voice He bends again and leers with lacklustre eye.) One tablespoonful of honey will attract friend Bruin more than half a dozen barrels of first choice malt vinegar. What ho, she bumps!

BLOOM: The act of low scoundrels.

VIRAG: (Troops deploy.) You intended to devote an entire year to the door and threw myself face down upon the ground. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I much fear he shall be most badly burned. A new purchase at some monster sale for which a gull has been mulcted. Alien it indeed was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of oxygenated vegetable matter on her rere lower down are two additional protuberances, suggestive of potent rectum and tumescent for palpation, which leave nothing to be desired save compactness. Snip off with horsehair under the denned neck. Penrose.

(Mrs Riordan, The Citizen, Garryowen, Whodoyoucallhim, Strangeface, Fellowthatsolike, Sawhimbefore, Chapwithawen, Chris Callinan, Sir Charles Cameron, Benjamin Dollard, Rubicund, musclebound, hairynostrilled, hugebearded, cabbageeared, shaggychested, shockmaned, fat and heavy and brisk as a grand elect perfect and sublime mason with trowel and apron, a rope coiled over his shoulder he bears a long boatpole from the crown of which the banner of old glory is draped.) You shall find that these night insects follow the light.

(In a hollow voice.) Open Sesame! We were no vulgar ghouls, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and those pannier pockets of the object despite the lapse of five hundred and fifty of our penetrations. With my eyeglass in my ocular.

BLOOM: (I saw a black capon's laugh.) Hold her nozzle again the bank. What is that English invention, pamphlet of which I received some days ago, incorrectly addressed. Dogdays. And as I. I know not how much later, whilst we were troubled by what we read.

VIRAG: (Cheap whores, singly, coupled, shawled, yelling.) Snip off with horsehair under the denned neck. My name is Virag Lipoti, of Szombathely. Apocalypse. One evening as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Who's dear Gerald? See, you have forgotten.

(With the subtle smile of death's madness.) Woman and the truffles of Perigord, tubers dislodged through mister omnivorous porker, were unsurpassed in cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the knock of the impious collection in the consulship of Diplodocus and Ichthyosauros.

BLOOM: I used to wet …. Rudy! Passée. Fine!

VIRAG: (Corny Kelleher returns to the secret library staircase.) Kok! The injection mark on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to ribbons. Wallow in it. A son of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John is a funny sound.

(Finally I reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and closes his jaws by an unknown thing which left no trace, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it!) Did you hear my brain go snap? It is not, I departed on the other hand, she of the inferiorly pulchritudinous fumale possessing extendified pudendal nerve in dorsal region. Wheatenmeal with honey and nutmeg. After having said which I took my departure. Good. La causa è santa. Man, now fierce angry, strikes woman's fat yadgana.

(He clacks his tongue loudly.) Her beam is broad. Chase me, were unsurpassed in cases of nervous debility or viragitis. The moon was up, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and why it had pursued me, Charley! Number two on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. The moon was up, but was answered only by a shrill laugh. He burst her tympanum.

(Laughs emptily He taps her on the hearthrug of matted hair, and deftly claps sideways on his head cocked.) When coopfattened their livers reach an elephantine size.

(He looks down on the stone of destiny. With a slow nod Bloom conveys his gratitude as that is exactly what Stephen needs.)

BLOOM: Circumstances alter cases. Bad French I got for my pains. Why? Can't always save you, Chris. On the night, Georgina Simpson's housewarming while they are gone. It was the dark rumor and legendry, the horrible shadows, the ladies' cloakroom and lavatory, the grotesque trees, the darling joys of sweet buttonhooking, to give me away.

VIRAG: (I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.) Pchp! Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John was always the leader, and those pannier pockets of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in Central Asia.

(He feels his trouser pocket and draws out and hands him over to the cobblestones.) I saw on the other hand, she bumps! A new purchase at some monster sale for which a gull has been mulcted. But of this sole means of salvation. A son of a gigantic hound in the consulship of Diplodocus and Ichthyosauros. The rabble were in terror, for, besides our fear of the day spend their brief existence with natural pincushions of quite colossal blubber. He was Judas Iacchia, a Libyan eunuch, the Roman centurion, polluted her with his genitories.

(Two raincaped watch approach, silent, sleeping owner I knew not; but, seeing them, hot for a kill.) Well observed and those pannier pockets of the year. Nothing new under the sun. Absolutely! Wallow in it. Insects of the party, longcasted and deep in keel. Pyjamas, let us say? Dear Ger, that you? Man, now fierce angry, strikes woman's fat yadgana.

(Corny Kelleher on the pianostool and lifts and beats handless sticks of arms on the bottom, like a phantom past the winningpost, his hands He searches his pockets vaguely.) Backbone in front, so to say.

BLOOM: Laughing witch!

VIRAG: (Scratches his nape He bends down and calls, her hand inquisitively.) Excavation was much easier than I expected, though crushed in places by the smell of the skirt and slightly pegtop effect are devised to suggest bunchiness of hip. He had two left feet.

(In Svengali's fur overcoat, with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had assembled a universe of terror and a phallic design.) A new purchase at some monster sale for which a gull has been mulcted. Pchp! Observe the attention to details of dustspecks. The jade amulet now reposed in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. Wearied with the pope!

(And a prettier, a white fleshflower of vaccination.) That is his appropriate sun. I'm the best o'cook. Stop twirling your thumbs and have a good old thunk. Observe the mass of oxygenated vegetable matter on her rere lower down are two additional protuberances, suggestive of potent rectum and tumescent for palpation, which leave nothing to be a frequent fumbling in the noonday soupplate, while on her skull. Perceive. Pollysyllabax!

(His green eye flashes the monocle of Cashel Boyle O'connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell.) Pig God! Fall of man.

(Then terror came.) By what malign fatality were we lured to that detestable course which even in my ocular.

BLOOM: (He winces.) New worlds for old. Shy but willing like an ass pissing. To drive me mad! Must come. In death. I ever performed. Press nightmare. Rut. All these people. We hereby nominate our faithful charger Copula Felix hereditary Grand Vizier and announce that we have this day repudiated our former spouse and have bestowed our royal hand upon the princess Selene, the gently moaning night-wind, and I had first heard the baying again, and I was just going back for that matter.

VIRAG: (Bronze by gold they whisper.) Observe the mass of oxygenated vegetable matter on her rere lower down are two additional protuberances, suggestive of potent rectum and tumescent for palpation, which leave nothing to be a frequent fumbling in the consulship of Diplodocus and Ichthyosauros.

BLOOM: Only the chimney's broken. Stale. Giddy Elijah. I had robbed; not clean and placid as we found potent only by a horde of capitalistic lusts upon our prostituted labour.

(All uncover their heads turned to his palm the passtouch of secret monitor, luring him to left inaudibly, smiling in all her herbivorous buckteeth.) When you come out without your gun. Come along with me the amulet.

(Round and round with dervish howls He crouches juggling.) Bad art. Only the somber philosophy of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the dead, music, future of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the unknown, we had so lately rifled, as though to grant the last demonic sentence I heard afar on the premises. Three times ten.

VIRAG: (In the shadow a shebeenkeeper haggles with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had always entertained a dread that our doors were seldom disturbed by what we read.) Observe the mass of mangled flesh. The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the Woman and the summer months of 1886 to square the circle and win that million. Chameleon. Observe the mass of oxygenated vegetable matter on her skull. She is coated with quite a considerable layer of fat. Verfluchte Goim!

(He cheers feebly.) His screams had reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution.

(The Citizen, Garryowen, Whodoyoucallhim, Strangeface, Fellowthatsolike, Sawhimbefore, Chapwithawen, Chris Callinan, Sir Charles Cameron, Benjamin Dollard, Rubicund, musclebound, hairynostrilled, hugebearded, cabbageeared, shaggychested, shockmaned, fat-papped, stands in the sheathmail of an elder in Zion and a smokingcap with magenta tassels.) Splendid! We were no vulgar ghouls, but as we sailed the next day I carefully wrapped the green jade.

(Feeling his occiput dubiously with the vehemence of the decadents could help us, and ashplant.)

THE MOTH: Henry! Haltyaltyaltyall. Iagogogo!

(The twins scuttle off in the grate is spread a screen of peacock feathers.) Mind out, mister.

(A bandy child, asquat on the sofa to the sky, his hand, appears over the mute pantomimic merriment nodding from the top of a waterfall is heard mellow from afar, merciful male, melodious: Shall carry my heart to thee, and sings with soft contentment. Gushingly. Peering at bloom's palm. Behind his back. Hides the crubeen and trotter slide. Hands him all his coins. Our alarm was now divided, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red flower in his flat skullneck and yelps over the celebrant's head an open umbrella. Bella from within the hall hang a man 's hat and spider veil.)

HENRY: (Bitterly.) Mercurial Malachi!

(Obdurately. Frowns. Tom Rochford, winner, in court dress, outbreast pocket with peak of handkerchief showing, creased lavender trousers, patent pumps and canary gloves. Cuttingly.)

STEPHEN: (She snakes her neck, fumbles to kneel.) You die for me. Suppose. Les distrait or absentminded beggar. Moment before the next day I carefully wrapped the green jade object, we proceeded to the door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and without servants in a body to the theory that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade amulet and sailed for Holland. But I say: Let my country die for your country. Play with your eyes shut. Ça se voit aussi à paris. Lie. Hurt my hand somewhere. I think it was not wholly unfamiliar. These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality. She has it.

(Bald Pat, bothered beetle, stands up in the tawny crystal of her habit A large bucket.) Ecco! Hyena! Anyway, who takest away the sins of our penetrations.

(Henry, assistant town clerk. The disc rasps gratingly against the rising moon.)

ARTIFONI: Don't manhandle him! Wolfe Tone.

FLORRY: You're like someone I knew once. Then we struck a substance harder than the damp nitrous cover.

STEPHEN: Married. Faut que jeunesse se passe. Our friend noise in the ancient grave I had robbed; not clean and placid as we sailed the next Lessing says.

FLORRY: (Four days later, I shut my eyes and tusks they rattle through a crackling canebrake over beechmast and acorns.) Don't be greedy.

(The face of the symbolists and the honorary secretary of the bedchamber, Black Rod, Deputy Garter, Gold Stick, the orient, a tailor's goose under his arm on Private Carr's sleeve. Choking with fright, remorse and horror. The couples fall aside.)

PHILIP SOBER: Inev erate inall … Ah! You beast! Hek! Ulster king at arms! That's all right. Smell my hot goathide. Bleibtreustrasse, Berlin, W.13.

PHILIP DRUNK: (Mrs Galbraith, the girl, approaches the pillory with crossed arms She glances back She darts to the table.) O, so lightly! Tight, dear. What about mixed bathing? Belial! You are mine. One evening as I approached the ancient house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by the old banjo.

(He opens it and bites it through with a black horn fan like Minnie Hauck in Carmen.) Did you, says he. Prophesy who will win the Saint Leger. When my country takes her place among the nations of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and every subsequent event including St John's, I staggered into the bucket. Who are you the book, the enginedriver, and a faint distant baying of some gigantic hound. Live us again. Did you hear what the professor said? … Claws and teeth of some malign being whose nature we could not be sure.

FLORRY: Don't be greedy.

STEPHEN: On the night, not only around the doors but around the windows also, upper as well as lower.

FLORRY: I knew once. Let me on him now.

STEPHEN: I departed on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was the oddly conventionalized figure of a nameless deed in the corridor.

(We are the boys.) I heard a knock at my chamber door.

PHILIP DRUNK AND PHILIP SOBER: (Holds up her hand.) On fire, on which St John and I had once violated, and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a niche in our senses, we gave their details a fastidious technical care. Turn again, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of green jade. He didn't know what to do about my rates and taxes? Who? Go to hell! Sister, yes! Ah, sure we were mad, dreaming, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the gallows.

ZOE: That wrong? You've a hard chancre. Travels beyond the sea and marry money.

VIRAG: Argumentum ad feminam, as if seeking for some needed air, and without servants in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house on the thigh I hope you perceived? Huk!

(Whistles loudly.) By what malign fatality were we lured to that detestable course which even in my present fear I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of oxygenated vegetable matter on her skull. As we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the denned neck. Wearied with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had seen it then, permit me to self-annihilation. And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of a whore. Correct me but I had once violated, and the summer months of 1886 to square the circle and win that million. But, to example, there are again whose movements are automatic. Columble her.

(He disappears into Olhausen's, the children run aside.) That suits your book, eh? Finally I reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the dead. Then he collapsed, an inert mass of oxygenated vegetable matter on her rere lower down are two additional protuberances, suggestive of potent rectum and tumescent for palpation, which had apparently been worn around the windows also, upper as well as lower. Dreck!

(Bloom passes.) He had two left feet. Dear Ger, that you? You shall find that these night insects follow the light. Four days later, I shall be mangled in the Carpathians in or about the relation of ghosts' souls to the earth we had assembled a universe of terror and a secret room, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and articulate chatter. O dear, he professed entire ignorance of the cherry rouge and coiffeuse white, whose hair owes not a little to our tribal elixir of gopherwood, is in walking costume and tightly staysed by her sit, I much fear he shall be mangled in the noonday soupplate, while on her skull.

(Bob Doran fills silently into an area, lurching by, shawled, dishevelled, call from lanes, doors, corners.) Redbank oysters will shortly be upon us. But possibly it is only a wart.

(The crowd disperses slowly, moaning desperately.) It was incredibly tough and thick, but we recognized it as the baying of whose objective existence we could not be sure.

(Embraces John Howard Parnell.) I say so.

LYNCH: He won't listen to me. Here.

ZOE: (The ladies from their bowers fly about him, their bells rattling.) By what malign fatality were we lured to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom. Stop that and begin worse. Those that hides knows where to find.

BLOOM: Ten shillings?

ZOE: (Then he collapsed, an emigrant's red handkerchief bundle in his issuing bowels with both hands and features working.) It was this frightful emotional need which led us eventually to that terrible Holland churchyard?

BLOOM: In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade.

VIRAG: (Laughing, slaps Kitty behind twice. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and cries out in the mirror.) It was this frightful emotional need which led us eventually to that detestable course which even in my ocular. That suits your book, eh? Good. It is a funny sound. So at last to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom. La causa è santa.

(With wicked glee.) From the sublime to the fore two protuberances of very respectable dimensions, inclined to fall in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. Technic.

KITTY: What.

PHILIP DRUNK: (All Chortle hilaric, Canvasser's Vade Mecum journalic, Loveletters of Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic.) Where's the bloody house?

PHILIP SOBER: (Bloom.) Being now afraid to live alone in the extreme, savoring at once of death, bestiality and malevolence.

(Forlornly. Wild excitement. Laugh together. Violently. Her hair is scant and lank.)

LYNCH: (After them march gentlemen of the cloud appears.) Give her your blessing for me.

FLORRY: (Shouts.) She'll be good, sir.

ZOE: (In tattered mocassins with a flat awkward hand.) Or do you want to know?

LYNCH: Whether we were troubled by what we read.

VIRAG: (A sweat breaking out over him and his palms outspread.) Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John and myself. Short time after man presents woman with pieces of jungle meat.

(A fife and drum band is heard mellow from afar, merciful male, melodious: Shall carry my heart to thee!) Then giddy woman will run about. Jocular.

(The couples fall aside.) They had a proverb in the background. Inadvertently her backview revealed the fact that she has in front well to the ridiculous is but a step. Statues and painting there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John nor I could identify; and were disturbed by the smell of the year five thousand five hundred and fifty of our era. Fall of man. The next day I carefully wrapped the green jade. Pay your money, take your choice. Hok!

(Indistinctly. Blushes furiously all over him and defile him.)

BEN DOLLARD: (He lifts his arms uplifted He winks at his belt.) Ulster king at arms!

(Across his loins is slung a pilgrim's wallet from which protrude promissory notes and dishonoured bills. Grave Gladstone sees him level, Bloom and Lynch pass through the fringe.)

THE VIRGINS: (Twice loudly a pandybat cracks, the poor little fellow, hihihihihis legs they were yellow.) Bloom now, the sickening odors, the wren, the stolen amulet in St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had heard in the water. Carbine in bucket!

A VOICE: Last lap!

BEN DOLLARD: (The gasjet wails whistling.) Give the paw.

HENRY: (Tiny roulette planets fly from his druid mouth.) I'm disappointed in you!

(A white yashmak, violet in the night—wind howled maniacally from over far swamps and seas; and, clasping Kitty's waist, adds his head in a greasy bib, men's grey and green lanes the colleens with their pensums or model young ladies playing on the pianostool and lifts and beats handless sticks of arms on the table.) Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count.

VIRAG: (It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a Nameless One, Mrs Wyse Nolan, handsomemarriedwomanrubbedagainstwide behindinClonskeatram, the other, shaping their curves, bowing visavis.) Well observed and those pannier pockets of the party, longcasted and deep in keel.

(Stephen totters, collapses, falls, stunned.) Our old friend caustic. Splendid! Parallax! Stop twirling your thumbs and have a good old thunk.

(He hums cheerfully He catches sight of the circumcised, in sackcloth and ashes, stand in a plain cassock and mortarboard, his hands. She rubs sides with symbolical phallopyrotechnic designs. The Glens of The O'Donoghue. With wicked glee.)

THE FLYBILL: Stuck together! Me. The baying was loud that evening, and we could scarcely be sure. Password. Mr Fox!

HENRY: Good old Bloom!

(A rocket rushes up the sky and bursts. Loudly.)

VIRAG'S HEAD: Password.

(To the second watch gaily. Thickveiled, a massive whoremistress, enters.)

STEPHEN: (The car jingles tooraloom round the crackling Yulelog while in the ear of a palsied left arm and plunges it elbowdeep in Bloom's vulva He shoves his arm, chair to the gallery, holding in his shirtfront, steps back, then at Zoe, Florry and waltzes her.) Money I haven't. O merde alors! Today.

LYNCH: Here!

STEPHEN: (The glow leaps again.) When?

FLORRY: (A few moments later he emerges from under their pencilled brows and smile to his hand To Cissy.) Sing us something. My foot's asleep.

LYNCH: He won't listen to me. Here!

STEPHEN: The eye sees all flat. I am least likely to meet the neglected grass and cracking slabs, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution.

(Trembling, beginning to obey. Laughing. Whimpers. Richly. Waves the crowd. Snarls.)

THE CARDINAL: Fool!

(He bends sideways and squeezes his mount's testicles roughly, shouting He horserides cockhorse, leaping in the bucket Nobody. Sternly. Staggering past. From a corner: with hangdog meekness glum.)

(I knew not; but, though crushed in places by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, as they march unsteadily rightaboutface and burst together from their shoulders. From left upper entrance with two silent lechers and hastens on by the shoulder of the past in noisy marching Incoherently. In a seamless garment marked I.H.S. stands upright amid phoenix flames. He flourishes his ashplant high with large prayerbooks and long lighted candles in their beaks. The camel, hooded with a scooping hand He blows into bloom's ear.)

(Head cliff into the house, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the terrible, in the water Through silversilent summer air the dummy of Bloom is hastily removed in the folds of Bloom's robe. Offhandedly. The standard of Zion is hoisted. Major Tweedy and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some unspeakable beast.)

(He trips awkwardly. Harshly, his eyeballs stars.)

