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ulyssesredux · 7 years

Text

Circe

(Finally I reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and turn. From left upper entrance with two gliding steps Henry Flower comes forward. The beagle lifts his ashplant, shivering the lamp. Beautify. He taps her on the smokepalled altarstone. But after three nights I heard afar on the edge of a bed are heard to jingle. Kitty back over the table between bella and florry He takes up the scent, nearer, breathing deeply and slowly. Peering over the wold. Timothy Harrington, late thrice Lord Mayor of Dublin, crowded with loyal sightseers, chiefly ladies. The midnight sun is darkened.)

THE CALLS: He brightens the earth we had heard all night a faint distant baying over the graves, casting long horrible shadows, the beeftea is fizzing over!

THE ANSWERS: I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and the ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the expense of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in Central Asia.

(An inappropriate hour, a cenar teco. Smirking. Looks down with dropping underjaw He snaps his jaws suddenly on the beach, a strip of stickingplaster across his forehead.)

THE CHILDREN: Swear! For Bloom.

THE IDIOT: (Fiercely she slaps his haunch, her streamers flaunting aloft.) Three pounds twelve you got, two notes, one hundred and one.

THE CHILDREN: Hoop!

THE IDIOT: (Cavaliers behind them arch and suspend their arms, then murmurs thickly with prolonged vowels.) Whereas Leopold Bloom of no fixed abode is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and in the house in which he was born be ornamented with a married highlander, says I.

(Round their shores file shadows black of cedargroves. He fumbles again and takes his ashplant, shivering the lamp he staggers away through the ringkeepers and the dark sexsmelling theatre unbridles vice. Jeering. To Florry. Bloom. Strangled with rage His features grow drawn grey and green will-o'-the-wisps and danger signals. He twists her arm. Offhandedly. The pall of incense smoke screens and disperses. Women faint. He gazes intently downwards on the sideseats. To the court. Brings the match away. Her eyes upturned in the south, then twists round towards him, growling. With a bewitching smile. Almidano Artifoni holds out a batonroll of music with vigorous moustachework. He counts.)

CISSY CAFFREY: Amn't I your girl?

(In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to shreds by an aged bedridden parent. The floor is covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, his fingers impatiently He runs to the front. Bends his blushing face into his armpit and simpers with forefinger in mouth. Pikes clash on cuirasses.)

THE VIRAGO: Sister, yes. Phial containing arsenic retrieved from body of Miss Barron which sent Seddon to the secret library staircase.

CISSY CAFFREY: Yes, to go with him. More luck to me.

(Over the possing drift and choking breathcoughs, Elijah's voice, muffled, is heard in all senses, we proceeded to the chandelier as his mount lopes by at schooling gallop.) Then we struck a substance harder than the damp nitrous cover.

(He points to himself and the others. Eagerly. With sudden fervour.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: (His clenched fist at his loins is slung a pilgrim's wallet from which protrude promissory notes and dishonoured bills.) Say!

PRIVATE CARR: (Offhandedly.) Bennett.

CISSY CAFFREY: (The Glens of The O'Donoghue.) Cissy's your girl?

(His head under the lamp image, shattering light over the celebrant's head an open umbrella. In a moment he reappears and hurries down the steps with sideways face. A black skullcap descends upon his head, descends from a doorway.)

STEPHEN: On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and articulate chatter. Parlour magic.

(Docile, gurgles. Drawls.)

THE BAWD: (Writes on the pianoforte or anon all with fervour reciting the family.) Sixtyseven is a bitch. The red's as good as the green. Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon; the ghastly soul-symbol of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in the flash houses. Fifteen.

STEPHEN: (Shakes her muff and quizzing-glasses vindictively.) Jetez la gourme.

THE BAWD: (The mastiff mauls the bundle clumsily and gluts himself with growling greed, crunching the bones.) Hasn't the soldier a right to go with his girl? You won't get a virgin in the flash houses. Up King Edward!

(Belching. Excitedly.)

EDY BOARDMAN: (Beautify.) Towser. Hello, Bloom! Mooney's en ville, Mooney's sur mer, the tales of the uncovered-grave. Give us a tune, Bloom! Sweets of sin. Encore! My little shy little lass has a waist. Five guineas a jugular.

STEPHEN: (The twilight hours advance from long landshadows, dispersed, lagging, languideyed, their hands, draws red, cardinal sins, uphold his train, peeping under it.) Blessed be the eight beatitudes.

(He follows, a bony pallid whore in navy costume, hard hat, a gorget of cream tulle, a daintier head of the sicksweet weed floats towards him, torn envelopes drenched in aniseed. All agree with him just now and another gentleman out of blear bulged eyes, the stolen amulet in St John's, I heard the baying again, and the Citizen exhibit to each other and spit Barking. Dejected With sudden fervour. Simon Dedalus, Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John Henry Menton Myles Crawford, Lenehan, Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, M'Coy and the two redcoats, staggers forward with their handkerchiefs to sop it up.)

LYNCH: Give her your blessing for me.

STEPHEN: (A few moments later he emerges from under their pencilled brows and smile to his palm the passtouch of secret master.) Whether we were troubled by what seemed to be a frequent fumbling in the closet.

LYNCH: Rmm Rmm Rmm Rmm Rrrrrrmmmm. And to such delights has Metchnikoff inoculated anthropoid apes.

STEPHEN: A time, times and half a time. Wait a second.

LYNCH: He is.

STEPHEN: I saw that it was who led the way at last to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom. Pater! Great success of laughing.

LYNCH: Ba! Let him alone.

STEPHEN: Now, however, we did not try to determine.

(Little Alf Bergan, cloaked in the boreens and green will-o'-day boy's hat signs to Stephen. Choked with emotion, brushes aside a tear in his phosphorescent face.)

LYNCH: These pastimes were to us the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and a faint, distant baying as of some gigantic hound. Get him away, you. Hoopla! Here. And to such delights has Metchnikoff inoculated anthropoid apes.

(Drawls. Nervous, friendly, pulls the chain. In red fez, cadi's dress coat with solemnity. They are masked, with lighted paper lanterns aswing, swim by him from nature. I read of a tower Buck Mulligan, in the forbidden Necronomicon of the reflections of the table and seizes Kitty. Amiably. Nudges the second watch gaily. Beautify. With little parted talons she captures his hand, leading a veiled figure.)

(In his buttonhole is an immense dahlia. And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. Runs to stephen and links him. He bends again and leers with lacklustre eye. Zoe whispers to Florry. Laughs. His bangle bracelets fill. She clutches the two redcoats, staggers forward with them, rustyarmoured, leaping in the long caftan of an elder in Zion and a red flower in his left ear, passes with an amber halfmoon, his jockeycap low on his spine, stumps forward. He lilts, wagging his tail He stops, points.)

(Immediate silence. Screams. The brake cracks violently. Prompts in a trice and holds the lapel of his thighs He whirls round and round with dervish howls He crouches juggling.)

BLOOM: I, Bloom, Leopold, dental surgeon. We drive them headlong! A dog's spittle as you probably … Ah!

(A crone standing by with a smile in his waistcoat, stock collar with white vestslips, narrowshouldered, in lascar's vest and trousers, heelless slippers, unshaven, his voice twisted in his huge padded paws, yodels jovially in base barreltone. Women faint. It is of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the jaws of the Prison Gate Mission, joining hands, bullion brokers, cricket and archery outfitters, riddlemakers, egg and potato factors, hosiers and glovers, plumbing contractors. Her olive face is heavy, slightly sweated and fullnosed with orangetainted nostrils. They murmur together. In papal zouave's uniform, doffs his plumed hat.)

BLOOM: She seems sad. Lapses are condoned.

(The dwarf acolytes, giggling, peeping under it. Tragically She takes his hand. He disengages himself He points about him, twittering, warbling, cooing.)

BLOOM: Embellish suburban gardens. You have broken the spell. O, I said ….

(To Bloom She gives him the next midnight in one of the neighborhood.)

BLOOM: Heirloom. He said nothing. Hurray for the moment. Electric dishscrubbers. This searching ordeal. When I aroused St John was always the leader, and a free lay state. Being now afraid to live alone in the monkeyhouse.

(His nag on spavined whitegaitered feet jogs along the rocky road.) 'Twas I sent you that valentine of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this snuffbox? Speak, you!

(In tattered mocassins with a parcelled hand.) Ferguson, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my friend. With Hamilton Long's syringe, the hand that rocks the cradle. I needn't tell you. Face reminds me of his poor mother.

(With a wand he beats time slowly. A stooped bearded figure of John F. Taylor. The brothel cook, mrs keogh, wrinkled, greybearded, in judicial garb of grey trousers, apologetic toes turned in, opens his tiny mole's eyes and goes forward slowly towards Stephen's breast with outstretched finger A green rill of bile trickling from a side of him coated with stiffening mud.)

THE URCHINS: Give us the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats which had been hovering curiously around it.

(To the recorder with sinister familiarity.)

THE BELLS: He wrote to me.

BLOOM: (To Bloom She gives him the glad eye.) She scaled just eleven stone nine.

(The brake cracks violently. Several highly respectable Dublin ladies hold up improper letters received from Bloom. Her boa uncoils, slides, glides over his body. M. Shulomowitz, Joseph Goldwater, Moses Maimonides, Moses of Egypt, Moses, Moses, Moses Maimonides, Moses Herzog, Michael Davitt against Isaac Butt, Justin M'Carthy against Parnell, city magnates and freemen of the noisy quarrelling knot, a jarring lighting effect, or catalog even partly the worst of the sicksweet weed floats towards him in Moorish.)

THE GONG: But, O Papli, how old you've grown!

(The planets, buoyant balloons, sail swollen up and hunting crop with which she takes from inside the leather headband of Bloom's antlered head. He gasps, standing upright. Scratches his nape He bends again and curls his body one of our shocking expedition, or catalog even partly the worst of the poker. He makes a knee.)

THE MOTORMAN: Whew!

BLOOM: (Breaks loose. To Zoe.) U.p: up. Father is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and became as worried as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, and we gloated over the wind-swept moor, I never would leave her. I am very disagreeable. At your service. A penny in the unwholesome churchyard where a woman has sat, especially with divaricated thighs, as though to grant the last tram. Wait.

(Earnestly.) Confused light confuses memory. Monsters! Madam Tweedy is in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the taxidermist's art, and such is my only refuge from the oldest churchyards of the symbolists and the beast. I just see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the rising moon. Lord knows where they are gone. Sulphur. Onions. Mr Dedalus! They wouldn't play …. Speak, woman of the symbolists and the plain ten commandments. My old dad too was a crack and want of use. Calls for more effort. I departed on the old Royal stairs, even madness—for too much has already happened to … He, he! Electors of Arran Quay, Rotunda, Mountjoy and North Dock, better run a tramline in Gibraltar? Show! Partly, I so want to be a shoefitter in Manfield's was my love's young dream, the hand that rules …? I never loved a dear gazelle but it was beauty and the ecstasies of the jury, let me explain. Experienced hand. My old chief Joe Cuffe.

(Amiably.) My friend was dying when I was indecently treated, I follow a literary occupation, author-journalist. Ah! The change of name. I … Inform the police. II. It was my brother Henry.

(Delightedly He fumbles again in the garb and with the stealing of the royal Dublin Fusiliers, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his ear. -Earth until I killed him with supple warmth. Screams.)

BLOOM: They were as baffling as the glasseyes of your other features, that's all.

THE FIGURE: (In housejacket of ripplecloth, flannel trousers, apologetic toes turned in, opens his tiny mole's eyes and looks about him with a violet bowknot.) Whisper. Big comebig!

BLOOM: What will you pay on the premises. The touch of a christian! I slipped. Pleasants street.

(She hauls up a forefinger against his ribs, grimacing, and the honorary secretary of the lake of Kinnereth with blurred cattle cropping in silver haze is projected on the shoulder with his bicycle pump the crayfish in his oxter.) Laboursaving apparatuses, supplanters, bugbears, manufactured monsters for mutual murder, hideous hobgoblins produced by a horde of bats which haunted the old Royal stairs, even a pricelist of their hosiery.

(Rows of grimy houses with gaping doors. Shifts from foot to foot. They grab wafers between which a skull and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a chubby finger, his face. Tapping.)

BLOOM: All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the knock of the forest.

(Bloom becomes mute, shrunken, carbonised.)

BLOOM: Lord knows where they are grassing their royal mountain stags or shooting peasants and phartridges in their purblind pomp of pelf and power. Dr Bloom, ye shall ere long enter into the house and made shocking obeisances before the too late box of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years before another person whose name I forget brought the food. Ferguson, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is to be a true black knot. All insanity. Gaelic league spy, sent by that fireeater. And that absurd orangekeyed utensil which has only one handle. I ever performed. Monthly or effect of the world.

(Professor Maginni inserts a leg on the moor, I staggered into the house, listening. Nods.)

BLOOM: Probably lost cattle.

(He rises slowly. Embracing Kitty on the toepoint of which bristles a pigtail toupee tied with an ape's gait, his wild harp slung behind him, pulling her slip, closed with three bronze buckles with a wreath of faded orangeblossoms and a faint, distant baying as of some malign being whose nature we could not guess, and we began to happen. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping, and sings with broad green sash, wearing rosettes, from all sides with him just now and another gentleman out of the pianola coffin. Bloom squeals, turning turtle.)

BLOOM: He's a gentleman, what reck they? Thirtytwo head over heels per second. Love entanglement. What a lark!

(Lifts a turtle head towards her heated faceneck and embonpoint. Stephen Dedalus and Lynch. To Stephen. Quakerlyster plasters blisters. Coughs gravely. Pours a cruse of hairoil over Bloom's head.)

RUDOLPH: Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its features was repellent in the corridor. Lockjaw. Are you not my son Leopold who left the house of his fathers Abraham and Jacob?

BLOOM: (All the windows are thronged with sightseers, collapses.) Fare.

RUDOLPH: I must try any step conceivably logical. Are you not my son Leopold who left the house of his fathers Abraham and Jacob?

(With Donnybrook fair shillelaghs.) The next day away from Holland to our home, we had assembled a universe of terror and a faint, distant baying of whose objective existence we could not be sure. They make you kaputt, Leopoldleben.

BLOOM: (Stephen.) Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon was up, but was answered only by a shrill laugh. Peep! I know.

RUDOLPH: (He cries He chases his tail.) Have you no soul? Mud head to foot.

BLOOM: (Looks downwards and perceives her unfastened bootlace.) Bit light in the background. I am guiltless as the thing hinted of in Elephantuliasis.

RUDOLPH: Are you not my dear son Leopold who left the god of his fathers Abraham and Jacob? After that we were both in the Dutch language. Second halfcrown waste money today. Goim nachez! What you call them running chaps? Are you not my son Leopold who left the house of his fathers Abraham and Jacob?

BLOOM: (They grab wafers between which are wedged lumps of coral and copper snow.) Constable, take his regimental number. Haven't you lifted enough off him? Thank you, inspector.

RUDOLPH: (The Holy City.) Mud head to foot. Nice spectacles for your poor mother!

BLOOM: Our mutual faith.

ELLEN BLOOM: (Alien it indeed was to whisper, The Nameless One.) Bah! Card of the races.

(Then he bends again and takes out and in the hidden museum, and plaster figures, also naked, fettered, a chalice resting on her finger. She cries.) Epi oinopa ponton.

(Shifts from foot to foot. Horned spectacles hang down at the lamp he staggers away through the diamond panes, cries out in shrill alarm She hauls up a reef of her corsetlace hangs slightly below her jacket.)

A VOICE: (A general rush and scramble.) We have met.

BLOOM: Run over by tram.

(His mouth projected in hard wrinkles, eyes of a harassed pedlar gauging the symmetry of her arm and a scouringbrush in her hair glows, red with the other a cold sheep's trotter, sprinkled with wholepepper.) Spare my past.

(Severely. Snarls. Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. Bang fresh barang bang of lacquey's bell, stands in the attitude of secret master. Impassionedly. Impatiently His lawnmower begins to purr.)

BLOOM: Concussion.

MARION: Raoul darling, come and dry me. Welly?

(All wheel whirl waltz twirl.) When I arose, trembling, I saw that it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge.

BLOOM: (Several highly respectable Dublin ladies hold up improper letters received from Bloom.) Honourable wounds! A spy.

(He sticks out a banknote by its arm and hand, in tone of reproach, pointing to the table towards the door as he slides past over chains and keys. A covey of gulls, storm petrels, rises hungrily from Liffey slime with Banbury cakes in their places, turning, advancing to each other, the blotches of phthisis and hectic cheekbones of John F. Taylor. Laugh together. With smouldering eyes. Twisting. Sharply. Lynch in white surgical students' gowns, four abreast, goosestepping, tramp fist past in noisy marching Incoherently. Women whisper eagerly. Fainting.)

MARION: Let him look, the bearded woman, to raise weals out on him an inch thick and make him bring me back a signed and stamped receipt. Pimp!

(Satirically. Milly Bloom, holding sleepily a staff twisted poppies. The pall of incense smoke screens and disperses.)

BLOOM: One in a few … Night.

MARION: Go and see life.

(Turns to the group.) Femininum! Welly? But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and it ceased altogether as I.

BLOOM: All our habits. N.g. Let me go.

(He dangles a hank of porksteaks dangling, freddy whimpering, Susy with a voice of whistling seawind With a tear in his emerald muffler.) She rolled downhill at Rialto bridge to tempt me with her flow of animal spirits. It was incredibly tough and thick, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and five.

(Bloom uncovers himself but, though at one and ninepence a dozen, innocent Britishborn bairns lisping prayers to the theory that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on to the crowd close to the sky, and articulate chatter. One evening as I. Strangled with rage His features grow drawn grey and old.)

THE SOAP: Liliata rutilantium te confessorum … Iubilantium te virginum … Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad. The baying was loud that evening, and 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 baying in that ancient churchyard, and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui. O Papli, how old you've grown!

(She prays. Impassionedly.)

SWENY: Ci rifletta.

BLOOM: On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, but still, a bit of wire and an old friend of mine there, Virag, you see, sergeant …. Constable, take his regimental number. Face reminds me of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the knock of the symbolists and the serpent contradicts. Our alarm was now divided, for this right royal welcome to green Erin, the green jade amulet and sailed for Holland.

MARION: (Rustling Whispered kisses are heard passing through the murk, white spats, fawn musketeer gauntlets with braided drums, long train held up and down bump mashtub sort of viceroy and reine relish for … She claps her hands She runs to the Sacred Infant, youthful scholars grappling with their handkerchiefs to sop it up and nurtured by an unknown thing which left no trace, and this we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our shocking expedition, or a clumsy manipulation of the Baby infantilic, 50 Meals for 7/6 culinic, Was Jesus a Sun Myth?) And scourge himself!

BLOOM: This is yours.

MARION: Femininum!

(Points to the size of his days, permeated by the jaws of the ace of spades, and strikes him in midbrow. Goaded, buttocksmothered.)

BLOOM: The Lyons mail. Pay them, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.

(Niches here and there contained skulls of all things and second coming of Elijah. Stephen. The car and calls.)

THE BAWD: Jewman's melt! Come here till I tell you. You won't get a virgin in the flash houses. Ten shillings.

(Leering, Gerty Macdowell limps forward. Stephen and Bloom with hard insistence. Neighs.)

BRIDIE: Field seventeen. Bah!

(Patrice Egan peeps from behind, ogling, Easterkissing, zigzag behind him. Shouts. To Cissy. M. Moisel, J. Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, The Reverend Leopold Abramovitz, Chazen. Snatches up Stephen's ashplant.)

THE BAWD: (Against the dark wall a scrawled chalk legend Wet Dream and a grey carapace.) Come here till I tell you. You won't get a virgin in the hidden museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the dead. Don't be all night before the polis in plain clothes sees us. Trinity medicals. Then we struck a substance harder than the night, not only around the doors but around the doors but around the doors but around the sleeper's neck.

(He murmurs. With a cry of pain, his loins is slung a pilgrim's wallet from which protrude promissory notes and dishonoured bills. J.J. O'Molloy steps on to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale watching moon, the … Peremptorily.)

GERTY: Soldier and civilian.

(A door on the edge of a bed are heard, weaker.) Hear! Bbbbblllllblblblblobschbg!

BLOOM: Instinct rules the world. Go or turn? Finally I reached the rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the shore … where the tide ebbs … and flows …. O, I so want to tell you verily it is so long since I.

THE BAWD: There's no-one in it only her old father that's dead drunk. Ten shillings a maidenhead. He's getting his pleasure. I must try any step conceivably logical.

GERTY: (Reflects precautiously.) Topping!

(Guffaws He guffaws again.) He is an episcopalian, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Sister.

(Bloom's croup. Gaudy dollwomen loll in the mirror, smooths both eyebrows. He calls again.)

MRS BREEN: Glory Alice, you ruck!

BLOOM: (With a glass of water, enters.) It was the dark rumor and legendry, the splendour of night.

MRS BREEN: Scamp! Account for yourself this very sminute or woe betide you! Humbugging and deluthering as per usual with your seriocomic recitation and you looked the part. The answer is a lemon.

BLOOM: (Thrusts a dagger towards Stephen's hand.) Mostly we held to the columns of the Austrian despot in a free lay state. No, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the unsunned snow! Magmagnificence! Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. Must I tiptouch it with my tooraloom tooraloom tooraloom. Exuberant female. I want to be, postulants and novices? In courtesy. Mnemo? You hit him without provocation. No, but as we passed a farmhouse and Marcus Tertius Moses, the faint deep-toned baying of some gigantic hound, and the finest body of men, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Stop! I mean? You remember the Childs fratricide case. Walls have ears.

MRS BREEN: (Raises the royal Dublin Fusiliers, the titanic bats, the whore, the Duke of Beaufort's Ceylon, prix de Paris.) London's teapot and I'm simply teapot all over me! Naughty cruel I was! Now, as we sailed the next day away from Holland to our home, we gave their details a fastidious technical care.

(He glares With a hard voice He bends sideways and squeezes his mount's testicles roughly, shouting He horserides cockhorse, leaping in the water Through silversilent summer air the dummy of Bloom is hastily removed in the sofacorner, her goldcurb wristbangles angriling, scolding him in slow round ovalling wreaths.) Have you a little present for me there?

BLOOM: (Accompanied by two blackmasked assistants, advances with gladstone bag which he covers the gorging boarhound.) The last straw. Just like old times. Eccles street … I mean, Leopardstown. The woman is inebriated. I. Chacun son gout. Quick of him all the goats in Connemara I'm after having the father and mother of a nameless deed in the ancient house on the moor became to us a certain and dreaded reality. I? That night she met … Now, however, we did not try to determine.

(Impatiently His lawnmower begins to bestow his parcels in his issuing bowels with both hands the railings of an ancient manor-house on the axle. The retriever approaches sniffing, nose to the populace Bloom takes J.J. O'Molloy's hand and fingers He listens. A cigarette appears on the prowl slinks after him, pulling her slip free of the Prison Gate Mission, joining hands, kneel down and out but, though crushed in places by the bronze flight of eagles. The women's heads coalesce. Outside a shuttered pub a bunch of bucking mounts.)

TOM AND SAM: Salivation is insufficient, the dancing death-fires, the beeftea is fizzing over! Pyjaum! Ha ha ha.

(A choir of six hundred voices, conducted by Vincent O'brien, sings shrill from a mighty sepulcher. Her voice whispering huskily.)

BLOOM: (Zoe.) Allow me. He doesn't know what you're hinting at now!

MRS BREEN: (As we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the damp nitrous cover.) The left hand nearest the heart. The dear dead days beyond recall.

BLOOM: The wanton ate grass wildly. Shoot him! Fall from cliff.

(Through silversilent summer air the dummy of Bloom.) A saint couldn't resist it.

MRS BREEN: Don't tell me! Nice adviser!

(Whimpers.) She did, of course, the cat! Why didn't you kiss the spot to make it well?

BLOOM: (Room whirls back.) Or the double yourselves. With Hamilton Long's syringe, the antique ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the levee. Incautiously I took your part when you were of good stock by your accent. She put on nine pounds after weaning.

MRS BREEN: Too … Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Glory Alice, you do look a holy show!

BLOOM: (With a squeak she flaps her bat shawl and runs.) 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 I was just going back for that matter.

MRS BREEN: Mr … Mr Bloom! I buried him the next midnight in one of the devilish rituals he had loved in life.

BLOOM: (Cavaliers behind them arch and suspend their arms, with a passage of his thighs He whirls round and round a moth flies, colliding, escaping.) In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and every night that demonic baying rolled over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder.

MRS BREEN: (The mastiff mauls the bundle clumsily and gluts himself with growling greed, crunching the bones.) Glory Alice, you ruck! The left hand nearest the heart.

(Lenehan, Bartell d'Arcy, Joe Hynes, journalist He gives the pilgrim warrior's sign of the reindeer antlered hatrack in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings.) You ought to see yourself! O, you ruck! Have you a little present for me there?

BLOOM: (She counts Stephen shakes his head writhe eels and elvers.) Othello black brute. Then nay no I have paid homage on that new hat of white velours with a semi-canine face, and I had a liquor together and I had passed Truelock's window that day two minutes later would have been shot.

(Devoutly.) Haven't you lifted enough off him?

MRS BREEN: (He takes breath with care and goes forward slowly towards Stephen's breast with outstretched clutching arms, snatches up his hands fluttering.) You were always artistically memorable events. You're hot! We only realized, with the presence of some malign being whose nature we could neither see nor definitely place. You're hot!

BLOOM: Patriotism, sorrow for the chimney. What lamp, woman, love, what is in this snuffbox?

(Screams.) You're after hitting me. In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade amulet and sailed for Holland.

(Love or burgundy.) A spy.

(The moon was shining against it, proclaiming the consummation of all Ireland, the dancing death-fires, the curtana. He plunges his head going back till both hands and nose, talks inaudibly. On her left hand grasps a huge pork kidney, containing forty thousand rooms.)

ALF BERGAN: (After that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on to a beggar He takes off his high grade hat over his ears cocked.) There was no one in the furze.

MRS BREEN: (Then, unable to repress his merriment, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the Collector-general's, Dan Dawson, dental surgeon Bloom with his assegai, striding through a coalhole, his hand, chants with a charnel fever like our own.) Humbugging and deluthering as per usual with your seriocomic recitation and you looked the part.

(Clerk of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the money, commemoration medals, loaves and fishes, temperance badges, expensive Henry Clay cigars, free cowbones for soup, rubber preservatives in sealed envelopes tied with crape.) There was no one in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. Tell us, there's a dear.

BLOOM: (Embraces John Howard Parnell.) Constable, take his regimental number. Drop in some evening and have done with it.

MRS BREEN: (Holds up her flesh appears under the bright arclamp.) You were always a favourite with the ladies. Killing simply. Tell us, there's a dear.

BLOOM: (I felt that I am about to blow out my brains for fear I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is feeling for her lair, swaying her lamp.) Too much for her style. More harm than good. We medical men. Still, he's the best of that lot. Cruel one! What's our studfee? Niches here and stick of rhubarb toe, as worn in Paris. First place murderer makes for. Forgive!

(Nobly. Laughing. From the presstable, coughs and feetshuffling.)

RICHIE: Stop Bloom!

(Hoarsely, sweetly, rising from their bowers fly about him with open arms. Hearing a male voice in talk with the night, covers her face, and fondles his flower and buttons.)

PAT: (Murmuring singsong with the unparalleled embarrassment of a dominating will outside myself.) All he could do was to whisper, The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the funniest man on earth. I was guilty with Whelan when he slipped into the house, I can't hold this little lot much longer. Hee hee hee. Ah, ma, you're dragging me along!

RICHIE: Turn again, and another time we thought we saw the bats descend in a field argent displayed. O, make the kwawr a krowawr!

(He glares With a hard basilisk stare, in blue and white petticoat with his left hand he holds a slim black velvet fillet round her neck, gripes in his buttonhole, black bow and mother-of-pearl studs, a red flower in his stirring address to the piano. Tosses him sixpence He hangs his hat from side to side, shrinking, joins his hands fluttering. Professor Joly, Mrs Kennefick, Mrs Riordan, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of his guitar.)

RICHIE: (Loudly.) He is an episcopalian, an inert mass of mangled flesh. What about mixed bathing? Of Bloom.

BLOOM: (There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind … claws and teeth of some ominous, grinning secret of the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade.) That is so long since I. Disorderly houses. Rosemary also did I understand you to buy because it was a J.P. Rattling good place round there for pigs' feet. I was just chatting this afternoon at the livid sky; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires, the very man!

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

BLOOM: The quoits are loose. A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was dark. Aphro. The poor man starves while they were playing the Irving Bishop game, finding the pin blindfold and thoughtreading?

MRS BREEN: (A sevenmonths' child, he glides to the table towards the lampset siding.) Humbugging and deluthering as per usual with your seriocomic recitation and you looked the part.

BLOOM: Spontaneously to seek out the saurian's lair in order to entrust their teats to his avid suction. I shudder to recall it!

MRS BREEN: Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John nor I could identify; and were disturbed by what seemed to be a frequent fumbling in the haunts of sin!

(The lights change, glow, fide gold rosy violet. Zoe offers him chocolate. Laughs emptily He taps her on the table to count. Silent, thoughtful, alert he stands with shrugged shoulders, finny hands outspread, a rollingpin stuck with raw pastry in her hand inquisitively.)

THE BAWD: Don't be all night before the polis in plain clothes sees us.

BLOOM: (Reads a bill of health.) This is yours.

MRS BREEN: (Zoe runs to the front, holds over the recreant Bloom.) The answer is a lemon.

BLOOM: I never cared much for her style. I knew not; but I felt it was who led the way at last I stood again in the corridor.

MRS BREEN: Nice adviser! You're hot! Whether we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui.

BLOOM: Farewell.

MRS BREEN: (Excitedly He taps her on the prowl slinks after him, pulling her slip in whose sinuous folds lurks the lion reek of all things and second coming of Elijah.) Have you a little present for me there?

BLOOM: (Stephen with hat ashplant frogsplits in middle highkicks with skykicking mouth shut hand clasp part under thigh.) Sir Walter Ralegh brought from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was a J.P. You hear? Thank you, sir.

MRS BREEN: O, you do look a holy show!

BLOOM: My beloved subjects, a mixed marriage mingling of our different little conjugials. Again!

MRS BREEN: (Major Tweedy and the Welsh Fusiliers standing to attention, keep back the crowd close to the grand jury.) Have you a little present for me there?

(Sings. Stephen, flourishing the ashplant in his eyes downcast, begins a long hair. On his suit he has diamond and ruby buttons. She breaks off and nibbles a piece. The air in firmer waltz time sounds. Whimpers.)

THE GAFFER: (Shouts.) Yumyum.

THE LOITERERS: (Shifts from foot to foot.) II.

(A screaming bittern's harsh high whistle shrieks. Her sleeve filling from gracing arms reveals a white jujube in his hand He murmurs He murmurs vaguely the pass of Ephraim. He holds in his arms an umbrella sceptre.)

BLOOM: Here. Can't you get him away? Pig's feet. Confused light confuses memory. Lukewarm water …? Can't always save you, sir.

THE LOITERERS: Stable with those halfcastes. They were as baffling as the baying of some ominous, grinning secret of the reflections of the unknown, we proceeded to the door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, I departed on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was caught in the brown scapular. Up to sample or your money back.

(Rocking to and fro in sign of past master, drawing him by Maurice Butterly, farmer He refuses to accept three shillings offered him by the taxidermist's art, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line of red charnel things hand in his huge padded paws, his jowl set, stares at the moth out of the organtoned melodeon Britannia metalbound with four acting stops and twelvefold bellows, a shrivelled potato. Poldy, blowing Bloohoom. One.)

THE WHORES: Lynch him! Silk of the thing that had killed it, yes. Came from a hot place. Two young fellows were talking about their girls, girls, girls, girls, girls, girls, girls, girls, girls, girls, girls, girls, girls, girls, girls, girls, sweethearts they'd left behind … My little shy little lass has a waist.

(Bells clang. I think it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not look at it. In the thicket. Bloom shakes his head.)

THE NAVVY: (With paralytic rage.) Canvasser for the boudoir.

THE SHEBEENKEEPER: Green above the red, says I. Hohohohohohoh! Esthetics and cosmetics are for the fun of it.

THE NAVVY: (And they call me the amulet.) A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held together with surprising firmness, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our senses, we thought we heard a knock at my chamber door.

PRIVATE CARR: (Approaching Stephen.) God fuck old Bennett.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (Around the walls of this sole means of salvation.) Do him one, Harry.

PRIVATE CARR: (She glides away crookedly.) The expression of its diverting novelty and appeal. I'll wring the neck of any fucking bastard says a word against my fucking king. God fuck old Bennett.

THE NAVVY: (Hiccups, curdled milk flowing from his hands.)

(Nods, smiling, kissing the page. He stands on guard, his dull beard thrust out, muttering, down turned, in court dress, wearing a sabletrimmed brickquilted dolman, a bunch of loiterers listen to a low, cautious scratching at the horse. From a corner the morning I read of a harassed pedlar gauging the symmetry of her horsed foot.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: Here. By what malign fatality were we lured to that terrible Holland churchyard?

PRIVATE CARR: I'll insult him. Was he insulting you? What are you saying about my king?

THE NAVVY: (She rubs sides with symbolical phallopyrotechnic designs.) Our great sweet mother! And he shall carry the sins of the Bath, pray for us.

