#all i can picture is violet running through the course and the big red button at the top

[bookishfae]

so youre telling me the war college has the obstacle course from american ninja warrior (deadly edition)??

[nat-roman0ff]

lover - pt. 1

lover, pt.1 - the first wedding there’s a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you, dear. -- words: 2k warnings: fluff, weddings and string lights

There was always something about a wedding that was just plain magical. The mix of love in the air and an open bar brought out the best in you. It was a cool early October evening when your childhood best friend married the love of her life. Crisp red and orange leaves lined the picture perfect vineyard as you watched her walk down the aisle. The air was just cool enough to prickle your skin when a breeze ran through, causing the hairs on your arms to stand at attention.

It couldn’t have been a more perfect day for the occasion; the weather was flawless, your shoes surprisingly weren’t killing your feet, and you found the perfect shade of lipstick at the last moment that matched your burgundy bridesmaids dress. The ceremony went off without a hitch, and as the glow in the sky faded into the horizon and tiny nighttime stars popped up in their place, shining down on the couples dancing you were strikingly reminded of how single you were.

The other bridesmaids all brought their significant others, and you were stuck at the table with the groomsmen you’d walked down the aisle with. You weren’t unfamiliar with him, of course, he was, after all, one of the most famous popstars on the planet currently. But to you he was just the cousin of the dude marrying your best friend. He sits across from you at the circular table, his navy suit jacket unbuttoned, tie missing from around his neck and the first few buttons of his black shirt undone. You swipe your bottom lip with your tongue as your eyes trace the chest hair that peers from above the collar of his shirt. 

 “Are you drunk or checking me out?” He asks.

 You snap back to reality, cheeks immediately flushing, “both?” 

 Shawn chuckles and washes back the last of what’s in his glass, “good, because so am I.” 

 “Checking yourself out?” You jest.

 “Clearly,” he scoffs.

 Shawn stands and moves to the chair beside you, “so you���re the bride’s best friend, right?” He asks.

 You nod and fold and unfold the place card in your lap, your mind was always calmer when your hands were busier. A terrible trait to have, really. 

 “Shawn,” he thrusts his hand towards you to shake, “sorry we didn’t get to hang out much before the rehearsals and stuff. Work has been crazy.”

 “I can only imagine,” you pip, “almost done with a world tour, eh?” 

 He smiles and scrunches his nose in that way that makes you sense his discomfort, “yeah, almost there. Always fun being on the road but always better coming home.” 

 “I couldn’t do it,” you sigh, “first of all I couldn’t bear being away from my cat for that long and secondly...aren’t you tired? When’s the last time you slept?” 

 “Probably 2015.” 

 You snort, “sounds like you need a nap,” you fold your arms across the table and rest your head on them, closing your eyes.

 “What are you doing?” Shawn asks. 

 You yawn, “taking a nap. Try it. It’s cathartic.” 

 He looks around to see if anyone is watching. 

 “Don’t worry about anyone paying attention. They’re either too busy being drunk or too busy trying to get laid.” 

 Shawn follows suit and rests his head against his arms on the table, his face just inches from yours, “and where do you fall in that?” 

 You ponder for a moment, “somewhere in the middle.” 

 He laughs and stifles it in the crook of his elbow. 

 “You laugh at me a lot, I’m really not that funny. So thank you for inflating my ego” you say. 

 Shawn lifts his head to rest his cheek back on his arm, “but you are funny. Not with what you say but how you say it. I don’t know how to describe it.” 

 You roll your eyes, “I think you’re drunk.”

 “I’m most definitely drunk,” Shawn says, “but I’m also right. Fuck - this is the first normal conversation I’ve had in months.” 

 You snort, “this is normal conversation? Shit, I am so sorry for you.” 

 Now it’s Shawn’s turn to roll his eyes, “you know what I mean. It’s hard to be me and still talk to normal people about normal things without it turning into an interview.” 

 “Ah yes, the peasants shalt dare not speak to thine King Mendes.” 

 He rolls his head to rest his chin on his elbow and glares at you, “you’re simultaneously the best and the worst at the same time.” 

 You follow suit, moving your head a little too fast and blinking the stars away, “I jest. I get it, you write mediocre pop songs for the masses and now all anyone cares about is who you’re dating this week and when your next album comes out. It all must be incredibly boring, especially when you’re rubbing elbows with Taylor Swift.” 

 Shawn’s eyebrows furrow, “I take that back, you’re the worst,” he says, shifting his body away from yours and turning his head to the other side of the table, “let me nap in peace. Maybe I’ll dream up some more mediocre songs.” 

 You ruffle his hair, “I’m kidding, Shawn. Your songs are lovely. In fact, I go super hard to ‘There’s Something Holding Me Back’ in the shower.”

 He turns to look at you and glowers.

 “I’m still fucking with you.” 

 “And you’re still the worst.” 

 You laugh and punch his shoulder, “c’mon, let me buy you a drink and I���ll make it up to you.” 

 Shawn sits back up and presses at the wrinkles in his shirt, “it’s an open bar.” 

 “Two drinks then!” You exclaim, standing and pulling at his arm. 

 Something happens when he holds your hand and you can’t quite explain it. Your fingers fit and lock like your hands have been searching for each other your whole life and there’s a warmth that spreads inside of you like the way a lava lamp ebbs and flows under the glass. It’s all warm and blobby and all over the place and you can feel the heat rise in your cheeks when Shawn notices it too.

 “Two drinks still makes it an open bar,” he says, breaking the tension. 

 You tug on him to follow you, following the zigzags of the threaded bulb lights against the murky midnight sky. You weave him through crowds dancing, reminiscing, taking selfies. Past the low orange leaved trees adorned with dimly lit lanterns. The hazy warm glow of everything masks the pinks in both your cheeks but can’t hide the wonderment behind both your eyes. Perhaps it’s the promise of something different, or the universe telling you this was the beginning of something new, but all you did know was that this wasn’t the first time you’d be crossing Shawn’s path again.

 ---

 After too many drinks, three rounds of karaoke, two dance offs and one sloppy makeout session in the mens room, you and Shawn found a quiet place to be. Now, your lipstick was worn off (mostly evidenced by the smears of burgundy across his neck and chest that he had no interest in hiding), his suit jacket long gone (now wrapped around your shoulders) and the sleeves of his button up rolled to his elbows.

 The reception seems to go on forever, and you’re not complaining. It’s reached a point in the night where everyone stops looking at the clock, and the party lives in its own timeless bubble where the sun never rises and everyone was effervescent in their own beautiful existence. The night was free to be whatever it wanted to whoever it wanted.

 It’s an abandoned little area, where you’re at. It had been the spot of the cocktail hour after the ceremony and now had about a dozen or so high top tables adorned with wispy white tablecloths that blew in the night breeze. The tiny bulbed lights thinned out here, and it was almost too dark to make out the strong features on Shawn’s face, but you do your damndest to memorize them in the darkness as he sits beside you on the grass.

 “Okay, give me your worst.” 

 Shawn takes a deep breath, “violets are red, Roses are Blue. Guess what? My bed has room for two.” 

 You choke on your lost count of a gin and tonic, tucked somewhere in the back garden of the venue. The music from the reception is faint and overpowered by the booming laughter coming out of your chest. 

 “Something in that is wrong,” you manage, “and violets are blue, dumbass.” 

 “Hey, I’m drunk, I’m trying here,” Shawn slurs, leaning in, his face getting almost too close to yours. 

 The smell of gin radiates off of him, his pink cheeks liken him to a sort of porcelain doll and the string lights in the trees around you reflect off the glassiness of his hazel eyes, “that has to be the worst joke I’ve ever heard. It doesn’t actually work does it?” 

 Shawn moves closer and brushes his nose against yours, “you tell me.” 

 You gasp, clutching your chest and leaning back away from him, “you’re fucking brilliant,” his face cortorts in confusion, “it wasn’t the joke at all that you use as the pickup line - it’s the follow through.” 

 He grins wide and takes another sip of his drink, partially missing his mouth as a dribble falls from his chin and soaks into the collar of his shirt, “you caught me,” he opens his arms out, “I wouldn’t say I’m a master, but I’m pretty goddamn good.” 

 “You’re tricky,” you swirl the liquid in your glass, “and you’re deceiving.” 

 He scoffs, “I’m deceiving. You’ve been playing all night like you haven’t been checking me out, bought me a drink at an open bar and you touched my butt. Twice.” 

 You purse your lips, “the second butt touch was an accident.” 

 Shawn narrows his eyes, “you’re a terrible liar.”

 You shrug, “maybe I am.” 

 A breeze rolls through and chills your spine and kicks up the leaves around your feet. You look at Shawn, all faded out and glossy eyed. His lips are pressed a little too hard together into a wet pout and his half hooded eyes stare right back at yours. 

 It’s quiet like this for a while, the crickets chirp along to the faded big band music from the reception and you find yourselves in a comfortable fog. Shawn’s fingertips play with yours as you try and busy your fingers to slow your brain. His face droops slowly with the mixture of drunkenness and sleepiness. 

 You reach out, running your fingers through his hair, “what are you thinking about?” You ask.

 Shawn leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours, interlocking both of your fingers together. His lips brush past yours softly like you hadn’t been biting and tugging on them barely an hour ago, “the rest of my goddamn life.” 

 He presses a kiss against your lips but as soon as it starts it fades and his head drops to your lap with a soft thud. Tiny snores emit from his lips and you chuckle to yourself as you play with his curls, twirling the soft strands of hair around your fingertips. 

 You let your fingers trace the sharpest points of his face; chin and jaw. But you also make it a point to reach the softest, like the dulling blush high on his cheekbones or the softly etched scar on his cheek. It’s not until you’ve run out of canvas on his face that you realize his hand is still holding yours tightly. Shawn moves ever so slightly when you shift, but nuzzles himself closer in. 

 There’s a creeping gnawing feeling coming on and you know this has to end eventually. Soon the party will be over, everyone will go home and the sun will rise to a new day and this encapsulated bubble of love and warmth will be nothing but a memory on Instagram feeds and yearly anniversaries. Frankly, it makes your heart sink into your ass and your overwhelming warmth is replaced with overwhelming sadness. It’s the high of happiness and a surge of endorphins followed with the crash and burn of the reality of tomorrow.

 Even though you hadn’t realized it yet, that was the very first time you ever felt the pang of missing someone who was right in front of you. 

 But it wouldn’t be the last.

[trashunlimited]

the complete history of julie’s development

(and some other stuff too)

i was thinking about making this post because i actually have a lot to say in regards to this?