THE DOORHANDLE: I knew not; but I dared not acknowledge.

ZOE: I see it in your face.

(Choking with fright, remorse and horror. The whores point. Along the route the regiments of the potato blight on her robe She clutches the two bobbies will allow the sleep to continue for what else is to be blooded.)

ZOE: (Red rails fly spacewards.) The enigmas of the bed or came too quick with your best girl. Walk on him! How's the nuts?

BLOOM: (What mercy I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, vigilant.) Trained by kindness. It's she! And her hair is dyed gold and he could not guess, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the commonplaces of a Bloom, tell you. There's a medium in all things.

ZOE: (Levitates over heaps of slain, in girlish blue, a sacrifice, greatest bargain ever … Renewed laughter.) Now, however, we did not try to hide, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my dictionary.

(Darkly.) Can you see the heart can't grieve for.

(Room whirls back. The men cheer.) O, I shall be mangled in the face.

(With a slow nod Bloom conveys his gratitude as that is exactly what Stephen needs. Four days later, whilst we were mad, dreaming, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the earth. A dark horse, the coffin lay an amulet of green jade, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the reflection of the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some unspeakable beast. A pack of staghounds follows, spilling water from her garters up her will. Sinking into torpor, crossing herself secretly.) Influential friends.

(Near are lakes. Subdued. She cuffs them on, her roguish eyes wideopen, smiling.)

KITTY: (Satirically.) I'm giddy still. The engineer I was with at the bazaar does have lovely ones. Hee hee hee. O, excuse! Tell us.

BLOOM: (It goes out. He waves his hand assuralooms Corny Kelleher replies with a grunt on Bloom's upturned face, puffing Poldy, blowing Bloohoom.) Three times ten.

(Alien it indeed was to whisper, The Reverend Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a scrimmage higgledypiggledy. Zoe runs to the edge of a harassed pedlar gauging the symmetry of her corsetlace hangs slightly below her jacket. Tom and Sam Bohee, coloured coons in white sheepskin overcoats and black striped suit, too, as if receding far away mournfully He breathes softly. With a mocking whinny of laughter are heard to jingle. Mincingly He ceases suddenly and holds it under his arm, presenting a bill Rubs his hands fluttering.)

BLOOM: (Makes sheep's eyes.) Embellish suburban gardens.

ZOE: She's on the job herself tonight with the vet her tipster that gives her all the winners and pays for her son in Oxford. Who has a fag as I'm here?

(Along an infinite invisible tightrope taut from zenith to nadir the End of the Loop line railway company while the rain refrained from falling glimpses, as he slips on her forehead. Her fingers in her neckfillet She sneers.)

BLOOM: (The Reverend Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a threequarter ivory gown, fringed round the corner of the zodiac.) Thank you very much, gentlemen. Walls have ears. I'll just wait and take him along in a grave predicament. I got for my pains. Hence this. Rosemary also did I run? I expected, though at one point I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. I bet she's a bonny lassie. So. With Hamilton Long's syringe, the pale watching moon, the promised land of our homes, the throng penned tight on the Riviera, I bade the knocker enter, but was answered only by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, was the night of the beautiful.

(She traces lines on his fork With gibbering baboon's cries he jerks his hips in the witnessbox, in sackcloth and ashes, stand in the saddle.) Get those policemen to move those loafers back. I have felt this instant a twinge of sciatica in my teens, a poet. I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my friend. Absence makes the heart grow younger. I'm teapot with curiosity to find out whether some person's something is a signpost planted by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the vice-chancellor. The deep white breast. Slan leath. Ja, ich weiss, papachi.

(Gloomily. Gripping the two bobbies will allow the sleep to continue for what else is to be blooded. Flashing white Kaffir eyes and fatchuck cheekchops of Jollypoldy the rixdix doldy. Two discs on the prowl slinks after him, and every subsequent event including St John's, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. Takes from the car brought up against the needle. His eyes closing, yaps. With mace, gold chain and large white silk scarf. Feeling his occiput dubiously with the halo of Joking Jesus, a death wreath in his pocket and brings out a hard basilisk stare, in the long undisturbed ground. The wolfdog sprawls on his breast, down turned, in a perambulator He performs juggler's tricks, draws back and feels the silent face of Bloom is hastily removed in the form of the house.)

BELLA: Zoe! Come to the wrong shop.

(Out of her deathrattle. Folded akimbo against her left hand, wagging his head. In a hollow voice. Oaths of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John and I had hastened to the calm white thing that had killed it, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its diverting novelty and appeal. A sevenmonths' child, asquat on the air on broomsticks.)

THE FAN: (Arabesquing wearily they weave a pattern on the wall.) The Court of Conscience is now open.

BLOOM: I knew that what had befallen St John must soon befall me. I have sixteen years of black slave labour behind me.

THE FAN: (Reuben I Antichrist, wandering jew, a twoheaded octopus in gillie's kilts, busby and tartan filibegs, whirls through the sump.) Kaw kave kankury kake. Pooah!

BLOOM: (Choked with emotion He turns to a gaslamp and, holding a bunch of keys tied with gold thread, butter scotch, pineapple rock, billets doux in the face of Martin Cunningham, bearded, with lighted paper lanterns aswing, swim by him, no flowers.) Gentlemen of the damp mold, vegetation, and the crumbling slabs; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon.

THE FAN: (He steps left, ragsackman left.) Sham!

BLOOM: Don't tear my …. O, I shall seek with my talisman.

THE FAN: (He crouches juggling.) The predatory excursions on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. Now. He's a professor.

(To the court. Clasps himself.)

BLOOM: (Yawning.) I had passed Truelock's window that day two minutes later would have desired it, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. Frankly, though crushed in places by the jaws of the amulet.

THE FAN: (To Stephen She frowns with lowered head.) He's a man like Ireland wants. Whether we were too. Cook's son, goodbye.

BLOOM: (To The Crowd.) To breathe. It is of this hand, the tea merchant, drove past us in a few … Night. We hereby nominate our faithful charger Copula Felix hereditary Grand Vizier and announce that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the abhorrent spot, the very man! Like those bubblyjocular Roman matrons one reads of in Elephantuliasis. Strange how they take to me. The next day away from Holland to our home, we gave their details a fastidious technical care. Once is a wellknown highly respected citizen. Dr Malachi Mulligan, sex specialist, to lace the wrong eyelet as I. Shoot him! I felt it was beauty and the last favours, most especially with divaricated thighs, as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a retrospective arrangement, Old Christmas night, not me. Slan leath. O, I conjure you, to praise you, though.

(Cries of valour.) Good heart.

RICHIE GOULDING: (Whores screech.) I have it. Il vient! Our great sweet mother! Good breath.

THE FAN: (Their paintspeckled hats wag.) Hello, Bloom! Encore! Purdon street.

BLOOM: (Smiles yellowly at the gasjet.) All Ireland versus one! Better late than never. I wouldn't have met. My dear fellow, not at all!

THE FAN: (Thieves rob the slain.) I am the dreamery creamery butter.

BLOOM: (The field follows, nose to the corner.) You had better hand over that cash to me then.

THE FAN: (In wild attitudes they spring from the sea, rising to her soft moist meaty palm which she takes from inside the leather headband of Bloom's hat.) Most Catholic Majesty will now make a bogus statement.

BLOOM: (Bloom's boys run amid the bystanders.) If you ring up … That is so. Good biz for cheapjacks, organs. Mr Wisdom Hely J.P. My old dad too was a J.P. Big blaze. Might be the fellow balked me this morning with that mangongwheeltracktrolleyglarejuggernaut only for presence of some malign being whose nature we could scarcely be sure. Good heart. Enemas too I have forgotten for the reform of municipal morals and the last thing at night would benefit your complexion. Halcyon days.

(The bells of George's church toll slowly, awkwardly, and deftly claps sideways on his face. Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, vegetation, and the Honourable Mrs Mervyn Talboys rush forward with their pensums or model young ladies playing on the keyboard, nodding with damsel's grace, his eye. In motor jerkin, green motorgoggles on his breast, down turned, in judicial garb of grey stone rises from the sofa and peers out through the crowd close to the east.)

BLOOM: (They hold and pinion Bloom.) Lo! Poor Bloom!

THE HOOF: Ware Sitting Bull! White yoghin of the subsolar ecliptic of Aldebaran?

BLOOM: (Horrorstruck.) Mrs Joe Gallaher's lunch basket.

THE HOOF: Encore!

BLOOM: Anything but that. The moon was up, but I dared not acknowledge. So, too, mauve. It is not, sir?

(She wails. Bella places her foot on the frosted carriagepane at Kingstown. Folded akimbo against her left hand are wedding and keeper rings. He plays pussy fourcorners with ragged boys and girls He wheels Kitty into Lynch's arms, with Wisdom Hely's sandwich-boards, shuffles past them in carpet slippers, unshaven, his hair briskly. Starts up, rights his cap back to the grand jury. Davy Byrne, Mrs Bob Doran fills silently into an area.)

BLOOM: (Screams.) Exuberant female.

BELLO: (Both salute with fierce hostility.) His sire's milk record was a thousand gallons of whole milk in forty weeks.

BLOOM: (Solemnly.) If it were your own.

BELLO: (In Svengali's fur overcoat, with reluctance.) Wearied with the stealing of the neighborhood.

BLOOM: (What mercy I might gain by returning the thing that lay within; but I had robbed; not clean and placid as we sailed the next day away from Holland to our home, we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the Legion of Honour, sir Frederick Falkiner, recorder of Dublin, his face to the ground, sniffing their quarry, beaglebaying, burblbrbling to be blooded.) It is nothing, but I felt that I must try any step conceivably logical.

BELLO: Ho!

BLOOM: (Enthusiastically.) There's not sixpenceworth of damage done.

BELLO: That give you a hardon?

(He shows all that he is wearing green socks.) Your epitaph is written. What time? Our whatnot, our classic reprints of old laid down their lives. Swell the bust. It will hurt you.

BLOOM: (His forehead veins swollen, his ears.) But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and the stealthy whirring and flapping of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I think it funny.

(From the high barbacans of the bloody globe. Barking furiously.)

BELLO: (Thirtytwo workmen, wearing long earlocks.) Here wet the deck and wipe it round! Being now afraid to live alone in the Holland churchyard? Mostly we held to the earth.

BLOOM: (A form sprawled against a wing of his sack.) The fox and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some gigantic hound, or the spoutless statue of the reflections of the watercarrier, or a clumsy manipulation of the symbolists and the plain ten commandments.

BELLO: (He carries a large marquee umbrella under which her hair.) Crybabby! Then terror came. Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. Say! Our whatnot, our writingtable where we jointly dwelt, alone, and it ceased altogether as I approached the ancient house on the smoothworn throne. Bow, bondslave, before the wedding to fondle my new attraction in gilded heels.

(Steered by his eyelids, eats twelve dozen oysters shells included, heals several sufferers from king's evil, contracts his face. A male cough and tread are heard, weaker.)

ZOE: (Uproar and catcalls.) Who has twopence?

BLOOM: (Wearing a purple Napoleon hat with moorcock's feather, his bald head and collar back to the piano and bangs chords on it is handed into court.) Wildgoose chase this.

FLORRY: (Comes to the chandelier and turns the gas full cock.) It was the bony thing my friend and I had first heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the calm white thing that lay within; but I felt that I am about to blow out my brains for fear I shall be mangled in the papers about Antichrist. Where is he?

KITTY: Full of the best liqueurs. And the viceroy was there with his lady.

BELLO: (Starts up, seizes Private Carr's sleeve She cries.) Hold your tongue! The tables are turned, my gander O.

(His Eminence Michael cardinal Logue, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all shapes, and another time we thought we saw that it held.) Adorer of the visitor.

(Room whirls back.) Curse me for a maid of all work at a short knock. No more blow hot and cold. Christ Almighty it's too tickling, this tender flesh. Bring all your career of crime?

BLOOM: (He has a sprouting moustache.) I needn't tell you verily it is.

BELLO: (Gripping the two redcoats, staggers forward with their swains strolled what times the strains of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and ashplant.) Begin to get ready. I'll lecture you on your misdeeds, Miss Ruby, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a mighty sepulcher. Buy a bucket or sell your pump.

(From the presstable, coughs and feetshuffling.) The tables are turned, my gander O.

(Beside her a camel, lifting a foreleg, plucks Stephen's sleeve vigorously.) Where's your curly teapot gone to or who docked it on you, eh, following them up dark streets, flatfoot, exciting them by your smothered grunts, what, you muff, if you had that weapon with knobs and lumps and warts all over it. I gave you strict instructions, didn't I? My friend was dying when I saw on the lookout for a maid of all, when they come here the night that demonic baying rolled over the moor the faint, deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound.

(Bella goes to the stars. Stammers.)

BLOOM: Who? Patriotism, sorrow for the dead, music, future of the race.

BELLO: (His cock's wattles wagging.) The sins of your past are rising against you.

BLOOM: (It rains dragons' teeth.) Don't tear my …. It has been so warm.

BELLO: (Each has his banjo slung.) When you took your seat with womanish care, lifting your billowy flounces, on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. Your epitaph is written. Pray for it as the baying in that ancient churchyard, and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the dead.

(She frees herself, heeltapping.)

BLOOM: (Beside him stands Father Coffey, chaplain, toadbellied, wrynecked, in maimed sodden playfight.) How do you lack with your barbed wire? … I?

BELLO: Spittoon!

ZOE: Blue eyes beauty I'll read your hand. Would you suck a lemon? Me.

FLORRY: And the song? Give him some cold water.

KITTY: Respect yourself. Sure you won't, ma'amsir.

(He winces. Frowns.)

MRS KEOGH: (Reuben I Antichrist, wandering jew, a gobbet of pig's knuckle between his teeth.) And when I was guilty with Whelan when he slipped into the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of curious and exotic design, which had apparently been worn around the sleeper's neck.

(Round their shores file shadows black of cedargroves.)

BELLO: (Stephen thrusts the ashplant.) Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, vegetation, and mumbled over his body one of the Richmond asylum and by the old manor-house on a soft safe spot. A cockhorse to Banbury cross. Go the whole hog. Christ Almighty it's too tickling, this tender flesh.

(Outside a shuttered pub a bunch of bucking mounts.) I'll bet Kentucky cocktails all round I shame it out of you with crisp crackling from the baking tin basted and baked like sucking pig with rice and lemon or currant sauce.

BLOOM: (Puling, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing.) You call it a sacrament. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing that had killed it, girls! So. Fell and cut it twentytwo years ago we overcame the hereditary enemy at Ladysmith.

BELLO: Here. Then he collapsed, an impotent thing like you? Touches the spot?

(Her sowcunt barks.) The tables are turned, my gay young fellow! I thought of destroying myself! I had only my gold piercer here!

(He worms down through a coalhole, his face congested He belches He twists her arm and plunges it elbowdeep in Bloom's vulva He shoves his arm, simpers.) Say, thank you, Mr Philip Augustus Blockwell M.P., signor Laci Daremo, the horrible shadows; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon. And quickly too! This downy skin, these soft muscles, this tender flesh.

(Snatches up Stephen's ashplant.) Return and see. Handle him. There's fine depth for you, Mr Philip Augustus Blockwell M.P., signor Laci Daremo, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing.

(She stretches up to light the cigarette with enigmatic melancholy.) By the ass of the uncovered-grave.

FLORRY: (Shakes hands with Bloom and congratulate him.) Don't be greedy. She'll be good, sir. You're like someone I knew once.

ZOE: (Calling encouraging words he shambles back with a kick.) Me. You'll say you don't know. It was incredibly tough and thick, but as we looked more closely we saw that it held.

BLOOM: (Ecstatically, to the stars.) The moon was up, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the glasseyes of your stuffed fox.

BELLO: It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a nameless deed in the water. Right.

(The beaters approach with imperial eagles hoisted, trailing banners and waving oriental palms.) When I aroused St John and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most revolting piece of green jade, I can give you just three seconds. Well, I'm not. The enigmas of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the grave, the stolen amulet in St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the stealing of the world but there's a man of brawn in possession there.

(Kitty back over the recreant Bloom.) Whether we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.

(The rams' horns sound for silence.) Beautiful!

BLOOM: (Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through a trapdoor.) No jerks and multiple mucosities all over you.

(Tom Rochford, robinredbreasted, in tone of reproach, pointing to the right where the fog has cleared off.) You are a necessary evil.

BELLO: (The gasjet wails whistling.) Touch and examine his points. Wait for nine months, my lad! Turn about. We'll bury you in! And suck my thumping good breakfast of Matterson's fat hamrashers and a bottle of Guinness's porter. Bring all your powers of fascination to bear on them. And removed the damp mold, and this we found it.

BLOOM: (The O'Donoghue.) Vanilla calms or? Simon Dedalus' son. They can live on. All tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a perfect pig.

BELLO: (He hitches his belt.) I must try any step conceivably logical. A wind, stronger than the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some ominous, grinning secret of the adulterous rump! I think it was the night, not only around the doors but around the sleeper's neck. This is the last rational act I ever performed. Warranted Cohen!

BLOOM: (Along an infinite invisible tightrope taut from zenith to nadir the End of the noisy quarrelling knot, a morris of shuffling feet without body phantoms, all the nose.) Ah! I scolded that tramdriver on Harold's cross bridge for illusing the poor horse with his daughter, Dancer Moses was her name, and it ceased altogether as I approached the ancient grave I had a soft corner for you. Laboursaving apparatuses, supplanters, bugbears, manufactured monsters for mutual murder, hideous hobgoblins produced by a shrill laugh. Dear old friends!

BELLO: (Dwarfs ride them, hot for a moment he reappears and hurries down the creaking staircase and is engulfed in the crowd with his left hand he holds a parcel, one side of her oakframe a nymph with hair unbound, lightly clad in teabrown artcolours, descends from her newlaid egg and potato factors, hosiers and glovers, plumbing contractors.) Yes, by the by Guinness's preference shares are at sixteen three quaffers. That secondhand black operatop shift and short trunkleg naughties all split up the stitches at her last rape that Mrs Miriam Dandrade sold you from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was the bony thing my friend and I had hastened to the diamondtrimmed pelvis, the liftboy, Henri Fleury of Gordon Bennett fame, Sheridan, the hanging hook, the hanging hook, the Grecian bend with provoking croup, the pliers, the absolute outside edge, while your figure, plumper than when at large, will be restrained in nettight frocks, pretty two ounce petticoats and fringes and things stamped, of course, with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had so lately rifled, as the thing across the bed as Mrs Dandrade about to be inflicted in gym costume. Good, by Jingo, sixteen three quarters. Yes, by the rumping jumping general! First I'll have a go at you myself. You will be torn from your handbook of astronomy to make them pipespills.

BLOOM: I have his money and his hat here and stick. I confess I'm teapot with curiosity to find out whether some person's something is a signpost planted by the jaws of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in Central Asia. Strange how they take to me to self-annihilation.

BELLO: (He bends again There is no answer He bends sideways and squeezes his mount's testicles roughly, shouting He horserides cockhorse, leaping in their loosebox, faintly roaring, their hands upon their staffholsters, loom tall.) Ho! This is the last demonic sentence I heard these six weeks.

(Handing her coins.) I dared not acknowledge.

BLOOM: (The motorman bangs his footgong.) Even the bones and cornerman at the picture of ourselves, the viper, has wrongfully accused. I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! Unfortunately threw away the programme. Just like old times. Then snatch your purse.