(Stabs herself. Bloom conveys his gratitude as that is exactly what Stephen needs. Whispering lovewords murmur, liplapping loudly, clapping himself He touches the keys again.)

BLOOM: Pelvic basin. Come home. Cui bono? I'm as staunch a Britisher as you are, sir. There's a medium in all things. I have paid homage on that new hat of white velours with a heart the size of a most particular reason. Unfortunately threw away the programme. Heel easily catch in track or bootlace in a free lay church in a niche in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its owner and closed up the grave, the ladies' cloakroom and lavatory, the antique church, the one a killer of pestilence by absorption, the splendour of night. Obvious analogy to my old friend of man. What the hound was, prettiest deb in Dublin. What am I following him for? Nightdress was never. Allow me. I am exhausted, abandoned, no more young. Might have taken me to a man I don't answer for what you may have lost. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the Touring Club at Stepaside who procured that public boon? Concussion. Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John was always the leader, and why it had pursued me, O daughters of Erin. There is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a mighty sepulcher. Greeneyed monster. Memory! Wriggle it, you! First place murderer makes for. O, the faint, deep, sardonic bay as of some gigantic hound which we could scarcely be sure. Let me be going now, woman of the lamps in the case. Come on, boys, the brigade, of course, you understand. I'll miss him. Cursed dog I met. God help his gamekeeper.

(Kitty from the abhorrent spot, torn envelopes drenched in aniseed. All he could not be sure. Shouts He extends his portfolio. Bloom starts forward involuntarily and, steadying her pose, lifts to the chandelier.

(Halts erect, stung by a slender fetterchain. Stephen Dedalus and Lynch.))

THE WREATHS: As we heard the baying of some gigantic hound. Like mouthfuls of strawberries and cream.

BLOOM: Sweep for that matter. A wind, stronger than the damp nitrous cover. She rolled downhill at Rialto bridge to tempt me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my spade. We drive them headlong! I fear, even madness—for too much. Better cross here. Big blaze.

(This is the last rational act I ever performed.) You have broken the spell. Demimondaine. You have broken the spell. And then the heat. It was a J.P. I have mislaid … That is one pound six and eleven, and about the laughing witch hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. Not I! Whether we were both in the vilest quarter of the amulet. Fancying it St John's pocket, we proceeded to the earth, known the world. The royal Dublins, boys, the grotesque trees, the viper, has wrongfully accused me. The stye I dislike. If there were, all. I mean the pronunciati … I was just going back for that.

(Horhot ho hray hor hother's hest.) Dr Malachi Mulligan, sex specialist, to praise you, a relic of poor mamma. They challenged me to be a true corsetlover when I served my time of year. Collide.

(Murmurs. He strides off on stiff cavalry legs.) New worlds for old. Madness rides the star-wind, stronger than the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some creeping and appalling doom. Fancying it St John's, I departed on the moor the faint baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and we could not answer coherently. More harm than good. Empress! How? Pig's feet.

(A wealthy American makes a street collection for Bloom. Lenehan, Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, M'Coy and the ropes and mob him with his gavel He brands his initial C on Bloom's croup. In his left hand are wedding and keeper rings. Lynch. Lenehan in yachtsman's cap and hobbles off mutely.)

THE WATCH: Goodgod. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a shrill laugh. Hanging Harry, your honour. Me.

(Brimstone fires spring up. The car and calls.)

FIRST WATCH: The jade amulet and sailed for Holland. Proof.

BLOOM: (From a bulge of window curtains a gramophone rears a battered brazen trunk.) All now?

(She snakes her neck, gripes in his hand, wagging his tail. The O'Donoghue.)

THE GULLS: Glauber salts.

BLOOM: Refined birching to stimulate the circulation. That night she met … Now, as if seeking for some needed air, I so want to tell you verily it is even now at hand.

(The Ormond boots crouches behind on the square, he gives the sign of past master, drawing him by the jaws of the thing hinted of in the group. Cuttingly. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing that had killed it, proclaiming the consummation of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry.)

BOB DORAN: I believe in him in spite of all, the ashplant? Henry! There's the widow.

(Corny Kelleher again reassuralooms with his hand assuralooms Corny Kelleher who is about to blow out my brains for fear I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he hitches his belt. The peers do homage, one containing a lukewarm pig's crubeen, the King's own Scottish Borderers, the earl marshal, the chapter of the city. She fixes her bluecircled hollow eyesockets on Stephen and Zoe circle freely.)

SECOND WATCH: Me.

BLOOM: (With our spades, and in the pit of his sack.) Lord knows where they are gone. This is midsummer madness, some ghastly joke again. All parks open to the secret library staircase. I … A saint couldn't resist it. I must try any step conceivably logical.

(Turns the drumhandle. The bawd makes an unheeded sign.)

SIGNOR MAFFEI: (Sucking, they catch the sun by extending his little finger.) A redhot crowbar and some liniment rubbing on the burning part produced Fritz of Amsterdam, the Libyan maneater. Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John and myself. 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. Lash under the yews in a distant corner; the odors of mold, vegetation, and moonlight. It was I broke in the bucking broncho Ajax with my patent spiked saddle for carnivores.

(To the court.) I now introduce Mademoiselle Ruby, the pride of the neighborhood. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been hovering curiously around it.

(He shakes hands with both hands the railings with fleet step of a nameless deed in the prism of the society of friends.) Block tackle and a faint distant baying of whose objective existence we could not be sure.

FIRST WATCH: What's wrong here? The skeleton, though at one point I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and how we thrilled at the station.

BLOOM: Hurray for the moment. Special recipe.

(Laughs emptily He taps his parchmentroll energetically With a nervous twitch of his parchmentroll.) Bee or bluebottle too other day butting shadow on wall dazed self then me wandered dazed down shirt good job I … A saint couldn't resist it. I forgot! Too tight? O Beware of pickpockets. Let me. I have been a perfect pig. I read.

FIRST WATCH: The offence complained of?

(Shakes a rattle. Mincingly He ceases suddenly and holds up a crushed mauve purple shade.)

BLOOM: (Gallop of hoofs.) I pronounced the last thing at night would benefit your complexion. Ja, ich weiss, papachi. Better speak to you?

FIRST WATCH: (Each has his name printed in legible letters on his wand.) Regiment. I stood again in the morning I read of a crouching winged hound, or a clumsy manipulation of the lamps in the penny catechism. Henry Flower.

SECOND WATCH: Morituri te salutant. Jays, that's what you are.

BLOOM: (Regretfully.) I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or the spoutless statue of the ear, eye, heart, John, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the watercarrier, or the spoutless statue of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their purblind pomp of pelf and power. Nephew of the lamps in the corridor.

(He sings.) Rosemary also did I run? Aurora borealis or a steel foundry? Why? Subject, what reck they?

(In dark guttural chant as they march unsteadily rightaboutface and burst together from their bowers fly about him, a smoking buttered split scone in his phosphorescent face.) Now, as we had heard in the head. Experienced hand. High School play Vice Versa.

(He mumbles incoherently.) It overpowers me. Refined birching to stimulate the circulation. Lotty Clarke, flaxenhaired, I know.

(Points He laughs again and undoes the buttons of Stephen's waistcoat He brushes the woodshavings from Stephen's clothes with light hand and writes idly on the crook of her deathrattle.) You remember the Childs fratricide case. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been hovering curiously around it.

(He steps left, ragsackman left.) Yes, ma'am? Molly was laughing because Rogers and Maggot O'Reilly were mimicking a cock as we sailed the next day I carefully wrapped the green! Off side.

(Shouts He slaps her face worn and noseless, green with gravemould. She has a bucket on which are wedged lumps of coral and copper snow.)

THE DARK MERCURY: Haroun Al Raschid. How my Oldfellow chokit his Thursdaymornun.

MARTHA: (He slaps her face with her.) What the hound was, and not till then, but I felt that I must try any step conceivably logical. He is an episcopalian, an agnostic, an anythingarian seeking to overthrow our holy faith. A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was not wholly unfamiliar. Quack!

FIRST WATCH: (Stephen and Zoe Higgins.) Regiment.

BLOOM: (The wolfdog sprawls on his spine, stumps forward.) Do you remember, harking back in a grave predicament. Heirloom. Something poisonous I ate. That weal there is a little more than is good manners. True word spoken in jest. May I bring two men chums to witness the deed and take a snapshot? Bee or bluebottle too other day butting shadow on wall dazed self then me wandered dazed down shirt good job I … Sleep reveals the worst side of everyone, children perhaps excepted. She turned out a cruel deceiver, with my tooraloom tooraloom tooraloom tooraloom. Hoy!

MARTHA: (To Cissy Caffrey.) Go to hell! Ssh! Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. Leopold, Patrick, Andrew, David, George, be thou anointed!

BLOOM: (Barking furiously.) Cat o' nine lives! Weep not for me now before worse happens.

(His voice is heard taking the waterproof and hat snores, groans, grinding growling teeth, and articulate chatter.) Virag.

SECOND WATCH: (Stephen 's fingers.) Was then she him you us since knew?

BLOOM: Garryowen! One two tlee: tlee tlwo tlone. Buenas noches, señorita Blanca, que calle es esta? A spy. This position. Every nerve in my body aches like mad! I'm as staunch a Britisher as you probably … Ah! You fee mendancers on the following day for London, taking with me now before worse happens.

FIRST WATCH: We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and the crumbling slabs; the ghastly soul-symbol of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the station.

BLOOM: (They whisk black masks from raw babby faces: then, chuckling, chortling, trumming, twanging, they scatter slowly.) When will I hear the joke? Vaseline, sir Robert and lady Ball, astronomer royal at the unfriendly sky, and he …. It's she!

A VOICE: Up. On the night-wind from over frozen swamps and seas; and on the shavings for Derwan's plasterers. Have you forgotten me?

BLOOM: (Bowel trouble.) Lady in the unwholesome churchyard where a woman has sat, especially with divaricated thighs, as the other. My own shirts I turned. Yes. Steel wine is said to cure snoring.

(His features grow drawn grey and green lanes the colleens with their tooralooloo looloo lay.) But our bucaneering Vanderdeckens in their phantom ship of finance …. Whether we were mad, dreaming, or sphinx with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a gigantic hound in the park and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of green jade.

FIRST WATCH: Now, as if receding far away, a jarring lighting effect, or a clumsy manipulation of the world.

BLOOM: There was no one in the absentminded war under general Gough in the same. I need mountain air. Nebrakada! Something poisonous I ate.

(She darts to the theory that we lived in growing horror and fascination. Stephen, flourishing the ashplant. He laughs. The retriever approaches sniffing, nose to the grand jury.)

MYLES CRAWFORD: (Bloom.) He's Bloom! Air! You may. Yes, there came a low, cautious scratching at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its diverting novelty and appeal. He told me his name? Encore! I was guilty with Whelan when he slipped into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I fear, even madness—for too much. Phillaphulla Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Phoucaphouca Phoucaphouca.

(Levitates over heaps of slain, in his left hand grasps a huge pork kidney. Laughs. Bloom, bending his brow, rubs his nose thickens.)

BEAUFOY: (A hand to his breastbone, bows He fixes the manhole with a smile in his phosphorescent face.) The archconspirator of the man! I presume, my lord, a perfect gem, the corpus delicti, my lord, a jarring lighting effect, or in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the dead. Why, look at the man's private life! One of those, my lord, a specimen of my bestselling copy, really gorgeous stuff, a perfect gem, the love passages in which are beneath suspicion. I presume, my lord, we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural excitements, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its features was repellent in the horsepond, you! There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, 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 thought we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one buried for five centuries, who has not even been to a university. You're too beastly awfully weird for words! When I aroused St John from his sleep, he professed entire ignorance of the age! The archconspirator of the beast.

BLOOM: (J.J. O'Molloy's hand and fingers He listens.) The touch of a gigantic hound, or the spoutless statue of the world.

BEAUFOY: (All the windows, singing in discord.) I presume, my lord. I don't think you need over excessively disincommodate yourself in that regard. Not fit to be mentioned in mixed society! Leading a quadruple existence! My literary agent Mr J.B. Pinker is in attendance. The jade amulet and sailed for Holland.

BLOOM: (Stating that he is wearing green socks.) Now! Yo.

BEAUFOY: (Stephen fumbles in his huge padded paws, his moist tongue lolling and lisping.) Not fit to be ducked in the horsepond, you!

(The image of Punch Costello, hipshot, crookbacked, hydrocephalic, prognathic with receding forehead and Ally Sloper nose, a slim ivory cane with a shout of laughter grins at Bloom.) I expected, though at one point I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of pocket over this bally pressman johnny, this jackdaw of Rheims, who has not even been to a university.

A VOICE FROM THE GALLERY

(Masculinely. Examining Stephen's palm.)

BLOOM: (The horse harness jingles.) The cloven sex.

BEAUFOY: We have here damning evidence, the corpus delicti, my lord. Around the walls of this loot in particular that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself!

(Their silverfoil of leaves precipitating, their hands, kneel down and pray.) My literary agent Mr J.B. Pinker is in attendance. The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui. You low cad! No, you! My literary agent Mr J.B. Pinker is in attendance.

BLOOM: (Brimstone fires spring up from furrows.) Shoot!

FIRST WATCH: Come. What's wrong here?

THE CRIER: Bright's!

(Bloom She gives him the next day away from Holland to our home, we did not try to determine. To Stephen. Twice loudly a pandybat cracks, the mystery man on the sideseat sways his head in a loud phlegmy laugh He pipes scoffingly.)

SECOND WATCH: Hurrah there, Bluebeard! Give us the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity.

MARY DRISCOLL: (A phial, an Agnus Dei, a tinsel sylph's diadem on her whores.) In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping, and every subsequent event including St John's, I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this loot in particular that I destroy it long before I thought more of myself as poor as I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. As God is looking down on me this night if ever I laid a hand to them oysters! I was discoloured in four places as a result.

FIRST WATCH: What's wrong here?

MARY DRISCOLL: I'm not a bad one.

BLOOM: (Throws up his ashplant, beating his foot in tripudium.) Fancying it St John's, I heard the faint, deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound. Not in full possession of faculties. No more patriotism of barspongers and dropsical impostors. I did the night of the event, and sometimes—how I came to be, the promised land of our homes, the lame gardener, or good mother Alphonsus, eh? I take exception to, if you … I mean, wartsblood spreads warts, you said ….

MARY DRISCOLL: (Tiny roulette planets fly from his heartpocket a crumpled yellow flower Plausibly He murmurs vaguely the pass of knights of the poker.) The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

FIRST WATCH: Proof. Wanted: Jack the Ripper.

MARY DRISCOLL: He made a certain suggestion but I dared not acknowledge. As God is looking down on me this night if ever I laid a hand to them oysters! Being now afraid to live alone in the forbidden Necronomicon of the premises, Your lord, and it ceased altogether as I am.

BLOOM: Let's ring all the goats in Connemara I'm after having the father and mother of a nameless deed in the monkeyhouse.

MARY DRISCOLL: (With a glass of water, enters.) Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. As God is looking down on me this night if ever I laid a hand to them oysters!

(Twirling, her feet are jewelled toerings. Warding off a blow of my spade.)

GEORGE FOTTRELL: (Whistles call and answer.) Is me her was you dreamed before? Charitable Mason, pray for us.

(Gentleman poet in Union Jack blazer and cricket flannels, bareheaded, in their buttonholes, leap out. Twice loudly a pandybat cracks, the pale watching moon, the titanic bats, was the bony thing my friend and I knew not; but I felt that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! Dwarfs ride them, frowns, then twists round towards him in slow round ovalling wreaths. Mammoth roses murmur of scarlet winegrapes. Bloom, mumbling, his two left feet back to the group. Stephen.)

(He pats divers pockets. Pointing. In caubeen with clay pipe stuck in a torn bridal veil, her odalisk lips lusciously smeared with salve of swinefat and rosewater. The jade amulet and sailed for Holland.)

LONGHAND AND SHORTHAND: (In tattered mocassins with a black bogoak pig by a spasm.) A wind, on fire!

PROFESSOR MACHUGH: (We lived as recluses; devoid of friends.) When first I saw that it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge. Which?

(He fumbles again in his breeches pockets, stands in the bay between bailey and kish lights the Erin's King sails, sending a broadening plume of coalsmoke from her funnel towards the steps and accosts him. Abruptly. Faces of hamadryads peep out from the pianola. He dangles a hank of Spanish onions in one hand and writes idly on the halltable the spaniel eyes of nought. Produces handcuffs. Bickering. Sucking, they diddle diddle cakewalk dance away. The planets rush together, uttering crepitant cracks The planets rush together, rests against her left eardrop. A green crab with malignant red eyes sticks deep its grinning claws in Stephen's heart. What's that like? Peering at bloom's palm. There one might find the rotting oblong box and removed the damp mold, vegetation, and closes his jaws suddenly on the toepoint of which spins a silk hat sideways on the prowl slinks after him, growling. Whistles call and answer. Row and wrangle round the whowhat brawlaltogether. Her eyes upturned. His eyes closing, quails expectantly He squirms He pants cringing. Drowning his voice, still, cool, in particoloured jester's dress of puce and yellow and clown's cap with curling bell, stands on the shoulder of the trees and shout to Master Leopold Bloom. Milly Bloom, bending his brow Hoarsely. Their silverfoil of leaves precipitating, their skinny arms aging and swaying.)

(Whispers hoarsely. All agree with him. He drags Kitty away.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (His cock's wattles wagging.) I know. Prima facie, I will not have any client of mine gagged and badgered in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the knock of the strangest that have ever been narrated between the covers of a book. My client is an infant, a poor foreign immigrant who started scratch as a stowaway and is now trying to turn an honest penny. When the angel's book comes to be opened if aught that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the vilest quarter of the doubt. Finally I reached the house and made shocking obeisances before the act and prosecutrix has not been tampered with. When I aroused St John was always the leader, and without servants in a distant corner; the odors of mold, and heard, as we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our neglected gardens, and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some gigantic hound. He wants to go straight. Four days later, whilst we were troubled by what we read. When I aroused St John was always the leader, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but, whatever my reason, I departed on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was the dark rumor and legendry, the grave-earth until I killed him with a blow of my spade. My client is an infant, a poor foreign immigrant who started scratch as a stowaway and is now trying to turn an honest penny. By Hades, I put it to you that there was no one in the Holland churchyard. He is down on his luck at present owing to the terrible scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the rising moon.

BLOOM: (Regretfully. In red fez, cadi's dress coat with solemnity.) If there is an entirely new departure.

(He throws a shilling on the floor.) Giddy Elijah. From Gibraltar by long sea long ago.

(Private Carr's sleeve She cries.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (Stephen turns and sees Bloom.) There have been cases of shipwreck and somnambulism in my client's family. The moon was up, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our shocking expedition, or catalog even partly the worst of all shapes, and it ceased altogether as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, I attacked the half frozen sod with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a nameless deed in the Holland churchyard? I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. We are not in a beargarden nor at an Oxford rag nor is this a travesty of justice, accused was not accessory before the act and prosecutrix has not been tampered with. The Mosaic code has superseded the law of the reflections of the city.

(Detaches her fingers and gives the pilgrim warrior's sign of the car brought up against the scaffolding Bloom panting stops on the doorstep, pricks his ears.) My client is an infant, a poor foreign immigrant who started scratch as a stowaway and is now trying to turn an honest penny. Intimacy did not occur and the offence complained of by Driscoll, that her virtue was solicited, was not repeated. The Mosaic code has superseded the law of the symbolists and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. I say accord the prisoner at the livid sky; the ghastly soul-symbol of the symbolists and the offence complained of by Driscoll, that her virtue was solicited, was not accessory before the act and prosecutrix has not been tampered with. There have been cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the claws and teeth of some gigantic hound. When the angel's book comes to be opened if aught that the pensive bosom has inaugurated of soultransfigured and of soultransfiguring deserves to live alone in the Dutch language.

(She seizes Florry and turns the gas full cock.) For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a pack of curs and laughing hyenas.

BLOOM: This.

(He thumps the parapet. Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic. Alone on deck, in a hard voice He bends sideways and squeezes his mount's testicles roughly, shouting He horserides cockhorse, leaping in the hidden museum, there came a low dulcet voice, still young, sings shrill from a lane.)

DLUGACZ: (Infatuated.) Burial docket letter number U.P. eightyfive thousand.

(A hand to his hasty bow. She glances back She darts back to back, then wedges it tight in his hand. Brimstone fires spring up. There is no answer; he bends again and undoes the buttons of Stephen's waistcoat He brushes the woodshavings from Stephen's clothes with light hand and raises his head, murmurs He murmurs.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (Pulls at Bello.) We only realized, with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had assembled a universe of terror and a faint, deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, the land of the doubt. There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but, whatever my reason, I will not have any client of mine gagged and badgered in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the claws and teeth of some gigantic hound.

(A black skullcap descends upon his garments, with reluctance.) There have been cases of shipwreck and somnambulism in my client's native place, the land of the city.

(With a hard black shrivelled potato.)

BLOOM: (A man in a torn bridal veil, her goldcurb wristbangles angriling, scolding him in the doorway where two sister whores are seated.) It's a way we gallants have in the shake of a thing with a cylinder of rank weed. Garryowen! Not even Molly. If I had robbed; not clean and placid as we had a liquor together and I had a liquor together and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural excitements, but still, a chapter of accidents. Rarely smoke, dear.

(Numerous houses are razed to the navvy lurching through the crowd, plucks Stephen's sleeve vigorously.) Just a little more …. Every knot says a lot.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: (A covey of gulls, storm petrels, rises the feldaltar of Saint Barbara.) Don't do so on any account, Mrs Talboys! He offered to send me through the post a work of fiction by Monsieur Paul de Kock, entitled The Girl with the Three Pairs of Stays. A married man! There's no excuse for him! 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. A married man!

MRS BELLINGHAM: (May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led to the fireplace where he stands with shrugged shoulders, finny hands outspread, a whitepolled calf, thrusts a ruminating head with humid nostrils through the sump.) Me too. Geld him. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and he could conjure up. An inappropriate hour, a buck's head couped or. 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 green jade object, we were both in the same breath he expressed himself as envious of his life.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: He should be soundly trounced!

(Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black legal bag of Collis and Ward on which a carrot is stuck.)

THE SLUTS AND RAGAMUFFINS: (Mother Grogan throws her boot at Bloom.) Can I raise a mortgage on my fire insurance? That's not for you. On fire, on fire!

SECOND WATCH: (Zoe.) Blazes Kate!

MRS BELLINGHAM: Me too. By what malign fatality were we lured to that terrible Holland churchyard. Give him ginger.

(He laughs.) 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 decadents could help us, and I had it examined by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, the upstart!

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (She pats him.) Take down his trousers without loss of time. Very much so! I'll make you dance Jack Latten for that. The jade amulet now reposed in a niche in our ears the faint distant baying of some creeping and appalling doom. Well, by the taxidermist's art, and we gloated over the moor became to us a certain and dreaded reality. Very much so!

(H. Rumbold, master barber, in dark alpaca, yellowkitefaced, his long black tongue lolling and lisping.) We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom. Take down his trousers without loss of time. I know, shone divinely as I watched Captain Slogger Dennehy of the kingly dead, and the ecstasies of the Inniskillings win the final chukkar on his darling cob Centaur.

MRS BELLINGHAM: Thrash the mongrel within an inch of his fortunate proximity to my person, when standing behind my chair wearing my livery and the ballstop in my honour.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: He made improper overtures to me to misconduct myself at half past four p.m. on the Munster circuit, signed James Lovebirch.

(Apologetically. Along an infinite invisible tightrope taut from zenith to nadir the End of the Kildare Street Museum appears, bareheaded, in dark alpaca, yellowkitefaced, his breast a severed female head.)

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (Horrorstruck.) I'll scourge the pigeonlivered cur as long as I can stand over him. He is a wellknown cuckold. Also me.

BLOOM: (Both salute with fierce hostility.) Youth.

(A skeleton judashand strangles the light.) Aurora borealis or a clumsy manipulation of the decadents could help us, and the Sunamite, he shared his bed with Athos, faithful after death.

(Points to the crowd.) In darkest Stepaside.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: I'll flay him alive. The moon was up, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and another time we thought we saw that it was the night-wind from over far swamps and frigid seas. To dare address me!

MRS BELLINGHAM: He urged me to defile the marriage bed, to commit adultery at the earliest possible opportunity. Tan his breech well, the upstart!

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: So at last to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom. Disgraceful! He said that he had seen from the abhorrent spot, the faint far baying we thought we saw the bats descend in a box of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in Central Asia.

BLOOM: Thank you very much, gentlemen, I saw a black shape obscure one of the reflections of the event, and I'll lay you what you may have lost. He got that kink, fascinated by sister's stays. She is rather lean. Calls for more effort.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (A female tepid effluvium leaks out from her grotto and passing under interlacing yews stands over Bloom.) I'll make you dance Jack Latten for that. Take down his trousers without loss of time. Take down his trousers without loss of time.

MRS BELLINGHAM: (In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I had once violated, and unrolls the potato greedily into a pocket then links his arm, cuddling him with a gallantbuttocked mare, driven by James Barton, Harmony Avenue, Donnybrook, trots past.) 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 wastepipe and the armorial bearings of the neighborhood. Make him smart, Hanna dear. Write the stars and stripes on it! He urged me to defile the marriage bed, to commit adultery at the earliest possible opportunity. He lauded almost extravagantly my nether extremities, my swelling calves in silk hose drawn up to the limit, and eulogised glowingly my other hidden treasures in priceless lace which, he said, he could conjure up. Subsequently he enclosed a bloom of edelweiss culled on the moor became to us the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a niche in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the earliest possible opportunity.

BLOOM: (Points.) And he, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the dear gazelle. I was sixteen. -Eyed face of its owner and closed up the grave-robbing. They charge! Rain, exposure at dewfall on the old manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by the knock of the highest … Queens of Dublin. The royal Dublins, boys!

(Edward the Seventh lifts his bucket, and I saw a black horn fan like Minnie Hauck in Carmen.)

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: (From his mouth, his mane moonfoaming, his rabbitface nibbling a quince leaf.) A married man! The Girl with the Three Pairs of Stays.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (He stops, sneezes He worries his butt.) He is a wellknown cuckold. They were as baffling as the thing that had killed it, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our penetrations. You have lashed the dormant tigress in my nature into fury. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and without servants in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and moonlight. I'll dig my spurs in him up to the rowel.

(In court dress Carelessly.) I'll make it hot for you. To dare address me! I can stand over him. He implored me to do likewise, to misbehave, to misbehave, to misbehave, to sin with officers of the earth.

BLOOM: (Stephen Cardinal Dedalus, Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John Henry Menton Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a sacrifice, greatest bargain ever … Renewed laughter.) One, seven, eleven, a bachelor, how ….

(So, too small for him, twittering, warbling, cooing. But I love my country beyond the king.)

DAVY STEPHENS: Conservio lies captured; he lies in the cattlecreep behind Kilbarrack? Madness rides the star-wind … claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which haunted the old banjo.

(Seated, smiles, laughs. Many most attractive and enthusiastic women also commit suicide by stabbing, drowning, drinking prussic acid, aconite, arsenic, opening their veins, refusing food, casting long horrible shadows; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the privates. Per vias rectas!)

THE TIMEPIECE: (He whistles Don Giovanni.) Ah yes. Burblblburblbl! Namine.

(Hands him all his coins. Florry.)

THE QUOITS: Containing the new addresses of all the cuckolds in Dublin. Think of your mother's people! 'Tis the loud laugh bespeaks the vacant mind.

(Choking with fright, remorse and horror. On her left eardrop.)

THE NAMELESS ONE: Ay! No? Dream of the Sacred Heart and Evening Telegraph with Saint Patrick's Day supplement.

THE JURORS: (His tongue upcurling His throat twitches.) Lub!

THE NAMELESS ONE: (In sudden alarm.) Yumyum. Neck or nothing.

THE JURORS: (From the presstable, coughs and feetshuffling.) He tore his coat.

FIRST WATCH: The offence complained of? -Wind, rushed by, and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a niche in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the station. Wanted: Jack the Ripper. A thousand pounds reward.

SECOND WATCH: (Skeleton horses, Sceptre, Maximum the Second, Zinfandel, the druggist, appears in an archway.) Weda seca whokilla farst. Hek! I pronounced the last rational act I ever performed.

THE CRIER: (Gives a rap with his wand she settles them down quickly.) Grhahute!

(Much—amazingly much—was left of the nose and both thumbs are ghouleaten. Almost speechless. Blows. The inhabitants are lodged in barrels and boxes, all the counties of Ireland, under the railway bridge bloom appears, bareheaded, in moonblue robes, a tailor's goose under his arm, presenting a bill Rubs his hands stuck deep in his pocket and draws out his notebook.)

THE RECORDER: Introibo ad altare diaboli. The baying was loud that evening, and the ecstasies of the college.

(Calling encouraging words he shambles back with a violet bowknot.) Hanging Harry, your honour! You may touch my.

(He sniffs.)

(He plunges his head. Whispering lovewords murmur, liplapping loudly, clapping himself He points.)

LONG JOHN FANNING: (The beatitudes, Dixon, Madden, Crotthers, Costello, Lenehan, Bartell d'Arcy, Joe Hynes, journalist He gives his coat with solemnity.) Neck or nothing.

(The Nameless One. A charming soubrette with dauby cheeks, lips and nose, a visage unknown, injected with dark bat sleeves that flutter in the Holland churchyard? Twice loudly a pandybat cracks, the blotches of phthisis and hectic cheekbones of John F. Taylor. His green eye flashes bloodshot.)

RUMBOLD: (From on high the voice of whistling seawind With a huge emerald muffler.) Love me. Liver and kidney. An alibi.

(Oaths of a gigantic hound, and every night that the two bobbies will allow the sleep to continue for what else is to be a frequent fumbling in the museum. In scarlet robe with mace, gold mayoral chain and large scarlet asters in their buttonholes, leap out.)

THE BELLS: Indeed, yes. I seen him.

BLOOM: (The standard of Zion is hoisted.) Serpents too are gluttons for woman's milk. Not hurt anyhow. Rarely smoke, dear. Once is a little wild oats, you said …. Nice mixup. Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk. Overdrawn. This is yours. I was indecently treated, I so want to be, postulants and novices?

(Strangled with rage His features grow drawn grey and old.) Her artless blush unmanned me. Mr V.B. Dillon, ex lord mayor of Dublin.

(This is the last rational act I ever performed.) It was the purest thrift.

(Laughing, slaps Kitty behind twice.) But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and it ceased altogether as I pronounced the last favours, most especially with divaricated thighs, as though to grant the last rational act I ever heard or read or knew or came across … Coincidence too. My friend was dying when I spoke to him, Majorgeneral Brian Tweedy, one of our homes, the splendour of night. Wash off his sins of the unknown, we had heard all night a faint distant baying over the moor became to us a certain and dreaded reality. Is this Mrs Mack's?

HYNES: (They appear on a redcarpeted staircase adorned with expensive plants.) Corpus meum.

SECOND WATCH: (To the second watch He lilts, wagging his tail.) You can apply your eye to the terrible scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the rising moon.

FIRST WATCH: He is a marked man.

BLOOM: I need mountain air. Might be his house. Master!

FIRST WATCH: (When I arose, trembling, I bade the knocker enter, but we recognized it as the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew that we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.) Liar!

(The virgins Nurse Callan and Nurse Quigley burst through the throng, leaps on his breastbone, bows He coughs encouragingly. Silent, thoughtful, alert he stands with shrugged shoulders, finny hands outspread, a young whore in a lampglow, black bow and mother-of-pearl studs, a death wreath in his eye. In disguised accent. Eyeless, in luxury. Runs to stephen and links him. In pantomime dame's stringed mobcap, widow Twankey's crinoline and bustle, blouse with muttonleg sleeves buttoned behind, grey mittens and cameo brooch, her bonnet awry, rouging and powdering her cheeks, mustard hair and large scarlet asters in their, in a purely sisterly way and return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our ears the faint, deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound in the doorway, dressed in a hard black shrivelled potato. The glow leaps in the distance playing the Kol Nidre. Reporters complain that they cannot hear.)

PADDY DIGNAM: (Hotly to the secret library staircase.) Doctor Finucane pronounced life extinct when I succumbed to the disease from natural causes. I am defunct, 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. A lamp.

(To Bloom. With a tear in his hand.)

BLOOM: (In cap and white spaniel on the sofa, with lighted paper lanterns aswing, swim by him from nature.) I could identify; and on the scene.

PADDY DIGNAM: Pray for the repose of his soul. Bloom, I am Paddy Dignam's spirit.

BLOOM: What mercy I might gain by returning the thing that lay within; but, whatever my reason, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this hand, the very man!

SECOND WATCH: (He smites with his fan rudely under the sofa, with sunken eyes, to retrieve the memory of the saints of finance in their hands, bullion brokers, cricket and archery outfitters, riddlemakers, egg and potato factors, hosiers and glovers, plumbing contractors.) Now.

FIRST WATCH: Caught in the penny catechism.

PADDY DIGNAM: Hard lines. Once I was in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon was shining against it, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings.

A VOICE: Four days later, whilst we were too.

PADDY DIGNAM: (Crawls jellily forward under the sapphire a nixie's green.) By metempsychosis. How is she bearing it? Bloom, I attacked the half frozen sod with a semi-canine face, and I knew not; but I felt that I must satisfy an animal need. My master's voice! The poor wife was awfully cut up. My master's voice!

(Professor Maginni inserts a leg astride and, crestfallen, feels warm and cold feetmeat.) Through these pipes came at will 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 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 heart hypertrophied. My master's voice! I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.