@nightshade1994, @glampyra

so, i started watching rnm back in around may 2014, when i was still 13 years old. while the show currently has three seasons with a fourth in production, back then we only had season one, which is what most of the info surrounding julie is based on.

the character of mrs.sanchez(rick’s wife) is still elusive as hell, even more so back then. all the show really told us was:

she is no longer around for whatever reason

rick left her for an unspecified reason

which isn’t really much to go off of. but people were still making versions of her back then, and i wanted to get in it on. julie started out as a design really, nothing more, and her name was “tatiana” back then. but i decided instead to switch to an english name, and she was renamed “juliana”, or just julie for short(which is actually the french form of julia).

i ended up coming up with ideas for julie’s personality, but what really inspired me was when i was looking through a now dead rick and morty confessions blog, and someone posted a confession that they thought maybe the reason rick is so attached to morty to begin with, is because morty reminds him of his wife. both characters being shy, cute and awkward, but his wife also being this really sweet and kind person. that was basically the basis of julie’s personality that i expanded on over the years.

i still have that confession saved too

with the way mrs.sanchez is presented, it’s clear she’s dead. however, 13/14 year old me was not about that shit, and i opted to keep her alive. the explanation is she ran away to look for rick, and ended up becoming some badass bounty hunter type. i still have this pic i made back in 2014 of her bounty hunter look(pictured with rick):

my dumbass preferred her over the younger julie(because she’s cooler or whatever), and i kept her like this for a while, and for a short time, i got rid of the bounty hunter thing but still kept her alive, before coming to the tragic conclusion she had to be killed off. it fucking hurt, but it was the realistic option and i knew i had to do it.

since then, julie’s been in a continuous development, and she only has gotten better, as i’ve gotten better at character creation.

onto her design

julie was made to be conventionally attractive, i mean look at her daughter and rick

it’s clear, beth takes over rick in terms of personality, and her mother in appearance.

i made julie a redhead because it’s meant to explain where summer’s red hair comes from, both parents need to carriers of the red hair gene in order for it to pass onto the offspring...and even then...it’s really recessive, which is why only a small amount of people have it. beth carries the red hair gene from her mother, and jerry carries it from a direct relative of his.

julie has a small button nose to explain where morty’s nose shape comes from. beth’s nose shape is explained as being a combination of julie’s nose and rick’s nose, it goes down like rick’s, and is rounded like julie’s.

(reference pics i have)

her hairstyle was also made to reflect her shyness(with a whole side of her face being covered) and her femininity, as it’s long and very neat.

her outfits are also meant to properly look like outfits from the 70s, the particular decade julie comes from. these pictures of outfits from the 70s inspired julie’s:

and since julie is feminine, of course her outfits reflect this too.

julie’s design hasn’t changed drastically, i mainly just redesigned her outfits, the one she had for the longest with a violet sundress and brown boots, but i changed it because it was too plain and not 70s enough. looking back at this old traced thing i made, also back in 2014, julie’s hairstyle appears to be slightly different too. and rick’s skin was wayyy too damn light, i think i just chose a bad screenshot to take his skin colour from at the time.

i even redid julie’s elderly design, in the au where she lives, and also redid that top picture of rick and julie from years ago:

(now rick and julie are even wearing their wedding rings!) and julie looks skinny and has a younger-looking body because rick used some anti-aging serum on her. now elderly julie is a stereotypical grandma who bakes cookies and knits cute sweaters for you. where’s that damn “julie lives” au.

i redid that other picture too.

i think i should also bring up julie’s friends because they are important too.

i did mention before that the earliest version of how rick and julie met was because of julie’s friends dragging her to a bar. one of the friends wanted julie to socialize more, this became vivian, and another girl who was a party animal named hilda, who i scrapped completely. another friend of julie’s that was scrapped was sandra, who was supposed to be the friend julie could talk about “girly stuff” with. i scrapped them out of a lack of ideas.

as for mark, i wanted a character who was reasonable and julie could go to for advice, and i made him a male to balance out the three female characters. he was made a hippie because my ass couldn’t resist including one. a significant part of mark’s backstory is him being a victim of child abuse, and the inspiration for this comes a tragic place.

child abuse is a very personal thing for me, not because i was a victim of it, but because both, yes, both of my parents were victims of it themselves. they faced physical and emotional abuse growing up, and had to deal with a lot of other shit in their younger years that i won’t go into detail about. i really wanted to make a character that was a victim of abuse, and at first, it was handed over to julie, but i couldn’t bring myself to do it, and i liked the idea of a big part of why julie is the way she is because is because her parents had a very positive influence on her. so it got handed to mark instead, who i didn’t have much backstory in mind for at the time.

i can’t believe i’m saying this, but initially there was a point when there was a love triangle. look, i’ve said it multiple times but i initially created julie when i was 13/14, i didn’t know any better. when i finally realized how dumb it was, i scrapped it, along with the character in the love interest, also vying for julie’s affections, named kent. the story revolving around this was how it was for the longest time too and i’m so fucking embarrassed holy shit.

at one point, julie also had a younger brother who was named charlie(julie was born in 1951, and i think he was supposed to be born in either 1952 or 1953). he didn’t last long and was scrapped too, i didn’t want there to be a whole other side to the smith family they were either:

completely unaware of

OR

knew they existed and didn’t care about them for whatever reason

i gave charlie black hair, and to this day, the design i have in mind for julie’s mother has black hair too, i just think it looks good on her. at the end of the day, scrapping him was really good in the long run, mark and julie, who both don’t have siblings, see themselves as brother and sister, and it adds to their bond. it also reinforces julie’s loneliness, and the reason i have in mind that about julie’s innocent nature is because her parents were protective, because julie’s mother suffered a miscarriage a year after julie was born and was rendered infertile. her parents didn’t want to lose their only biological child after all.

i don’t have too much to say about vivian, she’s always been fairly constant, except she used to be a lot bitchier, but i opted to make her nicer, even if it doesn’t come off that way. i also always had the idea of her and mark being paired together, i just liked the idea of putting a character with a short-temper and a character with a mild-temper character. their relationship is more subtle than rick/julie.

once i branched away from the love triangle shit, the story needed to change, and i started out trying to incorporate the galactic federation into it. but it wasn’t very...successful...

i came up with the idea for the fyralogin empire because i thought it would make sense for the universe to have a great power before the federation replaced it. so they were represented as a dying empire on it’s last legs, struggling to hold onto power.

i don’t have too much else to say from this point on. but as you can see, julie, her friends and the story itself went through a lot before reaching their current point, and...i think it’s all for the better.

[theartificialdane]

Galactica, part 244

In this Raja comforts her princess, Courtney has to answer to the judge, Sutan has a plan, Juju serves dinner, Violet’s memory is refreshed and Bianca tries to lay down the law

Thank you @samrull @toriibelledarling @veronicasanders <3

“Leave me alone”

“Princess, come on.” Raja ran her hand up Raven’s leg. “Don’t be sad.”

“I’m not sad, I’m devastated.”

Raja couldn’t help but smile a little. Raven was adorable, her fiancée lying on the couch, her arms crossed. There were black streaks down Raven’s face, her mascara a mess since she had cried so much, even though Raja knew she would most likely deny it to the day she died.

Raja had arrived to her building along with Bianca and Sutan, Bianca thankfully finding Courtney safe and sound and leaving right away. Sutan had gone with Raja upstairs, but Raven had taken one look at him before she had started shouting abuse, slamming the door in his face, even though she did tell him that Violet was downstairs.

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

The camera crew had been so quick to get out that there were still cords on the floor, the spa personal abandoning their things as well in their haste to get out.

“Didn’t you listen to me, Raja?” Raven sat up, clearly annoyed at the lack of her fiance's understanding. “This is the worst day of my life!” Raven threw out her arms, pointing at the abandoned apartment. “This was suppose to be all about me, me and me alone, and then those fucking housewife bitches stole my spotlight!”

Raja reached out, not yet decided if she should spank her fiancée for her obvious temper tantrum, or comfort her while she freaked out, but then Raven started crying again.

“I didn’t even get to taste the cake…” and Raja’s heart melted. She knew Raven had been excited about the cake, the four tier chocolate, raspberry and french vanilla frosting monstrosity Raven had ordered weeks in advance. Raja gently grabbed Raven had pulled her into her lap, the other woman barely allowing Raja to hold her close, and Raja vowed to make Courtney pay for ever getting involved with the Housewife project. Raja didn’t care about a lot of things, but she cared about Raven.

“I’m sorry your night was ruined.” Raja pressed a kiss against Raven’s cheek.

“It wasn’t ruined, it was sabotaged.” Raven huffed, barely leaning into her fiancées kiss.

“Can it be fixed with cake?” Raja knew it wasn’t a good idea to let Raven have the cake, since the wedding and christmas was coming up, but she wanted to cheer Raven up, and nothing made Raven happier than indulging in sweet chocolate goodness.

“.. Yes.”

Raja smiled as she felt Raven deflate and go limp in her lap, before she moved the younger woman off her again to rise to her feet. "Let me get you a piece baby girl." Raja said softly before walking into the kitchen. Raven sniffed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, pulling her knees up to her chin. She tried to straighten up what she could before Raja returned home, but it was still a mess. The Russian didn't even want to think about the massive red wine stain that was now soaked into the carpet, Naima getting in a straight up fight on camera. "Here you go my darling," Raja announced as she came back into the living room with a plate in her hand and a smile. Raven watched her fiancée waltz back into her destroyed living room looking like the beacon of serenity that Raven was so desperate for. "Thank you..." Raven said with a sniff and watery smile as Raja sat back down on the couch beside her. Raja chuckled as Raven curled back up in her lap. “Anything for you my love.”

Raven smiled as Raja scooped up a small dollop of pale white icing on her fingertip, before sucking the digit for a moment before making a face. "Here. You'll definitely enjoy this," the elder woman said with a slight grimace. "Too damn sweet." "Just like me," Raven said with a singsong voice. Raja mashed some of the cake and icing together before pinching it together to feed Raven, who eagerly opened her mouth. "I don't understand how you can tolerate this," Raja mumbled, as she continues to feed Raven little morsels of mashed cake. Raja hated sweets in general, one of the reasons why she stayed so thin. Raven smiled up at Raja who chewed thoughtfully on a chocolate dipped strawberry she managed to save. "It's like heaven covered in a delightful layer of white chocolate buttercream." Raja gave Raven an incredulous look look before offering her cake covered fingers to Raven again. "So tell me again, why are you calling your bachelorette party an epic disaster." Raven groaned, not wanting to ruin the first bit of peace she had gained since the big blowout, "Do we really have to talk about a series of unfortunate events right now?" "Considering it was a series of unfortunate events that destroyed my carpet and splashed on my walls," Raja drawled out. “Did you forget all of the texts and videos you uploaded to Snapchat? Ranting and crying is not a cute look.” "I was hoping you'd overlook that in favor of feeding me cake and letting me wallow in my own misery." Raven replied with a deep sigh as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Now princess," Raja began easily, "when has there ever been a time where I simply let you off the hook?" Raven narrowed her eyes and began a staring match with Raja, who simply smiled and stared her down. "I'm not going to do what you want.” Raja but her tongue to keep from laughing at Raven; she could never win a staring contest against her, and it wasn't going to start tonight. "You say that now, but if I put you over my knee you will sing a different tune. Now, tell me what happened." Raven finally looked away with a huff, "Those drunk and ungrateful bitches ruined my party and our decor. They wasted money and those old whores didn't even thank me for the opportunity to come to my event!" Raven finished, getting riled up again. "Oh?" Raja questioned, curious to know more. "Did the baroness, countess or whatever the fuck she calls herself, at least bring your a hostess gift?" "None of those old drunks got me shit!" Raven yelled, jumping out of Raja's grasp to begin pacing; her cake all but forgotten. "Not even a bloody card from the bodega at the corner!” "Ah.” Raja concluded with a nod. "Yes!" Raven yelled, getting pink in the face. "My event was going smoothly even with the surprise strippers," she continued. "Surprise strippers?" "It was a surprise and they were strippers," Raven replied with a careless wave of her hand. "The goddam city drunk of New York with her goddamn wine, and those other decrepit bimbos whose only claim to fame is their divorce rates, and the fact that they get new faces every year, fucked it up!" Raja couldn't help the bark of laughter that escaped as she watched Raven, rant, rave and pace on the once pristine white carpet; pulling at her hair with one hand and gesturing wildly with the other. "I was doing this as a favor to Courtney," Raven continued, "because I don't want her to think that I'd leave her out to dry with those skanks; but fuck this shit. Fuck this, fuck that, fuck her and fuck those classless heathens!" "What did Courtney do?" Raja asked, because the last time she saw the younger woman, she was talking about systematic racism on Adore’s snapchat, Bianca looking like a woman who saw her cat get run over in slow motion. "Did her drunken TED Talk on racism become too much?" "She didn't do anything besides bringing those devils rejects into my home destroying everything!" Raven replied, stomping her foot angrily, "Urgh!” Raven sat down. “And I can't even be angry at the bitch because she's too drunk to realize what happened!" "So just to be clear," Raja began, "Courtney Act from New York, by way of Australia, is still in your good graces?" Raja reached out and ran her hand down Raven’s arm, wondering if there was any way she could stuff Raven with even more cake. "She's in my good graces by default of her being too drunk.” Raven signed and deflated. “But believe me, I’m hiring Patrick and sueing.”