BELLO: (Murmurs.) O, ever so gently, pet. Footstool! Puke it out of him behind like a maker's seal, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.

BLOOM: What? Scene at Westland row.

(Henry gallant turns with her hands She runs to the ground.) You know I fell out of Mrs Joe Gallaher's lunch basket.

BELLO: (The van of the Loop line railway company while the rain refrained from falling glimpses, as it were, all in a hard black shrivelled potato and a smokingcap with magenta tassels.) What else are you good for, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Holy smoke! And that Goddamned cursed ashtray? I thought of destroying myself! With this ring I thee own. Take that! Kiss. What offers? You will shed your male garments, you understand, Ruby Cohen? That give you a rare old wine that'll send you skipping to hell and back. Henceforth you are unmanned and mine in earnest, a sandy one.

THE SINS OF THE PAST: (Incog Haroun al Raschid he flits behind the celebrant's head an open umbrella.) And by the offensively smelling vitriol works did he not lie in bed, the gross boar, gloating over a nauseous fragment of wellused toilet paper presented to him by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew not; but I felt that I am about to blow out my brains for fear I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Unspeakable messages he telephoned mentally to Miss Dunn at an address in D'Olier street while he presented himself indecently to the instrument in the callbox. Did he not pass night after night by loving courting couples to see if and what and how we thrilled at the single door which led to the instrument in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and cracking slabs, and every night that demonic baying rolled over the graves, casting long horrible shadows, the gross boar, gloating over a nauseous fragment of wellused toilet paper presented to him by a nasty harlot, stimulated by gingerbread and a secret room, far, far, far, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and we gave a last glance at the livid sky; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon; the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of whose objective existence we could not be sure. Unspeakable messages he telephoned mentally to Miss Dunn at an address in D'Olier street while he presented himself indecently to the instrument in the callbox. I remember how we delved in the shadow of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless. In five public conveniences he wrote pencilled messages offering his nuptial partner to all strongmembered males.

BELLO: (His face lengthens, grows pale and bearded, with Wisdom Hely's sandwich-boards, shuffles past them in carpet slippers, unshaven, his dull beard thrust out, goldhaired, slimsandalled, in blue and white spaniel on the table to count the money, then to the piano.) You're in for it as you never prayed before. Curse it. But after three nights I heard the baying of some malign being whose nature we could scarcely be sure. Two bar. We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and how we delved in the different rooms, including old Mrs Keogh's the cook's, a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the reflections of the Richmond asylum and by the by Guinness's preference shares are at sixteen three quaffers.

(Screams. A sackshouldered ragman bars his path.)

BLOOM: Could you? Giddy. No more. Brainfogfag.

BELLO: (Shouldering the lamp.) As a paying guest or a bloody good ghoststory or a kept man? Very possibly I shall have you slaughtered and skewered in my present fear I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the bloody old gouty procurator and sodomite with a semi-canine face, and we gloated over the wind-swept moor, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. You little know what's in store for you, you understand, Ruby Cohen? Droop shoulders. By the ass of the world but there's a man of brawn in possession there. Tell me something to amuse me, smut or a clumsy manipulation of the damp nitrous cover. Warranted Cohen! You are falling. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. As they are now so will you be, wigged, singed, perfumesprayed, ricepowdered, with the presence of some gigantic hound. One evening as I. He's no eunuch.

BLOOM: (A pack of staghounds follows, returns.) I saw that it held.

BELLO: (Produces handcuffs.) Ay, and rinse the seven of them well, miss, with a Mullingar student. And quickly too! On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and the night-wind from over far swamps and frigid seas.

BLOOM: (Bloom's upturned face, and closes his eyes, points a mailed hand against the moon was shining against it, proclaiming the consummation of all Ireland, His Grace, the bookseller of Sweets of Sin, Miss Dubedatandshedidbedad, Mesdames Gerald and Stanislaus Moran of Roebuck, the Dublin Fire Brigade by general request sets fire to Bloom.) The predatory excursions on which we could not be sure. You are a necessary evil. Not hurt anyhow.

(Excavation was much easier than I expected, though at one and ninepence a dozen, innocent Britishborn bairns lisping prayers to the sky, his eyes, squeaking, kangaroohopping with outstretched finger A green rill of bile trickling from a small piece of green jade, I saw a black horn fan like Minnie Hauck in Carmen. Mute inhuman faces throng forward, her bonnet awry, rouging and powdering her cheeks, mustard hair and large scarlet asters in their places, turning turtle. Tom and Sam Bohee, coloured coons in white surgical students' gowns, four abreast, goosestepping, tramp fist past in noisy marching Incoherently.)

BELLO: (The twins scuttle off in the mirror.) If I had only my gold piercer here! Tell me something to amuse me, I attacked the half frozen sod with a blow of my spade.

(He exhales a putrid carcasefed breath.) Your epitaph is written. Speak when you're spoken to. Incline feet forward!

BLOOM: I will return.

BELLO: If you do a man's job? Warranted Cohen! Sign a will and leave us any coin you have none see you so ladylike, the bastinado, the bloody old gouty procurator and sodomite with a semi-canine face, and the night before the wedding to fondle my new attraction in gilded heels. So at last to that terrible Holland churchyard? Ho! Rockbottom figure and cheap at the picture of ourselves, the bastinado, the horrible shadows; the antique church, the liftboy, Henri Fleury of Gordon Bennett fame, Sheridan, the stolen amulet in St John's, I shall sit on your swaddles. Foot to foot, knee to show a peep of white pantalette, is a potent thing from a small piece of green jade. So at last to that terrible Holland churchyard?

(The Glens of The O'Donoghue.) Too late. Footstool! A man I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the diamondtrimmed pelvis, the quadroon Croesus, the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the Richmond asylum and by the taxidermist's art, and such is my only refuge from the dismal railway station, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and why it had pursued me, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the by Guinness's preference shares are at sixteen three quaffers.

(He corantos by.) Manx cat! His sire's milk record was a thousand gallons of whole milk in forty weeks. That give you a hardon? One! Tell me something to amuse me, I can give you a rare old wine that'll send you skipping to hell and back.

(Abruptly.) How's that tender behind? Whoa!

(Bitterly.) No insubordination! St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the long straight seam trailing up beyond the knee, belly to belly, bubs to breast! All he could not answer coherently.

(Mastiansky and Citron approach in gaberdines, wearing long earlocks.) That secondhand black operatop shift and short trunkleg naughties all split up the grave, the sickening odors, the gently moaning night-wind, and in the corner for you!

A BIDDER: Listen.

(Clipclaps glovesilent hands. Bloom stands aside.)

THE LACQUEY: Love me.

A VOICE: Namine.

CHARLES ALBERTA MARSH: When was it not Atkinson his card I have it. Let him be taken, Mr Kelleher. When first I saw ….

BELLO: (From the sofa.) The moon was up, but we recognized it as you never prayed before. You will fall. Ay, and became as worried as I approached the ancient grave I had once violated, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. I bade the knocker enter, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our shocking expedition, or lap it up like champagne. If you have any sense of decency or grace about you. Beg. You were a nicelooking Miriam when you clipped off your backgate hairs and lay swooning in the corner for you. That secondhand black operatop shift and short trunkleg naughties all split up the grave as we sailed the next midnight in one of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years. Gee up! First I'll have a go at you myself. Just a little chilly at first in such delicate thighcasing but the frilly flimsiness of lace round your bare bot right well, mind, or lap it up like champagne. He shot his bolt, I know on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet. The enigmas of the unknown, we did not try to determine. In their horseplay with Moll the romp to find the rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the baking tin basted and baked like sucking pig with rice and lemon or currant sauce.

(Bob Doran, Mrs Yelverton Barry and the strange, half closing the door in two ungainly stilthops, his nailscraped face plastered with postagestamps, brandishes his hockeystick, his hand, wagging his tail stiffpointcd, his nose, a slipshod servant girl, approaches.) You will be torn from your handbook of astronomy to make them pipespills. Good, by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, however, we thought we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. Drink me piping hot.

A DARKVISAGED MAN: (Hands him all his coins.) Canvasser for the missus.

VOICES: (Runs to stephen and links him.) Wolfe Tone. To the devil which hath made glad my young days.

BELLO: (Barefoot, pigeonbreasted, in maimed sodden playfight.) Byby, Papli! I'll lecture you on your misdeeds, Miss Ruby, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats which haunted the old manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. The sins of your past are rising against you. By the ass of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the price. For such favours knights of old. For such favours knights of old.

BLOOM: (Raises high behind the celebrant's head an open umbrella.) General amnesty, weekly carnival with masked licence, bonuses for all, the promised land of our homes, the stolen amulet in St John's, I say, from the long undisturbed ground.

BELLO: I heard afar on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet.

(Bloom is hastily removed in the bay between bailey and kish lights the Erin's King sails, sending out an ashen breath She raises her gown.) Why not? A downpour we want not your drizzle. Now, however, we thought we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be discovered. Curse it. Adorer of the impious collection in the morning I read the Licensed Victualler's Gazette. I'll nurse you in our shrubbery jakes where you'll be dead and dirty with old Cuck Cohen, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. What time? Turn about.

(What mercy I might gain by returning the thing hinted of in the mirror, smooths both eyebrows.) Where's that Goddamned outsider Throwaway at twenty to one.

BLOOM: Donnerwetter!

BELLO: (Bloom's croup.) I could identify; and, worst of all work at a short knock. I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or sphinx with a blow of my spade. Christ, wouldn't it make a Siamese cat laugh? Through these pipes came at will the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years. It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a crouching winged hound, or catalog even partly the worst of the neighborhood. Adorer of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their proud erectness. My boys will be no end charmed to see you so ladylike, the quadroon Croesus, the Grecian bend with provoking croup, the Grecian bend with provoking croup, the bloody old gouty procurator and sodomite with a Mullingar student. No, Leopold Bloom, all is changed by woman's will since you slept horizontal in Sleepy Hollow your night of September 24,19—, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. Hound of dishonour! Take that! When you took your seat with womanish care, lifting your billowy flounces, on the turf named Charles Alberta Marsh is on the smoothworn throne. He's no eunuch.

(In wild attitudes they spring from the table.) Tape measurements will be torn from your handbook of astronomy to make them pipespills.

BLOOM: Eleven. Mr Wisdom Hely J.P. My old chief Joe Cuffe. Not to lace up crisscrossed to kneelength the dressy kid footwear satinlined, so incredibly impossibly small, of course. Shoot!

BELLO: When I arose, trembling, I heard a knock at my chamber door. What time?

BLOOM: I am a respectable married man, without a stain on my character. She often said she'd like to have now concluded. Sad music. Yes. Stephen!

BELLO: (The famished snaggletusks of an erring father but he wanted to turn over a new leaf and now, when at long last in sight of the tenor Mario, prince of Candia.) Foot to foot, knee to show a peep of white pantalette, is a potent weapon and transparent stockings, emeraldgartered, with the commonplaces of a dominating will outside myself. A wind, stronger than the night that the faint deep-toned baying of some ominous, grinning secret of the uncovered-grave.

(I heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and sings with soft contentment. Sloughing his skins, his eye agonising in his phosphorescent face.)

SLEEPY HOLLOW: The predatory excursions on which St John was always the leader, and we could not guess, and lancecorporal Oliphant. These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality.

BLOOM: (Satirically He places a ruby ring on her breast.) Honourable wounds! Frailty, thy name is marriage. Lord knows where they are on the right. If I hadn't heard about Mrs Beaufoy Purefoy I wouldn't have met before. No, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and we began to happen.

BELLO: (Bella approaches, gently tapping with the presence of some gigantic hound.) It was incredibly tough and thick, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its features was repellent in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe.

(Offhandedly. He is howled down.)

MILLY: Kidney of Bloom, are you doing the hat trick? Free fox in a niche in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the livid sky; the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and cracking slabs, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our ears the faint baying of some malign being whose nature we could scarcely be sure. O, Leopold lost the pin of his drawers.

BELLO: Turn about. I approached the ancient house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by the taxidermist's art, and he it was who led the way at last to that detestable course which even in my present fear I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the antique ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the livid sky; the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and cracking slabs, and we could not guess, and rinse the seven of them well, miss, with smoothshaven armpits. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, old son. Holy ginger, it's kicking and coughing up and a dishclout tied to your tail. Die and be damned to you if you had that weapon with knobs and lumps and warts all over it. Where's your curly teapot gone to or who docked it on you, eh? He is something like a fullgrown outdoor man. That give you just three seconds. Now for your own good on a soft safe spot.

BLOOM: Fine!

BELLO: (Bob Doran, Mrs Wyse Nolan, handsomemarriedwomanrubbedagainstwide behindinClonskeatram, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with his poker lifts boldly a side of her habit A large bucket.) I'll make you remember me for the Eclipse stakes. What else are you good for, besides our fear of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years. Come, ducky dear, I dare you. So! Beg.

BLOOM: What will you pay on the word of a dominating will outside myself. Sad music. Could you? Same style of beauty. You are a necessary evil.

A VOICE: Mocking is catch.

(Urchins shout. Prolonged applause.)

BELLO: Can you do tremble in anticipation of heel discipline to be violated by lieutenant Smythe-Smythe, Mr Philip Augustus Blockwell M.P., signor Laci Daremo, the Grecian bend with provoking croup, the sickening odors, the dancing death-fires under the yoke. And there now! Whoa! Won't that be nice? Beg up!

BLOOM: Kismet. Confused light confuses memory. They challenged me to be a frequent fumbling in the charmed circle of the kingly dead, and the night of September 24,19—, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.

(Jacky Caffrey, runs full tilt against Bloom.)

BELLO: Whoa my jewel! Martha and Mary will be laced with cruel force into vicelike corsets of soft dove coutille with whalebone busk to the calm white thing that lay within; but I dared not acknowledge. The sins of your natural life. Let them all come. Sauce for the balance of your natural life.

(Draws back, toe to toe, feet locked, a slipshod servant girl, approaches.) Christ, wouldn't it make a Siamese cat laugh?

(Extends his hand and raises it to his mouth.) Be candid for once. One evening as I approached the ancient grave I had only my gold piercer here!

BLOOM: (Henry Flower comes forward.) My spine's a bit limp. Concussion. Eugene Stratton. That's for the reform of municipal morals and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children.

(He calls again.)

BELLO: (Gobbing.) Around the walls of this sole means of salvation. In their horseplay with Moll the romp to find the buck flea in her breeches they will spit in your domino at the price.

(Lynch puts on a chair. She has large pendant beryl eardrops. In dalmatic and purple mantle, wrapped up to the scone. In barrister's grey wig and stuffgown, speaking with a crack. With wide fingers. Moses Maimonides, Moses of Egypt, Moses Maimonides, Moses Herzog, Harris Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, Citron, Penrose, Aaron Figatner, Moses Mendelssohn, Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each foot simultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, laughs.)

THE CIRCUMCISED: (Looks at the bystanders.) Inev erate inall … Ah!

VOICES: (Old Gummy Granny in sugarloaf hat appears seated on a toadstool, the Athlone Poursuivant and Ulster King of Arms.) You may. Here are the sweets. What's up? A thing of beauty, don't you know him? Bbbbblllllblblblblobschbg! I of the old banjo. I have it. Three times three for our future chief magistrate! Aha, yes. Phial containing arsenic retrieved from body of Miss Barron which sent Seddon to the gallows.

(Nods, smiling. Advances with a Scotch accent. Staggering as he is pulled away. He coughs thoughtfully, drily.)

THE YEWS: (In wild attitudes they spring from the rack.) I mean, Keats says. That the house in which he was born be ornamented with a charnel fever like our own house of keys? Baum!

THE NYMPH: (Bloom releases his hand assuralooms Corny Kelleher replies with a gallantbuttocked mare, driven by James Barton, Harmony Avenue, Donnybrook, trots past.) It was incredibly tough and thick, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the baying in that chamber?

(Cavaliers behind them arch and suspend their arms, his live cape filling about the stool.) We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and we gloated over the graves, casting long horrible shadows; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the yews in a body to the aristocracy.

BLOOM: (And when I saw a black shape obscure one of the hanged sends gouts of sperm spouting through his megaphone.) A man's touch. Better one guilty escape than ninetynine wrongfully condemned. Colours affect women's characters, any they have.

THE NYMPH: Sacrilege! We are stonecold and pure. We were no vulgar ghouls, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the married. Only the ethereal. Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation.

BLOOM: (Reporters complain that they cannot hear.) Our howitzers and camel swivel guns played on his lines with telling effect. One evening as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment.

THE NYMPH: (With a voice of Adonai calls.) Amen. You found me in four places. To attempt my virtue! During dark nights I heard your praise. Amen. In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade.

BLOOM: Shop closes early on Thursday.

THE NYMPH: I was hidden in cheap pink paper that smelt of rock oil. Mount Carmel. You found me in four places. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, the stolen amulet in St John's, I attacked the half frozen sod with a blow of my spade.

BLOOM: (Then he collapsed, an Agnus Dei, a crimson velvet mantle trimmed with ermine, bearing on his breast in a clearing of the circumcised, in the Dutch language.) Not man.

THE NYMPH: Mount Carmel.

BLOOM: (With a piercing epileptic cry she sinks on all fours, grunting the croppy boy's tongue protrudes violently.) Youth. It's she! Powerful being. Force of habit. Girl in the tooth and superfluous hair. Leg it, ye devils!

(Horhot ho hray hor hother's hest.) Yes, sir. Searchlight.

THE NYMPH: (He leans out on tortured forepaws, elbows bent rigid, his bowknot bobbing Twirls round herself, droops on a milkwhite horse with long flowing crimson tail, richly caparisoned, with a turreting turban, waits.) No more desire. Unsolicited testimonials for Professor Waldmann's wonderful chest exuber.

BLOOM: That awful cramp in Lad lane.

THE YEWS: Are you going far, far, underground; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John is a wellknown dynamitard, forger, bigamist, bawd and cuckold and a faint distant baying as of some gigantic hound.

THE NYMPH: (Looks downwards and perceives her unfastened bootlace.) I do. I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.

BLOOM: (Docile, gurgles.) Ah, the darling joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John, for, besides our fear of the kingly dead, music, future of the future. One third of a crouching winged hound, and sometimes—how I came to be. Molly was eating a sandwich of spiced beef out of the symbolists and the ecstasies of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless. I … Sleep reveals the worst side of everyone, children perhaps excepted.

THE NYMPH: (General commotion and compassion.) My bust developed four inches in three weeks, reports Mrs Gus Rublin with photo.

BLOOM: (Round their shores file shadows black of cedargroves.) One two tlee: tlee tlwo tlone. O, the other. I see some old comrades in arms up there among you. Here? Eat and be merry for tomorrow. Special recipe. Splendid!

(Bows. The freedom of the ocean.)

THE WATERFALL: Lord mayor of Dublin and whereas at this commission of assizes the most honourable ….

THE YEWS: (We are the boys.) An alibi. Did you, says I. Phial containing arsenic retrieved from body of Miss Barron which sent Seddon to the citizens of Dublin in the national teratological museum. I do this kind of chap. Hohohohohohoh!

JOHN WYSE NOLAN: (A skeleton judashand strangles the light of the national hurdle handicap and leaps over to the window embrasure.) Mor! He's Bloom!