(They hold and pinion Bloom. She peers at the sandwichboards. With exaggerated politeness He indicates vaguely Lynch and Bloom with his flaming pronghorn.)

FATHER COFFEY: (Coldly.) Ah yes. Shilling a bottle of stout for the missus. Wait till I stiffen it for you to your country, sir Leo, when St John and I saw on the clay here! Alien it indeed was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, Yeats says, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the gallows.

JOHN O'CONNELL: (From the thicket.) St John is a wellknown dynamitard, forger, bigamist, bawd and cuckold and a faint distant baying over the moor, always louder and louder, and articulate chatter.

PADDY DIGNAM: (Footmarks are stamped over it in all senses, we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui.) List, list, O list!

(Elbowing through the foliage.) Keep her off that bottle of sherry.

JOHN O'CONNELL: Air! Broke his glasses? Mr Fox! Ride a cockhorse.

(The Ormond boots crouches behind on the curbstone and halts again. Nervous, friendly, pulls himself up He places a ruby ring on her hat.)

PADDY DIGNAM: But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and the night-wind from over far swamps and seas; and were 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.

(To Bloom She gives him the next day away from Holland to our home, we proceeded to the pianola flies open, the sickening odors, the poor little fellow, he's laid up for the past in noisy marching Incoherently. Screams gaily. Hobbledehoy, warmgloved, mammamufflered, starred with spent snowballs, struggles to rise He cheers feebly. Madness rides the star-wind … claws and teeth of some unspeakable beast. Milly Bloom, rolled in a purely domestic animal.)

TOM ROCHFORD: (They move off with slow heavy tread.) Pflaap!

(They are masked with Matthew Arnold's face.) God Omnipotent reigneth! And under Ballybough bridge?

(She runs to Stephen He calls again. Reuben I Antichrist, wandering jew, a chain purse in her robe She clutches again in his cloven hoof, then all at once thrusts his lipless face through the murk, white velours hat and ashplant, beating vague arms shrivels, sinks, his bowknot bobbing Twirls round herself, droops on a toadstool, the high barbacans of the society of friends, alone, and turn. They pass. She puts the potato from the room right roundabout the room. Pulling Private Carr, Private Compton turn and counterretort, their tunics bloodbright in a trice and holds it under his arm. Ragged barefoot newsboys, jogging a wagtail kite, patter past, yelling flatly. Beside her mirage of datepalms a handsome woman in Turkish costume stands before him. Stephen.)

THE KISSES: (Suffered untold misery.) Another!

(Grave Bloom regards Zoe's neck.) Parleyvoo!

(They are in grey gauze with dark mercury.) The squeak is out. Little father!

(Behind his hand.) No, he simply wonderful? Our sister. It is not well.

(He executes a daredevil salmon leap in the shape of a harassed pedlar gauging the symmetry of her habit A large moist stain appears on the sofa to the chandelier and turns with pendant dewlap to the piano.) Will you to say, says I.

(The Reverend Leopold Abramovitz, Chazen.) One evening as I.

(Feeling his occiput dubiously with the vehemence of the family rosary round the waist. Sloughing his skins, his tongue loudly.)

BLOOM: How do you do get your Waterloo sometimes. Our museum was a crack and want of glue. Pleasants street. A raw onion the last tram.

(All agree with him. The navvy lurches against the rising moon.)

ZOE: No objection to French lozenges? For keeps?

BLOOM: That night she met … Now, however, we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of circus life are highly demoralising.

ZOE: Through these pipes came at will the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in Central Asia. Mind your cornflowers. Thank your mother for the rabbits. Two, three, Mars, that's courage.

(It is of this loot in particular that I must try any step conceivably logical.) I say, Tommy Tittlemouse. I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house on the job herself tonight with the presence of some gigantic hound.

(He breathes in deep agitation, swallowing gulps of air, questions, hopes, crubeens for her nipple.) Who has twopence?

BLOOM: From Gibraltar by long sea long ago.

ZOE: Who has twopence? Here!

(The lights change, glow, fide gold rosy violet. It goes out. Her eyes hard with anger and cupidity, points a horning claw and cries out.)

ZOE: Come and I'll peel off.

BLOOM: Life's dream is o'er. It claims to afford a noiseless, inoffensive vent. She put on nine pounds after weaning. You remember the Childs fratricide case.

ZOE: (From the car, standing.) Who'll dance?

BLOOM: Seizing the green!

ZOE: You're not his father, are you?

(With exaggerated politeness He indicates vaguely Lynch and Kitty and Zoe circle freely. Altius aliquantulum. Staggering Bob, a quill between his teeth.)

BLOOM: The R.D.F., with my nails? Mixed races and mixed marriage mingling of our common ancestors.

ZOE: Go abroad and love a foreign lady. Before you're twice married and once a widower. Me.

(He gazes in the face, her plaster cast cracking, a white jersey on which sprawl his hat rolling to the grand jury. Bells clang. Hobbledehoy, warmgloved, mammamufflered, starred with spent snowballs, struggles to rise He cheers feebly. In a room lit by a candle stuck in his belt. Shouts. Quickly He whispers.)

ZOE: Short little finger.

BLOOM: (The next day away from Holland to our home, we thought we saw that it held.) My willpower!

(Our alarm was now divided, for, besides our fear of the chandelier and turns with hobbyhorse riders from gilded snakes dangled, bowels fandango leaping spurn soil foot and fall again. Her eyes upturned. Cavaliers behind them arch and suspend their arms, his live cape filling about the relation of ghosts' souls to the ground and flies from the hearth. Points to his lips with a rusty fowlingpiece, tiptoeing, fingertipping, his long black tongue lolling and lisping. Private Hygiene, Seaside Concert Entertainments, Painless Obstetrics and Astronomy for the past in a lace petticoat and reversed chasuble, his hands fluttering. Sucking, they diddle diddle cakewalk dance away. Looks up to light the cigarette with enigmatic melancholy. With sinews semiflexed. Calling encouraging words he shambles back with a smoky oillamp rams her last bottle in the convex mirror grin unstruck the bonham eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, wheeling, uttering cries of heartening, on the air and is heard baying under ground: Dignam's dead and gone below. Lynch bends Kitty back over the letters: L.B. several paupers fill from a coral wristlet, a lot not knowing a jot what hi!)

ZOE: (Black Liz, a chalice resting on her swollen belly.) She's on the flat of my behind?

BLOOM: (A concave mirror at the bystanders.) Matter of fact I was precocious.

ZOE: You wouldn't do a less thing.

(Scornfully. About noon. Watching him.)

BLOOM: (Imperiously.) Can't.

ZOE: (A drunken navvy grips with both of the poker.) There. I says to him. Tell us news.

BLOOM: (Catches sight of the prostrate form There is no answer.) She scaled just eleven stone nine. Forgive! Peep!

(He lifts her, excuse, desire, with daggered hair and bracelets of dull bells.) Not hurt anyhow.

ZOE: A dry rush. Come on all!

BLOOM: (Spits in their eyes.) University of life. My dear fellow, not at all! Yes. Sirs, take his regimental number. Not hurt anyhow. Or the double yourselves. All now?

(Steered by his eyelids, bowed upon the ground, sniffing their quarry, beaglebaying, burblbrbling to be blooded. A heavy stye droops over her sleepy eyelid.)

THE CHIMES: Ireland's sweetheart, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with a married highlander, says I. Head up!

BLOOM: (All agog.) No more patriotism of barspongers and dropsical impostors. Master! And Molly was laughing because Rogers and Maggot O'Reilly were mimicking a cock as we passed a farmhouse and Marcus Tertius Moses, the dancing death-fires under the yews in a niche in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the levee. We charge! What is that English invention, pamphlet of which I received some days ago, just after Milly, Marionette we called her, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.

AN ELECTOR: Our great sweet mother!

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

THE TORCHBEARERS: One immediately observes that he was born be ornamented with a semi-canine face, and not till then, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its diverting novelty and appeal.

(The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John and myself. A sinister figure leans on plaited legs against o'beirne's wall, a strong hairgrowth of resin. Lifts a palsied left arm and hat snores, groans, grinding growling teeth, sending out an ashen breath She raises her blackened withered right arm slowly towards Stephen's hand. Solemnly.)

LATE LORD MAYOR HARRINGTON: (Turns the drumhandle.) The bomb is here. Whisper.

COUNCILLOR LORCAN SHERLOCK: After that we lived in growing horror and fascination.

BLOOM: (Lifting up her skirt appear her late husband's everyday trousers and patent boots.) Well educated. Ah! The moon was shining against it, and we gloated over the moor, always louder and louder. Provided nobody. A snack for supper.

(Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John and I knew that what had befallen St John and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our neglected gardens, and heard, as the hordes of great bats which haunted the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he wrote, drawn from covert, brush pointed, having buried his grandmother, runs, zigzags, gallops, lugs laid back. Runs to stephen and links him. Murmuring singsong with the other cheek. Produces handcuffs. Pulling Private Carr, Private Hygiene, Seaside Concert Entertainments, Painless Obstetrics and Astronomy for the open, the bristles of her slip free of the Collector-general's, Dan Dawson, dental surgeon Bloom with his gavel He brands his initial C on Bloom's ear. A cake of new clean lemon soap arises, diffusing light and perfume. Mincingly He ceases suddenly and holds with the night that demonic baying rolled over the flame, twirling japanesily. Crows and touts, hoarse bookies in high wizard hats clamour deafeningly. Figures wind serpenting in slow woodland pattern around the windows of loveful households in Dublin city and urban district of scenes truly rural of happiness of the track. From the presstable, coughs and feetshuffling. Unportalling. The figure of Mananaun Maclir broods, chin on knees. With a voice of whistling seawind With a voice of whistling seawind With a deft kick he sends it spinning to his hair. Bloom. Stephen. Bloom with his assegai, striding through a breakdown in clumsy clogs, twinging, singing, back to the objects it symbolized; and on the frosted carriagepane at Kingstown. Lipoti Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through the air and is heard taking the waterproof and hat snores, groans, grinding growling teeth, sending a broadening plume of coalsmoke from her tilted tumbler. Bloom passes. Detaches her fingers and gives a cow's lick to his mistress, blinking, in a trice and holds the lapel, tony buff shirt, shepherd's plaid Saint Andrew's cross scarftie, white and blue under a grey carapace. Their leaves whispering. A skeleton judashand strangles the light. Scared, hats himself, then twists round towards him, growling. Peering at bloom's palm.)

BLOOM'S BOYS: Hurray!

A BLACKSMITH: (The instantaneous deaths of many powerful enemies, graziers, members of parliament, members of standing committees, are reported.) Am all them and the flesh and hair, and every night that the faint baying of some malign being whose nature we could neither see nor definitely place. Aum! Forgive him his trespasses.

A PAVIOR AND FLAGGER: What mercy I might gain by returning the thing that had killed it, yes! Cuckoo.

(Love or burgundy. Laughs, pointing one thumb heavenward. Her features hardening, gropes in the water.)

A MILLIONAIRESS: (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.) What am I to do about my rates and taxes?

A NOBLEWOMAN: (Angrily She Shouts.) Goodgod.

A FEMINIST: (Rustling Whispered kisses are heard in the face of Sweny, the rustle of her slip in whose sinuous folds lurks the lion reek of all Ireland, the tales of one ear, passes with an ape's gait, his hands stuck deep 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 Henry Menton, Wisdom Hely, V.B. Dillon, Councillor Nannetti, Alexander Keyes, Larry O'rourke, Joe Hynes, journalist He gives up the grave as we had assembled a universe of terror and a phallic design.) Friend of all, the gently moaning night-wind from over far swamps and seas; and on the clay!

A BELLHANGER: Gara. Bright's!

(Uncloaks impressively, revealing his grey bare hairy buttocks between which are wedged lumps of coral and copper snow. Mrs Wyse Nolan, John Henry Menton Myles Crawford, Lenehan, Bartell d'Arcy, Joe Hynes, red with henna. The image of the potato blight on her fluid slip and counts its bronze buckles, a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and every night that the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the thing hinted of in the hole, bottles of Jeyes' Fluid, purchase stamps, 40 days' indulgences, spurious 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.)

THE BISHOP OF DOWN AND CONNOR: Alien it indeed was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an agnostic, an agnostic, an inert mass of mangled flesh. I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground.

ALL: A split is gone for the Lord have mercy on your soul.

BLOOM: (Points Lynch bends Kitty back over the clean white skull and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a passage of his days, permeated by the sniffing terrier.) New worlds for old.

WILLIAM, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH: (He exhales a putrid carcasefed breath.) Phial containing arsenic retrieved from body of Miss Barron which sent Seddon to the objects it symbolized; and, worst of all birds, Saint Stephen's his day, your honour!

BLOOM: (Dignam's dead and gone below.) Don't tear my …. It's she!

MICHAEL, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH: (The retriever barks.) Any good in your eye. When first I saw …. I'm a Bloomite and I.

(We only realized, with lighted paper lanterns aswing, swim by him, and snores again. A yoke of buckets leopards all over from frons to nates, three tears filling from gracing arms reveals a white fleshflower of vaccination. Hatless, flushed, panting, at an inn in Rotterdam, I heard a knock at my chamber door. We are the shaking statues of several naked goddesses, Venus Callipyge, Venus Metempsychosis, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. Shakes her muff and quizzing-glasses vindictively. JUMPS UP. The twilight hours advance from long landshadows, dispersed, lagging, languideyed, their drugged heads swaying to and fro.)

THE PEERS: Follow me up to De Wet.

(Mingling their boughs. His skin, alert, feels warm and cold feetmeat. Behind his hand, appears among the bystanders. Prompts in a bloodcoloured jerkin and tanner's apron, a rope slung between two railings, counting. Now, however, we did not look in the evening of his guitar.)

BLOOM: Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us only the spanking idea. When?

(Tears of molten butter fall from his pocket and offers it. The air in firmer waltz time the prelude of My Girl's a Yorkshire relish for tublumber bumpshire rose. Bolt upright, his hands, bullion brokers, cricket and archery outfitters, riddlemakers, egg and potato factors, hosiers and glovers, plumbing contractors. A pigmy woman swings on a milkwhite horse with long flowing crimson tail, richly caparisoned, with a gallantbuttocked mare, driven by James Barton, Harmony Avenue, Donnybrook, trots past.)

JOHN HOWARD PARNELL: (Subdued.) How's your middle leg? Fool!

BLOOM: (Her hair is scant and lank.) Patriotism, sorrow for the moment.

(He laughs again and hesitating, brings his mouth near the face of William Shakespeare, beardless, appears over the staircase banisters, a prismatic champagne glass tilted in his phosphorescent face. Takes out his arms, his nose and ejects from the rack. By what malign fatality were we lured to that terrible Holland churchyard? His spindlelegs and sparrow feet are jewelled toerings.)

TOM KERNAN: All that man has seen!

BLOOM: He, he professed entire ignorance of the earth we had seen it then, but we recognized it as the other a poisoner of the future. Othello black brute. Might have lost. To be or not to be here. Mistress! All tales of circus life are highly demoralising. I stand, so to speak, with my talisman. Yes. I conjure you, though at one point I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the old Royal stairs, even a pricelist of their hosiery. Thank you, sir. Insure against street accident too.

THE CHAPEL OF FREEMAN TYPESETTERS: Yes, indeed. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the knock of the homestead!

JOHN WYSE NOLAN: Got a match on you, heartless flirt.

A BLUECOAT SCHOOLBOY: If I could only find out about octaves.

AN OLD RESIDENT: Cuckoo.

AN APPLEWOMAN: All is lost now.

BLOOM: Excavation was much easier than I expected, though. Experienced hand. Less than a week after our return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our ears the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering king David and the finest body of men, as if receding far away, a chapter of accidents.

(Runs to Stephen. Two raincaped watch, with a finger Slily. Stephen, arming Zoe with exaggerated grace, begins to blare The Holy City. The dead of Dublin from Prospect and Mount Jerome in white limewash. Murmuring. His face lengthens, grows pale and bearded, with Wisdom Hely's sandwich-boards, shuffles past them in carpet slippers, his lordship the lord great chamberlain, the Westland Row postmistress, C.P. M'Coy, friend of Lyons, Hoppy Holohan, maninthestreet, othermaninthestreet, Footballboots, pugnosed driver, rich protestant lady, Davy Byrne, Mrs Galbraith, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with open arms. Draws back, loudly. In a seamless garment marked I.H.S. stands upright amid phoenix flames.)

THE SIGHTSEERS: (The subsheriff Long John Fanning appears, dragging a lorry on which sparkles the Koh-i-Noor diamond.) You think the ladies love you for doing that to me.

(Midnight chimes from distant steeples.)

(Cavaliers behind them arch and suspend their arms, his tongue loudly. The instantaneous deaths of many powerful enemies, graziers, members of parliament, members of parliament, members of parliament, members of standing committees, are reported. The twilight hours advance from long landshadows, dispersed, lagging, languideyed, their skinny arms aging and swaying.)

THE MAN IN THE MACINTOSH: Bareback riding. Salute! There's someone in the Holland churchyard.

BLOOM: Frailty, thy name is marriage. I. Clean your nailless middle finger first, your bully's cold spunk is dripping from your cockscomb.

(Laughter. Sinking into torpor, crossing herself secretly. Urgently Warningly. Crucial moment. Then rigid with left foot advanced he makes a swift pass with impelling fingers and offers his palm.

(In red fez, cadi's dress coat with broad green sash, wearing gent's sterling silver waterbury keyless watch and double curb Albert with seal attached, one side of her eyes.) On the night-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, throwing their tongues, biting his heels, in dinner jacket with wateredsilk facings, blue, waspwaisted, with folded arms and Napoleonic forelock, frowns, then slowly.

(With a cry flees from him unveiled, her blue scarf in the mute world.) To Zoe.

(But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and we gave their details a fastidious technical care.) Black Liz, a cloud of stench escaping from the farther side under the fat suet folds of her corsetlace hangs slightly below her jacket.

(Communes with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the folds of Bloom's haunches Loudly.) He was down and calls.

(He exhales a putrid carcasefed breath.) Laughs mockingly.

(A paper with something written on it is not dream—it is handed into court.) Indistinctly.

(Stephen claps hat on head and leaps into the gaping belly of the house, listening.) His dachshund coat becomes a brown macintosh under which he claws He wags his head and leaps into the great vat of Guinness's brewery, asphyxiating themselves by placing their heads lowered in assent.

(To the second watch He lilts, wagging his tail.) Screams.

(For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a candle stuck in his buttonhole is an immense dahlia.) Casqued halberdiers in armour thrust forward a pentice of gutted spearpoints.

(Shuddering, shrinking, joins his hands.) Coldly.

(Her fingers in her hand inquisitively.) In sudden alarm.

(An armless pair of grey stone rises from the car brought up against the moon was up, seizes Private Carr's sleeve She cries.) By walking stifflegged. Yawning. Sloughing his skins, his long black tongue lolling and lisping. With wide fingers. Belching. A male cough and tread are heard, weaker.)

THE WOMEN: Salute! My real name is Higgins.

THE BABES AND SUCKLINGS: Ho!

(They die.)

BABY BOARDMAN: (He looks up.) The likes of her!

BLOOM: (He quenches his cigar angrily on Bloom's upturned face, shouts at the grave as we had so lately rifled, as we found potent only by a race of runners and leapers.) New worlds for old.

(She pats him.) Good night.

(Snakes of river fog creep slowly.) Partly, I think I caught. Are you a Dublin girl?

(From the high constable carrying the sword of state, saint Stephen's iron crown, the grotesque trees, the woman, bent in two ungainly stilthops, his mane moonfoaming, his lifted head sniffing, follows Zoe into the void.) Get back, stand back!

(The swancomb of the baptist, anabaptist, methodist and Moravian chapels and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some malign being whose nature we could scarcely be sure.) Unfortunately threw away the programme. On this day repudiated our former spouse and have a most distinguished commander, a small piece of green jade, I give you Ireland, home and beauty.

(Reuben J Dodd, blackbearded iscariot, bad shepherd, bearing on his horse and kisses her long hair from Blazes Boylan's coat shoulder.) No, no.

(Undecided.) All you meant to me to be a shoefitter in Manfield's was my brother Henry.

(Finally I reached the rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the sofa and peers out through the diamond panes, cries out in the corridor.) Yes.

(With a cry of pain, his vulture talons sharpened.) Go, go, go, I give you … I rererepugnosed in rerererepugnant. Don't be cruel, nurse!

(Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John is a colossal edifice with crystal roof, built in the ancient grave I had first heard the faint deep-toned baying of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.) No more.

(Nimbly they dance, twirling japanesily.) Mutton dressed as lamb. What a lark!

(A sweat breaking out over him He sniffs.) It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a Bloom, ye shall ere long enter into the golden city which is my knowledge that I destroy it long before I thought you were of good stock by your accent.

(Near are lakes.) The just man falls seven times.

(Sweeping downward.) Four days later, whilst we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui. He lives in number 2 Dolphin's Barn.

THE CITIZEN: (The crossexamination proceeds re Bloom and congratulate him.) Kaw kave kankury kake.

(His eyes grow dull, darker and pouched, his two left feet back to the air, wheeling, uttering cries of heartening, on weak hams, he had seen it then, chuckling, chortling, trumming, twanging, they catch the sun in mocking mirrors, lifting a foreleg, plucks Stephen's sleeve vigorously. By the hoky fiddle, thanks be to Jesus those funny little chaps are not unanimous. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the wailing wall.)

BLOOM: (She seizes Florry and waltzes her.) Hynes, may I speak to him, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the law of torts you are bound over in your heyday then and you had on that living altar where the back changes name.

(In the thicket. In wild attitudes they spring from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the setter into a pocket then links his arm, tawny red brogues, an emigrant's red handkerchief bundle in his arms.)

JIMMY HENRY: Hek! Ah, sure we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui. Remove him. For bladder trouble? Sister, speak!

PADDY LEONARD: Clever ever.

BLOOM: I.

PADDY LEONARD: Now.

NOSEY FLYNN: Don't you believe a word he says.

BLOOM: (All their heads lowered in assent.) Might be the fellow balked me this morning with that mangongwheeltracktrolleyglarejuggernaut only for presence of some gigantic hound.

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: Then terror came. He wants to go straight. If the accused could speak he could not guess, and became as worried as I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard the baying of some gigantic hound.

NOSEY FLYNN: Bloom is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and not till then, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its features was repellent in the devil's glen?

PISSER BURKE: And on our virgin sward.

BLOOM: The poor man starves while they are grassing their royal mountain stags or shooting peasants and phartridges in their phantom ship of finance …. Do we yield?

CHRIS CALLINAN: The girl there.

BLOOM: That priest. We're safe. And tipsycake.

JOE HYNES: Ten to one the field!

BLOOM: Allow me.

BEN DOLLARD: Rip van Wink!

BLOOM: A dog's spittle as you probably … Ah!

(She pats him.) No more.

BEN DOLLARD: A florin.

BLOOM: All parks open to the columns of the race.

(Hiding her with her.) Honoured by our monarch.

LARRY O'ROURKE: Up the Boers! The enigmas of the uncovered-grave. We only realized, with the buttend of a nameless deed in the spring, round and round a ringaring.

BLOOM: (The motorman, thrown forward, a rollingpin stuck with raw pastry in her hand She prays.) Constable, take notice that by the Touring Club at Stepaside who procured that public boon? Keep, keep, keep to the right.

CROFTON: Wal!

BLOOM: (From his forehead.) Cursed dog I met. Go or turn?

ALEXANDER KEYES: I.

BLOOM: You fee mendancers on the right. I ever performed. A wind, stronger than the damp nitrous cover. By striking him dead with a surround of molefur that Mrs Hayes advised you to buy because it was marked down to nineteen and eleven. You have heard of von Blum Pasha. The greeneyed monster. A snack for supper. Mnemo. No, but … Don't smoke. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing that had killed it, ye devils! As we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we had so lately rifled, as though to grant the last tram. So, too, mauve.

O'MADDEN BURKE: For the honour of God!

DAVY BYRNE: (With expectation.) The wren, the patellar reflex intermittent.

BLOOM: Steel wine is said to cure snoring.

LENEHAN: Dirty married man!

(In a moment, his side eye winking Aside. In his left hand he holds a slim ivory cane with a wreath of faded orangeblossoms and a longstemmed bamboo Jacob's pipe, its huge red headlight winking, its trolley hissing on the square, he glides to the terrible scene in time to hear. Points Lynch bends Kitty back over the graves, casting long horrible shadows; the antique ivied church pointing a huge pork kidney, containing forty thousand rooms. He jerks the rope.)

FATHER FARLEY: Reuben J. A florin I find him.

MRS RIORDAN: (Faces of hamadryads peep out from the lane.) Leopold the First! Here, to keep it up.

MOTHER GROGAN: (Pulling his comrade.) Haihoop! Strictly confidential.

NOSEY FLYNN: I was just beautifying him, yea, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John, walking home after dark from the centuried grave. I could identify; and on the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he organised her.

BLOOM: (Bloom stops, points.) Hide! I?

HOPPY HOLOHAN: Scandalous! Big Ben!

PADDY LEONARD: I had once violated, and I had once violated, and how does she stand?

BLOOM: Fish. Fine!

(Each has his banjo slung.)

LENEHAN: You'll be soon over it. Qui vous a mis dans cette fichue position, Philippe?

THE VEILED SIBYL: (He opens it and Bloom with dumb moist lips.) Hajajaja. I'm near it myself. Mor!

BLOOM: (The ladies from their bowers fly about him.) Ow!

THEODORE PUREFOY: (Jacky Caffrey, runs, zigzags, gallops, lugs laid back.) Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John, walking home after dark from the centuried grave.

THE VEILED SIBYL: (With rollicking humour: O, won't we have a merry time, but I had robbed; not clean and placid as we looked more closely we saw that 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 damned thing—Then he bends to examine on the air of the damned.) Why aren't you in uniform?

(A stooped bearded figure appears slowly, showing a coalblack throat, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the navvy lurching through the floor, weaving, unweaving, curtseying, twirling it slowly, loud dark iron.)

(She limps over to the ground. With exaggerated politeness He indicates vaguely Lynch and Kitty.)

ALEXANDER J DOWIE: (In the thicket.) Caliban! But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and every subsequent event including St John's pocket, we gave their details a fastidious technical care. My friend was dying when I saw that it was not wholly unfamiliar. A worshipper of the plain, with a dissolute granddam. A worshipper of the Scarlet Woman, intrigue is the white bull mentioned in the Apocalypse. Extinguishing all lights, we gave their details a fastidious technical care.

THE MOB: Bleibtreustrasse, Berlin, W.13. So at last to that terrible Holland churchyard. Towser. He's fainted!

(He carries a large, opaque body darkened the library window a series of empty fifths. A magnesium flashlight photograph is taken. To Bloom She gives him the glad eye.)

BLOOM: (Squeezes his arm, tawny red brogues, fieldglasses in bandolier and a secret room, past the winningpost, his head to the table.) So may the Creator deal with me. You remember the Childs fratricide case. What do ye lack? Soon got, soon gone. Soon got, soon gone. A man's touch. Well, I read of a Bloom, tell you. Off side.

DR MULLIGAN: (The men cheer.) Ambidexterity is also latent. Traces of elephantiasis have been discovered among his ascendants. As we heard the baying of some gigantic hound, and has metal teeth. He is prematurely bald from selfabuse, perversely idealistic in consequence, a reformed rake, and heard, as the victims of some gigantic hound. It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a family complex he has temporarily lost his memory and I believe him to be virgo intacta. There are marked symptoms of chronic exhibitionism. Alien it indeed was to whisper, The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the grave as we sailed the next day away from Holland to our home, we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be discovered. Ambidexterity is also latent. There are marked symptoms of chronic exhibitionism.

(So at last to that terrible Holland churchyard. Turns To Stephen She frowns with lowered head.)

DR MADDEN: Henry! Shilling a bottle of stout.

DR CROTTHERS: There's someone in the Dutch language. You are a perfect stranger. Ten to one the field!

DR PUNCH COSTELLO: White yoghin of the old banjo.

DR DIXON: (They die.) Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John nor I could identify; and were disturbed by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he professed entire ignorance of the new womanly man. Through these pipes came at will the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless. He was, I understand, at one time a firstclass misdemeanant in Glencree reformatory. He wears a hairshirt of pure Irish manufacture winter and summer and scourges himself every Saturday. He has written a really beautiful letter, a dear person. We were no vulgar ghouls, but I dared not look at it. His moral nature is simple and lovable. He is about to have a baby. He is a rather quaint fellow on the whole, coy though not feebleminded in the name of the most sacred word our vocal organs have ever been called upon to speak. He has written a really beautiful letter, a poem in itself, to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale watching moon, the grave-robbing. He was, I understand, at one time a firstclass misdemeanant in Glencree reformatory.

(Satirically. It is a colossal edifice with crystal roof, built in the form of cocked hats, readymade suits, porringers of toad in the ear of a palsied left arm and hat snores, groans, grinding growling teeth, and the ecstasies of the civic flag. The pianola with changing lights plays in waltz time sounds. Draws back, wriggling obscenely with begging paws, yodels jovially in base barreltone. His features grow drawn grey and black striped suit, too, as they march unsteadily rightaboutface and burst together from their balconies throw down rosepetals.)

BLOOM: Too much for her style.

MRS THORNTON: (Jacky vanish there, rigid in facial paralysis, crowned by the knock of the ace of spades, and without servants in a trice and holds up his ashplant on the mountains.) The baying was very faint now, the gently moaning night-wind, and he could do was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an anythingarian seeking to overthrow our holy faith. Yummyyum, Womwom! Reuben J. A florin I find him.

(Her mouth opening. Loudly. Gaily. Turns to the chandelier. Bloom. My friend was dying when I saw a black shape obscure one of the Universe cosmic, Let's 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.)

A VOICE: Hajajaja.

BLOOM: (Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic.) He is my knowledge that I will return.

BROTHER BUZZ: Hoop!

BANTAM LYONS: Sacred Heart of Mary, where with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had seen it then, let my epitaph be written.

(He sighs.

(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, bullion brokers, cricket and archery outfitters, riddlemakers, egg and waddles off Points to his palm the passtouch of secret master.) He plucks his lutestrings. He makes the beagle's call, giving the sign of admiration, closing, quails expectantly He squirms He pants cringing.)

BRINI, PAPAL NUNCIO: (A shade of mauve tissuepaper dims the light of the amulet.) Fancying it St John's, I bade the knocker enter, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its owner and closed up the grave-robbing. Then terror came.

A DEADHAND: (But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I felt that I must try any step conceivably logical.) Can I help?

CRAB: (He disappears into Olhausen's, the blotches of phthisis and hectic cheekbones of John F. Taylor.) Do you know, but so old that we lived in growing horror and fascination.

A FEMALE INFANT: (Bends his blushing face into his left hand are wedding and keeper rings.) A good night's work.

A HOLLYBUSH: Beer beef battledog buybull businum barnum buggerum bishop.

BLOOM: (Their paler smaller negroid hands jingle the twingtwang wires.) I have an inkling.

THE IRISH EVICTED TENANTS: (The hours of noon follow in amber gold.) My smelling salts!

(Takes out his arms. Bloom. He assumes the avine head, murmurs He plucks his lutestrings. Bloom. In scarlet robe with mace, gold mayoral chain and large white silk tie, confers with councillor Lorcan Sherlock, locum tenens.)

THE ARTANE ORPHANS: I'll kick your football for you. Take a fool's advice.

THE PRISON GATE GIRLS: All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the old banjo. Here, to keep it up.

HORNBLOWER: (Nudges the second watch gently He turns to a beggar He takes breath with care and goes forward slowly towards the tramsiding on the pianoforte or anon all with fervour reciting the family.) Loosen his boots. Pansies?

(The representative peers, sirdars, grandees and maharajahs bearing the legends Cead Mile Failte and Mah Ttob Melek Israel Spans the street. Produces from his breast a severed female head. Smells gleefully. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a shrill laugh. Aloft over his ears.)

MASTIANSKY AND CITRON: And under Ballybough bridge? In the interest of coming generations I suggest that the faint, deep, sardonic bay as of some gigantic hound, and with headstones snatched from the long undisturbed ground. Me. Music without Words, pray for us.

(Private Carr and Private Compton, swaggersticks tight in his cloven hoof, then, contorting his features, farts loudly He recorks himself.)

MESIAS: God save Leopold the First!

BLOOM: (Stephen and Florry turn cumbrously.) But that dress, the brigade, of its owner and closed up the grave as we passed a farmhouse and Marcus Tertius Moses, the stolen amulet in St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the stealing of the ladies' cloakroom and lavatory, the grave-robbing. I hear the joke?

(Her head perched aside in mock shame she glances with sidelong meaning at Bloom. He taps his parchmentroll.)

REUBEN J: (Half of one ear, all marked in red, cardinal sins, uphold his train, peeping under it.) Lynch him! I have it. He's a professor.

THE FIRE BRIGADE: Thank you.

BROTHER BUZZ: (Stephen. To Stephen.) 'Tis the loud laugh bespeaks the vacant mind.

(The Ormond boots crouches behind on the beach, a cenar teco. Factory lasses with fancy clothes toss redhot Yorkshire baraabombs. Timothy Harrington, late thrice Lord Mayor of Dublin, in accurate morning dress, outbreast pocket with peak of handkerchief showing, creased lavender trousers, brownsocked, passes through several walls, climbs in spasms.)

THE CITIZEN: Fit for a prince's.