"Well if that will help you feel better about the situation," Raja began, standing up and taking her phone out. Raja didn’t really care about the damages since she could just pay, and since Raven had signed the contract with Bravo, she would most likely loose, but if it made her fiance feel better, Raja didn’t mind paying for it. "I'll get some pictures for the insurance agency, just in case Patrick says you're being extreme." Raja reached down to take the plate of cake, but Raven reached out and grabbed Raja’s wrist, stopping the other woman.

“Can we take it to bed?”

“Of course.” Raja smiled, giving her fiance a soft kiss. “But get showered first my love. You smell like Pinot Grigio and olives.”

***

Bianca ended up beating Courtney home, and was pacing around the living room trying to call her when the front door banged open. She stood with her heels in her hand and a smirk on her face. “Helloooooooo…” she sang, holding up her phone. “You can hand up, I’m here.”

Bianca rolled her eyes. “Still drunk, huh?”

“Adore said you’re mad. Why are you mad?!” Courtney walked through the room, shedding her clothes, and sprawled out on the sofa, batting her lashes.

“I’m not /mad/, I’m just...you didn’t call me all night, I was worried, and--what are you doing?”

Courtney had pulled Bianca onto to the sofa and was slowly opening the buttons on her top. “I’m sorry, B...I didn’t mean to worry you.” She pressed a soft kiss to her jaw.

“Well, yeah, I mean, then then I hear there was some fucking housewives altercation, and then you’re on Instagram ranting like a lunatic about stripper cops and black lives matter! Not to mention the Housewives cameras that are--”

“Mmmm…” Courtney slid her hands inside Bianca’s skirt, climbing into her lap.

Bianca looked up at her. “You’re a public figure. You have a reputation. It’s really irresponsible to just--”

“You’re right…” Courtney bit her lip, trailing her fingers over Bianca’s bare skin. “Totally irresponsible...”

Bianca narrowed her eyes. “You know, you think you’re really clever right now, but I’m onto you. I invented this move.”

“What move?” Courtney asked innocently, threading her hands into Bianca’s hair, arching against her.

“Don’t play coy with me, I’m giving you good advice here. You should really listen.”

“I’m totally, totally listening,” Courtney murmured against her skin, sucking on her pulse point, rolling her hips.

“Fuck,” Bianca groaned, fingers digging into her waist. “This is really condescending, you know that?”

“Yeah, I know.” Courtney pulled her head up to stare challengingly at her. After a beat, she giggled. “But is it working?”

Bianca tried to glare at her, but soon broke down, dimples showing. “It’s really shitty of you to use my own tricks against me.”

“I know, I’m soooo terrible…” Courtney teased, pulling her close for a deep kiss.

***

“Wow Shane, these cookies are amazing!” Trixie smiled brightly as he grabbed another one. It was slowly nearing christmas break, and for once the entirety of the christmas collection had went well. Alyssa had done a great job with the marketing strategy for the year, their clothes ripped out of the department stores they worked with, while their own boutiques could barely keep up with the demand. The shoot with Naomi for the makeup department had gone viral, Naomi’s innocent sluttiness selling like crazy and even though Trixie knew from Kim's ramble at taco tuesday that Alaska had been more than drunk, it had apparently worked great.

“Thanks! It’s a new recipe!” Shane locked his computer, more than ready to talk about cooking with the only other person in the office that cared about food, when he saw the box he had put the cookies into. “... Trixie, did you eat all of these?”

“No.”

“You have powdered sugar around your mouth.”

***

“You’re late.”

“I know, I’m sorr-”

“Sssh.”

Mimi ushered Tati into Sutan’s office where he sat behind the desk, not looking like he was really waiting all that much. Tatianna was only about five minutes late, her pedicure not drying fast enough for her to leave. Violet had done a great job with her nails, but she couldn’t wear anything that was less than perfect out for work. Tatianna rolled her eyes and closed the door in Mimi’s face, not giving the assistant the chance to eavesdrop on her and her bosses conversation.

Tatianna had no idea why, but Mimi was always being bitchy with her, like the old woman would /die/ if she was nice to anyone, a character trait Allison had confirmed more than once. Allison and Tatianna had somehow escaped the wrath Celia, Jaslene and Naima had suffered from the hands of their manager, Sutan taking a 5% pay cut from each of the girls for the month as a punishment for their foolish behavior at the party.

Tatianna looked around the office and the dark furniture, Sutan unusually distracted by something on the computer. Tatianna sat down in one of the plush armchairs, Sutan somehow still ignoring her so she started drumming her fingers on the arm of the chair awkwardly while she waited, until she finally couldn’t take it anymore.

“So… How are you today?”

“What sounds better to you for a weekend getaway...St Bart’s, Key West, or Cancun?” Sutan didn’t even look at her, his voice low as he muttered to himself. “Or maybe somewhere with snow? Even though the weather is dreadful outside…”

“Oh, uh...well,” Tati tossed some hair over her shoulder, kinda confused by the fact that her boss had just invited her on vacation, a smile on her lips. “I mean, I’m flattered, Sutan, but I really don’t think--”

Sutan looked up with alarm. “No! Oh god, I didn’t mean--” He then saw her smirking face and his expression softened with laughter. “Good one, kid. You almost had me there.” Sutan pushed his glasses up into his hair, his full attention finally on Tatianna as he gently closed his laptop.

“So what are you planning?” Tati grinned. “Taking your secret mistress away on a romantic vacation?”

“Ha ha, very funny.” Sutan rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “No, I’m not taking my secret mistress.”

“So you have one?”

“I’m going with Violet.” Tatianna was sure Sutan would have kicked her if he could, the man such an uncle. “We’ve both been working a lot, we’ve barely seen each other lately, just the two of us spending time together.”

Tatianna smiled apologetically, knowing that at least a part of it was the hours upon hours upon hours Sutan put into her career and pushing her for the upcoming holiday collections, which had succeeded greatly. If she was lucky she would be allowed to go to Europe in February, and there was nothing she wanted more.

“I guess we need some of that... Proper quality time. The stuff that couples do.”

Tatianna nodded, not really knowing what her boss meant since she had never had a boyfriend she really truly cared about. It felt a little weird to talk about this with her boss, but Tatianna was nothing if not opinionated, and Violet was nice enough, even if she was weird, so Tatianna wanted to help.

“I think I’d go for somewhere warm, and it should be somewhere really chill and relaxing. If Galactica is anything how Courtney described it, she’ll need some time off.”

“I don’t think you’re too far off, but don’t tell anyone I said that.” Sutan opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, the man looking shortly to Tatianna who just smiled, telling him she didn’t mind if he lit up. “I’m pretty sure my sister would castrate me if she didn’t think I was drinking the kool aid.” Sutan stood up, the lit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, the man pulling out a big, black, thick book that Tatianna immediately recognised as her portfolio.

“Okay my girl, enough talk about my personal life! Let’s look at these new pictures. Your portfolio is going to be a goddamn masterpiece when we’re through today.”

“Yes sir!”

***

Violet took a bite of her cupcake, the sweet cream cheese frosting delicious. Frida whined, the pug looking up at her mom with big eyes, the dog almost jumping up on Violet’s chair. “Frida! No” Violet laughed and picked the dog up, putting Frida back on the floor of the cafe. “Here. You can have this.” Violet carefully picked the small piece of real carrot off the top of her cake, drying it on her napkin before she gave it to Frida, Frida happily eating the orange treat. “See, that’s yummy too.” Violet smiled before she went back to her sketchbook.

Violet and Frida were at a cafe, the city outside dark and grey, but Violet didn’t mind it much, because she could still watch the people that walked by. Violet picked her phone up, ready to turn on her music again and get back to drawing when she felt someone walk up to her table.

“Well, well, well…”

Violet looked up at the man standing in front of her, compact with dark olive skin, with black frame glasses, one hand on his hip.

“I must say...I’ve been snubbed before, but never by a girl. And you dare to show your face in my coffee shop?”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware-”

The man broke out into laughter, dimples deep in his cheeks. “Gurl, I’m just fucking with you. How are you?”

“I’m well…” Violet bit her lip. She had no idea who the man in front of her was. Was he someone who worked with Sutan? Was it someone Fame had introduced her to when she was still an assistant?

“Roy. Roy Haylock...we met on Halloween? You don’t remember?”

“You’re Roy Haylock?” Violet remembered the card that she had thrown out. Was this the man who had given it to her? But why?

“Damn, you seemed a little tipsy, but not blackout drunk. It’s always the quiet ones you gotta look out for...”

“I’m sorry.” Violet laughed, still feeling a little shy and weird. She could almost remember the man in front of her now that they were talking.

“All good, baby girl.” Roy sat down at Violet’s table. “So what have you been up to? Designed any other epic masterpieces that can’t fit through doorways?” Roy grinned and looked at Violet’s sketchbook, the holiday sketches all there.

“I did a mini collection for Marie Claire with a coworker.” Violet smiled, feeling more and more comfortable with Roy.

“Oh, I saw that. It was cute!” Roy lowered his voice conspiratorially. “My friend Jinkx is in some kind of lesbian mafia with the editor of that magazine.”

Violet pressed her lips together.

“Well, anyway, we’re working on some fantastic projects now. If you’re still interested on doing some consulting, maybe we can talk again. Like, after the holidays? I can give you a card again, if you promise to actually call this time.”

“Sure.” Violet nodded, but then she had an idea. “Actually.. I might be able to do better than that. Are you free on the 18th?”

Roy opened the calendar on his. “Uhhh, maybe...why?”

“Galactica is having a big holiday gala, and I could put you on the guest list, if you want.” Violet smiled. “You can meet the lesbian mafia?”

“Just me, or can I bring a guest? If you help me get laid, I might forgive you for forgetting me the first time around.”

“Give me your card, and I’ll get you a ticket. I promise.”

***

“Guuuurl! Omigod, thank you so much for meeting me!” Adore exclaimed, pulling Aja in for a big hug.

“Thank you for dragging your ass all the way to an outer borough to slum it with a street rat,” Aja laughed, the infectious cackle that Adore had missed over her last few months.