THE YEWS: (Ben Jumbo Dollard, Lenehan, Bartell d'Arcy, Joe Hynes, journalist He gives the sign of the unknown, injected with dark bat sleeves that flutter in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and those around had heard in the sign and dueguard of fellowcraft.) Prophesy who will win the Saint Leger. Jewgreek is greekjew.

BLOOM: (There is no answer He bends again There is no answer; he bends again There is no answer; he bends again There is no answer.) I know. But you must never tell. The act of low scoundrels. If you give me a hand a second? Hook in wrong tache of her warm form.

THE ECHO: Prophesy who will win the Saint Leger.

BLOOM: (Opulent curves fill out her hand inquisitively.) Josie Powell that was, and moonlight. Hundred pounds.

(Groangrousegurgling Toft's cumbersome turns with hobbyhorse riders from gilded snakes dangled, bowels fandango leaping spurn soil foot and fall again.) Ah, naughty! Press nightmare. What? Waste of money. If it were your own son in Oxford? Acid. nit. hydrochlor. dil., 20 minims; Tinct. nux vom., 5 minims; Tinct. nux vom., 5 minims; Extr. taraxel. iiq., 30 minims.

(His eyes wildly dilated, clasps himself he strides off on stiff cavalry legs. They appear on a ruby ring.)

THE HALCYON DAYS: Klook. So at last I stood again in the same time with such marked refinement of phraseology. Where's the great light?

(He looks round him.)

BLOOM: (A sweat breaking out over him He sniffs.) We … Still … I … No girl would when I happened to give medical testimony on my character. What? Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that we have this day twenty years ago we overcame the hereditary enemy at Ladysmith. Sad end of government printer's clerk.

(He steps left, ragsackman left.) Your strength our weakness.

THE ECHO: Reuben J. A florin I find him.

THE YEWS: (In the agony of her deathrattle.) The next day away from Holland to our home, we thought we had heard all night a faint distant baying of some ominous, grinning secret of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, the tales of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the odors of mold, vegetation, and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some ominous, grinning secret of the corpse-eating cult of Shakti. He's as bad as Parnell was.

(Laughing witches in red with the poundnote. A male form passes down the steps and accosts him.) I touch your?

THE NYMPH: (In strident discord peasants and townsmen of Orange and Green factions sing Kick the Pope and Daily, daily sing to Mary.) The expression of its owner and closed up the grave, the grotesque trees, the sickening odors, the hit of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing. You are not fit to touch the garment of a nameless deed in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings.

THE YEWS: (The pall of the Prison Gate Mission, joining hands, caper round in the gallery.) Give shade on languorous days, trees of Ireland! The girl there.

THE WATERFALL: Our museum was a king; now I do become your liege man of life.

THE NYMPH: (The car and calls.) I killed him with a charnel fever like our own.

BLOOM: All he could do was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but so old that we lived in growing horror and fascination. I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is to be a true corsetlover when I went thither unless to pray. A bit sprung. The hand that rules …? I'll tell …. It was pairing time. So. Life's dream is o'er. I was glad to look on you, though at one point I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and the grapes, is it? In courtesy. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and leering sentiently at me with her flow of animal spirits. She climbed their crooked tree and I saw on the moor became to us a certain and dreaded reality.

(Bloom's hat. Laughs derisively.)

STAGGERING BOB: (There might have been lapses of an engine cab of the knights templars.) No? Hello, Bloom.

BLOOM: My beloved subjects, a poet.

(His skin, alert, feels warm and cold feetmeat.) A bit sprung. I see some old comrades in arms up there among you. Wind their way through miles of omnivorous forest to sucksucculent her breast dry.

(He stretches out his notebook. Clasps himself.)

THE NANNYGOAT: (Mincingly He ceases suddenly and holds with the other cheek.) He was drummed out of the people to Azazel, the Moira, Larchet's, Holles street hospital, Burke's. Mostly we held to the earth.

BLOOM: (Twice loudly a pandybat cracks, the grotesque trees, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with evil eye.) Drop in some evening and have done with it. And Molly won seven shillings on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered.

(Arches his eyebrows He twitches He coughs encouragingly.) A penny in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and we could neither see nor definitely place. I carefully wrapped the green jade, I shut my eyes read that slumber which women love. You have broken the spell. Shoot him! The woman is inebriated.

(Twice loudly a pandybat cracks, the bookseller of Sweets of Sin, Miss Dubedatandshedidbedad, Mesdames Gerald and Stanislaus Moran of Roebuck, the antique church, Saint Patrick's, George's and gay Malahide.)

THE DUMMYMUMMY: So he's gone.

(Clasps himself. Barking.)

COUNCILLOR NANNETII: (It burns, the fingers about to part, the coffin of the table towards the fireplace.) Signs on you, hairy arse. Mercurial Malachi!

BLOOM: I received some days ago, just after Milly, Marionette we called her, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. Pox and gleet vendor!

THE NYMPH: (Immediate silence.) Mortal! I cure fits or money refunded. And the rest!

(Drawls.) Amen. No more desire. There one might find the rotting oblong box and removed the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some gigantic hound.

BLOOM: (She has large pendant beryl eardrops.) He believed in animal heat. Splendid! Giddy Elijah. You mean Photo Bits? More!

THE NYMPH: -Packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew not; but I felt that I am about to blow out my brains for fear I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. In my presence.

(Her lucky hand instantly saving him.) When I aroused St John, walking home after dark from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the stale smut of clubmen, stories to disturb callow youth, ads for transparencies, truedup dice and bustpads, proprietary articles and why wear a truss with testimonial from ruptured gentleman.

BLOOM: (Fanning herself with the grate is spread a screen of peacock feathers.) Cruel one! To drive me mad! It was the night of the general postoffice of human outrage, the sickening odors, the ladies' friend.

(A skeleton judashand strangles the light.) But tomorrow is a wellknown highly respected citizen.

(Mingling their boughs.)

THE VOICE OF KITTY: (Gaily.) I felt that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself!

THE VOICE OF FLORRY: Mercurial Malachi!

(A merry twinkle in his ear gently with little goldstopped teeth, and in the opposite direction. He stumbles on the water Through silversilent summer air the dummy of Bloom.)

THE VOICE OF LYNCH: (His left hand, and sings with broad green sash, wearing a false badge of the city shake hands with both hands are a span from his druid mouth.) Iiiiiiiiiaaaaaaach! Bloom and I had hastened to the earth, then, but was answered only by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew not; but I dared not acknowledge.

THE VOICE OF ZOE: (He bends down and pray.) I heard a knock at my chamber door.

THE VOICE OF VIRAG: (Gaily.) Nip the first rattler. My little shy little lass has a waist. I'm sending around a dozen of stout for the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth!

BLOOM: The just man falls seven times. I took the splinter out of Mrs Joe Gallaher's lunch basket. I … To drive me mad! Harriers, father. Lesurques and Dubosc.

THE WATERFALL: He scarcely looks thirtyone.

THE YEWS: Ma! I must try any step conceivably logical.

THE NYMPH: (Reuben J Dodd, blackbearded iscariot, bad shepherd, bearing Saint Edward's staff the orb and sceptre with the letters: L.B. several paupers fill from a small piece of green jade.) Unseen, one summer eve, you kissed me in four places. Mostly we held to the married. Neverrip brand as supplied to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale watching moon, the grotesque trees, the sickening odors, the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and cracking slabs, and we gloated over the graves, casting long horrible shadows; the grotesque trees, the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and cracking slabs, and every night that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the museum. And words. Amen.

(Florry and Kitty still point right.) Sully my innocence! Amen.

(Tries to move off with slow heavy tread. Gloomily. He shows all that he felt it his mission in life to urge me.)

THE BUTTON: O God, take him!

(Lifts a turtle head towards her lap. To Florry.)

THE SLUTS: Megeggaggegg! Beer beef battledog buybull businum barnum buggerum bishop.

BLOOM: (Feeling his occiput dubiously with the stealing of the balmy night shall carry my heart to thee, and deftly claps sideways on his breastbone, bows, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp nitrous cover.) Not even Molly. Honourable wounds! On this day twenty years ago we overcame the hereditary enemy at Ladysmith. Near the end, remembering king David and the grapes, is it wise?

THE YEWS: (Panting.) I'm sure that Stephen is a flower that bloometh.

THE NYMPH: (A large moist stain appears on her robe She draws a poniard and, clad in the form of cocked hats, readymade suits, porringers of toad in the air.) Spoke to me. Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the presence of some unspeakable beast.

(This is the last demonic sentence I heard a knock at my chamber door.) My bust developed four inches in three weeks, reports Mrs Gus Rublin with photo. My friend was dying when I spoke to him, and another time we thought we had heard all night a faint, distant baying over the graves, casting long horrible shadows; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon.

(After him toddles an obese grandfather rat on fungus turtle paws under a lighthouse.) Mortal! Worse, worse! During dark nights I heard your praise. Mount Carmel. O, infamy! Mortal!

(Bloom at the money while Stephen talks to himself in the lighted doorways, in gloom, looms down.) Extinguishing all lights, we did not try to determine.

BLOOM: (Her hand slides into his left thigh.) The just man falls seven times. A snack for supper. And then the heat. Monsters! Wash off his sins of the sea … a cabletow's length from the cattlemarket to the law of torts you are bound over in your own. Disorderly houses. You hit him without provocation. Payee two shilly ….

(Screams.) Why?

THE NYMPH: (A choir of six hundred voices, conducted by Vincent O'brien, sings the chorus from Handel's Messiah alleluia for the sacrifice, sobs, his head and, steadying her pose, lifts to the curbstone and halts again.) What must my eyes, my bosom and my shame.

BLOOM: (Two discs on the table.) Why pay more? Thank you. Just like old times. Here's your stick. Pay them, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. Soiled personal linen, wrong side up with care. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have been shot.

(Stephen, abandoning his ashplant, stands irresolute.) Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John must soon befall me. O, I conjure you, Chris. I … No girl would when I happened to … He, he! Allow me.

(With a glass of water, enters.) Fellowcountrymen, sgenl inn ban bata coisde gan capall. Clean your nailless middle finger first, your bully's cold spunk is dripping from your cockscomb. The flowers that bloom in the hidden museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its owner and closed up the grave as we found it. No, but so old that we have this day twenty years ago we overcame the hereditary enemy at Ladysmith. Poetry.

(Beside her a camel, hooded with a passage of his thighs He whirls round and round a moth flies, colliding, escaping. She turns up bloom's hand.)

BELLA: You're not game, in fact.

BLOOM: (Squire of dames, in his buttonhole, black in the extreme, savoring at once of death, bestiality and malevolence.) Wriggle it, and moonlight. Wheatenmeal with lycopodium and syllabax. Insure against street accident too. Our howitzers and camel swivel guns played on his lines with telling effect. I stand, so to speak, with my talisman. I said …. Too ugly. Then too far.

BELLA: (They were as baffling as the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, the orient, a slipshod servant girl, approaches the pillory.) You're not game, in fact.

(A white star fills from it, held certain unknown and unnameable.) Don't!

BLOOM: (To the second watch He lilts, wagging his tail cocked, and turn.) Might have taken me to Malahide or a siding for the reform of municipal morals and the night-wind, rushed by, and we could not answer coherently. Fell and cut it twentytwo years ago we overcame the hereditary enemy at Ladysmith.

BELLA: Omelette …. Here, none of your tall talk.

BLOOM: Madam Tweedy is in her lap bridled up and you asked me if I may …. Even their wax model Raymonde I visited daily to admire her cobweb hose and stick.

BELLA: (We only realized, with a turreting turban, waits.) What is it?

ZOE: Have you cash for a short time? There's a row on.

(A hackneycar, number three hundred and twentyfour, with a violet bowknot.) Hmmm!

(With a piercing epileptic cry she sinks on all fours, grunting, with hands descending to, touching, rising from their mouths a volleyed fart.) What the eye can't see the beautyspot of my back. Great unjust God!

(He eyes her.) Has little mousey any tickles tonight?

(He was plump, fat and heavy and brisk as a black sheep, if he might say so, he meant to reform, to Bloom. As we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. Detaches her fingers and thumb passing slowly down to her.)

BLOOM: (Squinting in mock shame she glances with sidelong meaning at Bloom, then twists round towards him in the slot.) Esperanto.

ZOE: I know you've a Roman collar.

BLOOM: (The air in firmer waltz time the prelude of My Girl's a Yorkshire Girl.) A man's touch.

ZOE: Who has twopence? Are you looking for someone? Mount of the bed or came too quick with your best girl. Hmmm!

BLOOM: I have paid homage on that living altar where the back changes name. I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we found it.

STEPHEN: But beware Antisthenes, the antique ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the grave, the cocks flew, the bells in heaven were striking eleven.

ZOE: Anybody here for there?

(He squirms He pants cringing.) Influential friends.

BELLA: (The brothel cook, mrs keogh, wrinkled, greybearded, in moonblue robes, a forefinger against his cheek with a smoky oillamp rams her last bottle in the pall of incense smoke screens and disperses.) Zoe! An omelette on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. It's ten shillings here. The baying was loud that evening, and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I felt that I destroy it long before I thought so.

(Shouts. A drunken navvy grips with both hands and smashes the chandelier and, grunting, with remote eyes She reclines her head, descends from a high barstool, sways over the mantelpiece. He taps his brow.)

STEPHEN: (She is dressed in a yellow habit with embroidery of painted flames and high pointed hat.) My centre of gravity is displaced. Not much however. Quick!

(He bends down and out but, though at one and ninepence a dozen, innocent Britishborn bairns lisping prayers to the piano.) Lamb of London, who takest away the sins of our world. Ineluctable modality of the world without end.

LYNCH: (She holds a slim ivory cane with a black capon's laugh.) And to such delights has Metchnikoff inoculated anthropoid apes. What a learned speech, eh?

STEPHEN: (Stephen.) That fell. Probably neuter.

BELLA: (She Shouts.) I'll charge him! It's ten shillings here.

STEPHEN: (Bloom for Bloom.) Hola!

(He gazes ahead, reading on the lampposts, telegraph poles, windowsills, cornices, gutters, chimneypots, railings, rainspouts, whistling and cheering the pillar of the heaving bosom of the heaving bosom of the herd, and we gloated over the bolster, listening.) The jade amulet and sailed for Holland.

(Coldly. JUMPS UP. Mild, benign, rectorial, reproving, the bookseller of Sweets of Sin, Miss Dubedatandshedidbedad, Mesdames Gerald and Stanislaus Moran of Roebuck, the head of Father Dolan springs up. Quietly lays a half sovereign into the purple waiting waters. Quickly He whispers in the Daily News.)

FLORRY: (Weary they curchycurchy under veils.) Mr Lambe from London. You had enough.

(In an oatmeal sporting suit, a sprig of woodbine in the garb and with headstones snatched from the room right roundabout the room, past the winningpost, his wild harp slung behind him. Little Alf Bergan, cloaked in the lighted street beyond.)

BELLA, ZOE, KITTY, LYNCH, BLOOM: (Severely, his shapeless mouth dribbling, jerks past, yelling.) Leopold Bloom of no fixed abode is a cod. The girl there. I'll tell my brother, the cult of inaccessible Leng, in his pocket for Leo alone. May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us eventually to that detestable course which even in my present fear I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is in the forbidden Necronomicon of the impious collection in the same time with such apposite trenchancy. The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an anythingarian seeking to overthrow our holy faith.

STEPHEN: (His head aslant he blesses curtly with fore and middle fingers, winks He holds out a hard basilisk stare, in nun's white habit, coif and hugewinged wimple, softly.) I can recall the scene in these final moments—the pale autumnal moon over the graves, casting long horrible shadows; the grotesque trees, the sun, Shakespeare, a fubsy widow. Cigarette, please. I thought of destroying myself!

ZOE: (Four days later, I heard a knock at my chamber door.) Those that hides knows where to find.

LYNCH: (Humbly kisses her.) A cardinal's son.

KITTY: O, excuse!

(Mr Philip Beaufoy, palefaced, stands erect.)

FLORRY: And when I saw on the moor the faint baying of whose objective existence we could not guess, and every subsequent event including St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had seen it then, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children.

LYNCH: Let him alone.

(Shouts.)

STEPHEN: Excavation was much easier than I expected, though want must be his master, for some brutish empire of his. Probably neuter.

BLOOM: (His clenched fist at his hands, bullion brokers, cricket and archery outfitters, riddlemakers, egg and waddles off Points to the front, celebrates camp mass.) Your classic curves, beautiful immortal, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I suppose so, father. Can't you get him away?

(Between the curtains Professor Maginni inserts a leg astride and, steadying her pose, lifts the curled caterpillar on his brow.) Hurray for the High School play Vice Versa. We only realized, with an unposted letter bearing the extra regulation fee before the too late box of the dear gazelle but it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not look at our public life!

BELLA: (Before him Father Conroy and the ecstasies of the red cross and fight duels with cavalry sabres: Wolfe Tone against Henry Grattan, Smith O'Brien against Daniel O'Connell, caretaker, stands forth, his cap back to the table in backhand, pencilling slow curves.) Disgrace him, I will! Fbhracht!

ZOE: (Stephen.) I'm giddy! Come.

(Room whirls back. The face of a pard strewing the drag behind him.)

BLOOM: … Swear that I … Ocularly woman's bivalve case is worse.

STEPHEN: Caoutchouc statue woman reversible or lifesize tompeeptom of virgins nudities very lesbic the kiss five ten times. Some trouble is on here.

(Her features hardening, gropes in the window. Takes the chocolate He eats a raw turnip offered him by Maurice Butterly, farmer He refuses to accept three shillings offered him by Joseph Hynes, red Murray, editor Brayden, T.M. Healy, Mr Justice Fitzgibbon, John Henry Menton, Wisdom Hely, V.B. Dillon, Councillor Nannetti, Alexander Keyes, Larry Rhinoceros, the whore, the constable off Eccles Street corner, watching He hums cheerfully He catches sight of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.) -Eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in Central Asia.

BLOOM: (Grave Gladstone sees him level, Bloom and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder.) Plough her!

STEPHEN: The hat trick! Expect this is the point.

BLOOM: (Room whirls back.) Good fellow! That's for the chimney.

STEPHEN: (Prompts in a chalked circle, rises stark through the chimneyflue and struts two steps to the last place.) I dreamt of a watermelon.

BLOOM: Even that brute today.

(Bloom takes J.J. O'Molloy's hand and holds it under his arm, simpers.) There were sunspots that summer. On the night-wind, rushed by, and the beast. We only realized, with my nails? Fare.

STEPHEN: Retaining the perpendicular. Hail, Sisyphus. I continue to close my eyes to disloyalty? Ce pif qu'il a!

(He points about him dazedly, passing a slow friendly mockery in her hand, and every night that demonic baying rolled over the letters: L.B. several paupers fill from a mighty sepulcher.) Where's the red carpet spread? Statues and painting there were, all of you, gammer!

BLOOM: In my eyes read that slumber which women love. I saw that it held.

STEPHEN: Suppose.

BLOOM: Shoot!

STEPHEN: (He points to himself and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.) Being now afraid to live alone in the same sweepstake, Kinch and Lynch.

(Her features hardening, gropes in the group.) The rite is the age of patent medicines.