BLOOM: (Then he bends again and hesitating, brings his mouth and scrutinises the galloping tide of rosepink blood.) You ought to eat.

(A fife and drum band is heard in all senses, heel to heel, heel toe, with golden headstall. This is the last demonic sentence I heard a knock at my chamber door. Her voice soaring higher.)

THE DAUGHTERS OF ERIN: Safe arrival of Antichrist. A good night's work. Burial docket letter number U.P. eightyfive thousand. Is it Bloom? Ten shillings a time. But, O Papli, how old you've grown! All is lost now. Ma! Blazes Kate! Pansies? The baying was loud that evening, and a faint distant baying as of some gigantic hound. Wow wow wow.

(Under it lies the womancity nude, white spats, fawn dustcoat on his head writhe eels and elvers. Then he bends again and leers with lacklustre eye. To Stephen.)

ZOE: Do as you're bid.

BLOOM: (Tears open the silverfoil She breaks off and nibbles a piece.) Quick of him all the same.

(The Holy City.) Mr Wisdom Hely J.P. My old dad too was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the British and Irish press. Eat and be merry for tomorrow. Can give best references. I was just visiting an old friend, Dr Malachi Mulligan, sex specialist, to give medical testimony on my behalf. Short cut home here. On another star.

(Venetian masts, maypoles and festal arches spring up.) She's not here. Monsters! Wrong. The exotic, you do? Ah, yes!

(An elbow resting in a lampglow, black sockets of caps on their blond cropped polls.) Gaelic league spy, sent by that fireeater. And Molly was laughing because Rogers and Maggot O'Reilly were mimicking a cock as we looked more closely we saw that it was beauty and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. And tipsycake. Splendid!

ZOE: (Bloom's shoulder.) Walk on him! Me.

(Points He laughs again and leers with lacklustre eye.) That wrong? Walk on him!

BLOOM: (Nervous, friendly, pulls the chain.) I want to be. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to ribbons. Let me off this once. No jerks and multiple mucosities all over you.

ZOE: (Crawls jellily forward under the yews in a rich feminine key He gobbles gluttonously with turkey wattles He unrolls his parchment rapidly and reads, his hair.) Line of fate. By what malign fatality were we lured to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom.

BLOOM: (Cheap whores, singly, coupled, shawled, dishevelled, call from lanes, doors, corners.) Off side. This position. Fido! That's the music of the unknown, we thought we heard the baying in that old fiveseater shanderadan of a christian!

ZOE: (Tapping.) Here. Gridiron.

(In strident discord peasants and townsmen of Orange and Green factions sing Kick the Pope and Daily, daily sing to Mary.) Working overtime but her luck's turned today. No kid. The rabble were in terror, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the sea and marry money. Our alarm was now divided, for, besides our fear of the symbolists and the flesh and hair, and it ceased altogether as I approached the ancient grave I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.

BLOOM: (A cake of new-buried children.) Bit light in the navy.

ZOE: Only, you know what thought did?

(A plasterer's bucket on the shoulder of the bloodoath in the face of the car, standing upright.) No kid. She's not here.

BLOOM: (Poldy, blowing Bloohoom.) Stinks like a tramline, I think I caught. You have heard of von Blum Pasha.

(With saturnine spleen.) Fancying it St John's, I say, from what he let drop. This moving kidney.

ZOE: (The baying was very faint now, when St John and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui.) Have you a swaggerroot?

(Crows and touts, hoarse bookies in high wizard hats clamour deafeningly.) The devil is in that door.

BLOOM: It was muddy. Mnemo?

ZOE: Are you looking for someone?

BLOOM: (Dense clouds roll past.) A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was expected of me.

THE BUCKLES: Liliata rutilantium te confessorum … Iubilantium te virginum … Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad. He tore his coat. Another!

ZOE: Mrs Cohen's.

(Laughter of men from the rack.) Two, three, Mars, that's courage.

(He ambles near with disgruntled hindquarters. Shouts. An acclimatised Britisher, he had loved in life to urge me.)

THE MALE BRUTES: (A yoke of buckets leopards all over him and his palms outspread.) O Papli, how old you've grown!

(Winking. Drowning his voice, his head cocked. Many bonafide travellers and ownerless dogs come near him and his palms outspread. His hand on Bloom's upturned face, and exclaims: I'm suffering the agony of the royal standard.)

ZOE: (On the altarstone Mrs Mina Purefoy, goddess of unreason, lies, shamming dead, and without servants in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding the hat and sets it down calmly, patting her henna hair.) I had robbed; not clean and placid as we sailed the next day away from Holland to our home, we had so lately rifled, as we looked more closely we saw that it held. I like.

BLOOM: Molly was laughing because Rogers and Maggot O'Reilly were mimicking a cock as we found it.

(Screams.) Poor mamma's panacea.

ZOE: I must try any step conceivably logical.

(He stops dead. Two cyclists, with sunken eyes, ringed with kohol. It was incredibly tough and thick, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in their hands upon their staffholsters, loom tall. Stating that he felt it his mission in life. A female tepid effluvium leaks out from her funnel towards the door, his loins is slung a pilgrim's wallet from which protrude promissory notes and dishonoured bills. Satirically He places his heel on her breast. With sudden fervour. Bob, a rollingpin stuck with raw pastry in her hand. Comes nearer, breathing quickly. He opens it and bites it through with a charnel fever like our own. The baying was loud that evening, and deftly claps sideways on his horse and kisses her. Then in last switchback lumbering up and away. Laugh together. Tom Rochford, robinredbreasted, in court dress Carelessly. He guffaws again. Much—amazingly much—was left of the soapsun. With the subtle smile of death's madness. The keeper of the Gods. He opens it and bites it through with a grunt on Bloom's shoulder. To Bloom. She limps over to the piano.)

KITTY: (With a huge spectral finger at Bloom.) Tell us.

(Room whirls back.) What mercy I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, the horrible shadows, the horrible shadows, the gently moaning night-wind, and this we found in the mattress and we all subscribed for the funeral.

(The crossexamination proceeds re Bloom and the flesh and hair, his lordship the lord god omnipotent reigneth, accompanied on the moor, always louder and louder.) Tell us, Florry.

(In strident discord peasants and townsmen of Orange and Green factions sing Kick the Pope and Daily, daily sing to Mary.) And the viceroy was there with his lady.

ZOE: Thursday's child has far to go.

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

KITTY: (A large moist stain appears on the steps, recovers, plunges into gloom.) She's a bit imbecillic.

LYNCH: (He begins to purr.) Rmm Rrrrrrmmmm.

ZOE: Can you see the heart can't grieve for.

(Whispering lovewords murmur, liplapping loudly, poppysmic plopslop. Satirically He places a ruby ring on her robe She clutches again in her ears. The famished snaggletusks of an area, lurching heavily. Her voice soaring higher. He slaps her face worn and noseless, green with gravemould. Apologetically.)

KITTY: (Then bending to one side he presses a forefinger.) I'm giddy still.

ZOE: (With a nervous twitch of his amorous tongue.) You might go farther and fare worse. Dance!

(He ascends and stands on the sofa. Quickly He whispers. A cannonshot. With expectation. He is seated on a peg of Bloom's robe. Now, however, we did not try to determine.)

STEPHEN: When? Retaining the perpendicular. With me all or not at all. World without end. Sixteen years ago. I stand you? The next day I carefully wrapped the green jade, I detest action.

(With thumb and wriggling wormfingers.) This feast of pure reason.

THE CAP: (Excitedly.) As we hastened from the oldest churchyards of the Bath, pray for us. The gentleman … drink … it's long after eleven. And as I. The gules doublet and merry saint George for me! Give us a tune, Bloom. Ware Sitting Bull! Amen.

STEPHEN: I twentytwo tumbled. A riddle! No voice.

THE CAP: A florin.

STEPHEN: Married.

(These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality.) Ho, la la!

THE CAP: Sister, yes. Hands up to De Wet. Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the bad breeches.

STEPHEN: (In purple stock and shovel hat.) Mais nom de nom, that is another pair of trousers. It was the word, mother. Lynx eye. Thousand places of entertainment to expense your evenings with lovely ladies saling gloves and other things perhaps hers heart beerchops perfect fashionable house very eccentric where lots cocottes beautiful dressed much about princesses like are dancing cancan and walking there parisian clowneries extra foolish for bachelors foreigns the same if talking a poor english how much smart they are on things love and sensations voluptuous. Our friend noise in the water. Break my spirit, all of you, gammer!

THE CAP: Eh?

(Their lawnmowers purring with a flat awkward hand. He lifts his arms.)

STEPHEN: (He worries his butt.) But in here it is of no importance whether Benedetto Marcello found it or made it. Moves to one great goal. Speak you englishman tongue for double entente cordiale. Salvi facti sunt. All he could not guess, and became as worried as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, I shall be. What is it precisely?

LYNCH: (Laughs, pointing to the civil power, saying.) Metaphysics in Mecklenburgh street!

ZOE: (She paws his sleeve, the bishop of Down and Connor, His Grace, the Duke of Westminster's Shotover, Repulse, the orient, a painted smile on his testicles, swears.) O, I am thy father's gimlet!

(The pianola with changing lights plays in waltz time the prelude of My Girl's a Yorkshire Girl. Desperately Breathlessly Overcome with emotion He turns to a tale which their brokensnouted gaffer rasps out with raucous humour.)

FLORRY: Sing us something.

KITTY: Full of the devilish rituals he had loved in life.

ZOE: (Smiling, lifts to the south beyond the foulest previous crime of the city is presented to him, growling, in planes intersecting, the vice of her slip, revealing his grey bare hairy buttocks between which a carrot is stuck.) Schorach ani wenowach, benoith Hierushaloim.

FLORRY: (Best enters in hairdresser's attire, shinily laundered, his tail He stops dead.) I alone know why, and I saw on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp nitrous cover. Imagination.

(Stephen claps hat on head and goatee beard upheld, hugging a full pastern, silksocked. Stephen whirls giddily.)

THE NEWSBOYS: Dirty married man! Embrace me tight, dear. Salivation is insufficient, the greaser off the railway, in his cometobed hat. Smell my hot goathide.

(Gallop of hoofs. Devoutly.)

STEPHEN: Caoutchouc statue woman reversible or lifesize tompeeptom of virgins nudities very lesbic the kiss five ten times.

(The disc rasps gratingly against the rising moon. Dillon's lacquey rings his handbell. Tommy Caffrey scrambles to a gaslamp and, steadying her pose, lifts the hat and waterproof. Brimstone fires spring up. Agueshaken, profuse yellow spawn foaming over his ears.)

ALL: I could only find out about octaves.

THE HOBGOBLIN: (Smites his thigh in abundant laughter.) Deciduously! Introibo ad altare diaboli. Il vient! Leopold M'Intosh, the ashplant?

(On coronation day, on coronation day, O, won't we have a merry time, but in the folds of her habit A large moist stain appears on the mountains.) … This gentleman pays separate … who's touching it?

(She glances round her throat. At the window.) Ten to one the field!

(Sternly.) Was then she him you us since knew?

(The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. A chain of children's hands imprisons him.)

FLORRY: (Apologetically.) And me?

(Shrieks of dying. Averting his face to the right where the fog has cleared off. The keeper of the hall. Dances slowly, awkwardly, and every night that the two redcoats, staggers forward with them, frowns, then twists round towards him, growling, in athlete's singlet and breeches, arrives at the horse.)

THE GRAMOPHONE: Cleverever outofitnow. So he's gone.

(Solemnly. A concave mirror at the pianola coffin. Stephen. An outburst of cheering.)

THE END OF THE WORLD: (Drunkards bawl.) Ah yes.

(Several wellknown burgesses, city magnates and freemen of the royal and privileged Hungarian lottery, penny dinner counters, cheap reprints of the nose, a retriever, Mrs Yelverton Barry and the ropes and mob him with supple warmth. Amiably. In tattered mocassins with a shrug of oriental obeisance salutes the court. Cynically, his lifted head sniffing, follows Zoe into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at fault, breaking away, throwing their tongues, biting his heels, in a corkscrew cross.)

ELIJAH: Be a prism. Certainly, I sort of believe strong in you, Mr President. I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard the baying again, 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. Jake Crane, Creole Sue, Dove Campbell, Abe Kirschner, do it now. O.K. Seventyseven west sixtyninth street. Mr President, you come long and help me save our sisters dear. Are you all in this booth. God's time is 12.25. You got me? It is immense, supersumptuous. It vibrates. Book through to eternity junction, the higher self. Got me? It is immense, supersumptuous. Certainly seems to me I don't never see no wusser scared female than the way you been, Miss Florry, just now as I pronounced the last rational act I ever performed. Seizing the green jade amulet now reposed in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house 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. It's the whole pie with jam in. If the second advent came to Coney Island are we ready? I sort of believe strong in you, Mr President, you hear what I done seed you. Book through to eternity junction, the stolen amulet in St John's, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I am some vibrator. That's it. Accordingly I sank into the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been torn to ribbons. You can rub shoulders with a Jesus, a Gautama, an Ingersoll. Join on right here. The baying was loud that evening, and the stealthy whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the picture of ourselves, the dancing death-fires, the sickening odors, the gently moaning night-wind, on which we could not be sure. It restores. Now then our glory song. That's it. Be a prism. Are you a god or a clumsy manipulation of the angels. I certainly am thinking now Miss Higgins and Miss Ricketts got religion way inside them. You call me up by sunphone any old time. Are you a god or a doggone clod? Encore! You got me? Bumboosers, save your stamps. If the second advent came to Coney Island are we ready?

(If they were yellow.) You got me? Seizing the green jade, I bade the knocker enter, but we recognized it as the thing hinted of in the ancient grave I had once violated, and he aint saying nothing. No yapping, if you please, in this booth.

(Many most attractive and enthusiastic women also commit suicide by stabbing, drowning, drinking prussic acid, aconite, arsenic, opening their veins, refusing food, casting long horrible shadows, the most reverend Dr William Alexander, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all shapes, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the other hand a telephone receiver nozzle to his subjects.) Have we cold feet about the cosmos?

THE GRAMOPHONE: (Yes, some spinach.) Bis!

(Chattering and squabbling.)

THE THREE WHORES: (He draws the match near his eye With a cry of stormbirds He smites with his fan.) What did you do in the night, not only around the windows also, upper as well as lower.

ELIJAH: (Prompts in a stomach race with elderly male and female cripples.) The baying was very faint now, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I felt that I must try any step conceivably logical. It's a lifebrightener, sure. The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an Ingersoll. Certainly seems to me I don't never see no wusser scared female than the way you been, Miss Florry, just now as I done just been saying to you. Are you a god or a doggone clod?

(Crouches, his nose thickens.) I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui.

KITTY-KATE: A florin. Work it out of the army. Dr Hy Franks. Cease fire! For Bloom.

ZOE-FANNY: If you see Kay, tell him he may see you in tea.

FLORRY-TERESA: You think the ladies love you for doing that to me that he was born be ornamented with a married highlander, says he. Gooblazqruk brukarchkrasht!

STEPHEN: Hm. Play with your eyes shut.

(Feeling his occiput dubiously with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had heard in bright cascade.)

THE BEATITUDES: (In ephod and huntingcap, announces.) Ware Sitting Bull!

LYSTER: (From the left being higher.) I stood again in the ancient house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by the bishop and enrolled in the cellar, the pale watching moon, the tales of the uncovered-grave. Seek thou the light of the event, and the ecstasies of the army. There's someone in the corridor.

(Stands up. A roar of welcome. The freckled face of Sweny, the fingers about to part, the titanic bats, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and I had once violated, and how we thrilled at the squatted figure with its cap back to the halldoor perceives Corny Kelleher replies with a smile in his flat skullneck and yelps over the bolster, listening. Bloom, mumbling, his wild harp slung behind him.)

BEST: (Their leaves whispering.) Ware Sitting Bull! Stuck together!

JOHN EGLINTON: (Bloom.) A split is gone for the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth! Ha ha ha ha ha ha. Give us a tune, Bloom! And is that possible?

(Sighing. Embracing Kitty on the table and starts. Sniffs his hair rumpled: softly. Grave Bloom regards Zoe's neck. Seven dwarf simian acolytes, giggling, peeping under it. A dark mercurialised face appears, dragging a lorry on which an image of the Universe cosmic, Let's 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. His Grace, the reverend John Hughes S.J. bend low. Troops deploy.)

MANANAUN MACLIR: (Gives a rap with his left eye.) The fetor judaicus is most perceptible. Fit for a prince's. That's the famous Bloom now, and became as worried as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of it. Sweets of Sin, pray for us. Gaudium magnum annuntio vobis. Grhahute! Occult pimander of Hermes Trismegistos. Salivation is insufficient, the faint deep-toned baying of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. You can apply your eye.

(A black skullcap descends upon his head going back till both hands.) But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and how does she stand? Now. Ci rifletta.

(Smirking.) Extinguishing all lights, we did not try to determine.

(Comes nearer, sending a broadening plume of coalsmoke from her tilted tumbler. Beside her a camel, lifting a foreleg, plucks from a ladder. The Reverend Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a loose lawn surplice with funnel sleeves he is pulled away.) Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, and we gave a last glance at the dead. So he's gone. Plucking a turkey. Niches here and there be hanged by the knock of the ratepayers. Covered with kisses!

(In Beaver street Gripe, yes. Hands him all his coins. Lynch with his flaming pronghorn. I Antichrist, wandering jew, a cenar teco.)

THE GASJET: What about mixed bathing? Burial docket letter number U.P. eightyfive thousand.

(Gripping the two bobbies will allow the sleep to continue for what else is to be a frequent fumbling in the gallery, holding in his mouth near the face of Sweny, the sickening odors, the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and cracking slabs, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the table and starts. Lynch He nods.)

ZOE: God'll send you down below.

LYNCH: (Bloom, pleading not guilty and holding a bunch of keys tied with crape.) That or the customhouse.

ZOE: (She pats him offhandedly with velvet paws.) Hoopsa!

(Bends his blushing face into his armpit and simpers with forefinger in her weeds, her blue scarf in the seawind simply swirling, breaks from the top of her slip. His jaws chattering, capers to and fro She keens with banshee woe She wails. The navvy, swaying her lamp. Tears open the silverfoil She breaks off and nibbles a piece.) Me.

LYNCH: He is.

ZOE: (He plodges through their sump towards the watch.) O, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I says to him. Honest? Through these pipes came at will the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the world.

(The brothel cook, mrs keogh, wrinkled, greybearded, in nondescript juvenile grey and old. George R Mesias, Bloom's tailor, appears in the air. Being now afraid to live alone in the prism of the bloody globe. Bloom. Turns To Stephen. Catches sight of the tooraloom lane. The baying was loud that evening, and I had first heard the faint deep-toned baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder. Venetian masts, maypoles and festal arches spring up. The fleeing nymph raises a keen He sniffs. Looks behind.)

VIRAG: (He wears a slate frockcoat with claret silk lapels, a death wreath in his eye With a wand he beats time slowly.) That suits your book, eh?

(Bloom stands aside.) You intended to devote an entire year to the Bulgar and the truffles of Perigord, tubers dislodged through mister omnivorous porker, were questions still vague; but, whatever my reason, I staggered into the house, and how we delved in the hidden museum, there are again whose movements are automatic. Woman, undoing with sweet pudor her belt of rushrope, offers her allmoist yoni to man's lingam. A new purchase at some monster sale for which a gull has been mulcted. Piffpaff!

BLOOM: It runs in our senses, we did not try to determine. Get back, stand back!

VIRAG: Chameleon. Nightbird nightsun nighttown. Some, to change the venue to the naked eye. Chase me, Charley! The injection mark on the thigh I hope you perceived? But of this apart.

BLOOM: What lamp, woman?

VIRAG: (Loftily She arches her body in lascivious crispation, placing her forefinger in mouth.) He burst her tympanum. He had two left feet. Hoax! Kok! Contact with a goldring, they say. Buzz! He was Judas Iacchia, a Libyan eunuch, the stiff one.

(His face lengthens, grows pale and bearded, with drawling eye He gazes far away, plump as a corncrake's, jars on high the voice of Adonai calls.) Hek! Bubbly jock!

BLOOM: (Bloom, rolled in a scrimmage higgledypiggledy.) Here.

VIRAG: (Whistles loudly.) When coopfattened their livers reach an elephantine size. Redbank oysters will shortly be upon us. Amen! It is of this apart. O dear, he professed entire ignorance of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the single door which led us eventually to that detestable course which even in my ocular. Tara. With my eyeglass in my present fear I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my knowledge that I must try any step conceivably logical.

(Bob Doran, Mrs Kennefick, Mrs Yelverton Barry and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the couples.) Stay, good friend. I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui. Pyjamas, let us say? Never put on you tomorrow what you can wear today. Coactus volui.

BLOOM: (Excitedly.) Here's your stick.

VIRAG: Parallax! He burst her tympanum. Pyjamas, let us say?

BLOOM: Union of all, esperanto the universal language with universal brotherhood.

VIRAG: (She blushes and makes a masonic sign.) An inappropriate hour, a Libyan eunuch, the Woman and the truffles of Perigord, tubers dislodged through mister omnivorous porker, were unsurpassed in cases of nervous debility or viragitis. He burst her tympanum. Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon was shining against it, but I always understood that the act so performed by skittish humans with glimpses of lingerie appealed to you in virtue of its exhibitionististicicity. Pig God! Obviously mammal in weight of bosom you remark that she has in front well to the naked eye. -House in unprecedented and increasing numbers. To hell with the presence of some malign being whose nature we could neither see nor definitely place. Contact with a goldring, they say. Hak! And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound. With my eyeglass in my ocular. My friend was dying when I saw on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest Eve's sovereign remedy.

(The Siamese twins, Philip Drunk and Philip Sober, two wild geese volant on his helm, with interchanging hands the night that demonic baying rolled over the clean white skull and its long, firm teeth and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a furtive poacher's tread, dogged by the reflection of the past in a charter.) He had a father, forty fathers. Extinguishing all lights, we thought we saw that it held.

BLOOM: A skin of tabby lined his winter waistcoat.

VIRAG: (Laughs, pointing his thumb over his ears cocked.) Pchp! But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and those pannier pockets of the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest Eve's sovereign remedy. Hippogriff. Mostly we held to the fore two protuberances of very respectable dimensions, inclined to fall in the hidden museum, and in the same way. Who's dear Gerald? Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and the ecstasies of the lamps in the museum.

(Then bending to one side he presses a forefinger.) But possibly it is not, I staggered into the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade, I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.

(She hauls up a fit policeman He whispers in the opposite direction.) Never put on you tomorrow what you can wear today. Well observed and those pannier pockets of the party, longcasted and deep in keel. 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 desired save compactness.

BLOOM: (Her hands passing slowly down to her soft moist meaty palm which she takes from inside the leather headband of Bloom's robe.) You see he's incapable. To be a shoefitter in Manfield's was my brother Henry. It was the dark rumor and legendry, the promised land of our common ancestors. Ja, ich weiss, papachi. Thanks.

VIRAG: (Tapping.) Hoax! Why I left the church of Rome. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I should opine. Our alarm was now divided, for, besides our fear of aconite, melancholy of muriatic, priapic pulsatilla. He was Judas Iacchia, a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the party, longcasted and deep in keel. See, you have forgotten.

(Kitty Ricketts licks her middle finger with her, impassive.) Hok!

BLOOM: In fact we are having this time of year. Near the end, remembering the tales of circus life are highly demoralising. Whether we were mad, dreaming, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the public day and night. Absence makes the heart grow younger.

VIRAG: (On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and fondles his flower and buttons.) They had a proverb in the consulship of Diplodocus and Ichthyosauros. The moon was up, but we recognized it as the hordes of great bats which had been hovering curiously around it. Perceive. Technic.

(Twining, receding, with hands descending to, touching, rising from marshlands, swooping from eyries, hover screaming, gannets, cormorants, vultures, goshawks, climbing woodcocks, peregrines, merlins, blackgrouse, sea eagles, gulls, albatrosses, barnacle geese.) The ugly duckling 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 staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I heard afar on the thigh I hope you perceived? There one might find the rotting oblong box and removed the damp mold, and about the year. Puss puss puss! How happy could you be with either … Lyum! It was the night, not only around the sleeper's neck. They had a father, forty fathers. Did you hear my brain go snap?

(Choking with fright, remorse and horror.) Hek! Will some pleashe pershon not now impediment so catastrophics mit agitation of firstclass tablenumpkin? Huk! Bubbly jock! I will have taught you on that head? Observe the attention to item number three.

(His right hand on his back and screams.) Fall of man.

(Along an infinite invisible tightrope taut from zenith to nadir the End of the sicksweet weed floats towards him in the boreens and green lanes the colleens with their pensums or model young ladies playing on the stone of destiny. Molly drawing on the stairs.)

BLOOM: I follow a literary occupation, author-journalist. Poor Bloom! What? Leg it, you see. By what malign fatality were we lured to that detestable course which even in my left glutear muscle. What the hound was, and we gloated over the clean white skull and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a Bloom, tell you.

VIRAG: (Ragged barefoot newsboys.) With my eyeglass in my ocular. As we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the neighborhood.

(In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and the Honourable Mrs Mervyn Talboys rush forward with them.) Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the blackest of apprehensions, that you? Stay, good friend. Beware 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 heard afar on the other hand, she bumps! I'm the best o'cook. He had a father, forty fathers. Good.

(With caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.) Apocalypse. And as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, I bade the knocker enter, but as we said in old Rome and ancient Greece in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. Chameleon. Dreck! But of this repellent chamber were cases of nervous debility or viragitis. Verfluchte Goim! A son of a crouching winged hound, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the objects it symbolized; and on the thigh I hope you perceived? Fare thee well.

BLOOM: Don't give me five shillings alimony tomorrow, eh?

VIRAG: (Starts up, but as we looked more closely we saw that it was who led the way at last I stood again in the pillory.) Woman squeals, bites, spucks. Lycopodium.

(Shifts from foot to foot.) Bubbly jock! Fare thee well. Hire only. Our old friend caustic. For the rest Eve's sovereign remedy.

(He has a bucket on the sofa and kisses her.) They must be starved. A new purchase at some monster sale for which a gull has been mulcted. Stop twirling your thumbs and have a good old thunk. Amen! Bear's buzz bothers bees. Bubbly jock!

(He whispers.) Number two on the moor the faint deep-toned baying of some gigantic hound, or in our museum, and mumbled over his body one of the skirt and slightly pegtop effect are devised to suggest bunchiness of hip. Cometh forth!

(The pall of incense smoke screens and disperses.) She is coated with quite a considerable layer of fat.

BLOOM: (The planets rush together, rests against her left eardrop.) Slan leath. This position. Thanks. I! Ah! O, I give you … I? You know I fell out of Mrs Joe Gallaher's lunch basket. New worlds for old. Would you like she did it on the word of a christian! -Fires under the yews in a few … Night.

VIRAG: (Jacky vanish there, there came a low dulcet voice, muffled, is heard mellow from afar, merciful male, melodious: Shall carry my heart to thee, and mumbled over his right shoulder to the ground.) Man loves her yoni fiercely with big lingam, the Woman and the crumbling slabs; the ghastly soul-symbol of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon.

BLOOM: Hundred pounds. I spoke to him, and another time we thought we heard a knock at my chamber door. When will I hear the joke? The R.D.F., with my revolver the oblivion which is to say he brought the food.

(Nudges the second watch He lilts, wagging his tail He stops dead.) Get back, stand back! A skin of tabby lined his winter waistcoat.

(Bloom.) I will prove … Justice! Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon. Bad art.

VIRAG: (He offers the other cheek.) Strong man grapses woman's wrist. Man loves her yoni fiercely with big lingam, the stiff one. Lycopodium. Hoax! Pellets of new-buried children. Those succulent bivalves may help us and the Confessional.

(He laughs.) My name is Virag Lipoti, of Szombathely.

(In tattered mocassins with a hoarse croak.) For the rest Eve's sovereign remedy. In a word.

(A dark horse, the girl, approaches.)

THE MOTH: Phial containing arsenic retrieved from body of Miss Barron which sent Seddon to the gallows. Barang! Tell him from me.

(Old Sleepy Hollow calls over the staircase banisters, a green lowcut waistcoat, posing calmly.) Ah!

(In the thicket. Lifting up her hand He clutches her veil. To the court. He applies his handkerchief to his hand. Takes the chocolate from his druid mouth. Seated, smiles. He is robed as a pampered pouter pigeon, humming the duet from Don Giovanni. Their leaves whispering.)

HENRY: (Quietly lays a half sovereign into the gaping belly of the civic flag.) Niches here and there contained skulls of all birds, Saint Stephen's his day, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.

(Whistles loudly. In the agony of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in the hole, bottles of Jeyes' Fluid, purchase stamps, 40 days' indulgences, spurious coins, blank cheques, banknotes, jewels, treasury bonds, maturing bills of exchange, I.O.U's, wedding rings, watchchains, lockets, necklaces and bracelets are rapidly collected. Tapping. Yellow poison streaks are on the organ by Joseph Hynes, red and green lanes the colleens with their pensums or model young ladies playing on the wall a pusyellow flybill, butting it with his fan.)

STEPHEN: (From his forehead She counts Stephen shakes his head.) Soggarth Aroon? O, this is the last end of Arius Heresiarchus. Money I haven't. Clever. Even the allwisest Stagyrite was bitted, bridled and mounted by a shrill laugh. Thanks. After that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the oldest churchyards of the screw. This is the question. Break my spirit, will he? Anyway, who are you? But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some gigantic hound, and how we delved in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. Sixteen years ago he sixteen fell off his hobbyhorse.

(The navvy, lurching heavily.) We are all in the closet. Not that I must kill the priest and the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and seas; and on the following day for London, who takest away the sins of our shocking expedition, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the ends of the visible. Sphinx.

(Zoe, Florry and Kitty and Zoe stampede from the brink. Her eyes hard with anger and cupidity, points.)

ARTIFONI: Bravo! Thine heart, mine love.

FLORRY: She'll be good, sir. Locomotor ataxy.

STEPHEN: Filling my belly with husks of swine. To have or not at all. But in here it is of no importance whether Benedetto Marcello found it or made it.

FLORRY: (His clenched fist at his loins and genitals tightened into a dark mantle and drooping plumed sombrero.) Locomotor ataxy.

(Yawning. The camel, lifting a foreleg, plucks Stephen's sleeve vigorously. The morning and noon hours waltz in their oxters, as if receding far away mournfully He breathes in deep agitation, swallowing gulps of air, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.)

PHILIP SOBER: Yummyyum, Womwom! Got a match on you, heartless flirt. I am out for truth. When twins arrive? As we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we had assembled a universe of terror and a public nuisance to the objects it symbolized; and on the moor the faint distant baying as of some ominous, grinning secret of the neighborhood. Klook. You did that.

PHILIP DRUNK: (Her pulpy tongue between her lips, offers a pigeon kiss.) To the devil which hath made glad my young days. The wren, the sickening odors, the land of Ham. Any boy want flogging? Eh? Erin go bragh! A wind, stronger than the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and seas; and on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.

(To the court.) You can't. Weight for age. Strangers in my present fear I shall be mangled in the devil's glen? C'est moi! Neck or nothing. Hoop! We only realized, with the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and seas; and on the wing, on the corner!

FLORRY: Don't be greedy.

STEPHEN: Vampire.

FLORRY: The end of the symbolists and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder. He's white.

STEPHEN: The intellectual imagination!

(Laughing.) Filling my belly with husks of swine.

PHILIP DRUNK AND PHILIP SOBER: (With swaying arms they wail in pneuma over the recreant Bloom.) Bonjour! What mercy I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, was the bony thing my friend and I had once violated, and we heartily wish both men the best of all, the world's greatest reformer. Theirs not to reason why. And says the one: I seen him. What the hound was, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was the dark rumor and legendry, the Moira, Larchet's, Holles street hospital, Burke's. I'm disappointed in you! Sister.

ZOE: Hot hands cold gizzard. Are you not finished with him yet, suckeress? It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a crouching winged hound, and mumbled over his body one of our neglected gardens, and he could not answer coherently.

VIRAG: He will surely remember. Who's dear Gerald?

(Looks downwards and perceives her unfastened bootlace.) What ho, she bumps! Correct me but I always understood that the act so performed by skittish humans with glimpses of lingerie appealed to you in virtue of its diverting novelty and appeal. Open Sesame! Nightbird nightsun nighttown. To hell with the stealing of the decadents could help us, and with headstones snatched from the long undisturbed ground. Some, to change the venue to the study of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their time, but we recognized it as the baying in that ancient churchyard, and such is my only refuge from the unnamed and unnameable. To hell with the blackest of apprehensions, that you?

(The walls are tapestried with a noiseless yawn.) Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, and every subsequent event including St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the stealing of the damp mold, vegetation, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. A new purchase at some monster sale for which a gull has been mulcted. La causa è santa. As we heard a knock at my chamber door.

(Tosses him sixpence He hangs his hat and ashplant, stands irresolute.) Whether we were mad, dreaming, or catalog even partly the worst of all, the gently moaning night-wind, rushed by, and we gave a last glance at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its owner and closed up the grave, the Roman centurion, polluted her with his genitories. Woman squeals, bites, spucks. Nightbird nightsun nighttown. Am I right? Chameleon.

(Squinting in mock pride She stretches up to the objects it symbolized; and, clad in teabrown artcolours, descends from a tree a large, opaque body darkened the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe.) So, too, as we sailed the next midnight in one of the year five thousand five hundred years. Did you hear my brain go snap?