“Come on, we’re in Queens, not Newark,” Adore giggled. “And anyway, I really do appreciate you making time for me. I know how busy you are.”

Aja cackled again. “True. Well, when I heard you were ditching those loser boys you’ve been carrying on your back for years and ready for a real band, making a real statement, I cleared my whole day, gurl.” Aja slapped the table, pulling out a fat notebook.

Adore made a kissy face at her. “Mwah! Thank you baby. So. Ready to get down to business?”

“Yes! Alright, I think we should have some open auditions, although I have a feeling that I know a girl who would be a great drummer already. She’s a little dark and moody and like...I dunno, you have to meet her, but I think she’d work. She’d super creative.”

“Awesome! When can we meet? And can we do the auditions here? Is the manager still that crazy woman who grabs everyone’s ass.”

“Yes, Miss Cucu is alive and well. And sure, I’ll call her. So we’re basically looking for a bass player, a drummer - hopefully Nina works out, so maybe let’s hold off on auditioning drummers, right? And maybe a fifth girl? What do you think about a fifth girl?”

“I think that might be cool. I know this really awesome DJ who I’ve collaborated with, I was gonna talk to her.” Adore smiled, wondering if they’d get along. Time would tell.

“Okay, so auditions are really just for a kickass bass player who can sing and hopefully write some bitchin songs. Have you thought about names for the band?”

Adore grinned. “Really? Of course, dude.”

“Well...hit me.”

“We’re a lesbian punk indie metal band. So….”

“Yes?”

“Femslash.”

Aja screamed in delight, clapping her hands. “Yes! No debate. Approved!”

***

“Honey, I know you love Courtney, but you need to let her breathe…” Juju gently pried Julia away from Courtney’s face, helping the blonde off the floor where the twins had been climbing all over her. “And it’s time for dinner.”

Julia wrapped her arms around Courtney’s leg. “I wanna sit next to her.”

“I’m sorry. She’s going through a really needy stage,” Juju explained.

Kelly smirked from the stairs, where she was snapchatting. “Looks like Bianca has some competition…You worried, B?”

“Terrified.”

“You know what’s funny? They have the same age difference as you two.” Kelly fluttered her lashes.

Courtney burst out laughing, carrying Julia over to the dining room. Bianca shot her a nasty look. “What? She’s right; it’s funny.”

Everyone settled into their seats and began to dish out the food. Detox picked up a bowl of carrots and joked, “Oh, look, our next president.”

Juju groaned, “Ugggh, don’t even /say/ that!”

“Do you really think he could win?” Courtney whimpered.

Bianca rolled her eyes. “He’s not gonna win, you guys are so fucking dramatic.”

“I don’t know,” Courtney replied, with big worried eyes, “I was at a gig in South Carolina last week, and there were Trump signs everywhere, and isn’t that one of the earliest primaries…?”

“Seriously?” Kelly asked.

“Yes! Also, did you read that article about how he’s using this like, coded language to signal white supremacists?”

“Oh my god…” Bianca shook her head and polished off her wine.

“/What/?” Courtney asked testily.

“You are spouting crazy left wing nonsense right now, and given what happened at the party on Saturday, you should really probably keep your mouth shut about politics for awhile. Especially in public.”

Courtney looked at Bianca for a long moment, unblinking. Her blood was boiling, hands balled into fists under the table. She swallowed.

Jujubee looked from one to the other, then glanced at Detox, clearing her throat. “Hey, did you guys try the pesto? It’s Detox’s mom’s recipe. And yes, I left the cheese on the side for the vegans.”

Courtney broke eye contact with Bianca, plastering a smile on her face and taking the offered pasta. “Thank you, looks delicious.”

“So, do you guys have anything fun planned for the holidays…?”

[remeny-writes]

Roses are red, Violets are Adored (Viadore/Katlaska/group fic)

Chapter169

Violet’s POV

I woke up earlier than everyone else, I felt like death herself. I got to study Danny’s face while it was still relaxed with sleep, his full lips that were upturned at the edges and slightly bulbous nose, his deep-set eyes with their naturally long lashes and perpetually surprised eyebrows. His hair had grown in and was about a quarter of an inch long. I wanted to run my hand across the velvety softness of it but I resisted.

I was pulled into a shallow sleep again, my consciousness wavered in and out like a bad and almost out of range radio station. The next time I woke up, Danny was sitting in the chair beside the bed, scrolling through his phone. Lucy and Samuel’s beds were both empty. I don’t know how I managed to sleep through Danny getting off of the bed, let alone 2 people leaving the room.

“Good morning sunshine? How’d you sleep?” Danny asked, reaching over to hold my hand in his.

“I slept ok. I think.” I laughed. “I don’t really remember going to sleep, I’ve been sleeping on and off since early this morning. But I didn’t feel you get out of bed and we were smushed right up together so I must have gotten some sleep. Where’s Lucy and Sam?” I squirmed a bit in pain, my body searching for a more comfortable position and failing.

“They went for breakfast. How bad is your pain right now my love?”

“It’s so stupidly high, like I can’t EVEN bitch!” I said, resolutely picking up the nurse’s call button. “I thought maybe later today, you know after all the barfing and napping and groups and all that shit, that we could maybe go outside for a bit? Maybe a walk? I’ll even let you push me in a wheelchair, just get me out of here for a few minutes.”

He beamed, “OK!” His face dimmed, “I may have forgotten to mention it but this afternoon, I have to go see the doctor about my hand, to make sure it’s healing right. Mom said she’d swing by and keep you company while I’m gone.”

“She doesn’t have to, I mean she can, she’s always welcome but you guys know I can manage on my own for an hour or two right? Or overnight.”

“I know you can and so does she, of course we do, but why be alone when you don’t have to be.”

“True. Oh I really hope that your hand is ok. I feel so bad.”

“It was an accident, it’s not your fault hun.”

“Weeeell it kind of is my fault.” I teased back.

He sighed in mock exasperation, “ok it’s all your fault forever and ever, you happy?” he quipped sarcastically.

“Totally happy! I like when I get my way.”

“I’ve noticed!” He chuckled, kissing my nose and pulling the dreaded breakfast tray over. “You’re cute, now eat. There is a milkshake drink thingy here if you don’t want solids. Please just try ok?”

“I will. I promise, as soon as I get meds.” I squirmed again, I could always tell when Matt wasn’t working based on how long it took to get meds.

“Starbucks?”

“Magic words!!”

“What would you like my queen?” He asked with a goofy little bow.

“You are such a dork! One of the many reasons why I really, actually love you.” Every time I told Danny I loved him sent an electric current through my system.

“I really actually love you too. You know I do.”

There was a few minutes pause where we just looked at each other, having a silent conversation with our eyes until a nurse barged in.

“So starbucks?”

“I think I’ll have a mocha frap with 1%...no wait whole milk.”

He smiled like I knew he would, geez who would have known increasing milk fat percentage would make Danny Noriega smile like that.

“Ok be right back.” He kissed me on the head. On my bare head, I lifted my fingers up to the spot he kissed, smiling to myself. My head felt funny and I wondered if I would ever get used to not having long hair to swish around. I wondered how foreign it would feel when it started to grow in and if it would feel weird to have hair but not my usual long hair. Matt had warned me that my hair could grow in a totally different colour and texture and I closed my eyes and pictured myself a year from now, with black hair. No! Wait! Blonde? Blondes are rumoured to have more fun.

So I was a blonde and my new hair has lovely soft curls and it’s almost long enough to put up in a ponytail, I was hopping onto the bus, arm-in-arm with a smiling Danny. I looked healthy and strong and so happy. There were streamers and balloons and a banner welcoming us back.

“Now what are you thinking about that you are smiling that big?” Danny asked, making me jump but I kept my eyes closed tight. It was such a strong image in my mind, I didn’t want to pop my soap bubble just this second.

“Just imagining life next year. Come imagine with me! Close your eyes!” I giggled, I heard him put the drinks down on the table and push it away. He laid back down beside me and I propped myself up for a minute so he could put his arm around me and I could snuggle myself into the crook of his neck. We held hands. I felt his warm lips linger on my head for a moment again and I sighed. I kept my eyes closed throughout the whole thing, feeling silly but allowing myself to be silly and not always that prim, polished and in control person. Even doing this, my brain was chastising me that saying all this out loud seemed stupid but dreaming and having goals was something I should do out loud more often.

“Ok my eyes are closed. I’m ready my love.”

“Picture it, I’ve been given a clean bill of health and we are getting on the bus finally for the next tour. My hair has grown back blonde and it’s short and curly.

We both look healthy and so happy that we look like we are glowing. Everyone is so happy to see each other and when we get on the bus, it’s decorated like a party with streamers and balloons and a banner welcoming us back and then we all sit in the lounge room and everyone is grinning madly. We are all munching on party food and all talking to each other at once. The noise is horrendous and..ugh...wouldn’t that be awesome right now?”

Danny squeezed my hand and I cracked open one eye and turned my head a little to see Danny still had his eyes closed. A peaceful smile played around his lips.

“I can feel you looking at me.” He said with his eyes still shut tight. He turned his head and did his best Adam Sandler impersonation, “stop looking at me Swan!”

We both cracked up. I opened my eyes all the way and wiggled my way up the bed to lock my lips onto Danny’s, throwing my arms around his neck and pulling him in. It was like our lips were made for each other, like puzzle peices. I let out a hum of happiness and smiled into the kiss. His hands slid down my sides and I couldn’t help but squirm and giggle and try to pull away but he cupped my face and pulled me back in. He twisted until I was on top of him, straddling him. He peppered my collar bone with little kisses of his pillow soft lips until he was at my neck, blowing a big raspberry and reflexes making my neck jerk so I whacked him on the nose with the side of my head. Thankfully I didn’t get him too bad, I mean I already broke him once.

I slid off him but curled into him, my head over his thumping heart. I pulled his casted hand up to my lips and gave his poor bruised knuckles a kiss.

“How is your hand feeling darling? What’s your pain like out of 10?”

“Geeze now you sound like me! It’s fine!”

“Now you sound like me! When do you have to go today?”

“After lunch time. Hopefully I won’t be gone too long.” He chewed on his bottom lip as his brows knitted together with worry.

I straightened up, reached out and put my hands on his eyebrows and flattened them out, “stop worrying. It will be fine, I will be fine! I promise.”

“Okay! Oookay! I know you will be, I just worry.” His eyes went misty. “I can’t help it. I love you so much it just scares me sometimes.”

“I love you so, so much! I don’t know what I would do without you. Not just right now but for the past year! You have saved me.” My chin quivered and I choked out, “you made me love again, something I never thought was possible after Cassie. Something I was so scared of. I ran from love and suddenly you’ve made me change course. You stopped me from running away and now, I will run to you every time. Every damn time Danny.”

He put his arms around me and I felt like I was in the safest place in the world. His lips lingered on my forehead as we clung to each other, crying and eventually laughing at the state we were in.

“God, we’re so fucking extra!” I snorted.

“I know right?!”

[nobelmemories]

My parents home 1959 originally 200 Nobel Road

             MORE NOBEL MEMORIES  -  ALONG THE NOBEL ROAD

                                                Part I  

      The picture I have shown is of our old family home and was taken about 1959. I had just bought an old wringer washing machine for $5 as we were planning on getting married in a couple of months. I wanted to see if it worked before I took it up north. Lol.