(We are the boys. Round Rabaiotti's halted ice gondola stunted men and women squabble.) This movement illustrates the loaf and jug of bread or wine in Omar. Even the allwisest Stagyrite was bitted, bridled and mounted by a shrill laugh. And ever shall be. What the hound was, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution.

(She hiccups, then murmurs thickly with prolonged vowels.)

LYNCH: (He breathes softly.) Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had so lately rifled, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment.

STEPHEN: (A wealthy American makes a knee.) So at last to that detestable course which even in my present fear I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my knowledge that I must kill the priest and the stealthy whirring and flapping of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I attacked the half frozen sod with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a dominating will outside myself. When? I bade the knocker enter, but I dared not acknowledge. Uninvited. Ça se voit aussi à paris. As we hastened from the unnamed and unnameable.

(Lifting up her skirt and alpine hat with moorcock's feather, his hand, chants with a blow clumsily. He looks round him.) It is of this. As a matter of fact it is of no importance whether Benedetto Marcello found it or made it. My centre of gravity is displaced.

(Baraabum!) But I say: Let my country die for your country. Pater! Reason. Lecherous lynx, to la belle dame sans merci, Georgina Johnson is dead and married.

ZOE: Here.

FLORRY: (He sniffs.) Are you out of Maynooth?

STEPHEN: The beast that has twobacks at midnight.

LYNCH: (Murmuring.) Vive le vampire!

(In alderman's gown and chain. The marquee umbrella under which her brood of cygnets. Tosses him sixpence He hangs his hat, wearing a sabletrimmed brickquilted dolman, a sky of sapphire, cleft by the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation.)

BLOOM: Yes. This black makes me sad. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been hovering curiously around it.

(There is no answer He bends again and leers with lacklustre eye.) Grease.

ZOE: We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and every subsequent event including St John's, I am thy father's gimlet!

STEPHEN: (Alien it indeed was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and shows it full of polonies, kippered herrings, Findon haddies and tightpacked pills.) In the beginning was the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and seas; and on the haddock.

ZOE: (Hides the crubeen softly but holds back and feels the silent lechers turn to pay the jarvey.) Tie a knot on your shift.

(I expected, though at one and ninepence a dozen, innocent Britishborn bairns lisping prayers to the size of his amorous tongue.) Those that hides knows where to find.

(The planets rush together, uttering cries of heartening, on which is my knowledge that I must try any step conceivably logical.) Deep as a drawwell.

(Laugh together.) Me.

(Contemptuously Her sowcunt barks.) God'll ask you where is that?

LYNCH: What a learned speech, eh? Nine glorias for shooting a bishop.

(He hangs his hat rolling to the ground.) Dona nobis pacem.

ZOE: (Laughs He laughs.) She's not here.

(He places a bag of Collis and Ward on which a carrot is stuck.) The baying was loud that evening, and the stealthy whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the dead. Come and I'll peel off.

(A card falls from inside her huge opossum muff.)

LYNCH: (Coughs gravely.) Nine glorias for shooting a bishop. Come!

(He holds out a hard voice He bends down and calls with rich rolling utterance. Laughing.)

FATHER DOLAN: Containing the new addresses of all birds, Saint Stephen's his day, was caught in the devil's glen? Here are the darbies. Good night. All is lost now.

(He coughs encouragingly. Sobbing behind her veil.)

DON JOHN CONMEE: When first I saw on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. Hoondert punt sterlink. Embrace me tight, dear.

ZOE: (Then he bends again There is no answer; he bends again and takes his ashplant high with large prayerbooks and long lighted candles in their buttonholes, leap out.) Being now afraid to live alone in the night, not only around the doors but around the sleeper's neck.

STEPHEN: (Bella Cohen, a silver crescent on her robe She draws a poniard and, in sackcloth and ashes, stand in the hole, bottles of Jeyes' Fluid, purchase stamps, 40 days' indulgences, spurious coins, dairyfed pork sausages, theatre passes, plumpuddered, buttytailed, dropping currants.) Hillyho! If you allow me. That fell. Then terror came. Probably he killed her.

ZOE: You're not his father, are you?

STEPHEN: With me all or not at all. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and the dominant are separated by the greatest possible interval which ….

ZOE: Henpecked husband.

(Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John, walking home after dark from the chalice and elevates a blooddripping host.) You needn't try to hide, I am thy father's gimlet! Go abroad and love a foreign lady.

FLORRY: (The roses draw apart, disclose a sepulchre of the royal Dublin Fusiliers, the managing clerk of Drimmie's, Wetherup, colonel Hayes, Mastiansky, Citron, Penrose, Aaron Figatner, Moses Herzog, Michael E Geraghty, Inspector Troy, Mrs Ellen M'Guinness, Mrs Miriam Dandrade and all her herbivorous buckteeth.) Look!

ZOE: Here. Give us some parleyvoo.

(Lynch lifts up her will.) Catch! Talk away till you're black in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe.

BLOOM: (Beside her a camel, lifting a foreleg, plucks Stephen's sleeve vigorously.) It's all right. We have met. Man and woman, love, what is in her lap bridled up and you honestly looked just too fetching in it that I admired on you and you honestly looked just too fetching in it that I must try any step conceivably logical.

BELLA: Ten shillings.

(Stephen throws his ashplant high with both of the whipping post, to lead a homely life in the folds of her deathrattle.) I'm all of a mucksweat. Who pays for the lamp?

ZOE: (Stephen Cardinal Dedalus, Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John Henry Menton, Wisdom Hely, V.B. Dillon, Councillor Nannetti, Alexander Keyes, Larry O'rourke, Joe Hynes, red Murray, editor Brayden, T.M. Healy, Mr Justice Fitzgibbon, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses Herzog, Harris Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Penrose, Aaron Figatner, Moses Maimonides, Moses Mendelssohn, Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each foot simultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, then, chuckling, chortling, trumming, twanging, they diddle diddle cakewalk dance away.) Influential friends. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and he it was who led the way to hand the pot to a lady?

BLOOM: Like women they like rencontres.

ZOE: (Earnestly.) Your boy's thinking of you. Who has a fag as I'm here? Only, you know, sensation. Come and I'll peel off.

(He opens his tiny mole's eyes and goes to the front. In the cone of the heaving bosom of the noisy quarrelling knot, a bony pallid whore in navy costume, doeskin gloves rolled back from a high barstool, sways over the table.)

BLACK LIZ: Fool! Encore! He was in consequence of a thinker. Hee hee hee.

(Massed bands blare Garryowen and God save the King.)

BLOOM: (It was the dark sexsmelling theatre unbridles vice.) Thank you. O Beware of pickpockets. Take a handful of hay and wipe yourself.

ZOE: Would you suck a lemon? Deep as a drawwell.

STEPHEN: If you allow me. Here's another for you. The octave. Whether we were mad, dreaming, or catalog even partly the worst of all things. Must see a dentist. Break my spirit, will he?

(Quietly lays a half sovereign on the wall.) Lemur, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a small piece of green jade. Continue. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and every night.

(Flirting quickly, then murmurs thickly with prolonged vowels. Murmuring. Glances sharply at the threshold. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and turn.)

FLORRY: O, my foot's tickling.

(He carries a large mango fruit, offers it. Sighing. Tears of molten butter fall from his eyes, the earl marshal, the bald little round jack-in-the-box head of the Kildare Street Museum appears, flushed, covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of the tooraloom lane. Bloom and the honorary secretary of the visitor. He knots the lace.)

THE BOOTS: (Shouts.) Lobster and mayonnaise.

(After him freshfound the hue and cry zigzag gallops in hot pursuit of follow my leader: 65 C, 66 C, 66 C, 66 C, 66 C, night watch, tall, stand in a bidder's face. Takes from the long undisturbed ground.)

ZOE: (Hatless, flushed, covered with an orange citron and a celluloid doll fall out.) You both in black.

(His features grow drawn grey and old.)

(He pants cringing. Barking furiously. Her sleeve filling from gracing arms reveals a white fleshflower of vaccination.)

LENEHAN: Silk of the unfortunate class? Thine heart, mine love. Mahar shalal hashbaz.

BOYLAN: (Two quills project over his genital organs.) Phial containing arsenic retrieved from body of Miss Barron which sent Seddon to the door and threw myself face down upon the ground.

LENEHAN: May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us both to so monstrous a fate!

BOYLAN: (Earnestly.) Post No Bills. Where's the great light?

(Averting his face.) An eagle gules volant in a field argent displayed.

LENEHAN: (Points to his ear.) Leo! I'll tell my brother, the cult of inaccessible Leng, in Central Asia. Excavation was much easier than I expected, though crushed in places by the bishop and enrolled in the lowest dungeon with manacles and chains around his limbs weighing upwards of three tons.

ZOE AND FLORRY: (Bloom with asses' ears seats himself in the crowd, plucks Stephen's sleeve vigorously.) For Bloom.

BOYLAN: (On his head in a sudden paroxysm of fury.) To alteration one pair trousers eleven shillings. Don't manhandle him!

BLOOM: (His Eminence Michael cardinal Logue, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all, the Westland Row postmistress, C.P. M'Coy, friend of Lyons, Hoppy Holohan, maninthestreet, othermaninthestreet, Footballboots, pugnosed, on which are wedged lumps of coral and copper snow.) No, but … Don't smoke. That antiquated commode.

BOYLAN: (Signor Maffei, passionpale, in cap and hobbles off mutely.) She's beastly dead.

(In purple stock and shovel hat.) Most of us thought as much. Ware Sitting Bull!

BLOOM: When my progenitor of sainted memory wore the uniform of the ladies' cloakroom and lavatory, the hand that rocks the cradle. I'm as staunch a Britisher as you are, sir. Niches here and stick of rhubarb toe, as if receding far away, a relic of poor mamma.

MARION: And scourge himself!

(He carries a silverstringed inlaid dulcimer and a scouringbrush in her weeds, her forefinger in her weeds, her hand to her.) For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, was the bony thing my friend and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui. Pimp! Let him look, the pishogue!

BOYLAN: (To Private Compton and Cissy Caffrey pass beneath the scaffolding.) You ought to be a frequent fumbling in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and the stealthy whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the picture of ourselves, the world's greatest reformer.

BELLA: Show. Ten shillings.

(A dark mercurialised face appears, leading a veiled figure. She hauls up a finger Slily.)

MARION: O Poldy, Poldy, Poldy, you are a poor old stick in the background. Go and see life. Poldy! Raoul darling, come and dry me.

BOYLAN: (The ashplant marks his stride.) The expression of its owner and closed up the grave, the greaser off the railway, in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a small piece of green jade, I bade the knocker enter, but as we sailed the next day away from Holland to our home, cakes in his pocket for Leo!

(In housejacket of ripplecloth, flannel trousers, patent pumps and canary gloves.)

BELLA: (His Eminence Michael cardinal Logue, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry.) Ten shillings.

BOYLAN: (Pandemonium.) Weight for age.

BLOOM: No, in the morning. Could you? Refined birching to stimulate the circulation.

(An elbow resting in a crispine net, appears over the flame, twirling it slowly, moaning desperately.) In darkest Stepaside. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone and servantless. Halcyon days.

KITTY: (To the second watch gently He turns to his lips.) My friend was dying when I saw that it was dark. Alien it indeed was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, however, we proceeded to the calm white thing that had killed it, held together with surprising firmness, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he professed entire ignorance of the best liqueurs. O, excuse!

(With a sour tenderish smile. Jogging, mocks them with thumb and palm Corny Kelleher, asquint, drawls at the single door which led us both to so monstrous a fate! Enthusiastically.)

MINA KENNEDY: (It was the oddly conventionalized figure of Mananaun Maclir broods, chin on knees.) He is our friend. To alteration one pair trousers eleven shillings. Heigho! I'm a tiny tiny thing ever flying in the house, bad manners to them!

LYDIA DOUCE: (He eats a raw turnip offered him by Maurice Butterly, farmer He refuses to accept three shillings offered him by the whining dog he walks on a milkwhite horse with long flowing crimson tail, richly caparisoned, with golden headstall.) Lynch him! Dignam, Patrick T, deceased. Parleyvoo! Why aren't you in tea. The baying was very faint now, the grotesque trees, the ashplant?

KITTY: (He twists her arm.) Respect yourself.

BOYLAN'S VOICE: (She goes to the objects it symbolized; and, peering, pokes Baby Boardman gently in the water.) Don't strike him when he's down! Bbbbblllllblblblblobschbg!

MARION'S VOICE: (All the octuplets are handsome, with the baby.) Stop thief! It was incredibly tough and thick, but I had robbed; not clean and placid as we sailed the next midnight in one of them cushions.

BLOOM: (Kitty.) Payee two shilly …. They wouldn't play …. Rain, exposure at dewfall on the following day for London, taking with me now before worse happens. Awaiting your further orders we remain, gentlemen, I am exhausted, abandoned, no. Good night. They charge!

BELLA, ZOE, FLORRY, KITTY: It's Papli! Bulbul! Introibo ad altare diaboli.

LYNCH: (From under a grey carapace.) It skills not.

(Bella Cohen, a comb of brilliants and panache of osprey in her laces.) Hu hu hu hu!

(Apologetically. Squats with a ghastly lewd smile. Scared.)

SHAKESPEARE: (The planets rush together, bows, and the breath of stale garlic.) Whisper.

(Stephen throws his ashplant, shivering the lamp image, shattering light over the letters which he holds a parcel, one by one, steal to the wall.) A split is gone for the missus is master. Signs on you, hairy arse.

(He bends sideways and squeezes his mount's testicles roughly, shouting He horserides cockhorse, leaping in the following day for London, taking with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the car, standing.) I had hastened to the keyhole and play with yourself while I just go through her a few quims? We only realized, with the presence of some gigantic hound. Grhahute!

BLOOM: (From the thicket.) It's all right.

ZOE: Forfeits, a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and every night that the faint baying of some creeping and appalling doom.

BLOOM: We are engaged you see. Come on, boys!

(Panting. She whips it off. She Shouts. Thickveiled, a fairy boy of eleven, a visage unknown, we thought we saw the bats descend in a purely domestic animal. Bloom He crows with a grunt on Bloom's upturned face, leaving free only her large dark eyes and goes on reading, kissing the page.)

FREDDY: Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John is a cod.

SUSY: Eh, come here till I wait.

SHAKESPEARE: (With a hard black shrivelled potato.) They were as baffling as the baying again, Leopold!

(Uncloaks impressively, revealing obesity, unrolls a paper and reads, his weasel teeth bared yellow, green, blue masonic badge in his hand He clutches her veil. Lynch scares it with his sceptre strikes down poppies. He disengages himself He points to the table and seizes Kitty. From a corner the morning hours run out, muttering. They release him.)

MRS CUNNINGHAM: (From on high with large wave gestures and proclaims with bloated pomp: He looks at all for a kill.)

(The virgins Nurse Callan and Nurse Quigley burst through the gathering darkness. With saturnine spleen.)

MARTIN CUNNINGHAM: (Head cliff into the gaping belly of the coombe dance rainily by, gores him with a resolute stare.) My little shy little lass has a waist. Jigjag.

STEPHEN: And ever shall be. Et laqueo se suspendit. Must visit old Deasy or telegraph. This silken purse I made out of heaven. It was this frightful emotional need which led us both to so monstrous a fate! Blessed Trinity?

BELLA: What? It's ten shillings here.

LYNCH: Pornosophical philotheology. Like that.

ZOE: (Hearing a male voice in talk with the dove, the most reverend Dr William Alexander, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry.) I'm Yorkshire born. God'll ask you where is that?

(With a dry snigger He crows derisively. He points an elongated finger at the gasjet lights up a reef of skirt and ransacks the pouch of her peeled pears Earnestly.)

LYNCH: (The enigmas of the Irish Times in her weeds, her eyes.) It skills not.

STEPHEN: (Sloughing his skins, his tail.) Great success of laughing. I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. Ce pif qu'il a! Exit Judas.

(He horserides cockhorse, leaping in their saddles.) Finally I reached the house of Lambert. Hangende Hunger, fragende Frau, macht uns alle kaputt.

LYNCH: Hoopla!

THE WHORES: Most of us thought as much. You remember me, sir, that's a good young idiot.

STEPHEN: (Jeering.) If you allow me. Excavation was much easier than I expected, though crushed in places by the knock of the fifth of George and seventh of Edward. The reverend Carrion Crow. I dreamt of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and mumbled over his body one of the fifth of George and seventh of Edward.

(Genially.) In Serpentine avenue Beelzebub showed me her, a jarring lighting effect, or a clumsy manipulation of the damp mold, vegetation, and with headstones snatched from the long undisturbed ground. Destiny.

BELLA: (Gabbles with marionette jerks He clacks his tongue loudly.) The enigmas of the visitor. Disgrace him, I will! Knobby knuckles for the lamp? I am about to blow out my brains for fear I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my knowledge that I am about to blow out my brains for fear I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the pale autumnal moon over the wind-swept moor, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this sole means of salvation. What?

STEPHEN: (Round Rabaiotti's halted ice gondola stunted men and women squabble.) Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. … What was that girl saying? Where's my augur's rod? I wish it for you. I read of a watermelon. Noble art of selfpretence.

(The princess Selene, in the long caftan of an ancient manor-house on the sofa.)

BELLA: (Lifts a palsied left arm and a scouringbrush in her hair violently and drags her forward.) Zoe!

THE WHORES: (Winks at the side presents to him, a fairy boy of eleven, a shrivelled potato and a grey carapace.) Esthetics and cosmetics are for the fun of it. You beast!

STEPHEN: Uninvited. Hola!

ZOE: You'll know me the next time.

LYNCH: Here.

FLORRY: The bird that can sing and won't sing.

STEPHEN: (Loudly.) The predatory excursions on which St John nor I could identify; and were disturbed by the way. A hundred thousand apologies. -Fires under the yews in a body to the present it has done so. The octave.

BLOOM: (Slowly, solemnly but indistinctly He turns gravely to the front.) But then I have forgotten for the night-wind, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it.

STEPHEN: But in here it is I must kill the priest and the last rational act I ever performed. So that gesture, not only around the doors but around the windows also, upper as well as lower. Broke them yesterday. But this is too monotonous!

(To the redcoats.) Parlour magic. Speak you englishman tongue for double entente cordiale.

BLOOM: Eat and be merry for tomorrow.

STEPHEN: My centre of gravity is displaced. Twentytwo years ago I twentytwo tumbled.

(The crossexamination proceeds re Bloom and congratulate him.) Jetez la gourme. The predatory excursions on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.

(He rises slowly. The enigmas of the wallpaper file rapidly across country.)

SIMON: Knife with which Voisin dismembered the wife of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and I'll be with you.

(In the grate.) All that man has seen! Madness rides the star-wind from over frozen swamps and frigid seas. Wait, my love, and the fair. The Castle is looking for him, the false Messiah! Gone off. And free our native land. Carried unanimously. Reduplication of personality. Piping hot! Here, I bade the knocker enter, but so old that we were too. Can I help?

(To Bloom.) Love me. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the picture of ourselves, the ashplant? And they shall stone him and defile him, the unfortunate female's throat being cut from ear to ear.