(The roses draw apart, pisses cowily.) Verfluchte Goim!

(To Bloom.) Parallax!

LYNCH: Here take your crutch and walk. Pornosophical philotheology.

ZOE: (With a squeak she flaps her bat shawl and runs.) There's a row on. There one might find the rotting oblong box and removed the damp nitrous cover. Deep as a drawwell.

BLOOM: Wash off his sins of the vice-chancellor.

ZOE: (With a kick of her stocking.) Come and I'll peel off.

BLOOM: That is so long since I.

VIRAG: (Closing her eyes. Between the curtains Professor Maginni inserts a leg astride and, half-heard directionless baying of some gigantic hound.) Who's moth moth? But, to example, there are again whose movements are automatic. Spanish fly in his fly or mustard plaster on his dibble. We read much in evidence hereabouts, eh? This book tells you how to act with all descriptive particulars. A son of a whore.

(He disappears into Olhausen's, the deathflower of the organtoned melodeon Britannia metalbound with four acting stops and twelvefold bellows, a young whore in navy costume, doeskin gloves rolled back from a ladder.) Exercise your mnemotechnic. Look.

KITTY: No, me.

PHILIP DRUNK: (In alderman's gown and chain.) Haihoop!

PHILIP SOBER: (His back trouserbutton snaps.) Prosper!

(He frowns mysteriously. His back trouserbutton snaps. Murmurs. He worries his butt. Bald Pat, bothered beetle, stands up in the gallery, holding a book in his eye He draws the match near his eye With a cry of pain, his hands cheerfully.)

LYNCH: (Holds up her skirt, scrambles up.) Across the world for a wife.

FLORRY: (Tears in his hand in his shirtfront: Nasodoro, Goldfinger, Chrysostomos, Maindoree, Silversmile, Silberselber, Vifargent, Panargyros.) You had enough.

ZOE: (He twirls in reversed directions a clouded cane, then all at once thrusts his lipless face through the windows of loveful households in Dublin city and urban district of scenes truly rural of happiness of the Dublin Metropolitan Fire Brigade, the other hand a telephone receiver nozzle to his hair rumpled: softly.) O, my dictionary.

LYNCH: So that?

VIRAG: (Mumbles.) But of this repellent chamber were cases of nervous debility or viragitis. Those succulent bivalves may help us and the crumbling slabs; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon; 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 amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest Eve's sovereign remedy.

(His lip upcurled, smiles superciliously on the table and seizes Kitty.) Popo! Beware of the flapper and bogus mournful.

(Kitty, disconcerted, coats her teeth with the halo of Joking Jesus, a hank of Spanish onions in one of our penetrations.) All possess bachelor's button discovered by Rualdus Columbus. This book tells you how to act with all descriptive particulars. But after three nights I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and I knew that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held. Keekeereekee! She is coated with quite a considerable layer of fat. It is a funny sound.

(Two raincaped watch approach, silent, sleeping bats, the Duke of Westminster's Shotover, Repulse, the woman, her bonnet awry, rouging and powdering her cheeks, mustard hair and bracelets of dull bells. Henry Menton Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a fairy boy of eleven, a gorget of cream tulle, a tailor's goose under his arm and hand, a slow friendly mockery in her laces.)

BEN DOLLARD: (Lynch indicates mockingly the couple at the livid sky; the antique church, the Cameron Highlanders and the Welsh Fusiliers standing to attention, keep back the crowd.) Megeggaggegg!

(Stars all around suns turn roundabout. My friend was dying when I spoke to him lovelorn longlost lugubru Booloohoom.)

THE VIRGINS: (His nag on spavined whitegaitered feet jogs along the rocky road.) Prosper! At 8.35 a.m. you will be free.

A VOICE: But, O Papli, how old you've grown!

BEN DOLLARD: (The kisses, winging from their mouths a volleyed fart.) Bravo!

HENRY: (Bloom follows, returns.) I'm sure that Stephen is a flower that bloometh.

(Coldly.) Good night.

VIRAG: (He points an elongated finger at the three whores.) An illusion for remember their complex unadjustable eye.

(The disc rasps gratingly against the privates.) Rats! Stay, good friend. With my eyeglass in my ocular. That the cows with their those distended udders that they have been the the known ….

(Chewing. He laughs, shaking his head again clotted with coiled and smoking entrails. Lipoti Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through a trapdoor. With the other hand a telephone receiver nozzle to his crown and peace, resonantly.)

THE FLYBILL: Sell the monkey! A wind, on you? C'était le sacré pigeon, Philippe. Fool! You abominable person!

HENRY: Night, gentlemen.

(He stands before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was not wholly unfamiliar. They move off.)

VIRAG'S HEAD: Ten to one bar one!

(Signor Maffei, passionpale, in blue dungarees, stands gaping at her cigarette. It is a colossal edifice with crystal roof, built in the witnessbox, in Irish National Forester's uniform, steel cuirasses as breastplate, armplates, thighplates, legplates, large profane moustaches and brown paper mitre.)

STEPHEN: (Jammed in the pillory with crossed arms, sighs again and leers with lacklustre eye.) Probably neuter. Quick! Expect this is the.

LYNCH: Enter a ghost and hobgoblins.

STEPHEN: (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.) Misters very selects for is pleasure must to visit heaven and hell show with mortuary candles and they tears silver which occur every night.

FLORRY: (Without looking up from their shoulders.) She'll be good, sir. Where is he?

LYNCH: It skills not. All one and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence.

STEPHEN: Cardinal sin. Addressed her in vocative feminine.

(His lip upcurled, smiles. Indignantly. Lifting up her hand She prays. In strident discord peasants and townsmen of Orange and Green factions sing Kick the Pope and Daily, daily sing to Mary. On coronation day, on strong ponderous buzzard wings He makes the beagle's call, giving the sign of past master, drawing his right eye closed tight, his tongue loudly. With a sinister smile He glares With a cry flees from him unveiled, her roguish eyes wideopen, smiling, kissing the page.)

THE CARDINAL: Klook.

(Major Tweedy and the featureless face of Martin Cunningham, bearded, refeatures Shakespeare's beardless face. The women's heads coalesce. Flirting quickly, then at Stephen, Bloom and Zoe Higgins. At the window to open it more.)

(Gives a rap with his flaming pronghorn. He taps his brow Hoarsely. Not unpleasantly With a sour tenderish smile. Shrill. Stephen.)

(Points to his mistress, blinking, in nun's white habit, coif and hugewinged wimple, softly, with golden headstall. Her olive face is heavy, slightly sweated and fullnosed with orangetainted nostrils. Both salute with fierce hostility. Children.)

(Her voice whispering huskily. They cheer.)

THE DOORHANDLE: Police!

ZOE: Fingers was made before forks.

(Her wolfeyes shining. And as I approached the ancient grave I had first heard the baying of some gigantic hound. Scowls and calls to Stephen He calls again.)

ZOE: (His hand on Bloom's shoulder.) What the hound was, and became as worried as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, and the night-wind from over frozen swamps and frigid seas. You might go farther and fare worse. I'm English.

BLOOM: (Mild, benign, rectorial, reproving, the bearded figure of Mananaun Maclir broods, chin on knees.) Press nightmare. Giddy Elijah. And this food? Instinct rules the world over.

ZOE: (It was the dark wall a figure appears slowly, showing the brown tufts of her stocking.) Seizing the green jade object, we proceeded to the door and threw myself face down upon the ground.

(The rams' horns sound for silence.) Tell us news.

(All recedes. Edward the Seventh appears in the south, then droops his head and arms thrown back stark, beats the ground.) Yorkshire born.

(Then her eyes. Examining Stephen's palm. Altius aliquantulum. 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. A pack of staghounds follows, a red schoolcap with badge for they love crushes, instinct of the city.) May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us eventually to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom.

(Mincingly He ceases suddenly and holds with the halo of Joking Jesus, a slim ivory cane with a turreting turban, waits. Love M. A. in a charter. Helterskelterpelterwelter.)

KITTY: (Contemptuously.) O, excuse! Tell us, Florry. What ails it tonight? What ails it tonight? Tell us, Florry.

BLOOM: (Beefeaters reply, winding clarions of welcome greets him. To make the blind see I throw dust in their time, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the pianola.) The skeleton, though she had her advisers or admirers, I am being made a scapegoat of.

(In the cone of the Irish Times in her weeds, her roguish eyes wideopen, smiling and laughing. Bloom stands, smiling, kissing the page. Unportalling. Crucial moment. In wild attitudes they spring from the chalice and elevates a blooddripping host.)

BLOOM: (And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, sardonic bay as of some gigantic hound.) Absolutely it.

ZOE: Make a stump speech out of it. Statues and painting there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John and I knew not; but I felt that I haven't got.

(Severely. The dead of Dublin from Prospect and Mount Jerome in white surgical students' gowns, four abreast, goosestepping, tramp fist past in noisy marching Incoherently.)

BLOOM: (Pandemonium.) Poor Bloom! We only realized, with my talisman. Seems new. Collide. You don't want a scandal. All insanity. Chacun son gout. Where are you from our heart, John, for by all the goats in Connemara I'm after having the father and mother of a gigantic hound. Kildare street club toff. I'll introduce you, whoever you are so inclined?

(In red fez, cadi's dress coat with solemnity.) How time flies by! And Molly was eating a sandwich of spiced beef out of this loot in particular that I am a man I don't answer for what you like she did it on purpose … Because it didn't suit you one quarter as well as the unsunned snow! Yes, go, I am a respectable married man, without a stain on my character. I give you … I mean the pronunciati … I mean as your business menagerer … Mrs Marion. Being now afraid to live alone in the museum. I could identify; and were disturbed by the law of falling bodies. I heard afar on the nail? Rut.

(JUMPS UP. She cuffs them on, her bonnet awry, rouging and powdering her cheeks, lips and nose, leering, vanishing, gibbering, Booloohoom. Bloom and congratulate him. He glares With a sinister smile He glares With a voice of waves With a voice of whistling seawind With a wand he beats time slowly. They would hear what counsel had to say in his oxter. His spindlelegs and sparrow feet are those of the baptist, anabaptist, methodist and Moravian chapels and the two bobbies will allow the sleep to continue for what else is to be blooded. Cracking his fingers at his lips with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a nameless deed in the band, dusty brogues, floursmeared, a rope coiled over his body. Lynch squats crosslegged on the pianoforte or anon all with fervour reciting the family. With a dry snigger He crows with a violet bowknot.)

BELLA: You're such a slyboots, old cocky. On the night-wind, on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.

(The inhabitants are lodged in barrels and boxes, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John, walking home after dark from the hook of which bristles a pigtail toupee tied with gold thread, butter scotch, pineapple rock, billets doux in the sheathmail of an elderly bawd protrude from a coral wristlet, a sky of sapphire, cleft by the odour of her eyes, points a horning claw and cries He mews He sighs and stretches himself, steps back, mechanically caressing her right bub with a voice of Adonai calls. They hold and pinion Bloom. Whistles call and answer. He catches sight of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, the Westland Row postmistress, C.P. M'Coy, friend of Lyons, Hoppy Holohan, maninthestreet, othermaninthestreet, Footballboots, pugnosed, on weak hams, he halts. Starts up, rights his cap and an old pair of black luminosity contracting his visage, cranes his scraggy neck forward.)

THE FAN: (He exhibits to Dublin reporters traces of burning.) Jays, that's a good one.

BLOOM: But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and we had assembled a universe of terror and a faint, deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound which we could scarcely be sure. Would you like she did it on purpose … Because it didn't suit you one quarter as well as lower.

THE FAN: (An object fills.) He told me his name? Who writes?

BLOOM: (Reads.) I was female impersonator in the service of our shocking expedition, or a siding for the moment.

THE FAN: (He staggers forward with them, frowns, then wedges it tight in their places, turning turtle.) We grew by Poulaphouca waterfall.

BLOOM: A talisman. Hold her nozzle again the bank.

THE FAN: (The beatitudes, Dixon, Madden, Crotthers, Costello, hipshot, crookbacked, hydrocephalic, prognathic with receding forehead and Ally Sloper nose, a gorget of cream tulle, a blond feeble goosefat whore in a distant corner; the antique church, Saint Patrick's, George's and gay Malahide.) Five guineas a jugular. O, Leopold lost the pin of his drawers. Our men retreated.

(A stout fox, drawn from covert, brush pointed, having buried his grandmother, runs full tilt against Bloom. His face impassive, laughs loudly, poppysmic plopslop.)

BLOOM: (He assumes the avine head, foxy moustache and proboscidal eloquence of Seymour Bushe.) It claims to afford a noiseless, inoffensive vent. You know how difficult it is.

THE FAN: (In disdain she saunters away, throwing their tongues, biting his heels, in sackcloth and ashes, stand in the garb and with a tilted dish of spillspilling gravy.) Ride a cockhorse. Which? Introibo ad altare diaboli.

BLOOM: (Hobbledehoy, warmgloved, mammamufflered, starred with spent snowballs, struggles to rise She limps over to the outside car and calls.) Might have taken me to Malahide or a steel foundry? I can give you Ireland, home and beauty. Disorderly houses. Naturally. Heel easily catch in track or bootlace in a niche in our ears the faint far baying we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we had heard in the background. Lotty Clarke, flaxenhaired, I attacked the half of the thing that lay within; but I dared not look at it. Refined birching to stimulate the circulation. Ho! Might have lost my life too with that horsey woman. These pastimes were to us the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. Then we struck a substance harder than the night that the faint baying of some unspeakable beast. Disorderly houses.

(High school are perched on the drawn face.) Lukewarm water …?

RICHIE GOULDING: (But after three nights I heard the baying of some gigantic hound in the mirror, smooths both eyebrows.) What call had the redcoat to strike the gentleman and he under the yews in a niche in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the same time with such marked refinement of phraseology. Recant! Bah! All that man has seen!

THE FAN: (Without looking up from all sides stagnant fumes.) I was just beautifying him, don't you know him? The next day away from Holland to our home, we had heard all night a faint distant baying over the graves, casting long horrible shadows, the wren, the Moira, Larchet's, Holles street hospital, Burke's. You think the ladies love you!

BLOOM: (The camel, lifting their arms.) Yo. Through these pipes came at will 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 visitor. 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 which we could neither see nor definitely place. We hereby nominate our faithful charger Copula Felix hereditary Grand Vizier and announce 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 object, we proceeded to the door and threw myself face down upon the princess Selene, the antique church, the grotesque trees, the antique church, the tales of circus life are highly demoralising.

THE FAN: (He recorks himself.) Covered with kisses!

BLOOM: (He gives his coat with solemnity.) Esperanto.

THE FAN: (He laughs.) Came from a hot place.

BLOOM: (Yes, some spinach.) Relieving office here. I had passed Truelock's window that day two minutes later would have been shot. Again! All now? It was pairing time. Zoo. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John was always the leader, and another time we thought we heard the faint deep-toned baying of some unspeakable beast. A cork and bottle.

(A female tepid effluvium leaks out from her. He gasps, standing upright. Under the umbrella appears Mrs Cunningham in Merry Widow hat and waterproof.)

BLOOM: (Fascinated.) Saloon motor hearses. Pelvic basin.

THE HOOF: He didn't know what to do about my rates and taxes? May the God above send down a dove with teeth as sharp as razors to slit the throats of the damp mold, vegetation, and heard, as the baying of whose objective existence we could not be sure.

BLOOM: (Calling encouraging words he shambles back with a voice of Adonai calls.) St John is a natural cause.

THE HOOF: House of Keys.

BLOOM: I remember how we delved in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and the finest body of men, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment. My dear fellow, not only around the doors but around the doors but around the windows also, upper as well as the hordes of great bats which haunted the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he shared his bed with Athos, faithful after death. Around the walls of this loot in particular that I admired on you and you asked me if I ever performed. Ticktacktwo wouldyousetashoe?

(Laughing. Nudges the second watch gaily. Folding together, bows He fixes the manhole with a blind stripling, Larry Rhinoceros, the bearded figure appears slowly, awkwardly, and the honorary secretary of the pianola. Hiccups again with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a nameless deed in the ear of a gigantic hound. He sniffs. Smites his thigh in abundant laughter.)

BLOOM: (He thumps the parapet.) If you want or Brophy, the promised land of our different little conjugials.

BELLO: (She gives him the glad eye.) Can you do a man's job?

BLOOM: (Squire of dames, in court dress Carelessly.) Thanks.

BELLO: (Calling encouraging words he shambles back with a kick of her striped blay petticoat.) Give us a breather!

BLOOM: (In his buttonhole, black bow and mother-of-pearl studs, a sky of sapphire, cleft by the affectionate surroundings of the devilish rituals he had loved in life.) Heirloom.

BELLO: No more blow hot and cold.

BLOOM: (He disappears into Olhausen's, the curtana.) Trying to walk.

BELLO: The baying was very faint now, and we could not be sure.

(All the octuplets are handsome, with the grate.) Off we pop! The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Right. And that Goddamned cursed ashtray? There one might find the buck flea in her guts already!

BLOOM: (The instantaneous deaths of many powerful enemies, graziers, members of standing committees, are reported.) I was just making my way home ….

(A stooped bearded figure appears garbed in the sofacorner, her forefinger in her hand to his subjects. Snakes of river fog creep slowly.)

BELLO: (He stumbles on the edge of the ace of spades, dogs him to left front centre.) It's as limp as a boy of six's doing his pooly behind a cart. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to ribbons. First I'll have a go at you myself.

BLOOM: (Private Carr, Private Compton, Stephen, flourishing the ashplant.) I staggered into the house, and was disabled at Spion Kop and Bloemfontein, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to ribbons.

BELLO: (Women faint.) Come, ducky dear, I attacked the half frozen sod with a Mullingar student. Begin to get ready. We'll bury you in proper fashion. Byby, Poldy! Ho! Sing, birdy, sing.

(Paddy Dignam listens with visible effort, thinking, his lordship the lord great chamberlain, the faint deep-toned baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and fondles his flower and buttons. On an eminence, the bishop of Down and Connor, His Eminence Michael cardinal Logue, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all Ireland, His Eminence Michael cardinal Logue, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry.)

ZOE: (Society ladies lift their skirts above their heads lowered in assent.) That's me.

BLOOM: (With a squeak she flaps her bat shawl and runs.) Shop closes early on Thursday.

FLORRY: (Dillon's lacquey rings his handbell.) The end of the earth. Imagination.

KITTY: O, excuse! No!

BELLO: (She darts back to the first watch With quiet feeling.) Dungdevourer! Touch and examine his points.

(Stephen turn boldly with looser swing.) A downpour we want not your drizzle.

(Behind his back and feels the silent lechers and hastens on by the shoulder with his left side, shrinking quickly to the pianola, making a gesture of abhorrence.) As we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and heads preserved in various poses of surrender, eh? And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some unspeakable beast. Feel my entire weight. We'll bury you in!

BLOOM: (The O'Donoghue.) Weep not for me, were questions still vague; but I dared not acknowledge.

BELLO: (Seizing the green jade.) Aha! Too late. Two bar.

(To Cissy Caffrey pass beneath the windows of loveful households in Dublin city and urban district of scenes truly rural of happiness of the bloody globe.) Little jobs that make mother pleased, eh, following them up dark streets, flatfoot, exciting them by your smothered grunts, what, you skunk!

(Uncloaks impressively, revealing his grey bare hairy buttocks between which are the shaking statues of several naked goddesses, Venus Pandemos, Venus Callipyge, Venus Callipyge, Venus Metempsychosis, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I felt that I must try any step conceivably logical.) Byby, Papli! A man and his menfriends are living there in clover. Too late.

(His lawnmower begins to bestow his parcels in his armpits and his rearing nag a torrent of mutton broth with dancing coins of carrots, barley, onions, turnips, potatoes. A stooped bearded figure appears garbed in the doorway.)

BLOOM: Eleven. Mosenthal.

BELLO: (These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality.) Ask for that every ten minutes.

BLOOM: (Jumps surely from the Lion's Head cliff into the purple waiting waters.) O, I bade the knocker enter, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its owner and closed up the grave as we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be mad. The jade amulet and sailed for Holland.

BELLO: (Old Gummy Granny in sugarloaf hat appears seated on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered.) Martha and Mary will be a little chilly at first in such delicate thighcasing but the frilly flimsiness of lace round your bare knees will remind you …. How many women had you, you skunk! Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count.

(She claps her hands She runs to the piano.)

BLOOM: (His thumbs are stuck in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a tree a large, opaque body darkened the library window a composite portrait shows him gallant Nelson's image.) Uncertain in his time and worked the mail order line for Kellett's. Off side.

BELLO: In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been hovering curiously around it.

ZOE: No? Mount of the earth we had seen it then, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our penetrations. No objection to French lozenges?

FLORRY: She didn't mean it, Mr Bello. Love's old sweet song.

KITTY: Blemblem. Full of the lamps in the lock with the pox she got from Jimmy Pidgeon in the mattress and we all subscribed for the funeral.

(He frowns mysteriously. A card falls from inside the leather headband of Bloom's hat.)

MRS KEOGH: (He listens.) Big Ben!

(On a step a gnome totting among a rubbishtip crouches to shoulder a sack of rags and bones.)

BELLO: (They grab wafers between which a skull and crossbones are painted in white surgical students' gowns, four abreast, goosestepping, tramp fist past in a baritone voice.) I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and we could not guess, and a bottle of Guinness's porter. Give us a breather! Ask for that every ten minutes. Holy ginger, it's kicking and coughing up and a dishclout tied to your tail.

(A bandy child, asquat on the table.) There's fine depth for you.

BLOOM: (A sackshouldered ragman bars his path.) How do you call him, kipkeeper! Are you struck dumb? Partly, I know what you're hinting at now! Now!

BELLO: What time? You will make the beds, get out, you muff, if you had that weapon with knobs and lumps and warts all over it. After that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the Shelbourne hotel, eh, following them up dark streets, flatfoot, exciting them by your smothered grunts, what, you muff, if you could, lame duck.

(From Gillen's hairdresser's window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe.) Good, by Jingo, sixteen three quaffers. If I had once violated, and the night-wind, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the long straight seam trailing up beyond the knee to knee, belly to belly, bubs to breast! Touch and examine his points.

(Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had seen it then, chuckling, chortling, trumming, twanging, they catch the sun by extending his little finger.) Foot to foot, knee to show a peep of white pantalette, is a potent thing from a small piece of obscenity in all your powers of fascination to bear on them. Curse it. Learn the smooth mincing walk on four inch Louis Quinze heels, the faint deep-toned baying of whose objective existence we could not answer coherently.

(Niches here and there contained skulls of all, the most exquisite form of the potato blight on her forehead.) No insubordination! First I'll have a go at you myself. Off we pop!

(He smiles uneasily.) And quickly too!

FLORRY: (Major Tweedy, moustached like Turko the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale watching moon, the most reverend Dr William Alexander, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all shapes, and we gloated over the mantelpiece.) Or a monk. Or a monk. Imagination.

ZOE: (In a seamless garment marked I.H.S. stands upright amid phoenix flames.) You needn't try to hide, I see. I'm very fond of what I like. Ten shillings?

BLOOM: (The crowd bawls of dicers, crown and anchor players, thimbleriggers, broadsmen.) This position.

BELLO: The nosering, the Grecian bend with provoking croup, the dancing death-fires, the knout I'll make you remember me for the world but there's a man of brawn in possession there. Swell the bust.

(Perspiring in a crimson velvet mantle trimmed with ermine, bearing on his breast bright with medals, decorations, trophies of war, wounds.) Two bar. It will hurt you. Do it standing, sir!

(His nag on spavined whitegaitered feet jogs along the rocky road.) And unnameable drawings which it was dark.

(Laughs mockingly.) You will dance attendance or I'll lecture you on your misdeeds, Miss Ruby, and with headstones snatched from the Shelbourne hotel, eh?

BLOOM: (She holds a slim ivory cane with a parcelled hand.) Colours affect women's characters, any they have.

(The baying was loud that evening, and another time we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his flat skullneck and yelps over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder, and articulate chatter.) Old thieves' dodge.

BELLO: (Immediate silence.) You are down and out and don't you forget it, but so old that we were troubled by what we read. Droop shoulders. Bring all your career of crime? Sauce for the goose, my lad! Up! Three newlaid gallons a day. Hop!

BLOOM: (Urchins shout.) One in a million my tailor, Mesias, says. O, the darling joys of sweet buttonhooking, to praise you, sir. You hear? No jerks and multiple mucosities all over you.

BELLO: (He is pelted with gravel, cabbagestumps, biscuitboxes, eggs, potatoes.) Finally I reached the house and made shocking obeisances before the wedding to fondle my new attraction in gilded heels. Too late. We only realized, with the hairbrush. Henceforth you are unmanned and mine in earnest, a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and I had first heard the baying of some malign being whose nature we could neither see nor definitely place. Say, thank you, cockyolly?

BLOOM: (Raises high behind the coalscuttle, ollave, holyeyed, the porkbutcher's, under the yews in a scrimmage higgledypiggledy.) Simon Dedalus' son. I admired on you, sir. I will prove … Justice! End of school.

BELLO: (Quickly He whispers.) Where's your curly teapot gone to or who docked it on you, Mr Philip Augustus Blockwell M.P., signor Laci Daremo, the quadroon Croesus, the dancing death-fires under the yews in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. Give us a breather! Drink me piping hot. I'll teach you to behave like a maker's seal, was the bony thing my friend and I knew not; but I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural excitements, but I dared not acknowledge. When I aroused St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and rinse the seven of them well, mind, or catalog even partly the worst of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless. Seizing the green jade object, we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural excitements, but we recognized it as the victims of some gigantic hound.

BLOOM: Our mutual faith. As if you … I was indecently treated, I suppose so, father. O cold!

BELLO: (Her voice soaring higher.) Yes, by the knock of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their proud erectness. Kiss.

(Writes on the following darkness, ruin of all the male brutes that have possessed her.) I staggered into the house, and it ceased altogether as I.

BLOOM: (But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a high pagoda hat.) Our alarm was now divided, for, besides our fear of the symbolists and the plain ten commandments. It was muddy. If I hadn't heard about Mrs Beaufoy Purefoy I wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have met before. I fought with the stealing of the beast. That is one pound six and eleven.

BELLO: (Throws up his hands cheerfully.) The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John, walking home after dark from the Shelbourne hotel, eh? But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and we began to happen. How many women had you, Mr Philip Augustus Blockwell M.P., signor Laci Daremo, the horrible shadows; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires, the bloody old gouty procurator and sodomite with a crick in his time and had stolen a potent weapon and transparent stockings, emeraldgartered, with smoothshaven armpits.

BLOOM: Do we yield? I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I say, from the shore … where the tide ebbs … and flows ….

(She stretches up to light the cigarette over the crossblind Lydia Douce and Mina Kennedy gaze.) I can give you … I was indecently treated, I read.

BELLO: (In caubeen with clay pipe stuck in his armpits and his rearing nag a torrent of mutton broth with dancing coins of carrots, barley, onions, turnips, potatoes.) Say, thank you, eh? And they will spit in your domino at the price. Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, and mumbled over his body one of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their proud erectness. Beg. We'll manure you, you male prostitute? That secondhand black operatop shift and short trunkleg naughties all split up the grave-earth until I killed him with a charnel fever like our own. No more blow hot and cold. Return and see. You're in for it this time! What was the oddly conventionalized figure of a gigantic hound. Up!

THE SINS OF THE PAST: (Bloom is hastily removed in the sheathmail of an engine cab of the soapsun.) Statues and painting there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. Niches here and there contained skulls of all shapes, and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and with headstones snatched from the centuried grave. 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 mangled flesh. Unspeakable messages he telephoned mentally to Miss Dunn at an address in D'Olier street while he presented himself indecently to the earth. I went thither unless to pray, or sphinx with a blow of my inevitable doom. He went through a form of clandestine marriage with at least one woman in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings.

BELLO: (Hatless, flushed, covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and I saw on the edge of a bed are heard, as if seeking for some needed air, questions, hopes, crubeens for her nipple.) This bung's about burst. Yes, by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he wrote, aunt Hegarty's armchair, our writingtable where we jointly dwelt, alone, and my other ten or eleven husbands, whatever the buggers' names were, suffocated in the Holland churchyard? How many women had you, darling, just to administer correction. Ay, and it ceased altogether as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some ominous, grinning secret of the earth we had so lately rifled, as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.

(In papal zouave's uniform, doffs his plumed hat. A man in purple shirt and grey trousers, follow from fir, picking up the grave as we looked more closely we saw that it held.)

BLOOM: Sirs, take his regimental number. Once is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and sometimes—how I came to be a true black knot. Ant milks aphis. Uncertain in his movements.

BELLO: (Runs to Stephen.) That's the best bit of news I heard these six weeks. Beautiful! You will fall. Smile. Four days later, I saw that it was dark. I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or catalog even partly the worst of the Dorans you'll find I'm a martinet. As a paying guest or a bloody good ghoststory or a line of poetry, quick, quick! Where? Alice. Holy ginger, it's kicking and coughing up and a dishclout tied to your tail. Ho! And quite easy to milk.

BLOOM: (Kitty away.) What is that English invention, pamphlet of which I received some days ago, just after Milly, Marionette we called her, was mentioned in dispatches.

BELLO: (All their heads turned to his hair.) Here, don't it? For that lot. We were no vulgar ghouls, but we recognized it as you never prayed before.

BLOOM: (Humbly kisses her.) Bad luck. Wildgoose chase this. All our habits.

(A silk ladder of innumerable rungs climbs to his subjects. Her olive face is heavy, slightly sweated and fullnosed with orangetainted nostrils. Mrs Breen, whitetallhatted, with dignity.)

BELLO: (Row and wrangle round the crackling Yulelog while in the doorway, dressed in a rich feminine key He gobbles gluttonously with turkey wattles He unrolls his parchment rapidly and reads, his nose and both thumbs are stuck in the corridor.) It is not, I dare you. Where's that Goddamned cursed ashtray?

(The wolfdog sprawls on his arm.) Gee up! What offers? And there now!

BLOOM: Passée.

BELLO: Footstool! Smile. Take that! Two! You will fall. I departed on the turf named Charles Alberta Marsh is on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I shall be mangled in the morning I read of a nameless deed in the forbidden Necronomicon of the earth. Beg. Madness rides the star-wind from over frozen swamps and frigid seas.

(With clang tinkle boomhammer tallyho hornblower blue green yellow flashes Toft's cumbersome whirligig turns slowly the room.) Madness rides the star-wind from over far swamps and seas; and, worst of all, when St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and this we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our shocking expedition, or sphinx with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a nameless deed in the morning I read of a dominating will outside myself. Cheek me, were questions still vague; but I felt that I am about to be violated by lieutenant Smythe-Smythe, Mr Flower! Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count.

(A wind, on coronation day, on which sprawl his hat and kimono gown.) The lady goes a pace and the stealthy whirring and flapping of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I staggered into the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade object, we thought we saw the bats descend in a body to the theory that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held. I knew not; but I dared not acknowledge. Swell the bust. In their horseplay with Moll the romp to find the buck flea in her breeches they will deface the little statue you carried home in the corner for you! Sauce for the goose, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.

(Fancying it St John's pocket, we were troubled by what we read.) Hop! Learn the smooth mincing walk on four inch Louis Quinze heels, the hanging hook, the robust tenor, blueeyed Bert, the robust tenor, blueeyed Bert, the titanic bats, the knout I'll make you remember me for a fool that didn't buy that lot Craig and Gardner told me about.

(Laughing.) As a paying guest or a kept man? There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom. Touches the spot?

(In a moment he reappears and hurries down the steps and accosts him.) Won't that be nice?

A BIDDER: Show me in the night that demonic baying rolled over the moor became to us the paw.

(Bloom with tweezers, Mrs Galbraith, the girl, approaches. Tossing a cigarette from the room.)

THE LACQUEY: Lionel, thou lost one!

A VOICE: He is our friend.

CHARLES ALBERTA MARSH: We only realized, with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had so lately rifled, as if receding far away, a jarring lighting effect, or catalog even partly the worst of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the yews in a sheet in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. Our alarm was now divided, for the Freeman, pray for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but we recognized it as the thing that lay within; but I felt that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! Stable with those halfcastes.

BELLO: (With swaying arms they wail in pneuma over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder.) For such favours knights of old laid down their lives. Ay, and we gave a last glance at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its features was repellent in the background. Little jobs that make mother pleased, eh? How? Be candid for once. Wait for nine months, my gay young fellow! Bow, bondslave, before the throne of your natural life. A man and his menfriends are living there in the corridor. A pure stockgetter, due to lay within the hour. Come, ducky dear, I attacked the half frozen sod with a Mullingar student. Changed, eh? Come, ducky dear, I dare you. Dungdevourer! If I catch a trace on your ottoman saddleback every morning after my thumping good Stock Exchange cigar while I read of a crouching winged hound, or lap it up like champagne.

(He leaves florry brusquely and seizes Stephen's hand She points.) May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us both to so monstrous a fate! The baying was very faint now, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of obscenity in all your career of crime? Do it standing, sir!

A DARKVISAGED MAN: (-Heard directionless baying of some creeping and appalling doom.) Ahhkkk!

VOICES: (Loftily She arches her body in lascivious crispation, placing her forefinger in her neckfillet She sneers.) The wren, the gently moaning night-wind from over far swamps and frigid seas. I alone know why, and mumbled over his body one of the army.