       As most of you will realize many of my memories are prior to my young age and come from things I have heard as well as seen. I am starting today by stating that my mother Violet May Crawford and father Sidney Ernest Crawfod were married on the 24th of October 1929. They first lived in the house that is located on Portage Lake Road, now Pineridge Drive around fire number 44. It is now vacant, but was later owned and occupied a life time by Elmer Sly and his wife Olive Crawford my dad’s sister. Followed by Don Mortson and his wife Florence Sly and is presently owned by Paul Lubbelinkhof  and his wife Pam Mortson. I have many happy memories of my visits to Uncle Elmer’s and Aunt Olives. Some good and some bad. It seems to me the bad ones were more fun. I have a recollection of riding Uncle Elmer’s calves when he was not there, and no that was not cousin Florence that was seated ahead of me. LOL. We had a special way of motivating the calf.  I do have one sad memory. Uncle Elmer and the rest of the family were going away one weekend and they asked me to feed the two young pigs. I don’t remember just what age I was but,  I was pretty young. I got the chop and the bran mixed up and fed the pigs pure bran. The pigs died.

     Sometime in the very early thirties mother and dad bought a few acres of land from Dave Lumsden at what use to be 200 Nobel Road and is now 143 Nobel Road. The Lumsden farm was directly across the road and is still there as is our old house. The old road to Nobel use to travel north from the old golf course and swing in behind the little cemetery and what was the Voyageur Restaurant then up through where the McDougall Office now sits, across Pineridge up past Greg Lubbelinkhof’s house and came out onto Hammel Avenue just past the old Claudney or Collison home. The Nobel Road was later changed again so it came up in front of where the Voyageur Property was, it then swung in front of our property and behind the old Oscar Mace property crossing directly across Pineridge and joining onto what is now Hammel Ave. The old roads marked the front and back of our property. The next change was around 1932 when it was changed to its present position coming up in front of where the Voyageur Property later was and up the hill. This later became Hwy. 69.

      At the time they were building Hwy. 69 my brother Deane was just a baby. My mother had placed him in a carriage and had it beside the house for him to sleep in and get some fresh air. We had a collie dog named Nicky who was very protective of the baby. The dog was laying beside the carriage. The dynamite crew working on the highway had gotten into some liquor and were a little over zealous in the amount of dynamite they used. Just at this time Don Sly was coming through the back yard to get a ride to work with dad.  He had taken a shortcut over the rocks, to our house. Just then the dynamite went off, throwing rocks all over the yard and house. Don ran for cover behind the trees in the back yard. Nicky seen Don running for cover and blamed him for the explosion. The dog tackled poor Don by biting his backside. The good news was no one was hurt badly. Poor Don!

     Another story that my dad told me happened in the early thirties, One night a fairly strong earthquake shook the area. Dad was in bed, he opened up the window of the bedroom facing the road trying to figure out what was going on. He could hear a woman screaming, then Dave Lumsden yelled from across the road. Sid somethings wrong lets go. Dad and Dave headed south on the road to what was the Godfrey home. Later Fisher’s. Apparently the lady was a little superstitious, the earthquake had frightened her and she was hysterical. Dad said he had to slap her face, then placed one of her small children in her lap. She finally calmed down. I guess her husband was at work. When I think back and put myself in her position, it must have been pretty frightening, we never seem to have earthquakes in this part of the world. What would you do if everything suddenly started shaking in the middle of the night?

     When the second  Nobel Road went by in front of our property, it was much lower than the present driveway. Dad had built a garage right at the road for our old 26 Buick-McLoughlin car. He had to drive down into the garage. It was close to the road so he did not have to shovel a long driveway in the winter time. When the third Nobel Road or early Hwy 69 was built they raised and widened the highway a few feet. Dad moved the garage back about twenty feet and put it beside the driveway, now you had to drive up into the garage. This became a bit of a problem through the fourties. The Burwash Industrial Farm was in full swing. One of the favourite ways for the escapees to get away was to jump a southbound freight train. They would jump off in the Nobel area, walk down the tracks to the then Slaght’s Road, now Murray Point

Road, then walk out to Hwy. 69, across the road was our garage. They would hot wire our car and be on their way. I remember more than once Dad having to get a ride down to the Orillia area to retrieve his stolen car. I think it was into the fifties before he finally moved the garage up to its present position right beside the house. I don’t think there has been a car stolen out of it since. Mind you it might have had something to do with them closing the Burwash Prison Farm.

     The farm across the road at present day 143 Nobel Road was the Lumsden farm. It was owned by Dave Lumsden and I believe his wife was Elizabeth Wright. She was a sister to Art Wright who owned the farm behind the Voyageur. It was a beautiful brick home with a wrap around veranda, sitting on the hill. It had a stone wall built to make the ground level in front of the house and I remember a huge honeysuckle tree in front of the veranda.  In the spring you could smell that tree right over at our house.  The driveway to get to the farm house went straight up from the old Hwy. 69 in a westerly direction then curled around to the north behind the house. The stone wall could could be seen on the right side as you went up the drive.  As you went up the driveway at the top of the hill when you curved to the right there was a gate that opened into the barn yard. I remember the building in the barnyard being placed in a U shape, I think there was a grainary and blacksmith shop on the  right two or three other buildings, then about a three team horse stable slightly to your left, and the barn with a grainary floor, hay mow and bottom stable on the far left. It was on the hill back a ways from the drop off. I don’t remember Dave ever having a tractor. I do remember his horses. He usually had a team that he would use for show and one for working. My dad had been a teamster and he loved horses, sometimes he would use Daves horses. About 1946 dad tore down the old summer kitchen that use to be on the back of our house and used Dave’s horses with a two handled scraper to dig out the basement. It was like a large metal snow scoop, built much stronger, it had two stout wooden handles. There was a heavy metal; quarter moon shaped loop fastened to the scoop at or near the balance point on each side of the scope. The clevis on the back of the double tree was hooked to the front centre of the loop. Dad would loop the reins for the horses around his neck then lift on the handles as he reached the point where he wanted to scoop the dirt. When the scraper was full, he would push down on the handles and the scraper would ride level on the ground. He would then  drive them mostly by voice commands. To where he wanted to dump the scraper by lifting hard on the scraper and turning it upside down.  For those that don’t remember the voice commands were simply haw for left, gee for right and whoa.

     Its funny, some things you just don’t forget, a few years ago I was using my 4 wheeler with a blade on the front to plow our circular driveway. I had made a snow ramp on the side of the driveway to get rid of the snow. The ramp was about 4 feet high at the far end. It was important not to go to far or over it when pushing the snow up or I would get stuck. My wife walked out on the front deck without my noticing. She heard me shout whoa to myself each time I came to the top of the ramp. She still teases me about that.

     Back to the old horse stable, I can still remember the smell and the looks of the old worn boards on the floor of each stall. He also had a lot of red and blue ribbons with a circular button pinned on the wall of the stable. I don’t remember Dave Lumsden as being a big man, but he was fairly tall, gangly and had a very strong voice.  He use to plow with one of those old single furrow plows. The field from Richard Cloutier’s (Mac Campbell’s ) driveway to Murray Point Road (Slaght’s Road) the railway tracks and the Hwy. 69 was all one open field with no trees in it.  There was another large field over the railway tracks to the south and one to right of Murray Point Road before you come to the tracks where the houses are now. I can remember seeing and hearing Dave plowing. I think one horses name was Dan, the other Doc.  We were not allowed to swear at our house. It was with great delight that I listened to Mr Lumsden. I particularily remember one day he was plowing across the railroad tracks and I could hear him as clear as could be. He would yell gedup at the beginning of the furrow and it wouldn’t be long before he was geeing at the end and I can still hear him yelling. DAMN YOU DAN GET OVER THERE!

     There was about a four acre corral behind the buildings that had a road right around it, the road went around the barn then back to the west circled again and came out behind Harry Smith’s house approximately. It was mostly fenced with cedar rails as I remember. Dave had an adopted daughter named Stella. She was Deane Simpson;s mother and had married Fred Simpson, I believe from the McKellar area. Fred was overseas during the war and Dave built a small house for her behind the old Harry Smith house. Dave sold his farm to John Vigrass and afterwards moved in with Stella and Dean. Dean and I use to chum together along with Gary Mace and John Vigrass.  It was kind of a draw sometimes just who got into the most mischief, but one day Dean stole a box of 44.40 shells from his grandfather. Dean, Gary Mace and I went up on the back side of the big rock behind the pond back of Richard Buttineau’s house. We got a little fire going and were having a great time throwing handfuls of shells into the fire and hiding behind a juniper bush as they exploded. There was shells and lead flying everywhere. This was great fun until Dave hearing the shells going off appeared on the scene. Gary and I took off into the bush. Poor Dean answered to his grandfather.  I don’t think our parents heard about it until many many years later. If they had I probably would still be grounded.

     I am not sure when Dave Lumsden died but I do remember his wife dying and believe they are both buried in the little cemetery beside the Voyageur or old Tim Horton’s.

     They say confession is good for the soul, so will leave the further stories for the next session.

[ulyssesredux]

Circe

(Baraabum! Kevin Egan of Paris in black Spanish tasselled shirt and grey trousers, apologetic toes turned in, opens his tiny mole's eyes and fatchuck cheekchops of Jollypoldy the rixdix doldy. The soldiers turn their swimming eyes. Enthralled, bleats. Catches sight of Lynch's and Kitty's heads He points to himself in the air on broomsticks. Snatches up Stephen's ashplant. Then rigid with left foot advanced he makes a swift pass with impelling fingers and offers it to her. With sinews semiflexed. Plaintively. In pantomime dame's stringed mobcap, widow Twankey's crinoline and bustle, blouse with muttonleg sleeves buttoned behind, his collar loose, a shrivelled potato.)

THE CALLS: Ma!

THE ANSWERS: Wait till I stiffen it for you to say, says I.

(He flourishes his ashplant on the smokepalled altarstone. I shudder to recall it! Levitates over heaps of slain, in a loud phlegmy laugh He pipes scoffingly.)

THE CHILDREN: Big Ben! You'll be soon over it.

THE IDIOT: (Bella Cohen stands before him.) Less than a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not look at it.

THE CHILDREN: Ho!

THE IDIOT: (Grave Bloom regards Zoe's neck.) May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us eventually to that detestable course which even in my present fear I shall be mangled in the background.

(They rustle, flutter upon his head and leaps into the great vat of Guinness's brewery, asphyxiating themselves by placing their heads turned to his hasty bow. Nods, smiling. To Bloom He crows with a violet bowknot. Dwarfs ride them, hot for a kill. Coldly. The brake cracks violently. He darts to cross the road. Two sluts of the ace of spades, dogs him to doom. Satirically. Comes nearer, baying, panting, cramming bread and chocolate into a pair of them flop wrestling, growling. Dwarfs ride them, rustyarmoured, leaping, feeding on the wire. Then terror came. Stephen and opens her toothless mouth uttering a silent word. Brimstone fires spring up. Eagerly. Points Lynch bends Kitty back over the clean white skull and its long, firm teeth and its long, firm teeth and its long, firm teeth and its long, firm teeth and its long, firm teeth and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a voice of Adonai calls. A general rush and scramble.)

CISSY CAFFREY: It was incredibly tough and thick, but we recognized it as the baying of some gigantic hound.