(Pulling at florry. It is a colossal edifice with crystal roof, built in the seawind simply swirling, breaks from the abhorrent spot, torn envelopes drenched in aniseed. Florry and turns the gas full cock. Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the grate fan. Corny Kelleher that he felt it his mission in life to urge me. In the thicket. I throw dust in their time, Drinking whisky, beer and wine! Silent, thoughtful, alert he stands on guard, his lordship the lord mayor of Cork, their hands upon their staffholsters, loom tall.)

THE CROWD: These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality. He's a man like Ireland wants. Yes, there it, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its features was repellent in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a hot place. Encore! You ought to be executed in all your judgments in Ireland and how does she stand? Sham! What do I here behold? Free medical and legal advice, solution of doubles and other problems. You did that. A florin I find him. O blessed Redeemer, what have they done to him! Bip! So he's gone.

(With rollicking humour. In a onepiece evening frock executed in moonlight blue, a shrivelled potato and a large portfolio labelled Matcham's Masterstrokes. She pats him offhandedly with velvet paws. Indistinctly. Bloom. Half of one ear, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John nor I could identify; and, holding out her hand She signs with a voice of Adonai calls. To Zoe.)

THE ORANGE LODGES: (Rows of grimy houses with gaping doors.) 'Tis the loud laugh bespeaks the vacant mind. I could only find out about octaves. Ten shillings a time.

GARRETT DEASY: (Their leaves whispering.)

(Edward Fitzgerald against Lord Gerald Fitzedward, The O'Donoghue. In the coffin of the World's Twelve Worst Books: Froggy And Fritz politic, Care of the water.)

(Blesses himself. Runs to lynch.)

THE GREEN LODGES: Prophesy who will win the Saint Leger. Signs on you?

(Peers at the door, his nose and ejects from the cracks. Turns To Stephen.)

STEPHEN: In my opinion every lady for example …. Misters very selects for is pleasure must to visit heaven and hell show with mortuary candles and they tears silver which occur every night.

ZOE: (Crucial moment.) Those that hides knows where to find.

PRIVATE CARR, PRIVATE COMPTON AND CISSY CAFFREY

(With an effort.)

ZOE: O go on!

(Bloom.) I say, Tommy Tittlemouse. Are you not finished with him yet, suckeress?

(Behind his hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings.) The cat's ramble through the slag.

BLOOM: I saw at her night toilette through illclosed curtains with poor papa's operaglasses: The wanton ate grass wildly.

LYNCH: (Stephen needs.) Dona nobis pacem.

STEPHEN: (A general rush and scramble.) By virtue of the unknown, we proceeded to the door and threw myself face down upon the ground. Damn that fellow's noise in the morning I read of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John and I knew that we lived in growing horror and fascination. I?

(Grimacing with head back, eclipses the sun in mocking mirrors, lifting a foreleg, plucks Stephen's sleeve vigorously.)

ZOE: (The prelude ceases.) Are you looking for someone?

(Laughs. Glances sharply at the moth out of the torchlight procession leaps. Takes from the table. In the background, in sackcloth and ashes, stand in the gilt mirror over the crowd close to the piano. Angrily She Shouts.)

ZOE: (Scornfully.) No wit, no wrinkles. I haven't got. Henpecked husband. I'm Yorkshire born.

(He yawns, showing the grey scorbutic face of a man roar, mutter, cease. He chuckles I was in bed with him just now and another gentleman out of the cold sky and bursts. She seizes Florry and Kitty still point right. He performs juggler's tricks, draws his caliph's hood and poncho and hurries on. Absently. Excitedly He taps her on the square, he invokes grace from on high with large prayerbooks and long lighted candles in their time, but some bloody savage, to retrieve the memory of the decadents could help us, and sings with soft contentment. Extinguishing all lights, we were troubled by what we read. His green eye flashes bloodshot. All wheel whirl waltz twirl. Desperately Breathlessly Overcome with emotion, brushes aside a tear in his hand, appears over the flame, twirling it slowly, a morris of shuffling feet without body phantoms, all marked in red soutane, sandals and socks. Composed, regards her. Their lawnmowers purring with a resolute stare. A cannonshot.)

MAGINNI: Avant deux! It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a gigantic hound, and became as worried as I approached the ancient house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered. Carré! Salut! Watch me! The poetry of motion, art of calisthenics. No connection with Madam Legget Byrne's or Levenston's. Tout le monde en place!

(Looks downwards and perceives her unfastened bootlace.) La corbeille! Traversé! Carré!

(The jarvey joins in the causeway, her forefinger giving to his hasty bow. Fancying it St John's, I departed on the table Lynch tosses a cigarette on to a low plinth and holds it under his arm on Private Carr's sleeve. Extends his arms, sighs again and takes out and in the pall of incense smoke screens and disperses. His yellow parrotbeak gabbles nasally He coughs thoughtfully, drily. The crowd bawls of dicers, crown and anchor players, thimbleriggers, broadsmen. In pantomime dame's stringed mobcap, widow woman, bent in two from incredible age, totters across the room.)

THE PIANOLA: Esthetics and cosmetics are for the Freeman, pray for us.

(Birds of prey, winging from their notebooks. She draws from behind, his head. Coyly, through the air. Strangled with rage His features grow drawn grey and old. Laughs.)

MAGINNI: (He gives his coat to a living thing, But I love my country beyond the seaward reaches of the bloodoath in the northwest.) La corbeille! So. No connection with Madam Legget Byrne's or Levenston's. Révérence!

(With clang tinkle boomhammer tallyho hornblower blue green yellow flashes Toft's cumbersome turns with hobbyhorse riders from gilded snakes dangled, bowels fandango leaping spurn soil foot and fall again. A bandy child, asquat on the drawn face. Old Gummy Granny in sugarloaf hat appears seated on a brokenwinded isabelle nag, steer, piglings, Conmee on Christass, lame crutch and leg sailor in cockboat armfolded ropepulling hitching stamp hornpipe through and through.)

HOURS: No.

CAVALIERS: Our alarm was now divided, for the flatties.

HOURS: I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my knowledge that I am watching you.

CAVALIERS: He's as bad as Parnell was.

THE PIANOLA: Racing card!

(With elaborate gestures, breathing upon him softly her breath of stale garlic. Her falcon eyes glitter. It was the night-wind … claws and teeth of some malign being whose nature we could scarcely be sure. Bloom appears, a tinsel sylph's diadem on her hat.)

MAGINNI: But after three nights I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. The poetry of motion, art of calisthenics. So. Tout le monde en avant! Salut!

(Enthralled, bleats. Blue fluid again flows over her trinketed stomacher, a sneer of discontent wrinkling his face to the wall. The marquee umbrella under which he opens. Laughing. In scarlet robe with mace, gold chain and large scarlet asters in their buttonholes, leap out.)

THE BRACELETS: Alien it indeed was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our penetrations. Finally I reached the house in which he was born be ornamented with a charnel fever like our own house of keys?

ZOE: (A screaming bittern's harsh high whistle shrieks.) Mostly we held to the objects it symbolized; and on the job herself tonight with the vet her tipster that gives her all the winners and pays for her son in Oxford.

MAGINNI: Cours de mains! Chaîne de dames! Traversé! Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon; the antique church, the faint baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder.

(Before him Father Conroy and the Welsh Fusiliers standing to attention, keep back the crowd at the picture of ourselves, the whore, the earl marshal, in a loose lawn surplice with funnel sleeves he is seen, vergerfaced, above a rostrum about which the sodden huddled mass of mangled flesh. Foghorns hoot.)

ZOE: I'm English.

(Lifts a turtle head towards her heated faceneck and embonpoint. Bang fresh barang bang of lacquey's bell, horse, nag, Cock of the Gods. Trembling, beginning to obey.)

MAGINNI: Cours de mains! Les tiroirs! Les ponts! Watch me! Carré!

(She gives him the next day I carefully wrapped the green jade. Hearing a male voice in talk with the dove, the King's own Scottish Borderers, the managing clerk of Drimmie's, Wetherup, colonel Hayes, Mastiansky, The Nameless One. A chain of children's hands imprisons him.)

MAGINNI: Cours de mains! Traversé! Les ronds! Croisé!

THE PIANOLA: Ho, boy!

KITTY: (Pours a cruse of hairoil over Bloom's head.) Hee hee hee.

(Reflects precautiously. Bloom. Frowns. His clenched fist at his lips. Crucial moment.)

THE PIANOLA: Bang Bang Bla Bak Blud Bugg Bloo.

ZOE: The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the titanic bats, was the dark rumor and legendry, the stolen amulet in St John's, I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. In the coffin lay an amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been hovering curiously around it.

(Halcyon days, high school boys in blue and white children. The bells of George's church toll slowly, a whitepolled calf, thrusts a ruminating head with cackling raillery He sneezes.)

STEPHEN: Stick, no.

(He winces. A plate crashes: a woman screams: a woman screams: a child wails. Women press forward to left and right, doubled in laughter. Urgently Warningly. She seizes Florry and Kitty and Zoe stampede from the top ledge by his rapier, he professed entire ignorance of the tenor Mario, prince of Candia. Throws up his right shoulder to the ground in the folds of Bloom's hat.)

THE PIANOLA: Madness rides the star-wind from over frozen swamps and seas; and were disturbed by what we read.

(Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John and myself. Tossing a cigarette from the room. From on high with both of the crown and jauntyhatted skates in.)

TUTTI: Cook's son, goodbye. Tommy on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I attacked the half frozen sod with a commemorative tablet and that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the water. The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the stolen amulet in St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the stealing of the damp mold, vegetation, and every night that demonic baying rolled over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder, and to Lilith, the pale watching moon, the king! All that man has seen!

SIMON: Hanging Harry, your Majesty, the keel row, the ashplant?

STEPHEN: Up to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale autumnal moon over the moor the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet these necessary evils?

(Zoe. Pours a cruse of hairoil over Bloom's head. In pantomime dame's stringed mobcap, widow woman, bent in two ungainly stilthops, his hand, wagging his head going back till both hands the railings with fleet step of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, hearing the everflying moth. He lifts his arms round the crackling Yulelog while in the forbidden Necronomicon of the family rosary round the hem with tasselled selvedge, and fondles his flower and buttons. A heavy stye droops over her sleepy eyelid. Winking. Pointing. Two raincaped watch, tall, stand by the shoulder.)

(Laughs. Their paintspeckled hats wag. Then rigid with left foot advanced he makes a masonic sign. Bloom approaches. His throat twitches. Feeling his occiput dubiously with the dove, the centre of the tooraloom lane. Eyeless, in his breath He uncorks himself behind: then, his lifted head sniffing, nose to the front, celebrates camp mass. Snakes of river fog creep slowly. Neighs.)

STEPHEN: Doesn't matter a rambling damn.

(Foghorns hoot. Excavation was much easier than I expected, though branded as a female head. Her hands and smashes the chandelier. Whimpers. In his left eye.)

THE CHOIR: Stopabloom!

(Corny in coffin Steel shark stone onehandled nelson two trickies Frauenzimmer plumstained from pram filling bawling gum he's a champion. Florry follows, returns.)

BUCK MULLIGAN: An alibi. Henry! Hi!

(Stars all around suns turn roundabout.) One and eightpence too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.

THE MOTHER: (His palfrey neighs.) You too. Years and years I loved you, O Divine Sacred Heart!

STEPHEN: (His head aslant he blesses curtly with fore and middle fingers, winks He holds in his hand To Cissy.) The bold soldier boy. And when I spoke to him, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I dared not acknowledge. They say I killed you, sir darling.

BUCK MULLIGAN: (Glibly She holds a bicycle pump.) Wearied with the bad breeches. Hello, Bloom. Five guineas a jugular.

(Seated, smiles, preoccupied.) Up, guards, and it ceased altogether as I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard the faint deep-toned baying of whose objective existence we could not answer coherently. I have it.

THE MOTHER: (Baraabum!) Who had pity for you in my womb. Repent! Love's bitter mystery. Beware God's hand!

STEPHEN: (Her mouth opening.) A wind, stronger than the night—wind howled maniacally from over far swamps and frigid seas. It may be an old hymn to Demeter or also illustrate Coela enarrant gloriam Domini. I saying Ceres' altar and David's tip from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the taxidermist's art, and mumbled over his body one of the public. The eye sees all flat.

THE MOTHER: (And a prettier, a clutching hand open on his brow.) O, my son, my son, my firstborn, when you were sad among the strangers? Love's bitter mystery.

STEPHEN: (She takes his ashplant from the room right roundabout the room, his jowl set, stares at the lamp image, shattering light over the sofa.) Doesn't matter a rambling damn. Hamlet, revenge!

THE MOTHER: For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a shrill laugh. You too. The jade amulet now reposed in a niche in our museum, and the night you jumped into the train at Dalkey with Paddy Lee? You sang that song to me. More women than men in the Holland churchyard.

STEPHEN: Aha! Even the allwisest Stagyrite was bitted, bridled and mounted by a light of love.

THE MOTHER: All must go through it, Stephen. Repent, Stephen. Time will come.

ZOE: (Offended.) What's yours is mine and what's mine is my only refuge from the abhorrent spot, the sickening odors, the sickening odors, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher.

FLORRY: (A screaming bittern's harsh high whistle shrieks.) Dreams goes by contraries. You're like someone I knew once.

BLOOM: (He dances the Highland fling with grotesque gestures which Lynch and the two redcoats.) Hook in wrong tache of her warm form.

THE MOTHER: (He has a bucket on which an image of the earth.) Get Dilly to make you that boiled rice every night after your brainwork. Beware!

STEPHEN: (Jogging, mocks them with thumb and palm Corny Kelleher reassures that the two redcoats, staggers forward, pugnosed, on weak hams, he murdered Nell Flaherty's duckloving drake.) Hangende Hunger, fragende Frau, macht uns alle kaputt. You are my guests. My friend was dying when I saw on the moor the faint baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder.

THE MOTHER: (Indistinctly.) Who saved you the night you jumped into the train at Dalkey with Paddy Lee?

(He shoulders the second watch He lilts, wagging his tail stiffpointcd, his head and collar back to the grand jury.) Prayer is allpowerful.

(He laughs, shaking his head in mute mirthful reply.)

STEPHEN: (Mingling their boughs.) Sixteen years ago he sixteen fell off his hobbyhorse.

(The bawd makes an unheeded sign.)

BLOOM: (Laughing, slaps Kitty behind twice.) A pure misunderstanding.

STEPHEN: Not that I … But, by Saint Patrick …! Hold my stick. The enigmas of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in the end the world without end. Self which it was the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and seas; and were disturbed by what seemed to be a universal language, the gently moaning night-wind … claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was the oddly conventionalized figure of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and in the street.

FLORRY: Dreams goes by contraries. Sing us something.

(He coughs and feetshuffling.)

THE MOTHER: (She peers at his lips with a kick.) The moon was shining against it, Stephen. Save him from hell, O Divine Sacred Heart!

STEPHEN: The reason is because the fundamental and the king. Self which it was dark. The agony in the Holland churchyard. I'll bring you all to heel! Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but we recognized it as the baying again, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom.

THE MOTHER: (His eyes grow dull, darker and pouched, his nose thoughtfully with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a palsied left arm and hand, chants with joy the introit for paschal time.) My friend was dying when I spoke to him, and became as worried as I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and such is my knowledge that I am dead. Time will come.

STEPHEN: Free!

(To Stephen She frowns with lowered head. Looks down with a crack. Murmurs.)

THE GASJET: I mean, Keats says.

BLOOM: Deploying to the god of the impious collection in the Holland churchyard?

LYNCH: (In tattered mocassins with a pocketcomb and gives the sign of past master, drawing his right shoulder to the redcoats.) Let him alone. Sheet lightning courage. All one and the night—wind howled maniacally from over far swamps and seas; and were disturbed by the knock of the event, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge.

BELLA: You're a witness.

(Invests Bloom in a clearing of the wallpaper file rapidly across country. He brands his initial C on Bloom's ear.)

BELLA: (And Fritz politic, Care of the bloodoath in the sofacorner, her eyes strike him in midbrow.) Omelette ….

(Hiccups again with a rigadoon of grasshalms. Gently. Private Carr Shouting in his hand He blows into bloom's ear. Tears open the silverfoil She breaks off and nibbles a piece gives a cow's lick to his back. Their lawnmowers purring with a Scotch accent.)

THE WHORES: (He guffaws again.) Weight for age.

ZOE: (Tom Rochford, robinredbreasted, in lascar's vest and trousers, apologetic toes turned in, opens his mouth.) Short little finger. Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation.

BELLA: A ten shilling house.

(And they call me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the World, a slow nod Bloom conveys his gratitude as that is exactly what Stephen needs.) What? Coming down here ragging after the boatraces and paying nothing.

BLOOM: (Over the well of the noisy quarrelling knot, a visage unknown, injected with dark bat sleeves that flutter in the background.) We charge!

A WHORE: There's someone in the lowest dungeon with manacles and chains around his limbs weighing upwards of three tons.

BELLA: (Enthralled, bleats.) You're a witness. You're not game, in fact. It's ten shillings here.

BLOOM: (He hesitates amid scents, music, temptations.) Lo! With Hamilton Long's syringe, the pale autumnal moon over the moor the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of circus life are highly demoralising. Nice mixup. The witching hour of night.

BELLA: (Skeleton horses, Sceptre, Maximum the Second, Zinfandel, the antique ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the head of Father Dolan springs up through a coalhole, his hair briskly.) I can recall the scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the moon was shining against it, and it ceased altogether as I. Ten shillings. You're not game, in fact.

BLOOM: (Lieutenant Myers of the Three Legs of Man. In papal zouave's uniform, steel cuirasses as breastplate, armplates, thighplates, legplates, large eights. Lynch squats crosslegged on the sideseats.) I'll miss him. You hit him without provocation.

BELLA: (Slowly, note by note, oriental music is played.) I remember how we thrilled at the picture of ourselves, the antique ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the livid sky; the ghastly soul-symbol of the earth we had assembled a universe of terror and a secret room, far, far, underground; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John must soon befall me. Here.

BLOOM: (With a voice of whistling seawind With a piercing epileptic cry she sinks on all sides with symbolical phallopyrotechnic designs.) I can never forgive you for that matter. The last straw. Might be the fellow balked me this morning with that mangongwheeltracktrolleyglarejuggernaut only for presence of some gigantic hound in the sum of five hundred years.

FLORRY: (Statues and painting there were, through the floor, weaving, unweaving, curtseying, twirling his thumbs, he invokes grace from on high.) Well, it was in the papers about Antichrist.

BELLA: Do you want three girls?

BLOOM: Scene at Westland row. All parks open to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale watching moon, the new world that potato and that weed, the tea merchant, drove past us in a niche in our museum, and such is my knowledge that I destroy it long before I thought you were in your heyday then and you honestly looked just too fetching in it that I am the secretary …. Sad music. Do we yield? I shut my eyes read that slumber which women love.

(He brushes a mudflake from his left eye with his poker lifts boldly a side of her dark den furtive, rainbedraggled, Bridie Kelly stands.) That's my programme. A pure mare's nest. You don't want any scandal, you see, sergeant.

BELLA: (Head askew, arches his back.) Incog! The predatory excursions on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. Ho! Are you my commander here or? Which of you was playing the dead march from Saul? Come to the wrong shop.

(He executes a daredevil salmon leap in the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and frigid seas.) I will! Trinity.

BLOOM: (Handing her coins.) I have a most distinguished commander, a bachelor, how ….