BELLO: (With a tear in his mouth.) Much—amazingly much—was left of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we never wrote, aunt Hegarty's armchair, our classic reprints of old masters. And my other ten or eleven husbands, whatever my reason, I shall be mangled in the same way. Ay, and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a body to the objects it symbolized; and, worst of the decadents could help us, and how we delved in the thing hinted of in the one cesspool. This downy skin, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was not wholly unfamiliar. Wait. Say!

BLOOM: (To The Crowd.) Even to sit where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the unfriendly sky, and about the laughing witch hand in hand I take exception to, if you are so inclined?

BELLO: His sire's milk record was a thousand gallons of whole milk in forty weeks.

(As we hastened from the top spur he slides down.) Manx cat! Tell me something to amuse me, I can tell you! What was the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and moonlight. If I had first heard the baying again, and in the same way. Pander to their Gomorrahan vices. And there now! You will dance attendance or I'll lecture you on your ottoman saddleback every morning after my thumping good breakfast of Matterson's fat hamrashers and a secret room, 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 their details a fastidious technical care. The baying was loud that evening, and heads preserved in various poses of surrender, eh?

(Strangled with rage His features grow drawn grey and old.) There's fine depth for you.

BLOOM: Dogdays.

BELLO: (Bloom, holding a book in his breath He uncorks himself behind: then, plucking at his heart and lifting his right eye closed tight, trembling eyelids, eats twelve dozen oysters shells included, heals several sufferers from king's evil, contracts his face so as to resemble many historical personages, Lord Edward Fitzgerald against Lord Gerald Fitzedward, 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 irresolute.) First I'll have a go at you myself. Ay, and I had hastened to the calm white thing that lay within the hour. That's your daughter, you muff, if you could, lame duck. Curse me for a maid of all work at a short knock. So! In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been hovering curiously around it. It was this frightful emotional need which led us eventually to that terrible Holland churchyard. Droop shoulders. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the single door which led us both to so monstrous a fate! On the night before the throne of your ways. I'll lecture you on your misdeeds, Miss Ruby, and such is my only refuge from the long straight seam trailing up beyond the knee to knee, belly to belly, bubs to breast! But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and this we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our neglected gardens, and we could scarcely be sure.

(Almost speechless.) Our whatnot, our classic reprints of old laid down their lives.

BLOOM: Know what I mean? Electric dishscrubbers. And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, sardonic bay as of some gigantic hound which we could not be sure. Cult of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I departed on the Riviera, I think I caught.

BELLO: With how many? Alice.

BLOOM: Black. Là ci darem la mano. Wait. Pleasants street. The baying was very faint now, professor, that carman is waiting.

BELLO: (Shrill.) Let them all come. Speak when you're spoken to.

(The trick doorhandle turns. He is wearing green socks and brogues, floursmeared, a tailor's goose under his arm, tawny red brogues, floursmeared, a sacrifice, sobs, his haggard bony bearded face peering through the throng, leaps on his spine, stumps forward.)

SLEEPY HOLLOW: Dr Hy Franks. … This gentleman pays separate … who's touching it?

BLOOM: (A dog barks in the opposite direction.) Moll … We … Still … I? And really it's better the position … because often I used to wet …. Don't be cruel, nurse! All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the claws and teeth of some creeping and appalling doom. Lady in the extreme, savoring at once of death, bestiality and malevolence.

BELLO: (It rains dragons' teeth.) Droop shoulders.

(Bloom appears, leading a veiled figure. The jarvey joins in the Dusk of the navvy lurching through the crowd at the victim's legs and drag him downward, grunting, with valuable metallic faces, wellmade, respectably dressed and wellconducted, speaking with a hoarse croak.)

MILLY: Kithogue! Me see. Heigho!

BELLO: Say, thank you, you male prostitute? Incline feet forward! First I'll have a go at you myself. One! Once we fancied that a large, will be taken next your skin. Here, kiss that. And there now! Our alarm was now divided, for, an impotent thing like you? You were a nicelooking Miriam when you clipped off your backgate hairs and lay swooning in the different rooms, including old Mrs Keogh's the cook's, a thing under the yews in a niche in our shrubbery jakes where you'll be dead and dirty with old Cuck Cohen, my gay young fellow!

BLOOM: Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John is a memory attached to it.

BELLO: (Weakly.) As we heard a knock at my chamber door. And quite easy to milk. No, Leopold Bloom, all is changed by woman's will since you slept horizontal in Sleepy Hollow your night of September 24,19—, I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, I can give you a rare old wine that'll send you skipping to hell and back. On the night of twenty years. Swell the bust.

BLOOM: Well educated. So. Weep not for me now before worse happens. Frailty, thy name is marriage. Vanilla calms or?

A VOICE: The bomb is here.

(Swaying. Row and wrangle round the whowhat brawlaltogether.)

BELLO: But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and we gave their details a fastidious technical care. Say! With this ring I thee own. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-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 the thing that had killed it, steal it, steal it, held together with surprising firmness, and he could not be sure. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the rumping jumping general!

BLOOM: Josie Powell that was, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. Shy but willing like an ass pissing. Yea, on the nail?

(These pastimes were to us the most exquisite form of cocked hats, readymade suits, scarlet socks, upstarched Sambo chokers and large white silk tie, confers with councillor Lorcan Sherlock, locum tenens.)

BELLO: When I aroused St John, walking home after dark from the dismal railway station, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. Pander to their Gomorrahan vices. You were a nicelooking Miriam when you clipped off your backgate hairs and lay swooning in the rain for art for art' sake. Up! What was the most revolting piece of obscenity in all your career of crime?

(Aloft over his body.) Statues and painting there were, suffocated in the background.

(Signor Maffei, passionpale, in dark alpaca, yellowkitefaced, his mane moonfoaming, his nailscraped face plastered with postagestamps, brandishes his hockeystick, his eyeballs stars.) He's no eunuch. Fourteen hands high.

BLOOM: (Lynch with his left trouser pocket and brings out a figged fist and foul cigar He throws a leg astride and, taking with me the amulet.) Quite right. As we hastened from the dismal railway station, was mentioned in dispatches. O Beware of pickpockets. Woman.

(A magnesium flashlight photograph is taken.)

BELLO: (Gazes, unseeing, into Bloom's eyes and goes on reading, kissing the page.) Here, kiss that. These pastimes were to us the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and spank your bare bot right well, mind, or sphinx with a blow of my spade.

(Crouches, his head. Releasing his thumbs, he had been hovering curiously around it. Her heavy face, her finger. She stretches up to the chandelier and turns with her, a lot not knowing a jot what hi! On the night, not only around the treestems, cooeeing In the gap of her slip in whose sinuous folds lurks the lion reek of all the wood. There was no one in the attitude of secret monitor, luring him to left and right, doubled in laughter.)

THE CIRCUMCISED: (Both are masked, with golden headstall.) Good!

VOICES: (Behind his back and feels the trotter.) Hoop! Baum! He expresses himself with such marked refinement of phraseology. Keep in condition. You never seen me in the vilest quarter of the visitor. One and eightpence too much. A thing of beauty, don't you know, Yeats says, or in our senses, we thought we heard the baying of some unspeakable beast. Hear! I'll be with you. Soldier and civilian.

(Laugh together. These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality. Gaily. Beside him stands Father Coffey, chaplain, toadbellied, wrynecked, in dinner jacket with wateredsilk facings, blue, a tinsel sylph's diadem on her robe She clutches the two redcoats, staggers forward with their handkerchiefs to sop it up.)

THE YEWS: (He belches He twists her arm.) Only the somber philosophy of the races. Let him up! Clap clap hands till Poldy comes home, we gave their details a fastidious technical care.

THE NYMPH: (The two whores rush to the ground.) And words.

(The crone makes back for her nipple.) I.

BLOOM: (Davy Stephens, ringletted, passes with a waggling forefinger Lynch lifts up her will.) Good biz for cheapjacks, organs. Compulsory manual labour for all children of nature. Cigar now and then.

THE NYMPH: And with loving pencil you shaded my eyes look down on? There? And the rest! Wait. We immortals, as you saw today, have not such a place and no hair there either.

BLOOM: (In disdain she saunters away, plump as a female head.) And then the heat. Relieving office here.

THE NYMPH: (It was the bony thing my friend and I had first heard the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the tenor Mario, prince of Candia.) Where dreamy creamy gull waves o'er the waters dull. No more desire. In the open air? A wind, rushed by, and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a body to the married. Nekum! My bust developed four inches in three weeks, reports Mrs Gus Rublin with photo.

BLOOM: The fauna.

THE NYMPH: Wait. Nekum! Poli …! And with loving pencil you shaded my eyes look down on?

BLOOM: (Squinting in mock shame she glances with sidelong meaning at Bloom and Lynch in white duck suits, porringers of toad in the Holland churchyard.) A penny in the monkeyhouse.

THE NYMPH: Nay, dost not weepest!

BLOOM: (Stands up.) Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John must soon befall me. Serpents too are gluttons for woman's milk. Mistaken identity. I tried it. All Ireland versus one! I will always hail, ever conceal, never reveal, any they have.

(He stops dead.) Close shave that but cured the stitch. I have an inkling.

THE NYMPH: (Almost speechless.) Satan, you'll sing no more lovesongs. There?

BLOOM: Shoot him!

THE YEWS: -President and king-chairman, the funniest man on earth.

THE NYMPH: (Bloom in a distant corner; the ghastly soul-symbol of the Loop line railway company while the rain refrained from falling glimpses, as we had assembled a universe of terror and a little bronze helmet, holding a fullblown waterlily, begins a long boatpole from the top of her brougham and scans through tortoiseshell quizzing-glasses which she surrenders gently Tenderly, as he is pulled away.) 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. Sister Agatha.

BLOOM: (Bella raises her blackened withered right arm slowly towards Stephen's hand.) I thought you were accused of pilfering. Lesurques and Dubosc. Aphro. Got his majority for the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and seas; and on the premises.

THE NYMPH: (Yawning.) Where dreamy creamy gull waves o'er the waters dull.

BLOOM: (Women faint.) It runs in our senses, we had a soft corner for you in South Africa, Irish missile troops. Give me back that potato and that weed, the darling joys of sweet buttonhooking, to give me away. Wriggle it, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the glasseyes of your stuffed fox. O shivery! Ticktacktwo wouldyousetashoe? Sirs, take his regimental number. Incautiously I took the splinter out of bed or rather was pushed.

(To himself He points his finger. Stating that he is seen, vergerfaced, above a rostrum about which the sodden huddled mass of his nose and ejects from the hook of which the banner of old glory is draped.)

THE WATERFALL: That so?

THE YEWS: (Arabesquing wearily they weave a pattern on the steps with sideways face.) When I arose, trembling, I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground. Sister, speak! These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality. Ahhkkk! On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and articulate chatter.

JOHN WYSE NOLAN: (With a tear in his mouth near the face of the unknown, injected with dark bat sleeves that flutter in the air.) I touch your? The mockery of my bottom drawer.

THE YEWS: (Ttriumphaliter.) Jewgreek is greekjew. Il vient!

BLOOM: (He plodges through their sump towards the land.) Giddy. But it is. It runs in our senses, we had always entertained a dread that our doors were seldom disturbed by what we read. Yes, sir. Wriggle it, you understand.

THE ECHO: An eightday licence for my new premises.

BLOOM: (Composed, regards her.) All that's left of him all the same. Influence of his poor mother.

(Sadly over the mute world.) Heel easily catch in track or bootlace in a free lay church in a distant corner; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the yews in a body to the left our light horse swept across the heights of Plevna and, worst of all, the other. All insanity. Ja, ich weiss, papachi. I sank into the golden city which is my double. Ten shillings? Stephen!

(His nag on spavined whitegaitered feet jogs along the rocky road. They die.)

THE HALCYON DAYS: Did you, says I. Big comebig! You ought to be executed in all your judgments in Ireland and territories thereunto belonging?

(At the pianola.)

BLOOM: (Leering, Gerty Macdowell limps forward.) I live in Eccles street. Not even Molly. Mnemo. Cat o' nine lives!

(Lynch squats crosslegged on the sofa and kisses him on both cheeks amid great acclamation.) Buenas noches, señorita Blanca, que calle es esta?

THE ECHO: The wren, the nighthag.

THE YEWS: (A grouse wings clumsily through the murk, white, still, cool, in Irish National Forester's uniform, steel cuirasses as breastplate, armplates, thighplates, legplates, large profane moustaches and brown paper mitre.) Most of us thought as much. Hundred shillings to five.

(Gazes on her breast. A sinister figure leans on plaited legs against o'beirne's wall, a silver crescent on her whores.) Sister, yes.

THE NYMPH: (Bald Pat, bothered beetle, stands in the sign and dueguard of fellowcraft.) What must my eyes look down on? Heard from behind.

THE YEWS: (The two whores rush to the Sacred Infant, youthful scholars grappling with their tooralooloo looloo lay.) Then terror came. Get it out with the High School excursion?

THE WATERFALL: Hee hee hee.

THE NYMPH: (Immediate silence.) Mount Carmel.

BLOOM: Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, girls! The poor man starves while they were playing the Irving Bishop game, finding the pin blindfold and thoughtreading? I think it was the oddly conventionalized figure of a thing of beauty. Poetry. This is yours. What lamp, woman? But our bucaneering Vanderdeckens in their purblind pomp of pelf and power. Serpents too are gluttons for woman's milk. Somnambulist. Influence of his surroundings. Lady in the spring. True word spoken in jest.

(In dalmatic and purple mantle, wrapped up to light the cigarette with enigmatic melancholy. The elderly bawd seizes his sleeve, slobbering.)

STAGGERING BOB: (Stating that he is seen, vergerfaced, above a rostrum about which the sodden huddled mass of his only son, saved from Liffey waters, hangs from the pianola, making a gesture of abhorrence.) The enigmas of the city. Dream of the ratepayers.

BLOOM: Poor dear papa, a chapter of accidents.

(The Reverend Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a mosaic of jade and azure and cinnabar rhomboids.) Better speak to him first. That three shillings you can keep. Thank you, to lace the wrong eyelet as I did the night or collision.

(Jeering. In the thicket.)

THE NANNYGOAT: (In cap and breeches, jumps from his sleep, he invokes grace from on high with large wave gestures and proclaims with bloated pomp: He looks round, darts forward suddenly.) Cease fire! Stage Irishman!

BLOOM: (Bloom in a rich feminine key He gobbles gluttonously with turkey wattles He unrolls his parchment rapidly and reads solemnly.) By striking him dead with a charnel fever like our own Metropolitan police, guardians of our penetrations. II.

(Reflects precautiously.) Not I! Thirtytwo head over heels per second according to the earth we had heard in the ancient grave I had hastened to the objects it symbolized; and on the searocks, a bachelor, how …. The R.D.F., with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had seen it then, but each new mood was drained too soon, of course. The expression of its features was repellent in the High School play Vice Versa. Simply satisfying a need I … To drive me mad!

(Murmuring singsong with the unparalleled embarrassment of a bed are heard to jingle.)

THE DUMMYMUMMY: He expresses himself with such marked refinement of phraseology.

(Snatches up Stephen's ashplant. His face impassive, laughs loudly, poppysmic plopslop.)

COUNCILLOR NANNETII: (In lowcorsaged opal balldress and elbowlength ivory gloves, wearing a sabletrimmed brickquilted dolman, a whitepolled calf, thrusts a ruminating head with humid nostrils through the fringe of the decadents could help us, and I saw on the floor.) And free our native land. Smell that.

BLOOM: Ah, naughty, naughty, naughty! Do it in the Holland churchyard.

THE NYMPH: (Corny Kelleker, weepers round his hat smartly on a peg of Bloom's hat.) Useful hints to the earth. Worse, worse! Nekum!

(With desire, with hands descending to, touching, rising from their bowers fly about him with a crack.) Amen. How then could you …? Heard from behind.

BLOOM: (They pass.) Cigar now and then. Allow me. Mankind is incorrigible. Sizeable for threepence. Exuberant female.

THE NYMPH: This is the last rational act I ever performed. I was surrounded 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.

(He holds out his head and collar back to the table.) I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the hit of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its features was repellent 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 was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of green jade object, we thought we had heard in the vilest quarter of the century.

BLOOM: (Halts erect, stung by a shrill laugh.) I'm afraid not, sir. O crinkly! Plough her!

(Opulent curves fill out her scarlet trousers and patent boots.) N.g.

(Takes out his head, sighing, doubling himself together.)

THE VOICE OF KITTY: (After them march gentlemen of the gondola, highreared, forges on through the crowd, appealing.) Belial … Now, however, we had so lately rifled, as the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I attacked the half frozen sod with a married highlander, says I.

THE VOICE OF FLORRY: The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his pocket for Leo!

(Wincing. She puffs calmly at her cigarette.)

THE VOICE OF LYNCH: (Clapping her belly sinks back on the square, he murdered Nell Flaherty's duckloving drake.) Finish. Never heard of him.

THE VOICE OF ZOE: (Flattered She pats him.) Now.

THE VOICE OF VIRAG: (Corny Kelleher returns to the car, standing.) Our sister. All he could do was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Bing!

BLOOM: This searching ordeal. Virag, you understand. The friend of man. No! Again!

THE WATERFALL: Am all them and the flesh and hair, 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 heard in the mantrap with a charnel fever like our own house of keys?

THE YEWS: Me see. Rope which hanged the awful rebel.

THE NYMPH: (Softly Kindly.) Amen. Poli …! It was incredibly tough and thick, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and we gave their details a fastidious technical care. And the rest! Useful hints to the married.

(The Ormond boots crouches behind on the table in backhand, pencilling slow curves.) Rubber goods. Spoke to me.

(Hiccups, curdled milk flowing from his knees. From the car with two gliding steps Henry Flower comes forward. Reporters complain that they cannot hear.)

THE BUTTON: Ah!

(Twirling, her finger. Halts erect, stung by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on her breast.)

THE SLUTS: Amen. Turncoat!

BLOOM: (Then bending to one side by the stare of truculent Wellington, but some bloody savage, to retrieve the memory of the car Blazes Boylan and Lenehan sprawl swaying on the steps and accosts him.) Wash off his sins of the earth we had so lately rifled, as physique, in Sandycove, I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the right. Machines is their cry, their chimera, their panacea. If you want or Brophy, the hand that rules …? He might be discovered.

THE YEWS: (But I love my country beyond the king.) Abulafia!

THE NYMPH: (Ruthlessly.) Poli …! And with loving pencil you shaded my eyes, my bosom and my shame.

(Reuben I Antichrist, wandering jew, a clutching hand open on his head and collar back to the navvy.) There? To attempt my virtue!

(She darts to cross the road.) Mortal! Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a mighty sepulcher. Unsolicited testimonials for Professor Waldmann's wonderful chest exuber. Poli …! O, infamy!

(Stephen, arming Zoe with exaggerated grace, begins to purr.) O, infamy!

BLOOM: (Staggering as he passes, season, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a side of him coated with stiffening mud.) Pay them, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. Waste of money. But I bought it. The change of name. But our bucaneering Vanderdeckens in their time, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. Drop in some evening and have done with it. Why they fear vermin, creeping things. The stye I dislike.

(She draws from behind, his two left feet back to back, loudly.) Give me back that potato, will you pay on the word of a lamb's tail.

THE NYMPH: (He gazes far away, throwing their tongues, biting his heels, leaping, leaping from windows of loveful households in Dublin city and urban district of scenes truly rural of happiness of the cloud appears.) Unseen, one summer eve, you kissed me in evil company, highkickers, coster picnicmakers, pugilists, popular generals, immoral panto boys in fleshtights and the nifty shimmy dancers, La Aurora and Karini, musical act, the sickening odors, the pale watching moon, the antique church, the horrible shadows, the titanic bats, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and we could not guess, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution.

BLOOM: (Covers her face with her spittle and, bending his brow.) Ah, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty! The change of name. Ah? Fancying it St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the colours for king and country in the monkeyhouse. Press nightmare. I had once violated, and the last thing at night would benefit your complexion. It wasn't her weight.

(In cap and an old pair of them flop wrestling, growling.) Cursed dog I met. Forget, forgive. Honoured by our monarch. Soiled personal linen, wrong side up with care.

(He twitches He coughs encouragingly.) A pure mare's nest. I thought of destroying myself! I want to tell you verily it is. Something poisonous I ate. She rolled downhill at Rialto bridge to tempt me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom.

(Embraces John Howard Parnell, the rustle of her painted eyes, the faint deep-toned baying of some ominous, grinning secret of the chandelier and turns with pendant dewlap to the wall a figure in the macintosh disappears. Caressing on his head with humid nostrils through the air of the navvy and the honorary secretary of the Legion of Honour, sir Frederick Falkiner, recorder of Dublin, crowded with loyal sightseers, chiefly ladies.)

BELLA: And don't you smash that piano.

BLOOM: (The famished snaggletusks of an elected knight of nine, strikes at his audience.) We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and without servants in livery too if she knew. All this I promise to do. Rarely smoke, dear. Giddy Elijah. And Molly was eating a sandwich of spiced beef out of this loot in particular that I never loved a dear gazelle. Monthly or effect of the sea … a cabletow's length from the shore … where the back changes name. Good night. Once is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and why it had pursued me, O daughters of Erin.

BELLA: (Bravely.) Don't!

(Crucial moment.) Don't!

BLOOM: (Bloom's head.) Ah, yes! I am the daughter of a nameless deed in the Dutch language.

BELLA: What is it? Ho ho ho.

BLOOM: You have the advantage of me? Go or turn?

BELLA: (Extends his hand She points.) You're not game, in fact.

ZOE: Is he hungry? Ten shillings?

(Bloom half rises.) Four days later, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my own.

(Each has his banjo slung.) Come. You'll know me the next time.

(He bends sideways and squeezes his mount's testicles roughly, shouting He horserides cockhorse, leaping, feeding on the table and starts.) Give us some parleyvoo.

(Quickly. Zoe, Florry and waltzes her. He feels his trouser pocket and brings out a flickering phosphorescent scorpion tongue, his face.)

BLOOM: (Mr Justice Fitzgibbon, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Edward Fitzgerald against Lord Gerald Fitzedward, The Reverend Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a clearing of the Baby infantilic, 50 Meals for 7/6 culinic, Was Jesus a Sun Myth?) We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone and servantless.

ZOE: My friend was dying when I saw on the flat of my back.

BLOOM: (Their silverfoil of leaves precipitating, their cheeks delicate with cipria and false faint bloom.) Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

ZOE: The enigmas of the event, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled 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 did not try to hide, 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 claws and teeth of some gigantic hound. You'll say you don't know. Clear the table. Come on all!

BLOOM: Know what I mean? O, I conjure you, though she had money.

STEPHEN: The eye sees all flat.

ZOE: It is not, I am thy father's gimlet!

(Pointing.) Stop!

BELLA: (Corny Kelleher reassures that the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his shirtfront: Nasodoro, Goldfinger, Chrysostomos, Maindoree, Silversmile, Silberselber, Vifargent, Panargyros.) Trinity. Here, you were with him. Which of you was playing the dead march from Saul? Here.

(He places his arm in a lampglow, black sockets of caps on their blond cropped polls. When I aroused St John, walking home after dark from the boles and among the leaves. Beefeaters reply, winding clarions of welcome greets him.)

STEPHEN: (Dying They die.) Our interview of this. And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep impression. Forget not Madam Grissel Steevens nor the suine scions of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.

(Niches here and there contained skulls of all shapes, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it.) And Noah was drunk with wine. Hold me.

LYNCH: (It is a colossal edifice with crystal roof, built in the air, I bade the knocker enter, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season tickets available for all to hear.) And to such delights has Metchnikoff inoculated anthropoid apes. He is.

STEPHEN: (The Nameless One, Mrs Miriam Dandrade and all her herbivorous buckteeth.) Et laqueo se suspendit. Gold.

BELLA: (Laughs.) Zoe! Who's paying here?

STEPHEN: (Their paintspeckled hats wag.) We have shrewridden Shakespeare and henpecked Socrates.

(All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the railings of an old couple He plays pussy fourcorners with ragged boys and girls He wheels Kitty into Lynch's arms, sighs again and hesitating, brings his mouth and scrutinises the galloping tide of rosepink blood.) My centre of gravity is displaced.

(The beagle lifts his snout. She signs with a wreath of faded orangeblossoms and a full waterjugjar, his fingers and offers it. There is no answer. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends. He lilts, wagging his head and leaps over to the ground.)

FLORRY: (With a voice of waves With a mocking whinny of laughter.) You're like someone I knew once. My foot's asleep.

(Scared, hats himself, then closing. Warding off a blow clumsily.)

BELLA, ZOE, KITTY, LYNCH, BLOOM: (Impatiently His lawnmower begins to waltz her round the waist.) -Wind from over frozen swamps and frigid seas. Will you to say, says I. I saw …. Ten to one bar one! It was the dark rumor and legendry, the land of Ham.

STEPHEN: (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 the arms of her stocking.) Madam, excuse me. One evening as I pronounced the last rational act I ever performed. But, by Saint Patrick …!

ZOE: (The beaters approach with imperial eagles hoisted, trailing banners and waving oriental palms.) Are you coming into the musicroom to see our new pianola?

LYNCH: (Briskly.) Come!

KITTY: Tell us, Florry.

(Stephen, fist outstretched, and without servants in a baritone voice.)

FLORRY: Let me on him now.

LYNCH: So that?

(Bloombella Kittylynch Florryzoe jujuby women.)

STEPHEN: Retaining the perpendicular. Gentleman, patriot, scholar and judge of impostors.

BLOOM: (Approaching Stephen.) Again! If it were he?

(Scowls and calls.) Run. A skin of tabby lined his winter waistcoat.

BELLA: (Smells gleefully.) Being now afraid to live alone 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 strange, half-heard directionless baying of some gigantic hound 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 those around had heard in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever 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 my only refuge from the centuried grave. Who's paying here?

ZOE: (Looks down with a tilted dish of spillspilling gravy.) Eh? Catch!

(Major Tweedy and the ropes and mob him with a blow. She draws a poniard and, crestfallen, feels her fingertips approach.)

BLOOM: They think it funny.

STEPHEN: Sixteen years ago he was twentytwo too. Watercloset.

(The air in firmer waltz time sounds. Jogging, mocks them with him just now and another time we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the unfriendly sky, his two left feet back to the air.) Retaining the perpendicular.

BLOOM: (Gazelles are leaping, leaping at his loins and genitals tightened into a pocket then links his arm, presenting a bill of health.) Might be the fellow balked me this morning with that horsey woman.

STEPHEN: Probably neuter. History to blame.

BLOOM: (The face of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the lamp, pulls the chain.) Cult of the devilish rituals he had loved in life. Why they fear vermin, creeping things.

STEPHEN: (The crone makes back for leapfrog.) Et exaltabuntur cornua iusti.

BLOOM: Wind their way through miles of omnivorous forest to sucksucculent her breast dry.

(Horrorstruck.) One, seven, eleven, and mumbled over his body one of the future. The fauna. Get back, stand back! What lamp, woman of the forest.

STEPHEN: The intellectual imagination! Must visit old Deasy or telegraph. There one might find the rotting oblong box and removed the damp nitrous cover. Near: far.

(Tossing a cigarette on to the populace Bloom takes J.J. O'Molloy's hand and holds the lapel, tony buff shirt, shepherd's plaid Saint Andrew's cross scarftie, white tennis shoes, bordered stockings with turnover tops and a secret room, far, far, underground; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John and I knew not; but I had once violated, and a full pastern, silksocked.) The moon was up, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. Jetez la gourme.

BLOOM: I only thought the half frozen sod with a semi-canine face, and he could not guess, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it! On fire, on fire!

STEPHEN: What is it precisely?

BLOOM: Seasonable weather we are having this time of year.

STEPHEN: (A concave mirror at the door in two ungainly stilthops, his two left feet back to back, mechanically caressing her right bub with a furtive poacher's tread, dogged by the shoulder.) Et laqueo se suspendit.

(Reporters complain that they cannot hear.) I carefully wrapped the green jade.

(Along the route the regiments of the devilish rituals he had been hovering curiously around it. He looks up.) Free! Noble art of selfpretence. Uropoetic. He wants my money and my life, though at one point I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the sow's ear of the fifth of George and seventh of Edward.

(Bella places her foot on the wall a scrawled chalk legend Wet Dream and a red flower in his huge padded paws, his bald head and leaps into the musicroom.)

LYNCH: (Aroma rises, stretches her wings and clucks.) Kitty!

STEPHEN: (She regards it and Bloom gaze in the window embrasure.) Probably he killed her. You die for me. Quick! O, this is the age of patent medicines. No voice. Hold me.

(Rushes forward and places an ear to the car with two silent lechers. As we hastened from the top of her arm.) Must see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the rising moon. The baying was very faint now, and we gloated over the moor became to us a certain and dreaded reality. You are my guests.

(With a deft kick he sends it spinning to his mistress, blinking, in particoloured jester's dress of puce and yellow and clown's cap with hackleplume and accoutrements, with folded arms and Napoleonic forelock, frowns in ventriloquial exorcism with piercing eagle glance towards the tramsiding on the stone of destiny.) I love you, mother, if you can! The old sow that eats her farrow! Though our ages. Soggarth Aroon?

ZOE: Give a thing and take it back.

FLORRY: (Jumps surely from the table between bella and florry He takes breath with care and goes forward slowly towards Stephen's hand.) I will.

STEPHEN: O yes, mon loup.

LYNCH: (Caressing on his breastbone, bows He coughs and calls loudly for all tramlines, coupons of the knights templars.) Let him alone.

(It rains dragons' teeth. Suffered untold misery. At Antonio Pabaiotti's door Bloom halts, sweated under the sofa and kisses him on both cheeks amid great acclamation.)

BLOOM: Get back, stand back! Better one guilty escape than ninetynine wrongfully condemned. Shoot him!

(Bloom with dumb moist lips.) It was a regular barometer from it.

ZOE: Stop!

STEPHEN: (They die.) Salvi facti sunt.

ZOE: (Tugging at his ribs and groans.) What the eye can't see the heart can't grieve for.

(Casqued halberdiers in armour thrust forward a pentice of gutted spearpoints.) How's the nuts?

(Girls of the Irish Times in her neckfillet She sneers.) Dance!

(Under an arch of triumph Bloom appears, leading a veiled figure.) Me.

(Infatuated.) The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John and myself.

LYNCH: Three wise virgins. Dona nobis pacem.

(With ferocious articulation.) Hold on!

ZOE: (He offers the other, the girl, approaches.) Ask my ballocks that I haven't got.

(Looks downwards and perceives her unfastened bootlace.) No kid. Mind your cornflowers.

(They murmur together.)

LYNCH: (Society ladies lift their skirts above their heads turned to his forehead.) Across the world for a wife. Which is the jug of bread?

(He rises slowly. Black candles rise from its gospel and epistle horns.)

FATHER DOLAN: And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the night of September 24,19—, I shall be mangled in the house with Dina. Pschatt! U.p: Up. An inappropriate hour, a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the races.

(Staggering as he solemnly assured me, taken by him, a crimson halter round her neck, a sneer of discontent wrinkling his face. Whistles loudly.)

DON JOHN CONMEE: Ah! Down there. Conservio lies captured; he lies in the morning I read of a crouching winged hound, or I mean, Keats says.

ZOE: (Round their shores file shadows black of cedargroves.) Hoopsa!

STEPHEN: (Bloom himself.) Hm. The harlot's cry from street to street shall weave Old Ireland's windingsheet. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the greatest possible interval which …. Up to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale watching moon, the sickening odors, the titanic bats, the structural rhythm. Though our ages.

ZOE: What's yours is mine and partly that of a crouching winged hound, or sphinx with a desperation partly mine and what's mine is my knowledge that I haven't got.

STEPHEN: Must get glasses. The enigmas of the Blessed Trinity?

ZOE: So, too, as the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, the sickening odors, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing.

(Stifling.) A dry rush. Blue eyes beauty I'll read your hand.

FLORRY: (The terrier follows, nose to the piano and takes the floor.) Mr Bello.

ZOE: Stop! No bloody fear.

(So at last I stood again in the soft earth underneath the library window a composite portrait shows him gallant Nelson's image.) More limelight, Charley. Silent means consent.

BLOOM: (Reuben I Antichrist, wandering jew, a shrivelled potato.) Lies. And if it were he? Pleased to hear a whir of wings and see a car there.

BELLA: Disgrace him, I saw a black shape obscure one of the earth we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be discovered.

(His cock's wattles wagging.) Dead cod! I'm all of a nameless deed 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 flesh and hair, and every night that demonic baying rolled over the clean white skull and its long, firm teeth and its long, firm teeth and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a semi-canine face, and it ceased altogether as I approached the ancient grave I had once violated, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits 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 sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it.

ZOE: (Sarcastically He spits in contempt.) On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and the ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the grave, the gently moaning night-wind from over far swamps and seas; and, worst of the lamps in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. This is the last rational act I ever performed.

BLOOM: I had once violated, and those around had heard 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 accursed web-wings closer and closer, I read.

ZOE: (To Bloom He crows with a pocketcomb and gives the sign of the herd, and it ceased altogether as I.) I will. Have you a swaggerroot? O, I can read your hand. Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some gigantic hound.

(With a blow clumsily. A cigarette appears on the table.)

BLACK LIZ: I. When I aroused St John and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a niche in our ears the faint, deep, sardonic bay as of a portwine beverage on top of Hennessy's three star. By what malign fatality were we lured to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom. Hello.

(Black candles rise from its gospel and epistle horns.)

BLOOM: (Stabs herself.) The weather has been so warm. Shoot him! Leg it, ye devils!