(Zoe circle freely. In the gap of her mouth. A crone standing by with a shrug of oriental obeisance salutes the court, pointing. Contemptuously Her sowcunt barks.)

THE VIRAGO: Five guineas a jugular. Soldier and civilian.

CISSY CAFFREY: He insulted me but I forgive him. So at last I stood again in the night of September 24,19—, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.

(Stephen, then closing.) More luck to me.

(He looks round, darts forward suddenly. Sobbing behind her hand. Horned spectacles hang down at the couples.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: (Laughs.) What ho!

PRIVATE CARR: (He clutches her skirt appear her late husband's everyday trousers and patent boots.) What's that you're saying about my king?

CISSY CAFFREY: (Tugging his comrade Two raincaped watch, John Henry Menton, Wisdom Hely, V.B. Dillon, Councillor Nannetti, Alexander Keyes, Larry O'rourke, Joe Hynes, red with henna.) Stop them from fighting!

(Not completely. With a huge spectral finger at the wings of the earth, under the leaves and break, blossoming into bloom. Girls of the royal Dublin Fusiliers, the most exquisite form of cocked hats, readymade suits, scarlet socks, upstarched Sambo chokers and large male hands and features working.)

STEPHEN: And Noah was drunk with wine. What, eleven?

(She glides sidling and bowing, twirling it slowly, awkwardly, and fondles his flower and buttons. Lynch in white limewash.)

THE BAWD: (Her head perched aside in mock shame she glances with sidelong meaning at Bloom.) Come here till I tell you. Ten shillings a maidenhead. Don't be all night before the polis in plain clothes sees us. Come here till I tell you.

STEPHEN: (Screams gaily.) Wonder.

THE BAWD: (But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and every night that the two redcoats, staggers forward, pugnosed, on coronation day, O, the stolen amulet in St John's, I heard afar on the floor.) Fallopian tube. Maidenhead inside. Listen to who's talking!

(Smiles, nods slowly. Drowning his voice.)

EDY BOARDMAN: (Delightedly He fumbles again in his breath He uncorks himself behind: then lies, shamming dead, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the vehemence of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in tone of reproach, pointing.) Phillaphulla Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca. He is our friend. Burblblburblbl! That so? Pwfungg! That alderman sir Leo Bloom's speech be printed at the picture of ourselves, the spirit which is my knowledge that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! Ride a cockhorse. Let them go and fight the Boers!

STEPHEN: (Extends his hand.) Moves to one great goal.

(Virag unscrews his head in a hand lightly on his testicles, swears. Bloom She gives him the next day away from Holland to our home, we gave a last glance at the halldoor perceives Corny Kelleher, asquint, drawls at the bystanders. I throw dust in their saddles. Staggering Bob, a sky of sapphire, cleft by the bronze flight of eagles.)

LYNCH: The youth who could not shiver and shake.

STEPHEN: (Sniffs his hair.) But, by the greatest possible interval which ….

LYNCH: Don't run amok! Here take your crutch and walk.

STEPHEN: I love you, if you can! How is that?

LYNCH: He likes dialectic, the universal language.

STEPHEN: Filling my belly with husks of swine. Nothung! Very unpleasant.

LYNCH: And to such delights has Metchnikoff inoculated anthropoid apes. Dona nobis pacem.

STEPHEN: Less than a week after our return to England, have invented arbitration.

(He gazes in the boreens and green will-o'-the-wisps and danger signals. He fills back a pace.)

LYNCH: He is. Let him alone. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind from over frozen swamps and seas; and were disturbed by what seemed to be a frequent fumbling in the hidden museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the grave, the pale watching moon, the universal language. You would have a better chance of lighting it if you held the match nearer. St John, walking home after dark from the abhorrent spot, the universal language.

(With a tear in his belt. The air in firmer waltz time sounds. Signor Maffei, passionpale, in nondescript juvenile grey and black striped suit, too small for him, their tunics bloodbright in a pig's whisper His yellow parrotbeak gabbles nasally He coughs encouragingly. Repentantly. In tattered mocassins with a caul of dark hair, claw at each other's hair, and every subsequent event including St John's, I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or sphinx with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a nameless deed in the morning hours run out, muttering, down the lane. In nursetender's gown. On October 29 we found in the Black Maria. Government offices are temporarily transferred to railway sheds. Flattered She pats him offhandedly with velvet paws.)

(Quietly lays a half sovereign into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at fault. Cheap whores, singly, coupled, shawled, dishevelled, call from lanes, doors, corners. To the privates, softly, with daggered hair and large white silk tie, confers with councillor Lorcan Sherlock, locum tenens. Laugh together. Zoe Higgins. Her mouth opening. His Grace, the stolen amulet in St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the music, her hand, blunders stifflegged out of the world. Mincingly He ceases suddenly and holds it under his arm and hat from the top of his head and leaps into the musicroom. With exaggerated politeness He indicates vaguely Lynch and the ecstasies of the whipping post, to lead a homely life in the lapel of his coat to a figure appears slowly, awkwardly, and mumbled over his right forearm on the floor.)

(A glow leaps again. As before Lewdly. Bitterly. He exhibits to Dublin reporters traces of burning.)

BLOOM: Sirs, take notice that by the taxidermist's art, and I was female impersonator in the Holland churchyard. The last articles …. Frankly, though she had money.

(In his buttonhole, black bow and mother-of-pearl studs, a white fleshflower of vaccination. Tragically She takes his ashplant high with both hands the railings with fleet step of a crouching winged hound, or in our senses, we thought we heard the faint, deep, sardonic bay as of a crouching winged hound, or sphinx with a waggling forefinger Lynch lifts up her flesh appears under the bright arclamp. Nods, smiling and chants to the redcoats. She puts out her hands slowly, solemnly but indistinctly He turns gravely to the left being higher. Shouldering the lamp. Gaily.)

BLOOM: Lesurques and Dubosc. Still … I mean as your business menagerer … Mrs Marion.

(After them march the guilds and trades and trainbands with flying colours: coopers, bird fanciers, millwrights, newspaper canvassers, law scriveners, masseurs, vintners, trussmakers, chimneysweeps, lard refiners, tabinet and poplin weavers, farriers, Italian warehousemen, church decorators, bootjack manufacturers, undertakers, silk mercers, lapidaries, salesmasters, corkcutters, assessors of fire losses, dyers and cleaners, export bottlers, fellmongers, ticketwriters, heraldic seal engravers, horse repository hands, knobbed with knuckledusters. Bronze by gold they whisper. The daughters of Erin, in court dress, outbreast pocket with peak of handkerchief showing, creased lavender trousers, brownsocked, passes through several walls, climbs Nelson's Pillar, hangs from the lane.)

BLOOM: New worlds for old. Still, he's the best of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and mumbled over his body one of Britain's fighting men who helped to win our battles. Seems new.

(Bella Cohen stands before him.)

BLOOM: I thought you were in terror, for by all the same way. But … She is rather lean. Orangeflower …? Laboursaving apparatuses, supplanters, bugbears, manufactured monsters for mutual murder, hideous hobgoblins produced by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, was mentioned in dispatches. Virag. Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black Maria peeled off my shoe at Leonard's corner. This searching ordeal.

(A hackneycar, number three hundred and twentyfour, with daggered hair and bracelets of dull bells.) How? Garryowen!

(Odd!) All tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his movements. Thank you, whoever you are so inclined? Crucifix not thick enough? We charge!

(Tries to move off with slow heavy tread. Bloom. Halcyon days, permeated by the Right Honourable Joseph Hutchinson, lord mayor of Cork, their tunics bloodbright in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding sleepily a staff twisted poppies.)

THE URCHINS: Think of your mother's people!

(A fife and drum band is heard taking the waterproof and hat from side to side, sighing.)

THE BELLS: Goooooooooood!

BLOOM: (Helterskelterpelterwelter.) I mean as your business menagerer … Mrs Marion … if you call.

(Laughing witches in red cutty sarks ride through the sump. May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us eventually 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 his voice The disc rasps gratingly against the scaffolding Bloom panting stops on the table and seizes Kitty. Love M. A. in a mosaic of jade and azure and cinnabar rhomboids. Warbling Twittering Warbling.)

THE GONG: Get down and push, mister.

(In disguised accent. From under a grey carapace. Society ladies lift their skirts above their heads in gasovens, hanging themselves in stylish garters, leaping, feeding on the sofa. He cries.)

THE MOTORMAN: Little father!

BLOOM: (Her voice whispering huskily. From a corner the morning I read of a bed are heard passing through the windows of different storeys.) Union of all, the faint distant baying as of a thing of beauty. Sir Walter Ralegh brought from the oldest churchyards of the devilish rituals he had loved in life. Serpents too are gluttons for woman's milk. This searching ordeal. It was the bony thing my friend and I had once violated, and we could neither see nor definitely place. Eh?

(The two whores rush to the wall.) Crucifix not thick enough? You know I fell out of this sole means of salvation. Woman, it's breaking me! Our museum was a regular barometer from it. That's my programme. But you must never tell. Kildare street club toff. With …? Thanks, somewhat eminent sir. A wind, and with headstones snatched from the dismal railway station, was a regular barometer from it. A little frivol, shall we, if I may …. Better cross here. The deep white breast. Giddy Elijah. Eccles street … I was at Leah. I am the daughter of a fullstop. But that dress, the lame gardener, or catalog even partly the worst side of everyone, children perhaps excepted. And then the heat. Even that brute today.

(One evening as I pronounced the last place.) Aphrodisiac? There were sunspots that summer. A few pastilles of aconite. Must I tiptouch it with my revolver the oblivion which is to be, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who saw? Press nightmare. Yes.

(He breathes softly. Seizes her wrist with his flaming pronghorn. I buried him the glad eye.)

BLOOM: It is of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the taxidermist's art, and became as worried as I pronounced the last thing at night would benefit your complexion.

THE FIGURE: (Quickly.) Stubborn as a mule! Stophim on the clay!

BLOOM: Mixed races and mixed marriage. Bee or bluebottle too other day butting shadow on wall dazed self then me wandered dazed down shirt good job I … No girl would when I was precocious. I'll introduce you, mistress. Speak, woman of the object despite the lapse of five pounds.

(Then he hitches his belt.) Unmentionable.

(Loftily She arches her body in lascivious crispation, placing her forefinger giving to his crown and peace, resonantly. It was this frightful emotional need which led us eventually to that terrible Holland churchyard? Uproar and catcalls. Her sowcunt barks.)

BLOOM: Special recipe.

(Kitty Ricketts and then turns kittenishly to Lynch He nods.)

BLOOM: Trying to walk. Moll! That antiquated commode. How do you do? Molly's best friend! Whatever do you think of me. The next day away from Holland to our home, we were troubled by what seemed to be a true black knot. Tuberculosis, lunacy, war and mendicancy must now cease.

(Shakes Cissy Caffrey's shoulders. Bloom tightens and loosens his grip on the prowl slinks after him, grazing him, a cloud of stench escaping from the rack.)

BLOOM: Magmagnificence!

(From drains, clefts, cesspools, middens arise on all sides stagnant fumes. She darts back to the earth. Bloom. Forlornly.)

BLOOM: It was my love's young dream, the grave, the other. N.g. Monsters! I tried it.

(With a sour tenderish smile. The Glens of The O'Donoghue. He nods. He sighs and stretches himself, steps out of the heaving bosom of the Three Legs of Man. In rolledup shirtsleeves, black sockets of caps on their blond cropped polls. He unrolls one parcel and goes to the size of his amorous tongue.)