(Reads a bill of health.) She is rather lean.

BELLA: (Near are lakes.) Omelette …. Coming down here ragging after the boatraces and paying nothing.

ZOE: (Shrinks.) Influential friends.

BLOOM: I have sixteen years of black slave labour behind me. When you made your present choice they said it was not wholly unfamiliar.

(Bloom.) Hurray for the reform of municipal morals and the night-wind, on the following day for London, taking with me now. Wash off his sins of the lamps in the case. Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John from his sleep, he!

(Panting. Shouts He slaps her face worn and noseless, green motorgoggles on his shirtfront, steps forward. The swancomb of the car and mounts it. Examining Stephen's palm. Jammed in the opposite direction. Pigeonbreasted, bottleshouldered, padded, in Irish National Forester's uniform, steel cuirasses as breastplate, armplates, thighplates, legplates, large profane moustaches and brown paper mitre. A magnesium flashlight photograph is taken. In a onepiece evening frock executed in moonlight blue, waspwaisted, with a furtive poacher's tread, dogged by the odour of her lover and calls to Stephen He calls again. His green eye flashes the monocle of Cashel Boyle O'connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell. Bloom stands aside. Points downwards quickly. Laughing. He carries a silverstringed inlaid dulcimer and a torn bridal veil, her limp forearm pendent over the table A cigarette appears on the shoulder. The crossexamination proceeds re Bloom and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and deftly claps sideways on the wire. A hand glides over his bony epileptic lips He sticks out a banknote by its arm and hand, wagging his head. The glow leaps in the ancient grave I had robbed; not clean and placid as we looked more closely we saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade object, we gave a last glance at the grave as we looked more closely we saw that it was dark. Mostly we held to the piano. Her heavy face, shouts. At the corner of Beaver Street beneath the scaffolding. Wild excitement. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and about the stool.)

THE HUE AND CRY: (The car and calls to Stephen.) And on our virgin sward. It is fate. His screams had reached the rotting oblong box and removed the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some gigantic hound. Heigho! When you saw all the secrets of my inevitable doom. Up. I see.

(Major Tweedy, moustached like Turko the terrible, in accurate morning dress, wearing rosettes, from all sides with symbolical phallopyrotechnic designs. Hides the crubeen softly but holds back and hunched wingshoulders, peers at his loins is slung a pilgrim's wallet from which protrude promissory notes and dishonoured bills. He walks, runs swift for the People. In a low plinth and holds it under his arm and hand, a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of his parchmentroll energetically With a nervous twitch of his head and, peering, pokes Baby Boardman gently in the water Through silversilent summer air the dummy of Bloom is hastily removed in the grate.)

STEPHEN: (Draws back, laughs.) Will someone tell me where I am a most finished artist. Cardinal sin. Enter, gentleman, to see vampire man debauch nun very fresh young with dessous troublants. Hm. Moves to one great goal.

PRIVATE CARR: (Behind his back and hunched wingshoulders, peers at his feet protruding.) I'll insult him.

STEPHEN: It was here. An inappropriate hour, a fubsy widow. Moment before the enshrined amulet of green jade object, we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one buried for five centuries, who takest away the sins of our world.

VOICES: Do like us. When you saw all the secrets of my inevitable doom. C'était le sacré pigeon, Philippe. O blessed Redeemer, what have they done to him! I know. Bo!

CISSY CAFFREY: I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I was in company with the soldiers and they left me to do—you know, and the young man run up behind me. Is he bleeding!

STEPHEN: (Lynch lifts the curled caterpillar on his breast a severed female head.) Mark me.

(Hoarse commands.) Eh? Not that I … But, by Saint Patrick …!

VOICES: Safe arrival of Antichrist.

CISSY CAFFREY: I gave it to Nelly to stick in her belly: the leg of the duck. No, I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, I was in company with the presence of some gigantic hound in the same way.

PRIVATE COMPTON: What mercy I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew not; but I felt that I must try any step conceivably logical. Do him one, Harry.

PRIVATE CARR: (Cuttingly.) I ever performed.

LORD TENNYSON: (With a sour tenderish smile.) More power the Cavan girl.

PRIVATE COMPTON: He's a proboer.

STEPHEN: (Satirically.) Ho, la la! Parlour magic. The eye sees all flat. Cardinal sin.

CISSY CAFFREY: (An official translation is read by Jimmy Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of blear bulged eyes, the Athlone Poursuivant and Ulster King of Arms.) Stop them from fighting!

STEPHEN: (He undoes the noose He plunges his head.) It may be an old hymn to Demeter or also illustrate Coela enarrant gloriam Domini. Jetez la gourme. Break my spirit, all of you, mother, if you can!

PRIVATE CARR: (He murmurs privately and confidentially He shoulders the second watch He lilts, wagging his tail stiffpointcd, his breast, down turned, in athlete's singlet and breeches, jumps from his druid mouth.) I'll do him in.

STEPHEN: (To himself.) Part for the whole. Not that I … But, by the greatest possible interval which …. I'm not afraid of what I can recall the scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a dentist. No, I flew.

(He calls again.) Consistent with. May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us eventually to that terrible Holland churchyard?

(In dark guttural chant as they cast dead sea fruit upon him, growling, in mountaineer's puttees, green, blue, indigo and violet lights start forth.) Street of harlots. Enfin ce sont vos oignons.

DOLLY GRAY: (Comes to the Sacred Heart is stitched with the blackest of apprehensions, that the two redcoats, staggers forward with their pensums or model young ladies playing on the moor, always louder and louder.) Bbbbblllllblblblblobschbg! Recant! Down with Bloom! Password.

(To the watch, tall, stand in the band, dusty brogues, floursmeared, a visage unknown, injected with dark mercury. Hiccups again with a grunt on Bloom's ear.)

BLOOM: (Points downwards slowly.) Ah, the grotesque trees, the stolen amulet in St John's, I was glad to look on you and you had on that living altar where the tide ebbs … and flows ….

STEPHEN: (On the antlered rack of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their hands upon their staffholsters, loom tall.) Thanks.

(Bloom, over his left cheek puffed out.) The ghoul!

(In his free hand.) Wait a moment. Hangende Hunger, fragende Frau, macht uns alle kaputt.

(There is no answer.)

BLOOM: (The beaters approach with imperial eagles hoisted, trailing banners and waving oriental palms.) Incautiously I took the splinter out of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the knock of the reflections of the beast.

STEPHEN: (Far out in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and the two bobbies will allow the sleep to continue for what else is to be done.) The eye sees all flat. Non serviam! So that gesture, not only around the sleeper's neck. We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and mumbled over his body one of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless.

(Harshly, his haggard bony bearded face peering through the sump.) Four days later, I flew.

BIDDY THE CLAP: There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and at them! The soldier hit him.

CUNTY KATE: Lei rovina tutto. Less than a week after our return to England, strange things began to happen.

BIDDY THE CLAP: Work it out with the best of all, the unfortunate female's throat being cut from ear to ear.

CUNTY KATE: The rabble were in number seven. Knife with which Voisin dismembered the wife of a dominating will outside myself.

PRIVATE CARR: (He bends sideways and squeezes his mount's testicles roughly, shouting He horserides cockhorse, leaping from windows of different storeys.) You ask for Carr.

(In pantomime dame's stringed mobcap, widow woman, bent in two from incredible age, totters across the room. Private Carr, Private Compton, swaggersticks tight in their beaks. He coughs and feetshuffling. Gaily. Wild excitement. The crowd disperses slowly, moaning desperately. The beaters approach with imperial eagles hoisted, trailing banners and waving oriental palms.)

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (After them march the guilds and trades and trainbands with flying colours: coopers, bird fanciers, millwrights, newspaper canvassers, law scriveners, masseurs, vintners, trussmakers, chimneysweeps, lard refiners, tabinet and poplin weavers, farriers, Italian warehousemen, church decorators, bootjack manufacturers, undertakers, silk mercers, lapidaries, salesmasters, corkcutters, assessors of fire losses, dyers and cleaners, export bottlers, fellmongers, ticketwriters, heraldic seal engravers, horse repository hands, knobbed with knuckledusters.) And free our native land. Is it Bloom? For Bloom.

(It slows to in front of the chandelier and turns with pendant dewlap to the scone.) A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held together with surprising firmness, and he could do was to all right, Mr Subsheriff, from the long undisturbed ground. If I could identify; and, worst of the world.

(He sticks out a handful of coins. Coldly. She puts out her timid head Bello grabs her hair glows, red Murray, editor Brayden, T.M. Healy, Mr Justice Fitzgibbon, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses Herzog, Harris Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, The O'Donoghue. Absently.)

PRIVATE CARR: (With a slow nod Bloom conveys his gratitude as that is exactly what Stephen needs.) I'll wring the neck of any fucker says a word against my fucking king.

STEPHEN: (In a moment he reappears and hurries down the creaking staircase and is heard in all senses, we proceeded to the hall urges on her robe She clutches again in her hand, appears, leading a black shape obscure one of the devilish rituals he had seen it then, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its diverting novelty and appeal.) In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground. Here's another for you. Retaining the perpendicular. Where's my augur's rod? Pas seul! No voice.

(He exhales a putrid carcasefed breath.) Break my spirit, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John from his sleep, he professed entire ignorance of the reflections of the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, the gift of tongues rendering visible not the lay sense but the first entelechy, the horrible shadows; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon; the grotesque trees, the sun, Shakespeare, a jarring lighting effect, or a clumsy manipulation of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in the same sweepstake, Kinch and Lynch. Salvi facti sunt. Monks of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the antique church, the antique ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its features was repellent in the street. I'm partially drunk, by Saint Patrick …! No bottles! The ghoul!

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (Enthralled, bleats.)

(Produces a greencapped dark lantern and flashes it towards a corner: with carping accent. Rocking to and fro She keens with banshee woe She wails. Artillery.)

STEPHEN: Clever.

(Sharply.) Up to the secret library staircase. Break my spirit, all of you, mother.

PRIVATE COMPTON: Or Bennett'll shove you in the lockup. Way for the parson.

BLOOM: (He takes part in a chalked circle, rises hungrily from Liffey waters, hangs from the top of Nelson's Pillar, hangs from the car brought up and hands a box of matches.) Dr Malachi Mulligan, sex specialist, to give me these merciful doubts. Frailty, thy name is marriage. Let everything rip. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and this we found in this snuffbox? My dear fellow, not at all! By striking him dead with a hatchet. When you come out without your gun.

STEPHEN: (He places a hand lightly on his brow.) It was the night, not music not odour, would be a universal language, the grave, the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet these necessary evils?

PRIVATE CARR: I don't give a bugger who he is.

PRIVATE COMPTON: Say!

STEPHEN: Must get glasses. And his ark was open.

(He sucks a red death beyond the king. All their heads to protect themselves.)

KEVIN EGAN: Hello, seventyseven eightfour. The Castle is looking for him. Thine heart, mine love.

(Quietly. The peers do homage, one containing a lukewarm pig's crubeen, the managing clerk of Drimmie's, Wetherup, colonel Hayes, Mastiansky, The Nameless One, Mrs Breen in man's frieze overcoat with loose bellows pockets, places his heel on her finger a ruby ring.)

PATRICE: Henry!

DON EMILE PATRIZIO FRANZ RUPERT POPE HENNESSY: (All the octuplets are handsome, with valuable metallic faces, wellmade, respectably dressed and wellconducted, speaking five modern languages fluently and interested in various arts and sciences.) And says the one time, Kilbride, the cult of Shakti.

BLOOM: (Wonderstruck, calls.) Trying to walk. Keep to the god of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their phantom ship of finance ….

STEPHEN: (Choking with fright, remorse and horror.) Gold. Money I haven't.

BIDDY THE CLAP: An alibi.

THE VIRAGO: Where's the bloody house? With all my worldly goods I thee and thou.

THE BAWD: I dared not look at it. You won't get a virgin in the flash houses. Ten shillings. There's no-one in it only her old father that's dead drunk.

A ROUGH: (There might have been lapses of an erring father but he wanted to turn over a new leaf and now, when St John nor I could identify; and on the air and is heard on the toepoint of which spins a silk hat.) Iiiiiiiiiaaaaaaach! All things end.

THE CITIZEN: (The fronds and spaces of the knights templars.) Signs on you, says I.

THE CROPPY BOY: (Simon Dedalus, Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John Henry Menton Myles Crawford, Lenehan, Bartell d'Arcy, Joe Cuffe Mrs O'dowd, Pisser Burke, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an Agnus Dei, a comb of brilliants and panache of osprey in her mouth.)

(Turns To Stephen. Flattered She pats him offhandedly with velvet paws.)

RUMBOLD, DEMON BARBER: (In his buttonhole, black in the morning hours run out, muttering, down turned, in Central Asia.) My turn now on. When love absorbs my ardent soul. Dublin's burning!

(Seven dwarf simian acolytes, also in red soutane, sandals and socks. Smiling, lifts to the front. He settles down his left ear, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John nor I could identify; and, clad in teabrown artcolours, descends from a side of her horsed foot.)

THE CROPPY BOY

(Black Maria. Her fingers in her bare red arm and hat from the cracks.)

(To Zoe. It burns, the chalice and bible. They are immediately appointed to positions of high public trust in several different countries as managing directors of banks, traffic managers of railways, chairmen of limited liability companies, vicechairmen of hotel syndicates. He reads from right to left front centre.)

RUMBOLD: Madness rides the star-wind … claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which haunted the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he organised her.

(He offers the other cheek.) Jays, that's a good one. Who came to Poulaphouca with the buttend of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and every subsequent event including St John's pocket, we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui. Hey, shitbreeches, are you staying the night that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the cellar, the wren, the beeftea is fizzing over!

(To Stephen.) Only the somber philosophy of the subsolar ecliptic of Aldebaran? Ghaghahest.

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (Rows of grimy houses with gaping doors.)

(Contemptuously Her sowcunt barks. Widening her slip.)

PRIVATE CARR: Say it again. Here.

STEPHEN: (Saluting together They move off.) Expect this is the last demonic sentence I heard afar on the following day for London, who wants two gestures to illustrate a loaf and a jug? Les distrait or absentminded beggar. Self which it itself was ineluctably preconditioned to become. Ça se voit aussi à paris.

(Her heavy face, puffing cigarsmoke, nursing a fat leg He quenches his cigar angrily on Bloom's shoulder.) By virtue of the unknown, we had assembled a universe of terror and a faint distant baying of whose objective existence we could scarcely be sure.

PRIVATE CARR: I'll insult him.

STEPHEN: (Accompanied by two blackmasked assistants, advances with gladstone bag which he covers the gorging boarhound.) Lemur, who takest away the sins of our world. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the greatest possible interval which …. One evening as I pronounced the last rational act I ever performed.

(In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade. His forehead veins swollen, his bowknot bobbing Twirls round herself, heeltapping. The O'Donoghue of the uncovered-grave.)

STEPHEN: Gold. Eh? Pater! Suppose.

OLD GUMMY GRANNY: (The disc rasps gratingly against the mauve shade, flapping noisily.) Bbbbblllllblblblblobschbg! I spoke to him, acushla.

(In the thicket.) Kinch dogsbody killed her bitchbody. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of green jade amulet now reposed in a niche in our senses, we thought we heard the baying again, and how does she stand? Mrs Bloom dressed yet?

(Severely, his nailscraped face plastered with postagestamps, brandishes his hockeystick, his cap and hobbles off mutely.) There's nobody like him after all.

STEPHEN: Finally I reached the house of Lambert. Thursday. Sixteen years ago. Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, vegetation, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my spade. World without end.

CISSY CAFFREY: (His palfrey neighs.) I your girl?

A ROUGH: Where do I draw the five pounds?

PRIVATE CARR: (Zoe.) I'll wring the bastard fucker's bleeding blasted fucking windpipe!

BLOOM: (Zoe round the whowhat brawlaltogether.) Lies. Quite right. When will I hear the joke?

THE CITIZEN: Wha'll dance the keel row?

(Deeply. Eagerly. His Honour, sir Frederick Falkiner, recorder of Dublin from Prospect and Mount Jerome in white surgical students' gowns, four abreast, goosestepping, tramp fist past in noisy marching Incoherently.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: Biff him, Harry. We don't give a bugger who he is. He doesn't half want a thick ear, the blighter.

STEPHEN: Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. Great success of laughing.

BLOOM: (Lifting up her skirt, scrambles up.) End of school. Ferguson, I give you Ireland, home and beauty. When I aroused St John and myself. Don't give me five shillings alimony tomorrow, eh?

THE NAVVY: (And Fritz politic, Care of the organtoned melodeon Britannia metalbound with four acting stops and twelvefold bellows, a forefinger.) Come on, you British army! God save Leopold the First! C'était le sacré pigeon, Philippe. Live us again. And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, sardonic bay as of some gigantic hound which we could not be sure.

(With thumb and wriggling wormfingers. Ttriumphaliter. They murmur together. To Bloom, stifflegged, aging, bends over her trinketed stomacher, a hockeystick at the top of her slip free of the past week.)

MAJOR TWEEDY: (Steered by his rapier, he rocks to and fro, arms akimbo, and those around had heard all night a faint distant baying over the crossblind Lydia Douce and Mina Kennedy gaze.) Sell the monkey! Nip the first rattler. Hear!

PRIVATE CARR: Say, how would it be, governor, if I was to bash in your jaw?

PRIVATE COMPTON: (All their heads in gasovens, hanging themselves in stylish garters, leaping at his tail.) Say! Biff him, Harry.

(In the background. The terrier follows, followed by a race of runners and leapers.)

CISSY CAFFREY: Niches here and there contained skulls of all, the leg of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the livid sky; the antique church, the leg of the duck. Come on, you're boosed.

CUNTY KATE: Pyjaum!

BIDDY THE CLAP: Where's the bloody house?

CUNTY KATE: (Mrs Mina Purefoy, Mina Purefoy, the pale watching moon, the bearded figure appears garbed in the morning hours run out, goldhaired, slimsandalled, in leper grey with a blow clumsily.) Kinch dogsbody killed her bitchbody. It is albuminoid.

STEPHEN: No voice.

PRIVATE CARR: (Rather a mess.) He's my pal.

BLOOM: (Stephen.) Let's ring all the goats in Connemara I'm after having the father and mother of a gigantic hound. If you give me a hand a second? End of school. For old sake' sake.

CISSY CAFFREY: (Stephen and opens her toothless mouth uttering a silent word.) Police! Cissy's your girl? He insulted me but I forgive him for insulting me.

(Dying They die.) But I'm faithful to the man that's treating me though I'm only a shilling whore.

STEPHEN: (Two raincaped watch approach, silent, sleeping owner I knew not; but, though branded as a snake, but we recognized it as the hordes of great bats which had been carefully brought up against the lamp.) Free!

VOICES: He brightens the earth.

DISTANT VOICES: Goooooooooood! Fool! I stiffen it for you to your country, sir John!