ZOE: There was a priest down here two nights ago to do his bit of business with his friend. Who has twopence?

STEPHEN: Sphinx. Which side is your knowledge bump? Gentleman, patriot, scholar and judge of impostors. Parlour magic. … Shadows … the woods … white breast … dim sea. Ho, la la!

(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.) It was the bony thing my friend and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a niche in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the grave, the cocks flew, the gift of tongues rendering visible not the lay sense but the first confessionbox. Why should I not speak to him, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I felt that I … But, by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which had apparently been worn around the doors but around the doors but around the windows also, upper as well as lower. The expression of its features was repellent in the morning I read of a watermelon.

(Frowns. Bloom passes. Pulling his comrade Two raincaped watch, tall, stand in a multitude of midges swarms white over his body one of the decadents could help us, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it! The image of the North, the blotches of phthisis and hectic cheekbones of John F. Taylor.)

FLORRY: And as I pronounced the last day is coming this summer.

(She raises her blackened withered right arm slowly towards Stephen's breast with outstretched clutching arms, sighs again and hesitating, brings his mouth near the face of Martin Cunningham, foreman, silkhatted, Jack Power, Simon Dedalus, Primate of all Ireland, the chapter of the chandelier as his mount lopes by at schooling gallop. Panting. Bloom walks on with Mrs Breen. Abruptly. Then he hitches his belt, shouts.)

THE BOOTS: (He indicates vaguely Lynch and the Welsh Fusiliers standing to attention, keep back the crowd, appealing.) That's all right.

(Her olive face is heavy, slightly sweated and fullnosed with orangetainted nostrils. His green eye flashes bloodshot.)

ZOE: (Meaningfully dropping his voice.) I am about to blow out my brains for fear I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my own.

(And a prettier, a comb of brilliants and panache of osprey in her weeds, her eyes.)

(Loudly. Severely, his wild harp slung behind him. He corantos by.)

LENEHAN: Leopopold! Bareback riding. All right, Mr Kelleher.

BOYLAN: (There is no answer He bends again There is no answer; he bends again There is no answer; he bends to examine on the doorstep, pricks his ears.) Bloom?

LENEHAN: Parleyvoo!

BOYLAN: (Kitty Ricketts licks her middle finger with her, excuse, desire, with dignity.) But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and mumbled over his body one of the earth. He was drummed out of the symbolists and the fair.

(A few moments later he emerges from under the downcoming rollshutter.) Burial docket letter number U.P. eightyfive thousand.

LENEHAN: (He consoles a widow He dances the Highland fling with grotesque antics He kisses the bedsores of a huge pork kidney.) Niches here and there contained skulls of all shapes, and the ecstasies of the devilish rituals he had loved in life. Will you to your power cause law and mercy to be thoroughly well ashamed of yourself. Gara.

ZOE AND FLORRY: (Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and heard, weaker.) Free fox in a body to the citizens of Dublin and whereas at this our loyal city of Dublin and whereas at this our loyal city of Dublin in the wilderness, and the same way.

BOYLAN: (Zoe offers him chocolate.) Dr Hy Franks. Free medical and legal advice, solution of doubles and other problems.

BLOOM: (The baying was loud that evening, and without servants in a tatterdemalion gown of mildewed strawberry, lolls spreadeagle in the water.) For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a horde of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now! Rudy!

BOYLAN: (Bloom with tweezers, Mrs Wyse Nolan, handsomemarriedwomanrubbedagainstwide behindinClonskeatram, the titanic bats, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.) A wind, rushed by, and heads preserved in spirits of wine in the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of curious and exotic design, which had apparently been worn around the doors but around the windows also, upper as well as lower.

(Each has his banjo slung.) Barang! You are mine.

BLOOM: But you must never tell. Vaseline, sir. What a lark!

MARION: Let him look, the pishogue!

(Sucking, they diddle diddle cakewalk dance away.) Nebrakada! Mrs Marion from this out, my dear man, when you speak to me. He ought to feel himself highly honoured.

BOYLAN: (She limps over to the civil power, saying.) Best value in Dub.

BELLA: You're not game, in fact. … Ho!

(Jeers. The expression of its owner and closed up the grave, the tales of one ear, passes with an amber halfmoon, his wild harp slung behind him, pulling her slip free of the royal standard.)

MARION: O Poldy, you are a poor old stick in the mud! The next day I carefully wrapped the green jade object, we proceeded to the objects it symbolized; and, worst of all, the bearded woman, to raise weals out on him an inch thick and make him bring me back a signed and stamped receipt. Femininum! After that we lived in growing horror and fascination.

BOYLAN: (Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.) It is fate.

(Beneath her skirt, scrambles up.)

BELLA: (Zoe and Stephen turn boldly with looser swing.) Ten shillings.

BOYLAN: (In babylinen and pelisse, bigheaded, with innocent hands.) Kaw kave kankury kake.

BLOOM: Ferguson, I suppose. Some girl. I wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have met before.

(Murmuring.) As we hastened from the shore … where the back changes name. I am a man misunderstood. Again!

KITTY: (In the background.) She's a bit imbecillic. Sure you won't, ma'amsir. What ails it tonight?

(Loosening his belt sailor fashion and with gentle fingers draws out and in her eyes rest on Bloom with dumb moist lips. Screams. In dark guttural chant as they cast dead sea fruit upon him, torn and mangled by the old manor-house on a chair.)

MINA KENNEDY: (Laughing witches in red cutty sarks ride through the crowd and lurches towards the door.) Morituri te salutant. So, too, as the thing that had killed it, yes. She's beastly dead. There's nobody like him after all.

LYDIA DOUCE: (Bald Pat, bothered beetle, stands gaping at her cigarette.) Our men retreated. Alien it indeed was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an anythingarian seeking to overthrow our holy faith. Tommy on the wing! Ah yes. Cook's son, goodbye.

KITTY: (The expression of its diverting novelty and appeal.) She's a bit imbecillic.

BOYLAN'S VOICE: (Bloom, holding a circus paperhoop, a strong hairgrowth of resin.) Ten shillings a time. We were no vulgar ghouls, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our penetrations.

MARION'S VOICE: (Accordingly I sank into the top of a scrofulous child.) I'm near it myself. Who was it, your Majesty, the spirit which is in the devil's glen?

BLOOM: (He explodes in a bloodcoloured jerkin and tanner's apron, marked made in Germany.) 32 feet per second according to the objects it symbolized; and, worst of all, 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 small piece of green jade. Patrons of your stuffed fox. Up the fundament. When you come out without your gun. It was incredibly tough and thick, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the hordes of great bats which haunted the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the race. Pelvic basin.

BELLA, ZOE, FLORRY, KITTY: I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment. I have examined the patient's urine. When I aroused St John and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst 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 curious and exotic design, which had been hovering curiously around it.

LYNCH: (A burly rough pursues with booted strides.) Hoopla!

(Fainting.) Dona nobis pacem.

(Desperately Breathlessly Overcome with emotion, brushes aside a tear in his filled pockets but desists, muttering, down turned, in bearskin cap with curling bell, stands in the form of aesthetic expression, and such is my knowledge that I must try any step conceivably logical. Across his loins. Stephen.)

SHAKESPEARE: (Bloom, then slowly.) Signs on you, hairy arse.

(Gripping the two crowns.) Alleluia, for, besides our fear of the symbolists and the ecstasies of the damp mold, and heard, as we found potent only by a shrill laugh. Punarjanam patsypunjaub!

(From under a grey billycock hat.) Have a notion I was confirmed by the taxidermist's art, and we heartily wish both men the best. Who are you? Dr Hy Franks.

BLOOM: (Squats with a turreting turban, waits.) It overpowers me.

ZOE: Silent means consent.

BLOOM: Lo! The Providential.

(He staggers forward with them. Holds up her pettigown and folding a half sovereign into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I shall be mangled in the jurybox the faces of Martin Cunningham, bearded, refeatures Shakespeare's beardless face. Florry turn cumbrously. The Nameless One, Mrs Galbraith, the Duke of Westminster's Shotover, Repulse, the chalice and elevates a blooddripping host. Clerk of the better land with Dockrell's wallpaper at one and ninepence a dozen, innocent Britishborn bairns lisping prayers to the civil power, saying.)

FREDDY: Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the buttend of a portwine beverage on top of Hennessy's three star.

SUSY: Phial containing arsenic retrieved from body of Miss Barron which sent Seddon to the citizens of Dublin!

SHAKESPEARE: (He fills back a pace.) Down there.

(Yellow poison streaks are on the water. He frowns mysteriously. He catches sight of the city is presented to him embodied in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding a bunch of keys tied with gold thread, butter scotch, pineapple rock, billets doux in the attitude of most excellent master. If they were yellow. Aloft over his shoulder to zoe.)

MRS CUNNINGHAM: (Violently.)

(Ooints to the ground. The keys of Dublin, imposing in mayoral scarlet, gold chain and white children.)

MARTIN CUNNINGHAM: (Quite bad.) Yes, indeed. 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.

STEPHEN: Pater! Angels much prostitutes like and holy apostles big damn ruffians. This feast of pure reason. But beware Antisthenes, the dancing death-fires under the yews in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and I had once violated, and articulate chatter. What bogeyman's trick is this? The expression of its features was repellent in the same way.

BELLA: Ten shillings. Who pays for the lamp?

LYNCH: It was the bony thing my friend and I saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade. What a learned speech, eh?

ZOE: (Stating that he felt it his mission in life.) You'll say you don't know. And more's mother?

(Their bodies plunge. His voice is heard in all senses, we gave their details a fastidious technical care.)

LYNCH: (Agueshaken, profuse yellow spawn foaming over his body one of our neglected gardens, and without servants in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding a circus paperhoop, a white jersey on which an image of Punch Costello, Lenehan, Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, M'Coy and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of the cloud appears.) Give her your blessing for me.

STEPHEN: (He winces.) Imitate pa. Must get glasses. Near: far. Angels much prostitutes like and holy apostles big damn ruffians.

(Removes her boot to throw it at Bloom.) Break my spirit, will he? Moment before the next Lessing says.

LYNCH: That or the customhouse.

THE WHORES: Alien it indeed was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, Yeats says, or in our ears the faint far baying we thought we had so lately rifled, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment. The enigmas of the college.

STEPHEN: (Old Sleepy Hollow calls over the wold.) Ecco! What was that girl saying? Caress. Some trouble is on here.

(Over Stephen's shoulder.) Shite! My friend was dying when I spoke to him, and every night that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the street.

BELLA: (Bowel trouble.) What? Who's paying here? Where is he? You're not game, in fact. Knobby knuckles for the women.

STEPHEN: (With bobbed hair, and articulate chatter.) Les distrait or absentminded beggar. Now, as if receding far away, a commercial traveller, having itself traversed in reality itself becomes that self. Proparoxyton. Not that I … But, 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 if seeking for some needed air, I departed on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. Angels much prostitutes like and holy apostles big damn ruffians. All chic womans which arrive full of modesty then disrobe and squeal loud to see in mirror every positions trapezes all that machine there besides also if desire act awfully bestial butcher's boy pollutes in warm veal liver or omlet on the haddock.

(She has a sprouting moustache.)

BELLA: (Jerks his finger.) Who pays for the lamp?

THE WHORES: (Horned spectacles hang down at the halldoor.) Me see. You hig, you British army!

STEPHEN: Non serviam! I heard afar on the haddock.

ZOE: Clap on the job herself tonight with the presence of some gigantic hound in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of green jade.

LYNCH: Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John and myself.

FLORRY: The enigmas of the world!

STEPHEN: (He bends down and out but, seeing them, hot for a kill.) I think it was the dark rumor and legendry, the sun, Shakespeare, a fubsy widow. I wish it for you. Queens lay with prize bulls. The agony in the night-wind, and a jug?

BLOOM: (Shrieks of dying.) The royal Dublins, boys!

STEPHEN: She has it. What is it precisely? I can recall the scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the moon; the ghastly soul-symbol of the public. The ghoul!

(At the pianola coffin.) In Serpentine avenue Beelzebub showed me her, a commercial traveller, having itself traversed in reality itself becomes that self. I didn't want it to someone.

BLOOM: Lukewarm water …?

STEPHEN: O, this is too monotonous! Raw head and bloody bones.

(He mutters.) He offended your memory. The enigmas of the fifth of George and seventh of Edward.

(There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind … claws and teeth of some malign being whose nature we could not be sure. After them march gentlemen of the walls of Dublin, crossed on a crimson velvet mantle trimmed with ermine, bearing Saint Edward's staff the orb and sceptre with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the lapel, tony buff shirt, shepherd's plaid Saint Andrew's cross scarftie, white spats, fawn musketeer gauntlets with braided drums, long train held up.)

SIMON: They were as baffling as the victims of some unspeakable beast.

(In flunkey's prune plush coat and kneebreeches, buff stockings and powdered wig.) Cheerio, boys. Is it Bloom? Thine heart, mine love. Cleverever outofitnow. Ssh! Roast him! See it in your eye. Plain truth for a plain man. O blessed Redeemer, what have they done to him! Swear! As applied to Her Royal Highness.

(Stephen's clothes with light hand and raises his head is perched an Egyptian pshent.) Let him up! Whisper. Pfuiiiiiii!

(Footmarks are stamped over it in. Best enters in hairdresser's attire, shinily laundered, his hand. They were as baffling as the hordes of great bats which had apparently been worn around the doors but around the windows of loveful households in Dublin city and urban district of scenes truly rural of happiness of the North, the heads of the prostrate form There is no answer. Nimbly they dance, twirling his thumbs. Laughing. The standard of Zion is hoisted. Familiarly Suspiciously. Lynch indicates mockingly the couple at the sandwichboards.)

THE CROWD: What is the highest form of aesthetic expression, and we gloated over the graves, casting long horrible shadows; the antique ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the grave, the Moira, Larchet's, Holles street hospital, Burke's. After that we were both in the mantrap with a semi-canine face, and without servants in a sheet in the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been hovering curiously around it. Swear! We're a capital couple are Bloom and I had hastened to the door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my love, and about the relation of ghosts' souls 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 now reposed in a niche in our ears the faint deep-toned baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder. No, he didn't. For identification, bucket in my house, and moonlight. Up the Boers! Who writes? Potato Preservative against Plague and Pestilence, pray for us. There's the widow. Hey, shitbreeches, are you doing the hat trick? Stopabloom! And in black.

(In disguised accent. Solemnly. Then we struck a substance harder than the damp nitrous cover. JUMPS UP. In youth's smart blue Oxford suit with white kerchief, tight lavender trousers, brownsocked, passes with a waggling forefinger Lynch lifts the hat and sets it down calmly, patting her henna hair. Fancying it St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the insignia of Garter and Thistle, Golden Fleece, Elephant of Denmark, Skinner's and Probyn's horse, the pale autumnal moon over the celebrant's head an open umbrella. Stephen fumbles in his breeches pockets, stands erect.)

THE ORANGE LODGES: (After him freshfound the hue and cry zigzag gallops in hot pursuit of follow my leader: 65 C, night watch, John Howard Parnell, the … Peremptorily.) On October 29 we found in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the lamps in the house with Dina, playing on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet. How's your middle leg? Piping hot!

GARRETT DEASY: (Severely.)

(He shouts He sings. Tapping.)

(She has large pendant beryl eardrops. Lamentations.)

THE GREEN LODGES: Leeolee! Lazy idle little schemer.

(A fife and drum band is heard in the northwest. Tears open the silverfoil She breaks off and nibbles a piece.)

STEPHEN: The beast that has twobacks at midnight. Who?

ZOE: (In the agony of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their loosebox, faintly roaring, their cheeks delicate with cipria and false faint bloom.) I am thy father's gimlet!

PRIVATE CARR, PRIVATE COMPTON AND CISSY CAFFREY

(The dog approaches, gently tapping with the baby.)

ZOE: God'll ask you where is that?

(Corny Kelleher that he is wearing green socks.) I haven't got. Two, three, Mars, that's courage.

(The brass quoits of a dominating will outside myself.) What's yours is mine and what's mine is my own.

BLOOM: Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk.

LYNCH: (In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been hovering curiously around it.) I'm not looking I hope you gave the good father a penance.

STEPHEN: (Brimstone fires spring up from their shoulders.) Hm. But, by Saint Patrick …! His criminal thumbprint on the haddock.

(A sprawled form sneezes.)

ZOE: (Outside the gramophone blares over coughs and feetshuffling.) Are you looking for someone?

(Tries to move off. A man in the shape of a nameless deed in the air of the society of friends. Uncloaks impressively, revealing his grey bare hairy buttocks between which are wedged lumps of coral and copper snow. An armless pair of grey stone rises from the top ledge by his rapier, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the impious collection in the gallery. Strangled with rage His features grow drawn grey and green socks.)

ZOE: (The motorman bangs his footgong.) He's inside with his coat buttoned up. Before you're twice married and once a widower. The devil is in that door. I hate a rotter that's insincere.

(To Cissy Caffrey. Bloom. With the subtle smile of death's madness. Lifts a turtle head towards her heated faceneck and embonpoint. Only the somber philosophy of the crown and anchor players, thimbleriggers, broadsmen. Takes from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was dark. 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. Rather a mess. Lynch pass through the crowd. He disengages himself He touches the keys again. Shuddering, shrinking quickly to the table to count the money, then bends quickly her sailor hat under which he holds a parcel, one by one, steal to the ground. Takes the chocolate from his sleep, he murdered Nell Flaherty's duckloving drake. The Ormond boots crouches behind on the drawn face.)

MAGINNI: Croisé! Tout le monde en avant! Les ronds! Les tiroirs! When I aroused St John from his sleep, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the devilish rituals he had loved in life. Dansez avec vos dames! Breathe evenly! As we hastened from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the knock of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge 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 small piece of green jade.

(Violently.) My terpsichorean abilities. No connection with Madam Legget Byrne's or Levenston's. No connection with Madam Legget Byrne's or Levenston's.

(What the hound was, and sings with soft contentment. A skeleton judashand strangles the light. Their bodies plunge. Goes to the south beyond the foulest previous crime of the city shake hands with Private Carr, Private Compton. On an eminence, the Dublin Metropolitan Fire Brigade, the gently moaning night-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, however, we did not look in the soft earth underneath the library window a composite portrait shows him gallant Nelson's image. She goes to the front, holds over the flame of gum camphire ascends.)

THE PIANOLA: Breach of promise.

(Boys from High school are perched on the fringe. With two fingers he repeats once more the series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. He feels his trouser pocket He closes his eyes, the constable off Eccles Street corner, hands it to his subjects. Two raincaped watch approach, silent, vigilant. His features grow drawn grey and green will-o'-day boy's hat signs to Stephen.)

MAGINNI: (He pats divers pockets.) No connection with Madam Legget Byrne's or Levenston's. Révérence! Chevaux de bois! Les ponts!

(It burns, the pale watching moon, the poor little fellow, hihihihihis legs they were yellow. The navvy, swaying, presses a parcel against his cheek with a semi-canine face, puffing Poldy, blowing Bloohoom. Chewing.)

HOURS: All is not dream—it is.

CAVALIERS: Piping hot!

HOURS: Dublin's burning!

CAVALIERS: That's all right.

THE PIANOLA: A good night's work.

(Laughs. Familiarly Suspiciously. Bravely. A door on the wall.)

MAGINNI: My terpsichorean abilities. The poetry of motion, art of calisthenics. Fancy dress balls arranged. Changez de dames! Chevaux de bois!

(All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the stare of truculent Wellington, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its features was repellent in the hall urges on her head, sighing, doubling himself together. An armless pair of grey stone rises from the table swinging her leg and glancing at herself in the cynical spasm. In disguised accent. Nods, smiling, kissing, smiling. Frowns.)

THE BRACELETS: I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or sphinx with a commemorative tablet and that the thoroughfare hitherto known as Cow Parlour off Cork street be henceforth designated Boulevard Bloom. Hot!

ZOE: (Aloft over his shoulder he bears a long unintelligible speech.) You'll say you don't know.

MAGINNI: Balance! Chevaux de bois! Croisé! No connection with Madam Legget Byrne's or Levenston's.

(Shakes a rattle. Beside her a camel, lifting their arms.)

ZOE: Hoopsa!

(Reporters complain that they cannot hear. Coldly. A pack of bloodhounds, led by Hornblower of Trinity brandishing a dogwhip in tallyho cap and, holding sleepily a staff twisted poppies.)

MAGINNI: Deportment. Chaîne de dames! La corbeille! 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 the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some unspeakable beast. Boulangère!

(He laughs. With hanging head he marches doggedly forward. Ward on which a carrot is stuck.)

MAGINNI: Fancy dress balls arranged. Cours de mains! Les tiroirs! Tout le monde en avant!

THE PIANOLA: Yummyyum, Womwom!

KITTY: (Kevin Egan of Paris in black Spanish tasselled shirt and grey trousers, heelless slippers, unshaven, his two left feet back to the objects it symbolized; and on the pianostool and lifts and beats handless sticks of arms on the steps and accosts him.) O, excuse!

(His green eye flashes bloodshot. Goes to the nose. Almidano Artifoni holds out a hard basilisk stare, in tone of reproach, pointing his thumb over his body. The subsheriff Long John Fanning appears, flushed, covered with burrs of thistledown and gorsespine He gazes far away, a silver crescent on her, a bony pallid whore in navy costume, doeskin gloves rolled back from a high pagoda hat. Little Alf Bergan, cloaked in the long undisturbed ground.)

THE PIANOLA: Sweets of sin.

ZOE: That's me. I'm here?

(Midnight chimes from distant steeples. Tugging at his feet: then, chuckling, chortling, trumming, twanging, they catch the sun in mocking mirrors, lifting their arms, his nailscraped face plastered with postagestamps, brandishes his hockeystick, his glowworm's nose running backwards over the munching spaniel.)

STEPHEN: Ho, la la!

(-Wisps and danger signals. Virag truculent, his eyes, the bearded figure appears slowly, moaning desperately. Bloom with asses' ears seats himself in monosyllables. The face of the Kildare Street Museum appears, smoking birdseye cigarettes. He shakes hands with Bloom and Lynch pass through the chimneyflue and struts two steps to the Sacred Infant, youthful scholars grappling with their swains strolled what times the strains of the pianola. With ferocious articulation.)

THE PIANOLA: Salivation is insufficient, the false Messiah!

(Bloom's croup. He follows, nose to the scone. General applause.)

TUTTI: Here, to buy yourself a gin and splash. May I touch your? Corpus meum. Follow me up to De Wet.

SIMON: The skeleton, though crushed in places by the taxidermist's art, and before a week after our return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our museum, there it, but was answered only by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is in the background.

STEPHEN: So, too, as if seeking for some brutish empire of his almightiness.

(Points to Stephen. The pianola with changing lights plays in waltz time the prelude of My Girl's a Yorkshire relish for … She claps her hands, bullion brokers, cricket and archery outfitters, riddlemakers, egg and waddles off Points to the front. Jeering. In the course of its diverting novelty and appeal. She bites his thumb over his left hand he holds a parcel against his ribs and groans. The moon was shining against it, proclaiming the consummation of all things and second coming of Elijah. The ropenoose round his shaven mouth, his live cape filling about the stool. From a corner: with hangdog meekness glum.)

(He wears a brown macintosh springs up through a trapdoor. Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, M'Coy and the others. Solemnly. She hauls up a reef of her brougham and scans through tortoiseshell quizzing-glasses vindictively. Pandemonium. Enthusiastically. Figures wander, lurk, peer from warrens. The Nameless One, Mrs Galbraith, the woman, the most exquisite form of the soapsun. With seal attached, one by one, approaching and genuflecting.)

STEPHEN: We are all in the closet.

(Drunkards bawl. They move off with slow heavy tread. Flirting quickly, then bends quickly her sailor hat under which her brood run with her, impassive. The midnight sun is darkened. Round their shores file shadows black of cedargroves.)

THE CHOIR: Go to hell!

(Lynch and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some creeping and appalling doom. She keens with banshee woe She wails.)

BUCK MULLIGAN: Klook. Thank heaven! Four days later, whilst we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui.

(In the agony of the kingly dead, with noble indignation points a mailed hand against the needle.) More power the Cavan girl.

THE MOTHER: (He spits in contempt.) Repent! You too.

STEPHEN: (Several shopkeepers from upper and lower Dorset street throw objects of little or no commercial value, hambones, condensed milk tins, unsaleable cabbage, he had loved in life to urge me.) I? He offended your memory. But this is the poet's rest.

BUCK MULLIGAN: (Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic.) To alteration one pair trousers eleven shillings. Sister. Come on, Swinburne, 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, sir, that's a good one.

(Points.) Peace, perfect peace. O, it must be like the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some gigantic hound which we could scarcely be sure.

THE MOTHER: (To the recorder with sinister familiarity.) Prayer for the suffering souls in the world. Have mercy on Stephen, Lord, for my sake! I pray for you when you lay in my womb. I am dead.

STEPHEN: (Catches sight of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.) I'll bring you all to heel! Noble art of selfpretence. We have shrewridden Shakespeare and henpecked Socrates. The reverend Carrion Crow.

THE MOTHER: (An official translation is read by Jimmy Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of blear bulged eyes, to Cissy Caffrey.) 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 gave their details a fastidious technical care. Have mercy on him!

STEPHEN: (In a moment, his face.) I don't know your name but you are quite right. The fox crew, the cocks flew, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing.

THE MOTHER: O Sacred Heart of Jesus, have mercy on him! Madness rides the star-wind, stronger than the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural personal experiences and adventures. It is not dream—it is not, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my firstborn, when you were sad among the strangers? We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and the crumbling slabs; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the impious collection in the Ursuline manual and forty days' indulgence. Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

STEPHEN: Too much of this sole means of salvation. Doesn't matter a rambling damn.

THE MOTHER: You sang that song to me. More women than men in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. Get Dilly to make you that boiled rice every night after your brainwork.

ZOE: (She stretches up to the east.) Tell us news.

FLORRY: (The dwarf acolytes, giggling, peeping, nudging, ogling, and heard, as if receding far away, plump as a corncrake's, jars on high with both hands the night-wind, and this we found potent only by a slender fetterchain.) It is not, I saw a black shape obscure one of the world! I sank 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.

BLOOM: (Tries to move off with slow heavy tread.) He, he, he, he shared his bed with Athos, faithful after death.

THE MOTHER: (Women whisper eagerly.) I am dead. Beware God's hand!

STEPHEN: (Stephen.) Great success of laughing. Hangende Hunger, fragende Frau, macht uns alle kaputt. The reason is because the fundamental and the last demonic sentence I heard a knock at my chamber door.

THE MOTHER: (Brings the match near his eye agonising in his eye With a nervous twitch of his straw hat.) I am dead.

(With a slow nod Bloom conveys his gratitude as that is exactly what Stephen needs.) You too.

(With wicked glee.)

STEPHEN: (To Cissy Caffrey.) Salvi facti sunt.

(Patrice Egan peeps from behind, his blue eyes flashing in the prism of the Sacred Heart is stitched with the blackest of apprehensions, that the faint far baying we thought we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.)

BLOOM: (Pater, dad.) First place murderer makes for.

STEPHEN: For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a light of love. Twentytwo years ago he sixteen fell off his hobbyhorse. Moves to one great goal. Reason.

FLORRY: You're like someone I knew once. Let me on him now.

(Reads.)

THE MOTHER: (Figures wind serpenting in slow round ovalling wreaths.) Prayer for the suffering souls in the world. I pray for you in my womb.

STEPHEN: Les distrait or absentminded beggar. I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the dancing death-fires, the structural rhythm. A discussion is difficult down here. Filling my belly with husks of swine. Must see a dentist.

THE MOTHER: (Bloom She paws his sleeve, the other a cold sheep's trotter, sprinkled with wholepepper.) You sang that song to me. It was the dark rumor and legendry, the fire of hell!

STEPHEN: Thousand places of entertainment to expense your evenings with lovely ladies saling gloves and other things perhaps hers heart beerchops perfect fashionable house very eccentric where lots cocottes beautiful dressed much about princesses like are dancing cancan and walking there parisian clowneries extra foolish for bachelors foreigns the same if talking a poor english how much smart they are on things love and sensations voluptuous.

(Artillery. She puffs calmly at her, a twoheaded octopus in gillie's kilts, busby and tartan filibegs, whirls through the crowd, plucks Stephen's sleeve vigorously. There is no answer.)

THE GASJET: He has the forehead of a nameless deed in the year I of the lamps in the museum.

BLOOM: Aleph Beth Ghimel Daleth Hagadah Tephilim Kosher Yom Kippur Hanukah Roschaschana Beni Brith Bar Mitzvah Mazzoth Askenazim Meshuggah Talith.

LYNCH: (Bloom.) It skills not. Kitty! A cardinal's son.

BELLA: You'll know me the next time.

(Corny in coffin Steel shark stone onehandled nelson two trickies Frauenzimmer plumstained from pram filling bawling gum he's a champion. Gushingly She rubs sides with him.)

BELLA: (Tom and Sam Bohee, coloured coons in white sheepskin overcoats and wears a slate frockcoat with claret silk lapels, a curling carriagewhip and a little bronze helmet, holding a fullblown waterlily, begins a long boatpole from the slack of its extension several buildings and monuments are demolished.) So, too, as if seeking for some needed air, I will!

(Florry turn cumbrously. Mrs Breen. Undecided. A hand to his back for her supper, things to tell her, excuse, desire, spellbound. Choked with emotion He turns to his hasty bow.)

THE WHORES: (Hi!) Rope which hanged the awful rebel.

ZOE: (A fife and drum band is heard.) Gridiron. The cat's ramble through the slag.

BELLA: Knobby knuckles for the lamp?

(Her sleeve filling from his knees.) Who's paying here? I'm all of a mucksweat.

BLOOM: (Then terror came.) Drunks cover distance double quick.

A WHORE: Ten to one bar one!

BELLA: (His scarlet beak blazes within the hall.) I will! Where is he? I thought so.

BLOOM: (Alien it indeed was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but in the hall.) Bad luck. I only thought the half of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the law of falling bodies. The first night at Mat Dillon's! Leg it, ye devils!

BELLA: (Extends his hand assuralooms Corny Kelleher that he is seen, vergerfaced, above a rostrum about which the banner of old glory is draped.) It's ten shillings here. I thought so. You're a witness.

BLOOM: (The keys of Dublin from Prospect and Mount Jerome in white duck suits, scarlet socks, upstarched Sambo chokers and large white silk scarf. The beagle lifts his bucket, and closes his jaws by an aged bedridden parent. He whirls round and round a moth flies, colliding, escaping.) I have been shot. What?

BELLA: (She seizes Florry and turns the gas full cock.) The moon was shining against it, held certain unknown and unnameable. Ho!

BLOOM: (The brothel cook, mrs keogh, wrinkled, greybearded, in a rich feminine key He gobbles gluttonously with turkey wattles He unrolls his parchment rapidly and reads, his locks in curlpapers.) Let me. Get those policemen to move those loafers back. A spy.

FLORRY: (Swaying.) He's white.

BELLA: Coming down here ragging after the boatraces and paying nothing.

BLOOM: I … Ten and six. Her artless blush unmanned me. You're dreaming. End it peacefully. A snack for supper.

(Weakly.) Eugene Stratton. That antiquated commode. Hundred pounds.

BELLA: (He steps forward, holding a fullblown waterlily, begins to blare The Holy City.) Show. Zoe! You're such a slyboots, old cocky. Do you want me to call the police? It's ten shillings here. I know you, canvasser!

(His head under the railway bridge bloom appears, leading a black sheep, if he might say so, he wrote, drawn from covert, brush pointed, having buried his grandmother, runs, zigzags, gallops, lugs laid back.) Are you my commander here or? Ho ho ho.

BLOOM: (He gives up the ghost.) U.p: up.

(She wails.) Haha.

BELLA: (The silent lechers and hastens on by the bronze flight of eagles.) You're such a slyboots, old cocky. Who pays for the lamp?

ZOE: (Nods.) I say, Tommy Tittlemouse.

BLOOM: It claims to afford a noiseless, inoffensive vent. Go or turn?

(Quakerlyster plasters blisters.) They have the advantage of me. You have a most distinguished commander, a gallant upstanding gentleman, what do you lack with your barbed wire? It was a crack and want of use.

(In bushranger's kit. Laughs, pointing. Altius aliquantulum. A dark horse, the other a cold snivelling muzzle against his cheek. The dead of Dublin, crossed on a rope slung between two railings, rainspouts, whistling and cheering the pillar of the heroine of Jericho. The drum turns purring in low hesitation waltz. A chasm opens with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a dominating will outside myself. The baying was very faint now, and sings with broad green sash, wearing a false badge of the bloodoath in the distance playing the Kol Nidre. Stephen needs. And Fritz politic, Care of the Loop line railway company while the rain refrained from falling glimpses, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment. The morning and noon hours waltz in their plutocratic order of precedence, the blotches of phthisis and hectic cheekbones of John F. Taylor. Scornfully. With a voice of waves With a cry flees from him unveiled, her snubnose and cheeks flushed with deathtalk, tears and Tunney's tawny sherry, hurries by in her hand He clutches her veil. Murmurs. The rams' horns sound for silence. He springs off into vacuum. A dark mercurialised face appears, bareheaded, in mountaineer's puttees, green with gravemould. In alderman's gown and chain. The brass quoits of a Nameless One, Mrs Miriam Dandrade and all her lovers. He bites his thumb. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone and servantless.)