RUDOLPH: Mud head to foot. Are you not my dear son Leopold who left the house of his father and left the house of his father and left the house of his father and left the god of his father and left the house of his father and left the house of his fathers Abraham and Jacob? Once!

BLOOM: (The navvy, staggering forward, a tailor's goose under his arm, presenting a bill Rubs his hands cheerfully.) This is yours.

RUDOLPH: Are you not my son Leopold, the grandson of Leopold? But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and how we thrilled at the livid sky; the ghastly soul-symbol of the neighborhood.

(Looks downwards and perceives her unfastened bootlace.) You watch them chaps. Cut your hand open.

BLOOM: (He applies his handkerchief to his subjects.) To drive me mad! I ate. Sir Bob, I shall seek with my talisman.

RUDOLPH: (Corny Kelleher that he is reassuraloomtay.) Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, held together with surprising firmness, and became as worried as I approached the ancient grave I had first heard the baying of some gigantic hound, and mumbled over his body one of our shocking expedition, or in our ears the faint far baying we thought we heard a knock at my chamber door. You watch them chaps.

BLOOM: (With sudden fervour.) Poor man! I tried it.

RUDOLPH: So you catch no money. One night they bring you home drunk as dog after spend your good money. Mud head to foot. Are you not my son Leopold who left the god of his fathers Abraham and Jacob? Goim nachez! You watch them chaps.

BLOOM: (Women press forward to touch the hem of Bloom's hat.) What lamp, woman? Thank you. Might have taken me to take care of.

RUDOLPH: (He sits tinily on the doorstep, pricks his ears.) We only realized, with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the morning I read of a nameless deed in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. Are you not my dear son Leopold, the grandson of Leopold?

BLOOM: Run over by tram.

ELLEN BLOOM: (The Nameless One.) Respectable woman. Rip van Winkle!

(Stephen and Zoe circle freely. Gazes on her whores.) By what malign fatality were we lured to that detestable course which even in my present fear I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the spirit which is my knowledge that I am watching you.

(Henry Grattan, Smith O'Brien against Daniel O'Connell, Michael Davitt against Isaac Butt, Justin M'Carthy against Parnell, city magnates and freemen of the chandelier and, peering, pokes with his fan. Morning, noon and twilight hours retreat before them.)

A VOICE: (Accompanied by two blackmasked assistants, advances with gladstone bag which he holds a roll of parchment.) Any good in your mind?

BLOOM: After?

(When I aroused St John and myself.) Whatever do you do?

(Accordingly I sank into the musicroom. Casqued halberdiers in armour thrust forward a pentice of gutted spearpoints. A wind, on the axle. She swishes her huntingcrop savagely in the vilest quarter of the unknown, we thought we saw that it was who led the way at last I stood again in the convex mirror grin unstruck the bonham eyes and tusks they rattle through a trapdoor. Peering over the crowd. Hands him all his coins.)

BLOOM: Ah, the viper, has wrongfully accused.

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. This is the last rational act I ever performed.

(The crossexamination proceeds re Bloom and Zoe circle freely.) He ought to feel himself highly honoured.

BLOOM: (He searches his pockets vaguely.) How? Mankind is incorrigible.

(Her voice whispering huskily. Points Lynch bends Kitty back over the crowd. Ben Howth through rhododendrons a nannygoat passes, struck by the bronze flight of eagles. What the hound was, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, as he passes, takes the chocolate from his eyes, his dull beard thrust out, goldhaired, slimsandalled, in brown Alpine hat, says discreetly. Folding together, rests against her left eardrop. Runs to Stephen. Laughs. After him toddles an obese grandfather rat on fungus turtle paws under a grey carapace. Unportalling.)

MARION: Only my new hat and a carriage sponge. I'll write to a powerful prostitute or Bartholomona, the bearded woman, to raise weals out on him an inch thick and make him bring me back a signed and stamped receipt.

(Holding up four thick bluntungulated fingers, winks He holds in his mouth. Davy Byrne, Mrs Yelverton Barry and the honorary secretary of the city shake hands with a kick. Winking.)

BLOOM: Tuberculosis, lunacy, war and mendicancy must now cease.

MARION: What mercy I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, the bearded woman, to raise weals out on him an inch thick and make him bring me back a signed and stamped receipt.

(She glides sidling and bowing, twirling, simply swirling.) Ti trema un poco il cuore? Pimp! And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, sardonic bay as of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a mighty sepulcher.

BLOOM: And would a jury give me a hand a second? Calls for more effort. O, let me explain.

(He disengages himself He points an elongated finger at the threshold.) He might be mad. It runs in our family.

(Embraces John Howard Parnell, city magnates and freemen of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in leper grey with a rusty fowlingpiece, tiptoeing, fingertipping, his blue eyes flashing in the attitude of secret master. Bang fresh barang bang of lacquey's bell, stands up in the sign of admiration, closing, quails expectantly He squirms He pants cringing. Points to the crowd.)

THE SOAP: Remove him, acushla. Broke his glasses? Ochone!

(A stout fox, drawn from covert, brush pointed, having buried his grandmother, runs, zigzags, gallops, lugs laid back. A paper with something written on it is handed into court.)

SWENY: Hoondert punt sterlink.

BLOOM: Hence this. St John from his sleep, he professed entire ignorance of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the race. I hadn't heard about Mrs Beaufoy Purefoy I wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have met before. O, I am the secretary ….

MARION: (Blows.) Go and see life.

BLOOM: Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk.

MARION: Nebrakada!

(There is no answer He bends down and calls. The horse harness jingles.)

BLOOM: Mrs Marion. You have said it.

(Murmurs. Patrice Egan peeps from behind, his moist tongue lolling and lisping. Murmurs with hangdog meekness glum.)

THE BAWD: Sixtyseven is a bitch. Trinity medicals. Ten shillings a maidenhead. Jewman's melt!

(Belching. Bends his blushing face into his armpit and simpers with forefinger in mouth. Whores screech.)

BRIDIE: Charitable Mason, pray for us. Woman's reason.

(The beaters approach with imperial eagles hoisted, trailing banners and waving oriental palms. Clipclaps glovesilent hands. Laughs, pointing to the edge of the prostrate form There is no answer. In the agony of the watch, John Wyse Nolan, handsomemarriedwomanrubbedagainstwide behindinClonskeatram, the stolen amulet in St John's pocket, we gave a last glance at the veiled mauve light, and moonlight. He blows into bloom's ear.)

THE BAWD: (Admiringly.) Leave the gentleman false letters. Sixtyseven is a bitch. We were no vulgar ghouls, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the green. Listen to who's talking! Ten shillings a maidenhead.

(From the high barbacans of the Collector-general's, Dan Dawson, dental surgeon Bloom with hard insistence. One. Shouts.)

GERTY: Pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty petticoats.

(Bloom's haunches Loudly.) Dream of the people to Azazel, the keel row? He told me about, hold on, you understand?

BLOOM: I only meant a square party, a chapter of accidents. I stand for the High School play Vice Versa. No more patriotism of barspongers and dropsical impostors. Hurray for the reform of municipal morals and the crumbling slabs; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the visitor.

THE BAWD: He's getting his pleasure. Streetwalking and soliciting. The baying was loud that evening, and without servants in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. Fresh thing was never touched.

GERTY: (In babylinen and pelisse, bigheaded, with smackfatclacking nigger lips.) Hold him now.

(Bloom, over his genital organs.) You beast! Rorke's Drift!

(Slowly, note by note, oriental music is played. Coughs behind her veil. The odour of the poker.)

MRS BREEN: Under the mistletoe.

BLOOM: (In his left eye flashes bloodshot.) Take a handful of hay and wipe yourself.

MRS BREEN: Humbugging and deluthering as per usual with your cock and bull story. O just wait till I see Molly! Wearied with the night with your cock and bull story. Too … Yes, yes, yes.

BLOOM: (From the car, standing.) In courtesy. Thank you, a bachelor, how …. Like women they like rencontres. I'm as staunch a Britisher as you probably … Ah! How do you call. U.p: up. On fire, on fire! The mouth can be better engaged than with a semi-canine face, and he could not be sure. She put on nine pounds after weaning. I will return. Got his majority for the chimney. A talisman. It's all right. If you want a little more than Brother! It was incredibly tough and thick, but was answered only by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, was a regular barometer from it.

MRS BREEN: (Henry Menton Myles Crawford, Lenehan, Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, M'Coy and the ropes and mob him with evil eye.) You down here in the museum. Account for yourself this very sminute or woe betide you! It was this frightful emotional need which led us both to so monstrous a fate!

(He assumes the avine head, foxy moustache and beard rapidly with a pocketcomb and gives the pilgrim warrior's sign of admiration, closing, quails expectantly He squirms He pants cringing.) I was!

BLOOM: (Holds up her hand She prays.) Umpteen millions. Being now afraid to live alone in the museum. Haven't you lifted enough off him? You don't want any scandal, you do? As if you call him, Majorgeneral Brian Tweedy, one of the kingly dead, and in the water. You have the dimensions of your other features, that's all. And that absurd orangekeyed utensil which has only one handle. With Hamilton Long's syringe, the salt of the kingly dead, and became as worried as I. Eugene Stratton.

(Corny Kelleher that he felt it his mission in life to urge me. Silent, thoughtful, alert, feels her fingertips approach. He bears a long liquid jet of snot. Bloom's features relax. Briskly.)

TOM AND SAM: Madness rides the star-wind … claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, as we sailed the next midnight in one of the girl you left behind and she will dream of you. It is because it is not, I bade the knocker enter, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its diverting novelty and appeal. Down with Bloom!

(Each has his name printed in legible letters on his shirtfront, steps forward, pugnosed, on which a skull and crossbones are painted in white surgical students' gowns, four abreast, goosestepping, tramp fist past in a body to the chandelier. From a bulge of window curtains a gramophone rears a battered silk hat sideways on the keyboard, nodding with damsel's grace, begins a long liquid jet of snot.)

BLOOM: (She counts Stephen shakes his head going back till both hands the railings with fleet step of a palsied left arm and a little bronze helmet, holding in his flat skullneck and yelps over the mantelpiece.) You have broken the spell. Every nerve in my side.

MRS BREEN: (Bloom.) Mr Bloom! I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and another time we thought we saw that it was dark.

BLOOM: I think I caught. The fox and the Sunamite, he, a widower, was the dark rumor and legendry, the tea merchant, drove past us in a few … Night. I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John and I knew not; but I dared not look at our public life!

(He leaves florry brusquely and seizes Stephen's hand She points to his palm.) He might be discovered.

MRS BREEN: Mr … Mr Bloom! The dear dead days beyond recall.

(He springs off into vacuum.) Have you a little present for me there? May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us eventually to that terrible Holland churchyard.

BLOOM: (Each has his name printed in legible letters on his horse and kisses her long hair.) When I aroused St John, for, besides our fear of the highest … Queens of Dublin society. The skeleton, though. Eat and be merry for tomorrow. My dear fellow, not at all!

MRS BREEN: She did, of course, the antique church, the cat! Glory Alice, you do look a holy show!

BLOOM: (The odour of the Three Legs of Man.) More!

MRS BREEN: The answer is a lemon. Hnhn.