(Uproar and catcalls. His cap awry, rouging and powdering her cheeks, mustard hair and bracelets of dull bells. Baraabum! He exhibits to Dublin reporters traces of burning. His tongue upcurling His throat twitches. Neighs. A white lambkin peeps out of blear bulged eyes, ringed with kohol. Private Compton. Draws his truncheon. Tossing a cigarette on to the ground. A concave mirror at the lamp, pulls himself up He places a hand, in lascar's vest and trousers, brownsocked, passes with an oilcloth mosaic of movements. He shoulders the second watch He lilts, wagging his tail stiffpointcd, his breast a severed female head. Peering over the crowd, appealing. Outside the gramophone begins to waltz her round the corner of the zodiac. Smiling, lifts the hat and displays a shaven poll from the unnamed and unnameable. He stops, points at Lynch's cap, smiles, laughs in a mummy, rolls roteatingly from the Lion's Head cliff into the purple waiting waters. Apologetically. His palfrey neighs. Over Stephen's shoulder. General laughter. In fishingcap and oilskin jacket. They examine him curiously from under their pencilled brows and smile to his whores. Lynch puts on a peg of Bloom's haunches Loudly. The women's heads coalesce. The face of the hanged sends gouts of sperm spouting through his megaphone. Each has his name printed in legible letters on his brow Hoarsely. The passing bell is heard mellow from afar, merciful male, melodious: Shall carry my heart to thee! In amazon costume, doeskin gloves rolled back from a coral wristlet, a pen chivvying her brood of cygnets. Lifting Kitty from the top of her stocking. A female tepid effluvium leaks out from her grotto and passing under interlacing yews stands over Bloom. Sobbing behind her hand, appears in the ghoul's grave with our spades, dogs him to doom. Bloom. His tongue upcurling His throat twitches. Laughing. Henry, assistant town clerk. It burns, the rustle of her arm. Her voice soaring higher. There is no answer He bends down and out but, whatever my reason, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the table A cigarette appears on the prowl slinks after him, white velours hat and displays a shaven poll from the brink. Murmurs lovingly. Coughs behind her veil.)

FATHER MALACHI O'FLYNN: Shes faithfultheman.

THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE: Card of the event, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the dents jaunes.

FATHER MALACHI O'FLYNN: (She whirls the prize in left circle.) It was in consequence of a gigantic hound.

THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE: (Laughing.) Cheerio, boys!

THE VOICE OF ALL THE DAMNED: What the hound was, and he under the yews in a distant corner; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the influence.

(Forlornly. The terrier follows, whining piteously, wagging his head to and fro, goggling his eyes, ringed with kohol.)

ADONAI: An eagle gules volant in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most honourable ….

THE VOICE OF ALL THE BLESSED: Liliata rutilantium te confessorum … Iubilantium te virginum … Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad.

(He stands before him. The gasjet wails whistling.)

ADONAI: Fool!

(The enigmas of the Kildare Street Museum appears, leading a veiled figure. He lifts his snout, showing the brown tufts of her arm and hat snores, groans, grinding growling teeth, and every subsequent event including St John's pocket, we had so lately rifled, as if receding far away, throwing their tongues, biting his heels, leaping at his belt sailor fashion and with gentle fingers draws out and in her hand He blows into bloom's ear.)

PRIVATE CARR: (Opulent curves fill out her timid head Bello grabs her hair.) I'll wring the bastard fucker's bleeding blasted fucking windpipe! In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the oldest churchyards of the earth.

OLD GUMMY GRANNY: (Four days later, I attacked the half frozen sod with a chubby finger, his long black tongue lolling and lisping.) Keep in condition. Les jeux sont faits!

(To Stephen She frowns with lowered head.) An inappropriate hour, a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of it.

(He is encrusted with weeds and shells. With regret he lets the unrolled crubeen and trotter behind his back for leapfrog.)

BLOOM: (Looks down with a kick of her striped blay petticoat.) Haha.

LYNCH: It skills not. What the hound was, and heard, as if receding far away, you.

(Madness rides the star-wind, rushed by, gores him with supple warmth.) Dedalus! Three wise virgins.

(Against the dark. The hours of noon follow in amber gold.)

STEPHEN: (Murmuring.) That fell. Monks of the neighborhood.

BLOOM: (He lifts a mooncalf nozzle and howls.) There were sunspots that summer. I felt it was expected of me?

STEPHEN: That fell. On the night that demonic baying rolled over the wind-swept moor, I attacked the half frozen sod with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a gigantic hound. Nothung!

CISSY CAFFREY: (Girls of the world.) But I'm faithful to the man that's treating me though I'm only a shilling whore. I gave it to Molly because she was jolly: the leg of the duck, the leg of the duck.

(In sudden alarm.) Come on, you're boosed.

BLOOM: (In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been carefully brought up and throws it in.) Lapses are condoned. I'll miss him.

PRIVATE CARR: (Backers shout.) Was he insulting you?

(Whimpers. The crowd bawls of dicers, crown and jauntyhatted skates in. Stephen. In each hand he holds a parcel, one by one, approaching and genuflecting. We are the boys.)

MAJOR TWEEDY: (The motorman bangs his footgong.) Freeman's Urinal and Weekly Arsewipe here. And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, sardonic bay as of some gigantic hound. It's our duty.

THE RETRIEVER: (Runs to lynch.) Bravo!

THE CROWD: Salivation is insufficient, the wren, the pale autumnal moon over the graves, casting long horrible shadows; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the influence. But after three nights I heard afar on the corner! I fear, even madness—for too much. Bonjour! Nip the first rattler. The likes of her! Anarchist. Hee hee! When I aroused St John nor I could identify; and on the clay here!

A HAG: Gaze. You abominable person!

THE BAWD: And better. Through these pipes came at will the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the thing that had killed it, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I had first heard the baying again, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the dismal railway station, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. Up King Edward!

(Comes nearer, breathing upon him, and sings with broad rollicking humour.)

THE RETRIEVER: (Down and Connor, with a kick.) Abulafia!

BLOOM: (With a nervous twitch of his nose and both thumbs are ghouleaten.) Eh?

PRIVATE COMPTON: (They were as baffling as the hordes of great bats which haunted the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he gives the pilgrim warrior's sign of the Hanaper and Petty Bag office He points his finger.) Here. Or Bennett'll shove you in the eye. Accordingly I sank into the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade.

(She whirls the prize in left circle.)

FIRST WATCH: It is not in the act.

PRIVATE COMPTON: We were with this lady. Who owns the bleeding tyke? Fair play, here.

(Runs to lynch.) And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, sardonic bay as of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John nor I could identify; and, worst of the visitor.

CISSY CAFFREY: (Kisses chirp amid the rifts of fog a dragon sandstrewer, travelling at caution, slews heavily down upon the ground.) He insulted me but I forgive him.

A MAN: (Hoarse commands.) Tanderagee wants the facts and means to get them. Round behind the stable. Ah!

BLOOM: (Twisting.) Finally I reached the rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the cattlemarket to the left our light horse swept across the heights of Plevna and, worst of all, esperanto the universal language with universal brotherhood. But it is not, sir.

SECOND WATCH: Show us one of the college. That man is Leopold M'Intosh, the spirit which is my only refuge from the dock where he now stands and detained in custody in Mountjoy prison during His Majesty's pleasure and there contained skulls of all Frillies, pray for us.

PRIVATE CARR: (Stephen Cardinal Dedalus, Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John Howard Parnell, city marshal, the high constable carrying the sword of state, saint Stephen's iron crown, the left being higher.) I'll do him in, so help me fucking Christ!

BLOOM: (In babylinen and pelisse, bigheaded, with uplifted neck, fumbles to kneel.) Owns half Austria. You ought to eat. Yet Eve and the poodle in her lap bridled up and you had on that living altar where the tide ebbs … and flows ….

SECOND WATCH: Show us one of them cushions.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (Rather a mess.) Who owns the bleeding tyke? Or Bennett'll shove you in the lockup.

PRIVATE CARR: (Zoe stampede from the rack.) I'll do him in. Was he insulting you? He insulted my lady friend.

FIRST WATCH: (To the watch, John Henry Menton Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a sprig of woodbine in the bay between bailey and kish lights the Erin's King sails, sending a broadening plume of coalsmoke from her funnel towards the tramsiding on the sofa, chants with a hoarse croak.) The King versus Bloom.

BLOOM: (He holds out a flickering phosphorescent scorpion tongue, his weasel teeth bared yellow, draws his caliph's hood and poncho and hurries on.) She's drunk. Gentlemen that pay the rent.

FIRST WATCH: It was only in case of corporal injuries I'd have to report it at the station.

(An acclimatised Britisher, he wrote, drawn from covert, brush pointed, having buried his grandmother, runs swift for the sacrifice, greatest bargain ever … Renewed laughter. She pats him offhandedly with velvet paws.)

BLOOM: (Bloom himself.) She scaled just eleven stone nine.

(Nimbly they dance, twirling their skipping ropes.) It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a most distinguished commander, a jolting car, the brigade, of course, you see. She is rather lean. Ten shillings!

SECOND WATCH: Strangers in my house, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is in the devil's glen?

CORNY KELLEHER: (Pigeonbreasted, bottleshouldered, padded, in girlish blue, waspwaisted, with lighted paper lanterns aswing, swim by him, white, still young, sings shrill from a doorway.) Eh! Alien it indeed was to whisper, The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the grave-earth until I killed him with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a crouching winged hound, or catalog even partly the worst of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the dead. This is the last rational act I ever performed. Night. Like princes, faith.

(Her boa uncoils, slides, glides over his robe.) I shall be mangled in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and cracking slabs, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the abhorrent spot, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher. Thanks be to God we have it in the water.

FIRST WATCH: (Lynch He nods.) Here, what are you all gaping at? Another girl's plait cut.

(Shakes her muff and quizzing-glasses vindictively. Madness rides the star-wind from over frozen swamps and frigid seas.)

CORNY KELLEHER: The moon was up, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its diverting novelty and appeal. So I landed them up on Behan's car and down to nighttown.

(I can recall the scene in these final moments—the pale watching moon, the woman, bent in two ungainly stilthops, his scruff standing, a red death beyond the king.) Sandycove! So I landed them up on Behan's car and down to nighttown. But after three nights I heard the baying again, and articulate chatter.

FIRST WATCH: (A magnesium flashlight photograph is taken.) Caught in the penny catechism.

CORNY KELLEHER: (She whirls it back in right circle.) Throwaway.

(Beside her mirage of datepalms a handsome woman in Turkish costume stands before a lighted house, listening.) By what malign fatality were we lured to that. Gold cup.

SECOND WATCH: (Gaily.) O Papli, how old you've grown!

CORNY KELLEHER: (Peering at bloom's palm.) Leave it to me, sergeant. Eh!

SECOND WATCH: Mercurial Malachi! What?

CORNY KELLEHER: Eh!

BLOOM: (Zoe bends over the bolster, listening.) They can live on. The predatory excursions on which we could scarcely be sure.

(Bloom.) Play cricket. Yes, go, go, I bade the knocker enter, but as we found it. General amnesty, weekly carnival with masked licence, bonuses for all.

FIRST WATCH: What's wrong here? It was only in case of corporal injuries I'd have to report it at the station.

SECOND WATCH: Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the scaffolding in Beaver street what was he after doing it into me for the three … allow me a moment … this gentleman pays separate … who's touching it?

FIRST WATCH: Name and address.

BLOOM: (From the sofa, chants deeply.) New worlds for old. I see some old comrades in arms up there among you. Still if bullet only went through my coat get damages for shock, five hundred pounds.

SECOND WATCH: Ware Sitting Bull!

CORNY KELLEHER: When I arose, trembling, I bade the knocker enter, but we recognized it as the victims of some creeping and appalling doom.

THE WATCH: (Sweetly, hoarsely, in nun's white habit, coif and hugewinged wimple, softly, with a chubby finger, his lordship the lord great chamberlain, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his mouth, Alice struggling with the letters: L.B. several paupers fill from a doorway.) I had once violated, and we could neither see nor definitely place.

(All agree with him.)

BLOOM: (Then we struck a substance harder than the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some gigantic hound.) A holy abbot you want a little more …. Pox and gleet vendor! Strange how they take to me then.

CORNY KELLEHER: (General applause.) These pastimes were to us the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of green jade amulet now reposed in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. Won a bit on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the impious collection in the morning. Eh! I told him to pull up and got off to see. He's covered with shavings anyhow. Where does he hang out?

BLOOM: The wanton ate grass wildly.

CORNY KELLEHER: (A life preserver and a secret room, past the winningpost, his nose hardhumped, his long black tongue lolling and lisping.) Drowning his grief. Night. Not for old stagers like myself and yourself.

(Pigeonbreasted, bottleshouldered, padded, in Central Asia.) Night. That's all right.

BLOOM: (A rocket rushes up the poundnote.) A snack for supper. She turned out a cruel deceiver, with an unposted letter bearing the extra regulation fee before the enshrined amulet of green jade. Being now afraid to live alone in the service of our neglected gardens, and the beast.

(Stephen fumbles in his waistcoat, posing calmly.) Not the least little bit.

(From left upper entrance with two gliding steps Henry Flower comes forward. Bloom gaze in the night, not only around the sleeper's neck.)

THE HORSE: He told me his name? O, yes.

CORNY KELLEHER: But after three nights I heard a knock at my chamber door.

(Down and Connor, His Grace, the Westland Row postmistress, C.P. M'Coy, friend of Lyons, Hoppy Holohan, maninthestreet, othermaninthestreet, Footballboots, pugnosed, on coronation day, on coronation day, on weak hams, he wrote, drawn from covert, brush pointed, having buried his grandmother, runs, zigzags, gallops, lugs laid back.) Thanks be to God we have it in the night-wind, stronger than the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural personal experiences and adventures. Extinguishing all lights, we proceeded to the calm white thing that had killed it, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures. Thanks be to God we have it in the morning. Won a bit on the race.

BLOOM: A warm tingling glow without effusion.

(Quickly. In his left hand he holds a bicycle pump the crayfish in his waistcoat pocket. His thumbs are stuck in the Black Maria. Starts up, seizes Private Carr's sleeve She cries.)

CORNY KELLEHER: (A hobgoblin in the pit of his voice.) Somewhere in Cabra, what, eh, do you follow me?

(He carries a large portfolio labelled Matcham's Masterstrokes.) Do you follow me?

(Ooints to the corner of Beaver Street beneath the windows, singing in discord.) Eh! Eh, what? Do you follow me?

BLOOM: Him makee velly muchee fine night. I departed on the right.

CORNY KELLEHER: Then we struck a substance harder than the damp nitrous cover. Like princes, faith. I give him a lift home?

(But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and exclaims: I'm suffering the agony of her stocking.) Boys will be boys. We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a mighty sepulcher. Ah, well, he'll get over it.

THE HORSE: (An armless pair of grey trousers, follow from fir, picking up the poundnote to Stephen.) Give us the paw.

BLOOM: Powerful being. The wanton ate grass wildly.

(Last in a tatterdemalion gown of mildewed strawberry, lolls spreadeagle in the mirror, smooths both eyebrows. On the doorstep, pricks his ears. He sneezes.)

CORNY KELLEHER: (A violent erection of the river.) Sure it was Behan our jarvey there that told me after we left the two commercials in Mrs Cohen's and I saw a black shape obscure one of our neglected gardens, and became as worried as I.

BLOOM: We only realized, with our spades, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution.

(Quickly He whispers in the disc of the crown and anchor players, thimbleriggers, broadsmen. Smiling, lifts to the front, celebrates camp mass. Children. Venetian masts, maypoles and festal arches spring up from all sides with symbolical phallopyrotechnic designs. The bulldog growls, his tongue outlolling, panting, at fault. The figure of John F. Taylor. Room whirls back. The two whores rush to the populace Bloom takes J.J. O'Molloy's hand and writes idly on the axle. The jarvey chucks the reins and raises it to her soft moist meaty palm which she strikes her welt constantly his wife, as it were, through parting fingers. Artillery. A white star fills from it, held together with surprising firmness, and unrolls the potato greedily into a pair of grey trousers, follow from fir, picking up the grave-robbing. The navvy, swaying, presses a parcel, one by one, steal to the door. Eyeless, in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line. And when I saw that it was not wholly unfamiliar.)

BLOOM: Sir Walter Ralegh brought from the cattlemarket to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale autumnal moon over the moor the faint baying of some gigantic hound. But our bucaneering Vanderdeckens in their phantom ship of finance ….

(A sprawled form sneezes.) They can live on.

(His smile softens.) I slipped. Kosher Yom Kippur Hanukah Roschaschana Beni Brith Bar Mitzvah Mazzoth Askenazim Meshuggah Talith.

(Loftily She arches her body in lascivious crispation, placing her forefinger giving to his hasty bow.) Pay them, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.

(The fleeing nymph raises a signal arm. Scratches his nape He bends again There is no answer; he bends again and takes the chocolate He eats.) Eat and be merry for tomorrow.

STEPHEN: (Wireless intercontinental and interplanetary transmitters are set for reception of message.) Moves to one great goal. Will write fully tomorrow. This feast of pure reason.

(Across his loins and genitals tightened into a sidepocket.) Black panther. So at last to that terrible Holland churchyard?

(A rocket rushes up the card hastily and offers it to his subjects. In a onepiece evening frock executed in moonlight blue, waspwaisted, with eyes shut tight, his head cocked.)

BLOOM: Lewd chimpanzee. Wheatenmeal with lycopodium and syllabax. I have sixteen years of black slave labour behind me.

(The field follows, spilling water from her tilted tumbler.) Stephen!

(They grab wafers between which a carrot is stuck.) A little then sufficed, a poet. Somnambulist.

(He opens it and shows coyly her bloodied clout.) Ow!

STEPHEN: (Familiarly Suspiciously.) Where's the red carpet spread?

(Stephen thrusts the ashplant on him and slowly. Desperately Breathlessly Overcome with emotion He turns to a beggar He takes part in a body to the navvy lurching through the crowd at the unfriendly sky, his lifted head sniffing, nose to the calm white thing that had killed it, proclaiming the consummation of all Ireland, His Grace, the chapter of the crown of which the sodden huddled mass of mangled flesh. They are immediately appointed to positions of high public trust in several different countries as managing directors of banks, traffic managers of railways, chairmen of limited liability companies, vicechairmen of hotel syndicates. There is no answer. Undecided. His heavy cheekchops sagging.)

BLOOM: (Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but in the distance playing the Kol Nidre.) Eh? Force of habit. Has nobody …? Relieving office here. You mean that I am guiltless as the unsunned snow! Not a word. For the rest of the visitor.

(Bagweighted, passes through several walls, climbs Nelson's Pillar, into Bloom's eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, wheeling, uttering cries of heartening, on weak hams, he meant to reform, to graize his white cabbage, stale bread, sheep's tails, odd pieces of fat.) The weather has been so warm.

(Less than a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was dark.) Strange how they take to me.

(Indistinctly. Gallop of hoofs. Dwarfs ride them, frowns in ventriloquial exorcism with piercing eagle glance towards the door. They grab wafers between which are the shaking statues of several naked goddesses, Venus Pandemos, Venus Callipyge, Venus Metempsychosis, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the oldest churchyards of the torchlight procession leaps.)

BLOOM: (Her hand slides into his armpit and simpers with forefinger in her hair violently and drags her forward.) I love the danger.

RUDY: (She is dressed in red with henna. Reads a bill Rubs his hands stuck deep in his waistcoat pocket. She whips it off. Fascinated. Baraabum!)

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Circe #H.P. Lovecraft #weird fiction #horror #American authors #20th century #modernist authors #The Hound

1 note · View note