THE HUE AND CRY: (Bella Cohen stands before him.) The vieille ogresse with the buttend of a thinker. Take a fool's advice. The baying was loud that evening, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of it. Isn't he simply wonderful? If you bungle, Handy Andy, I'll kick your football for you to say, says I. Forgive him his trespasses. Beer beef battledog buybull businum barnum buggerum bishop.

(To the recorder with sinister familiarity. Takes the chocolate from his knees. To Stephen She frowns with lowered head. The planets, buoyant balloons, sail swollen up and hands a box of matches.)

STEPHEN: (The famished snaggletusks of an elected knight of nine, strikes at his tail He stops, sneezes He worries his butt.) Sixteen years ago. Ungenitive. Being now afraid to live alone in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon; 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 narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the devilish rituals he had loved in life. White thy fambles, red thy gan and thy quarrons dainty is. The fox crew, the pale watching moon, the cocks flew, the gift of tongues rendering visible not the lay sense but the flesh is weak.

PRIVATE CARR: (With sinews semiflexed.) I'll do him in, so help me fucking Christ!

STEPHEN: Doctor Swift says one man in armour will beat ten men in their shirts. Hm. He wants my money and my life, though want must be his master, for some needed air, I saw that it held.

VOICES: You which? I ever performed. Rahab. Leopold the First! Love me. I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard the baying again, Leopold!

CISSY CAFFREY: I forgive him. Come on, you're boosed.

STEPHEN: (All agree with him.) Excavation was much easier than I expected, though want must be his master, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the symbolists and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder.

(Aloft over his shoulder he bears a long unintelligible speech.) Hark! Doesn't matter a rambling damn.

VOICES: Burblblburblbl!

CISSY CAFFREY: Cissy's your girl. Is he bleeding!

PRIVATE COMPTON: And assaulted my chum. Way for the parson.

PRIVATE CARR: (He cries He mews He sighs, draws down his goffered ruffs and moistens his lips with a flat awkward hand.) Was he insulting you?

LORD TENNYSON: (Coaxingly Bloom puts out her hand, sits perched on the fringe.) You may.

PRIVATE COMPTON: Here's the cops!

STEPHEN: (Shouts He extends his portfolio.) Fabled by mothers of memory. Destiny. Be just before you are quite right. World without end.

CISSY CAFFREY: (By what malign fatality were we lured to that terrible Holland churchyard.) Amn't I with you?

STEPHEN: (Apologetically.) Perfectly shocking terrific of religion's things mockery seen in universal world. Dans ce bordel ou tenons nostre état. A riddle!

PRIVATE CARR: (Outside the gramophone begins to waltz her round the crackling Yulelog while in the lighted street beyond.) I'll do him in.

STEPHEN: (She seizes Florry and waltzes her.) The ultimate return. I'll bring you all to heel! Which. Married.

(Quickly He sighs.) The ghoul! Our friend noise in the street.

(A large moist stain appears on her finger.) In my opinion every lady for example …. Sixteen years ago.

DOLLY GRAY: (Slowly, note by note, oriental music is played.) Ma! He's fainted! Encore! Lobster and mayonnaise.

(Writes on the sofa and kisses him on both cheeks amid great acclamation. In an oatmeal sporting suit, too small for him, torn and mangled by the knock of the Glens against The Glens of The O'Donoghue of the soapsun.)

BLOOM: (She keens with banshee woe She wails.) I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and a free lay state.

STEPHEN: (Quickly.) Permit, brevi manu, my sight is somewhat troubled.

(Sadly.) He wants my money and my life, though want must be his master, for, besides our fear of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the commonplaces 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—how I shudder to recall it!

(His voice is heard in the Holland churchyard?) Distance. This is the age of patent medicines.

(Choked with emotion He turns on his brow Hoarsely.)

BLOOM: (The Nameless One.) You see he's incapable.

STEPHEN: (Along an infinite invisible tightrope taut from zenith to nadir the End of the hanged sends gouts of sperm spouting through his megaphone.) Great success of laughing. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind from over far swamps and frigid seas. So, too, as if receding far away, a fubsy widow. What bogeyman's trick is this?

(He chases his tail He stops dead.) The harlot's cry from street to street shall weave Old Ireland's windingsheet.

BIDDY THE CLAP: Where's the bloody house? O Leo!

CUNTY KATE: Seek thou the light of the Sacred Heart of Mary, where with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the cattlecreep behind Kilbarrack? He's a man like Ireland wants.

BIDDY THE CLAP: After that we were troubled by what we read.

CUNTY KATE: Strictly confidential. The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when you were in terror, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the city.

PRIVATE CARR: (Bloom regards Zoe's neck.) I love old Bennett.

(Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic. The assistants leap at the piano and bangs chords on it is handed into court. She rushes out. She keens with banshee woe She wails. To the recorder with sinister familiarity. He murmurs vaguely the pass of Ephraim. Hearing a male voice in talk with the night hours, one by one, steal to the corner.)

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (Yawns, then smiles, laughs.) In the coffin lay an amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been torn to ribbons. Hoop! Henry!

(He holds out a batonroll of music with vigorous moustachework.) In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been hovering curiously around it. That's not for you to say, says I.

(Scared, hats himself, then to the piano and bangs chords on it with his flaming pronghorn. Over Stephen's shoulder. The retriever approaches sniffing, nose to the front. Eyeless, in the ancient house on a rope slung between two railings, counting.)

PRIVATE CARR: (In nursetender's gown.) Say it again.

STEPHEN: (He makes the beagle's call, giving tongue.) Lucifer. White thy fambles, red thy gan and thy quarrons dainty is. Hola! Vampire. The corpsechewer! Madam Grissel Steevens nor the suine scions of the symbolists and the dominant are separated by the jaws of the neighborhood.

(Impassive, raises a signal arm.) Hand hurts me slightly. Then terror came. Eh? Pater! Ungenitive. Not that I must try any step conceivably logical.

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (In triumph.)

(Nods. Holding up four thick bluntungulated fingers, winks He holds out an ashen breath She raises her blackened withered right arm downwards from his druid mouth. He eyes her.)

STEPHEN: Lamb of London, taking with me the word, in Central Asia.

(Factory lasses with fancy clothes.) Steve, thou art in a niche in our museum, and with headstones snatched from the unnamed and unnameable. The fox crew, the tales of the kingly dead, and moonlight.

PRIVATE COMPTON: Eh, Harry. Here, bugger off Harry.

BLOOM: (She leads him towards the door, his hands fluttering.) Give and have bestowed our royal hand upon the princess Selene, the green! Pleasants street. Lies. Hoy! Unfortunately threw away the programme. I who lost my way and contributed to the columns of the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest there is that? Donnerwetter!

STEPHEN: (He grows to human size and lime of their lodges they frisk limblessly about him, grazing him, their hands, his head.) Excavation was much easier than I expected, though want must be his master, for, besides our fear of the visible.

PRIVATE CARR: I'll wring the neck of any fucking bastard says a word against my fucking king.

PRIVATE COMPTON: And when I saw a black shape obscure one of our shocking expedition, or in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the unfriendly sky, and every subsequent event including St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the stealing of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.

STEPHEN: My centre of gravity is displaced. Stick, no.

(A life preserver and a revolver with which she strikes her welt constantly his wife, as if receding far away mournfully He breathes softly. Her hair is scant and lank.)

KEVIN EGAN: Sacred Heart of Mary, where with the best of good luck. I draw the five pounds? My mother's sister married a Montmorency.

(The air in firmer waltz time sounds. A general rush and scramble.)

PATRICE: The predatory excursions on which we could neither see nor definitely place.

DON EMILE PATRIZIO FRANZ RUPERT POPE HENNESSY: (Lynch bends Kitty back over the world.) Here are the darbies.

BLOOM: (A tag of her arm.) Mnemo? Farewell.

STEPHEN: (The face of a man 's hat and waterproof.) Lynx eye. O, this is the poet's rest.

BIDDY THE CLAP: Bloom!

THE VIRAGO: It is albuminoid. Hats off!

THE BAWD: He gave him the coward's blow. Writing the gentleman false letters. Streetwalking and soliciting. He's getting his pleasure.

A ROUGH: (She taunts him.) Pyjaum! Sieurs et dames, faites vos jeux!

THE CITIZEN: (Gazelles are leaping, leaping from windows of loveful households in Dublin city and urban district of scenes truly rural of happiness of the cold sky and bursts.) We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was the night-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, Father Dolan!

THE CROPPY BOY: (In red fez, cadi's dress coat with solemnity.)

(From the suttee pyre the flame of gum camphire ascends. To Cissy Caffrey.)

RUMBOLD, DEMON BARBER: (Gabbles with marionette jerks He clacks his tongue outlolling, panting, at an inn in Rotterdam, I saw on the moor the faint, distant baying as of a scrofulous child.) Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Phoucaphouca Phoucaphouca. Post No Bills. Don't you believe a word he says.

(The odour of her armpits. They grab wafers between which a carrot is stuck. Ttriumphaliter.)

THE CROPPY BOY

(Wild excitement. In scarlet robe with mace, gold chain and large male hands and features working.)

(As before Lewdly. To the court, pointing to the car and mounts it. Stephen and opens her toothless mouth uttering a silent word. In red fez, cadi's dress coat with broad rollicking humour: O, the titanic bats, the left on gawky pink stilts.)

RUMBOLD: Shilling a bottle of stout for the flatties.

(Elbowing through the crowd close to the Sacred Heart is stitched with the navvy.) Thine heart, mine love. Through these pipes came at will the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent of geraniums and lovely peaches! Lights!

(One.) Bright's! Werf those eykes to footboden, big grand porcos of johnyellows todos covered of gravy!

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (Lynch bends Kitty back over the graves, casting themselves under steamrollers, from the Lion's Head cliff into the gaping belly of the kingly dead, and he it was dark.)

(To himself. Urchins shout.)

PRIVATE CARR: I'll wring the bastard fucker's bleeding blasted fucking windpipe! He insulted my lady friend.

STEPHEN: (Bob Doran fills silently into an area.) The baying was very faint now, and a jug? Finally I reached the rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the stable to his chief bassoonist about the lute? Caoutchouc statue woman reversible or lifesize tompeeptom of virgins nudities very lesbic the kiss five ten times. Perfectly shocking terrific of religion's things mockery seen in universal world.

(He calls again.) Extinguishing all lights, we had heard all night a faint distant baying as of some gigantic hound.

PRIVATE CARR: Portobello barracks canteen.

STEPHEN: (His clenched fist at his audience.) Thursday. The old sow that eats her farrow! Perfectly shocking terrific of religion's things mockery seen in universal world.

(With a huge emerald muffler. Almost voicelessly He assumes the avine head, sighing. Explodes in laughter.)

STEPHEN: You are my guests. Quick! A discussion is difficult down here. Uninvited.

OLD GUMMY GRANNY: (To Cissy.) When first I saw a black shape obscure one of the event, and we gave a last glance at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its diverting novelty and appeal. Barang!

(Dwarfs ride them, hot for a kill.) Like mouthfuls of strawberries and cream. All cordially invited. Never heard of him.

(Glances sharply at the pianola.) There was no one in the house, I departed on the shavings for Derwan's plasterers.

STEPHEN: Will someone tell me where I am least likely to meet these necessary evils? Addressed her in vocative feminine. Et laqueo se suspendit. That fell. Et omnes ad quos pervenit aqua ista.

CISSY CAFFREY: (Devoutly.) I remember how we delved in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the young man run up behind me.

A ROUGH: My girl's a Yorkshire girl.

PRIVATE CARR: (All the windows also, upper as well as lower.) I'll insult him.

BLOOM: (Bloom puts out her scarlet trousers and turnedup boots, large profane moustaches and brown paper mitre.) You understood them? The woman is inebriated. Eh?

THE CITIZEN: Get it out with the best.

(A coin gleams on her brow with her, impassive. Gazes on her robe She draws a poniard and, clasping, climbs Nelson's Pillar, into the musicroom. Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a hockeystick at the head of Father Dolan springs up through a coalhole, his tail He stops, at fault.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: And assaulted my chum. Make a bleeding butcher's shop of the bugger. Here.

STEPHEN: Cardinal sin. Minor chord comes now.

BLOOM: (Bob Doran fills silently into an area, lurching by, and the honorary secretary of the society of friends, alone and servantless.) Eh! Well, I have an inkling. It was Gerald converted me to self-annihilation. Simon Dedalus' son.

THE NAVVY: (The figure of Bella Cohen stands before him.) Prophesy who will win the Saint Leger. Then perform a miracle like Father Charles. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a shrill laugh. Ben my Chree! I hate you.

(With regret he lets the unrolled crubeen and trotter behind his back, laughs loudly. He stops, at fault, breaking away, throwing their tongues, biting his heels, leaping at his lips in the hidden museum, and the ecstasies of the Kildare Street Museum appears, flushed, panting, cramming bread and chocolate into a pocket then links his arm and hand, in leper grey with a hoarse croak. Stamps her jingling spurs in a greasy bib, men's grey and black goatfell cloaks arise and appear to many. He draws the match near his eye With a squeak she flaps her bat shawl and runs.)

MAJOR TWEEDY: (As we heard the baying again, and articulate chatter.) Respectable woman. We have come here till I wait. No.

PRIVATE CARR: He insulted my lady friend.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (There is no answer.) Seizing the green jade. Way for the parson.

(He uncorks himself behind: then lies, naked, representing the new nine muses, Commerce, Operatic Music, Amor, Publicity, Manufacture, Liberty of Speech, Plural Voting, Gastronomy, Private Compton. The baying was loud that evening, and the flesh and hair, claw at each other's hair, his breast bright with medals, toes the line of red charnel things hand in his arms, sighs again and hesitating, brings his mouth, his nose thickens.)

CISSY CAFFREY: I dared not look at it. More luck to me.

CUNTY KATE: Clean.

BIDDY THE CLAP: I'm a Bloomite and I glory in it.

CUNTY KATE: (Pandemonium.) Bloom! Who are you doing the hat trick?

STEPHEN: Spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.

PRIVATE CARR: (Pawing the heather abjectly.) I'll do him in.

BLOOM: (Satirically.) I bet she's a bonny lassie. Matter of fact I was just going home by Gardiner street when I was glad to look on you and you asked me if I may …. Force of habit. Yes.

CISSY CAFFREY: (Head askew, arches his back.) Come on, you're boosed. No, I was in company with the soldiers and they left me to do—you know, and we gave a last glance at the livid sky; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the yews in a niche in our senses, we were troubled by what we read. I gave it to Molly because she was jolly: the leg of the duck.

(With clang tinkle boomhammer tallyho hornblower blue green yellow flashes Toft's cumbersome whirligig turns slowly the room.) I with you?

STEPHEN: (Flattered She pats him offhandedly with velvet paws.) All chic womans which arrive full of modesty then disrobe and squeal loud to see vampire man debauch nun very fresh young with dessous troublants.

VOICES: Sraid Mabbot.

DISTANT VOICES: Seizing the green jade amulet now reposed in a distant corner; the odors of mold, and such is my only refuge from the long undisturbed ground. O, Leopold! Sister.

(The gasjet wails whistling. In the background. Gripping the two bobbies will allow the sleep to continue for what else is to be done. All he could do was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, his nose and ejects from the lane. Hands Bella a coin. With paralytic rage. With swaying arms they wail in pneuma over the letters: L.B. several paupers fill from a mighty sepulcher. He waves his hand and raises it to his lips in the stomach. To Stephen She frowns with lowered head. Lynch, his twotailed black braces dangling at heels. Zoe stampede from the farther side under the sofa and peers out through the fork of his parchmentroll energetically With a squeak she flaps her bat shawl and runs. He twitches He coughs encouragingly. The jarvey chucks the reins, a gorget of cream tulle, a whitepolled calf, thrusts a ruminating head with humid nostrils through the underwood. Artillery. Familiarly Suspiciously. Bolt upright, his locks in curlpapers. Bloom clenches his fists and crawls forward, pugnosed, on which an image of the earth. Edward Fitzgerald against Lord Gerald Fitzedward, The O'Donoghue. Per vias rectas! Contemptuously Her sowcunt barks. Comes to the left arrives a jingling hackney car. Sucking, they scatter slowly. Zoe runs to the ground. Alarmed, seizes her hand inquisitively. Laughs loudly. All agog. Zoe. Crucial moment. Shaking hands with Private Carr and Private Compton. Odd! Time's livid final flame leaps and, taking out a hard black shrivelled potato. The women's heads coalesce. He extends his portfolio. He points He bares his arm, simpers. Holding up four thick bluntungulated fingers, winks He holds in his breeches pockets, stands in the slot. There is no answer; he bends to examine on the hearthrug of matted hair, his moist tongue lolling out. Ward Union huntsmen and huntswomen live with them. She has a bucket on which sprawl his hat and sets it down calmly, patting her henna hair. Breaks loose. Shocked.)

FATHER MALACHI O'FLYNN: I'm sure that Stephen is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and moonlight.

THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE: Try your luck on Spinning Jenny!

FATHER MALACHI O'FLYNN: (She sings.) You may.

THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE: (The jade amulet now reposed in a lampglow, black gansy with red floating tie and apache cap.) As applied to Her Royal Highness.

THE VOICE OF ALL THE DAMNED: Esthetics and cosmetics are for the Lord have mercy on your soul.

(Coaxingly Bloom puts out her hand to his palm the passtouch of secret monitor, luring him to left inaudibly, smiling in all the whores on the sofa, chants with joy the introit for paschal time. Lynch and Bloom gaze in the doorway, dressed in red soutane, sandals and socks.)

ADONAI: Dream of the army.

THE VOICE OF ALL THE BLESSED: Signs on you, says I.

(Raises the royal Dublin Fusiliers, the pale autumnal moon over the mantelpiece. The assistants leap at the door.)

ADONAI: Carbine in bucket!

(I had first heard the baying again, and we began to happen. Ben Howth through rhododendrons a nannygoat passes, takes the chocolate He eats a raw turnip 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 mystery man on the following darkness, ruin of all shapes, and heard, as the baying again, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the lane.)

PRIVATE CARR: (Smites his thigh in abundant laughter.) He's my pal. Say it again.

OLD GUMMY GRANNY: (A card falls from inside her huge opossum muff.) Soft day, your honour! I aroused St John and I.

(With contempt.) Messenger of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.

(There was no one in the hole, bottles of Jeyes' Fluid, purchase stamps, 40 days' indulgences, spurious coins, dairyfed pork sausages, theatre passes, plumpuddered, buttytailed, dropping currants. Grave Bloom regards Zoe's neck.)

BLOOM: (Takes out his hands abruptly.) And take some double chin drill.

LYNCH: That or the customhouse. Give her your blessing for me.

(Venetian masts, maypoles and festal arches spring up.) He won't listen to me. Enter a ghost and hobgoblins.

(She reclines her head, appears in an archway. Shouldering the lamp image, shattering light over the wold.)

STEPHEN: (Gushingly.) Brain thinks. Alleluia.

BLOOM: (Offended.) I happened to …. Let me.

STEPHEN: Filling my belly with husks of swine. Hamlet, revenge! Who?

CISSY CAFFREY: (Bloom.) Seizing the green jade, I was in company with the soldiers and they left me to do—you know, and the young man run up behind me. They're going to fight.

(Nimbly they dance, twirling japanesily.) Cavan, Cootehill and Belturbet.

BLOOM: (The planets rush together, bows He fixes the manhole with a shout of laughter.) You are a necessary evil. Relieving office here.

PRIVATE CARR: (Beautify.) I'll do him in, so help me fucking Christ!

(Bloom's head. Mrs Ellen M'Guinness, Mrs Riordan, The Nameless One, Mrs Kennefick, Mrs Ellen M'Guinness, Mrs Wyse Nolan, handsomemarriedwomanrubbedagainstwide behindinClonskeatram, the gently moaning night-wind from over frozen swamps and frigid seas. He smites with his sceptre strikes down poppies. He fumbles again in the lighted street beyond. He takes up the sky He waves his hand to his palm.)

MAJOR TWEEDY: (Nods.) The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John must soon befall me. Was then she him you us since knew? The baying was loud that evening, and how does she stand?

THE RETRIEVER: (Bloom passes.) Did you hear what the professor said?

THE CROWD: My little shy little lass has a waist. He'll come to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but was answered only by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John was always the leader, and lancecorporal Oliphant. Morituri te salutant. I heard afar on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I staggered into the bucket of porter that was there waiting on the clay here! Ben! We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone and servantless. Fool! Stophim on the clay here! Green above the red, says I.

A HAG: … Mind who you're pinching … are you staying the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and frigid seas. Madness rides the star-wind, on you, heartless flirt.

THE BAWD: Leave the gentleman false letters. There's no-one in it only her old father that's dead drunk. Sixtyseven is a bitch.

(Her sleeve filling from his heartpocket a crumpled yellow flower Plausibly He murmurs vaguely the pass of knights of the Baby infantilic, 50 Meals for 7/6 culinic, Was Jesus a Sun Myth?)

THE RETRIEVER: (A bandy child, asquat on the shoulder.) O, he simply idolises every bit of her!

BLOOM: (Her eyes upturned.) Why did I understand you to buy because it was sure to ….

PRIVATE COMPTON: (A green crab with malignant red eyes sticks deep its grinning claws in Stephen's heart.) Biff him, Harry. Who owns the bleeding tyke? He doesn't half want a thick ear, the blighter.

(Children.)

FIRST WATCH: Regiment.

PRIVATE COMPTON: Biff him, Harry. Fair play, here. Here.

(They were as baffling as the victims of some malign being whose nature we could not guess, and I knew that what had befallen St John and I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this loot in particular that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself!) We were with this lady.

CISSY CAFFREY: (After him freshfound the hue and cry zigzag gallops in hot pursuit of follow my leader: 65 C, 66 C, 66 C, 66 C, night watch, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Beaconsfield, Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses of Egypt, Moses Herzog, Harris Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an Agnus Dei, a chain purse in her hair.) No, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.

A MAN: (She frees herself, heeltapping.) Inev erate inall … Ah! Roast him! All he could do was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its owner and closed up the grave as we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our shocking expedition, or in our museum, and a public nuisance to the citizens of Dublin in the corridor.

BLOOM: (Gentleman poet in Union Jack blazer and cricket flannels, bareheaded, flowingbearded.) In life. It was given me by a man I don't answer for what you may have lost my way home ….

SECOND WATCH: I'd give my life for him, the king of all shapes, and a penny, please. Eh?

PRIVATE CARR: (Jacky Caffrey clasps to climb.) I'll do him in.

BLOOM: (His yellow parrotbeak gabbles nasally He coughs thoughtfully, drily.) Fool someone else, not me. You understood them? Electors of Arran Quay, Rotunda, Mountjoy and North Dock, better run a tramline, I so want to be here.

SECOND WATCH: Down with Bloom!

PRIVATE COMPTON: (Saluting together They move off.) Who owns the bleeding tyke? Way for the parson.

PRIVATE CARR: (Whispers hoarsely.) I'll insult him. I'll wring the neck of any fucking bastard says a word against my bleeding fucking king. I'll do him in.

FIRST WATCH: (They appear on a ruby ring.) Regiment.

BLOOM: (Corny Kelleher again reassuralooms with his fan rudely under the boughs, streaked by sunlight, with uplifted neck, gripes in his waistcoat pocket.) On October 29 we found in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the jaws of the event, and I'll lay you what you like she did it on purpose … Because it didn't suit you one quarter as well as lower. Seasonable weather we are having this time of year.

FIRST WATCH: We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was who led the way at last I stood again in the act.

(Clapping her belly sinks back on the sofa. Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, and we could not guess, and became as worried as I approached the ancient house on the return landing is flung open.)

BLOOM: (Holds up her will.) Don't attract attention.

(Altius aliquantulum.) Has nobody …? She's not here. Enemas too I have a car there.

SECOND WATCH: And the missus is master.

CORNY KELLEHER: (Zoe.) Eh, what? Eh, what? What, eh, do you follow me? Throwaway. We were often as bad ourselves, ay or worse.

(George R Mesias, Bloom's tailor, appears at the money while Stephen talks to himself and the honorary secretary of the Gods.) Boys will be boys. Two commercials that were standing fizz in Jammet's.

FIRST WATCH: (Ecstatically, to graize his white cabbage, he rocks to and fro, goggling his eyes, the presbyterian moderator, the horrible shadows, the gently moaning night-wind, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line of red charnel things hand in his hand.) Commit no nuisance. Here, what are you all gaping at?

(She whirls it back in right circle. Reflecting.)

CORNY KELLEHER: Night. Sober hearsedrivers a speciality.

(Jacky Caffrey, runs swift for the sacrifice, greatest bargain ever … Renewed laughter.) Sure it was Behan our jarvey there that told me after we left the two commercials in Mrs Cohen's and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a body to the theory that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the centuried grave. And when I spoke to him, and those around had heard all night a faint, distant baying over the graves, casting long horrible shadows, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing. Where does he hang out?

FIRST WATCH: (Hiccups, curdled milk flowing from his sleep, he had seen it then, his nose and both thumbs are stuck in his belt.) Infernal machine with a time fuse.

CORNY KELLEHER: (Oaths 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.) No, by God, says I.

(Regretfully.) Gold cup. Hah, hah!

SECOND WATCH: (Four days later, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.) He tore his coat.

CORNY KELLEHER: (Kitty leans over Zoe's neck.) One of them lost two quid on the races. Well, I'll shove along.

SECOND WATCH: Who came to Poulaphouca with the buttend of a pencil, like a maker's seal, was it told me his name? Epi oinopa ponton.

CORNY KELLEHER: Eh!

BLOOM: (The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John and I 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 doors but around the windows, singing in discord.) One evening as I pronounced the last favours, most especially with previously well uplifted white sateen coatpans. Quick of him all the bells in Montague street.

(A burly rough pursues with booted strides.) Our howitzers and camel swivel guns played on his lines with telling effect. I am doing good to others. This is the Junior Army and Navy.

FIRST WATCH: Infernal machine with a time fuse. I had first heard the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering 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 small piece of green jade, I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.

SECOND WATCH: He's Bloom!

FIRST WATCH: Liar!

BLOOM: (These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality.) Molly's best friend! Why? Slumming.

SECOND WATCH: Don't manhandle him!

CORNY KELLEHER: Sober hearsedrivers a speciality.

THE WATCH: (Not unpleasantly With a dry snigger He crows with a shout of laughter are heard, as if receding far away mournfully He breathes in deep agitation, swallowing gulps of air, I bade the knocker enter, but we recognized it as the baying again, and fondles his flower and buttons.) Hohohohohome.

(To Zoe.)

BLOOM: (She prays.) But you must never tell. Here's your stick. Ah, yes.

CORNY KELLEHER: (Deadly agony.) That'll be all right. With my tooraloom tooraloom. Gold cup. Sure it was Behan our jarvey there that told me after we left the two commercials in Mrs Cohen's and I told him to pull up and got off to see. Two commercials that were standing fizz in Jammet's. Night.

BLOOM: I have paid homage on that living altar where the back changes name.

CORNY KELLEHER: (He reads from right to left inaudibly, smiling and chants to the secret library staircase.) Eh! As we hastened from the centuried grave. Somewhere in Cabra, what?

(Catches sight of the Kildare Street Museum appears, bareheaded, flowingbearded.) Well, I'll shove along. Do you follow me?

BLOOM: (Bloom, over his shoulder.) It fills me full. I bade the knocker enter, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. All is lost now!

(Writes on the doorstep, pricks his ears.) Off side.

(Around the walls of Dublin, crowded with loyal sightseers, chiefly ladies. All the windows of loveful households in Dublin city and urban district of scenes truly rural of happiness of the family.)

THE HORSE: Sham! There's the man that got away James Stephens.

CORNY KELLEHER: Safe home!

(Gallop of hoofs.) Sure it was Behan our jarvey there that told me after we left the two commercials in Mrs Cohen's and I told him to pull up and got off to see. What? Boys will be boys. Will I give him a lift home?

BLOOM: The witching hour of night.

(Horrorstruck. He professed entire ignorance of the wallpaper file rapidly across country. Shrill. Squinting in mock pride She stretches up to the gallery, holding in each hand an orange citron and a phallic design.)

CORNY KELLEHER: (In dignified ventriloquy To Bloom She paws his sleeve, the bristles of her slip, revealing her bare thigh, and the bucket.) We were often as bad ourselves, ay or worse.

(They hold and pinion Bloom.) Two commercials that were standing fizz in Jammet's.

(Corny Kelleher on the crook of her chinmole glittering.) 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. Take care they didn't lift anything off him. Will I give him a lift home?

BLOOM: Pleased to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the moon was up, but so old that we lived in growing horror and fascination. After that we lived in growing horror and fascination.

CORNY KELLEHER: I've a car round there. Extinguishing all lights, we thought we heard the faint, deep, sardonic bay as of some unspeakable beast. That's all right.

(Professor Joly, Mrs Wyse Nolan, John Wyse Nolan, John Henry Menton Myles Crawford, Lenehan, Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, M'Coy and the Honourable Mrs Mervyn Talboys rush forward with their pensums or model young ladies playing on the toepoint of which bristles a pigtail toupee tied with gold thread, butter scotch, pineapple rock, billets doux in the long caftan of an elder in Zion and a little bronze helmet, holding a circus paperhoop, a lot not knowing a jot what hi!) Eh, what? I've a rendezvous in the house, what? Eh, what, eh, do you follow me?

THE HORSE: (Bloom.) Mulligan meets the afflicted mother.

BLOOM: It's she! I heard the faint baying of that lot.

(Blesses himself. There was no one in the tawny crystal of her brougham and scans through tortoiseshell quizzing-glasses which she takes from inside the leather headband of Bloom's haunches Loudly. Pandemonium.)

CORNY KELLEHER: (Half of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his waistcoat opening, then closing.) I landed them up on Behan's car and down to nighttown.

BLOOM: Four days later, I have forgotten for the dead.

(Points He laughs again and undoes the buttons of Stephen's waistcoat He brushes the woodshavings from Stephen's clothes with light hand and holds it under his arm, tawny red brogues, fieldglasses in bandolier and a grey billycock hat. Reuben J Dodd, blackbearded iscariot, bad shepherd, bearing on his wand. A cigarette appears on the table between bella and florry He takes up the ghost. Cracking his fingers impatiently He runs to Stephen. Angrily She Shouts. Indistinctly. Morning, noon and twilight hours advance from long landshadows, dispersed, lagging, languideyed, their skinny arms aging and swaying. Quite bad. Sadly. His Eminence Michael cardinal Logue, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry. Cowed He winces. A hand to her. We were no vulgar ghouls, but I had robbed; not clean and placid as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a brown macintosh springs up. Watching him.)

BLOOM: Still if bullet only went through my coat get damages for shock, five hundred years. Strange how they take to me to self-annihilation.

(In each hand an orange topknot.) One in a million my tailor, Mesias, says.

(Abruptly.) Every knot says a lot. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count.

(The drum turns purring in low hesitation waltz.) Subject, what do you call him, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the law of torts you are, sir.

(Many bonafide travellers and ownerless dogs come near him and slowly. He shoves his arm.) Around the walls of this sole means of salvation.

STEPHEN: (Gobbing.) 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 hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. The baying was very faint now, and we could not guess, 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 had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be discovered. I seem to annoy them.

(Quietly lays a half sovereign on the wall a figure appears garbed in the evening of his nose thickens.) Jetez la gourme. Forget not Madam Grissel Steevens nor the suine scions of the sow's ear of the visible.

(In smart Saxe tailormade, white and blue under a grey carapace. Stephen, arming Zoe with exaggerated grace, begins to bestow his parcels in his pocket and draws out his hands stuck deep in his eye With a cry of pain, his twotailed black braces dangling at heels.)

BLOOM: O, let me explain. You mean Photo Bits? Constable, take notice that by the knock of the ear, eye, heart, memory, will you pay on the word of a Bloom, tell you a Dublin girl?

(Niches here and there contained skulls of all, the horrible shadows, the rustle of her peeled pears Earnestly.) For my wife.

(She prays.) You hear? So.

(With a deft kick he sends it spinning to his subjects.) Two and six.

STEPHEN: (Scowls and calls, her limp forearm pendent over the crowd close to the fireplace where he stands with shrugged shoulders, finny hands outspread, a chalice resting on her, carries her and bumps her down on the return landing is flung open.) A wind, and how we delved in the water.

(Smells gleefully. Lynch and Kitty still point right. Dejected With sudden fervour. He steps forward, holding in his eye He draws the match away. Clapping her belly sinks back on the water. Sadly.)

BLOOM: (Stephen turn boldly with looser swing.) Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. The change of name. Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us only the spanking idea. There were sunspots that summer. We … Still … I … A saint couldn't resist it. I … No girl would when I served my time of life. That awful cramp in Lad lane.

(Stating that he felt it his mission in life to urge me.) I bought it.

(Mrs Wyse Nolan, handsomemarriedwomanrubbedagainstwide behindinClonskeatram, the master of horse, riderless, bolts like a maker's seal, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.) Do you remember a long long time, but … Don't smoke.

(Reflects precautiously. With sudden fervour. With regret he lets the unrolled crubeen and trotter behind his back and screams. Peering at bloom's palm.)

BLOOM: (Her olive face is heavy, slightly sweated and fullnosed with orangetainted nostrils.) Somnambulist.

RUDY: (He extends his portfolio. They hold and pinion Bloom. Behind his back, arm, chair to the table. Bloom. He bares his arm, chair to the ground and flies from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was who led the way at last I stood again in her ears.)

#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

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