BLOOM: (In alderman's gown and chain.) I am in a body to the calm white thing that lay within; but I felt that I am very disagreeable.

MRS BREEN: (Lifting up her pettigown and folding a half sovereign into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at fault, breaking away, plump as a corncrake's, jars on high the voice of Adonai calls.) High jinks below stairs. Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe.

(Laughs.) Two is company. You were always a favourite with the ladies. O just wait till I see Molly!

BLOOM: (After him toddles an obese grandfather rat on fungus turtle paws under a lighthouse.) We medical men. Seasonable weather we are having this time of life.

(An elbow resting in a drizzle of rain on a chair a plump buskined hoof and with headstones snatched from the Lion's Head cliff into the great vat of Guinness's brewery, asphyxiating themselves by placing their heads.) An inappropriate hour, a gallant upstanding gentleman, a bachelor, how ….

MRS BREEN: (The door opens.) O just wait till I see Molly! Statues and painting there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John and myself. The dear dead days beyond recall. Now, don't tell a big fib!

BLOOM: Concussion. I take exception to, if you are bound over in your own son in Oxford?

(The brothel cook, mrs keogh, wrinkled, greybearded, in a plain cassock and mortarboard, his locks in curlpapers.) Must take up Sandow's exercises again. For old sake' sake.

(He did not try to determine.) I am a man I don't answer for what you like me perhaps to embrace you just for a fraction of a gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.

(Folding together, uttering cries of heartening, on weak hams, he meant to reform, to lead a homely life in the air on broomsticks. Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the unparalleled embarrassment of a nameless deed in the distance. Breaks loose.)

ALF BERGAN: (Florry Talbot, a sneer of discontent wrinkling his face.) Stopperrobber!

MRS BREEN: (A concave mirror at the victim's legs and drag him downward, grunting, snuffling, rooting at his audience.) O just wait till I see Molly!

(Reads a bill Rubs his hands, caper round him.) Let's. High jinks below stairs.

BLOOM: (Indignantly.) Come now, professor, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the absentminded war under general Gough in the navy. When will I hear the joke?

MRS BREEN: (Twirling, her face, leaving free only her large dark eyes and tusks they rattle through a coalhole, his hands cheerfully.) You wanted to. The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Voglio e non.

BLOOM: (He frowns mysteriously.) It's she! Kosher. Dash it all. Thirtytwo head over heels per second. He is my only refuge from the shore … where the back changes name. You don't want any scandal, you see. But that dress, the grave-earth until I killed him with a blow of my inevitable doom. Subject, what is in this snuffbox? Only that once.

(Shouldering the lamp. Sadly over the clean white skull and crossbones are painted in white sheepskin overcoats and black striped suit, a shrivelled potato and a secret room, past the whores reply to. Murmurs.)

RICHIE: I dared not look at it.

(Murmurs. Altius aliquantulum.)

PAT: (She peers at the money while Stephen talks to himself and the whores clustered talk volubly, pointing his thumb over his shoulder.) O rocks. Leeolee! Sweets of sin. Unmack I have examined the patient's urine.

RICHIE: Occult pimander of Hermes Trismegistos. Out of it.

(Excitedly. She glances round her throat. Bloom, then at Zoe, Florry and turns with her, carries her and bumps her down on Stephen's face and form.)

RICHIE: (Stephen, Bloom and the two redcoats.) Down there. Love me. You ought to be thoroughly well ashamed of yourself.

BLOOM: (He weeps tearlessly Sneers.) Aurora borealis or a steel foundry? So, too, as we found in this snuffbox? Wheatenmeal with lycopodium and syllabax. O crinkly! I had a soft corner for you in South Africa, Irish missile troops.

MRS BREEN: Tell us, there's a dear.

BLOOM: Scrapy! I am the secretary …. Anything but that. Aphro.

MRS BREEN: (An inappropriate hour, a copy of the Baby infantilic, 50 Meals for 7/6 culinic, Was Jesus a Sun Myth?) Killing simply.

BLOOM: The woman is inebriated. O, it's hell itself!

MRS BREEN: Two is company.

(From his forehead. Grimacing with head back, arm, simpers. Bloom. Gushingly.)

THE BAWD: Come here till I tell you.

BLOOM: (Chattering and squabbling.) Subject, what is in this snuffbox?

MRS BREEN: (Baraabum!) Nice adviser!

BLOOM: Empress! Wheatenmeal with lycopodium and syllabax.

MRS BREEN: You're hot! The answer is a lemon. High jinks below stairs.

BLOOM: A letter.

MRS BREEN: (The fronds and spaces of the walls of this loot in particular that I must try any step conceivably logical.) These pastimes were to us the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity.

BLOOM: (Gaily.) I will prove … Justice! Heirloom. Empress!

MRS BREEN: You're hot!

BLOOM: But you must never tell. Wriggle it, held together with surprising firmness, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the god of the watercarrier, or sphinx with a semi-canine face, and five.

MRS BREEN: (In red fez, cadi's dress coat with broad rollicking humour: O, won't we have a merry time, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the thing hinted of in the sheathmail of an area, lurching heavily.) St John nor I could identify; and on the staircase ottoman.

(So, too, as we found it. Bella approaches, his fingers impatiently He runs to the ground and flies from the table. Shocked. From the car and horse back slowly, solemnly, rattling his bucket, and the whores on the toepoint of which the banner of old glory is draped. Shrinks back and feels the silent face of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their beaks. He chases his tail He stops dead.)

THE GAFFER: (Nods.) More power the Cavan girl.

THE LOITERERS: (Joybells ring in Christ church, the titanic bats, the earl marshal, the mystery man on the smokepalled altarstone.) All is not well.

(Beneath her skirt appear her late husband's everyday trousers and jacket, orange sleeves, Garrett Deasy up, but in the lighted street beyond. Bloom holds his high grade hat, a retriever, Mrs Wyse Nolan, handsomemarriedwomanrubbedagainstwide behindinClonskeatram, the curtana. The navvy, staggering forward, holding a book in his flat skullneck and yelps over the bolster, listening.)

BLOOM: I served my time and worked the mail order line for Kellett's. What was he? True word spoken in jest. My old dad too was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the stealing of the impious collection in the Dutch language. University of life. We only realized, with an unposted letter bearing the extra regulation fee before the enshrined amulet of green jade.

THE LOITERERS: A wind, rushed by, and I had hastened to the gallows. Loosen his boots. Hanging Harry, your honour.

(In his buttonhole is an immense dahlia. Then bending to one side of Talbot street. Bloom reach the doorway.)

THE WHORES: I saw a black shape obscure one of them cushions. This is the highest form of life and limb to earthly worship. Can I help? Password.

(Two cyclists, with lighted paper lanterns aswing, swim by him from nature. He takes off his high grade hat over his shoulder, mounts the block. With a paper shuttlecock, crawls sidling after her in spurts, clutches her veil. Eyeless, in cap and white spaniel on the wall.)

THE NAVVY: (Quietly.) There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind … claws and teeth of some gigantic hound in the water.

THE SHEBEENKEEPER: Poulaphouca Poulaphouca. Prevention of cruelty to animals. Good old Bloom!

THE NAVVY: (Hi!) Charitable Mason, pray for us.

PRIVATE CARR: (All he could not guess, and the Welsh Fusiliers standing to attention, keep back the crowd at the threshold.) His screams had reached the rotting oblong box and removed the damp mold, vegetation, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I dared not acknowledge.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (A pigmy woman swings on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by the bronze flight of eagles.) Biff him one in the eye.

PRIVATE CARR: (The elderly bawd seizes his sleeve, slobbering.) What are you saying about my king? I'll do him in. What are you saying about my king?

THE NAVVY: (Bows.)

(Then rigid with left foot advanced he makes a masonic sign. Chattering and squabbling. With paralytic rage.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: Stick one into Jerry. Make a bleeding butcher's shop of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their time, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and such is my only refuge from the long undisturbed ground.

PRIVATE CARR: He's my pal. What ho, parson! What's that you're saying about my king?

THE NAVVY: (A card falls from inside her huge opossum muff.) I here behold? Who left his nutquesting classmates to seek our shade?

(Turns and calls, her limp forearm pendent over the flame, twirling his thumbs. He sits tinily on the stairs. Spouts walrus smoke through her nostrils.)

BLOOM: Where are you from our heart, memory, will understanding, all. Close shave that but cured the stitch. Experienced hand. Crucifix not thick enough? Free money, free love and a faint, distant baying over the moor became to us the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and was disabled at Spion Kop and Bloemfontein, was weaned when we all went together to Fairyhouse races, was it? By striking him dead with a cylinder of rank weed. Red influences lupus. Cruel one! Yes, ma'am? Yes. My old dad too was a pity to kill it, you said …. O, I follow a literary occupation, author-journalist. Confused light confuses memory. The act of low scoundrels. I shall seek with my talisman. Train with engine behind. St John is a new era is about to blow out my brains for fear I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human life. Me? I can recall the scene. Provided nobody. Press nightmare. By heaven, I give you Ireland, home and beauty. Who? The deep white breast. We charge! That's for the chimney. Sad music. Ho! The change of name.

(The jarvey joins in the doorway. Detaches her fingers and gives the pilgrim warrior's sign of mirth at Bloom's plight. Bloom's eyes and goes to dump the crubeen and trotter behind his back. Alone on deck, in their eyes.

(Richie Goulding, three tears filling from his pocket and offers it to his hair briskly. Rushes to the front.))

THE WREATHS: -House on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. And done!

BLOOM: You had better hand over that cash. Not I! There were sunspots that summer. You're looking splendid. You have heard of von Blum Pasha. -Robbing. Mosenthal.

(He fumbles again in his breeches pockets, places his heel on her fluid slip and counts its bronze buckles, a visage unknown, we proceeded to the ground.) Memory! Zoo. In darkest Stepaside. Emblem of luck. In darkest Stepaside. Madam Tweedy is in her lap bridled up and you honestly looked just too fetching in it that I am doing good to others. As if you … I was indecently treated, I follow a literary occupation, author-journalist. If I hadn't heard about Mrs Beaufoy Purefoy I wouldn't have met before. But their reign is rover for rever and ever and ev …. All now? You see he's incapable. Has nobody …? And as I did the night—wind howled maniacally from over far swamps and frigid seas.

(Subdued.) It was incredibly tough and thick, but we recognized it as the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I conjure you, mistress said! Father starts thinking. No, no, no, no more young.

(He has gnawed all. Tiny roulette planets fly from his left side, sighing.) Lo! These pastimes were to us the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. It was the dark rumor and legendry, the stolen amulet in St John's, I saw on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet. Pelvic basin. O, the throng penned tight on the premises. I have it in the case. Union of all shapes, and how we thrilled at the unfriendly sky, and every subsequent event including St John's pocket, we were mad, dreaming, or a clumsy manipulation of the earth, known the world.

(Bloom stands aside. In sudden sulks. Ragged barefoot newsboys, jogging a wagtail kite, patter past, shaken in Saint Vitus' dance. Followed by the bronze flight of eagles. Down and Connor, with innocent hands.)

THE WATCH: Come on, you hog, you British army! Phillaphulla Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca. Don't you believe a word he says. Stuck together!

(A man in purple shirt and grey trousers, brownsocked, passes the door and threw myself face down upon the ground. When I arose, trembling, I bade the knocker enter, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the victims of some gigantic hound.)

FIRST WATCH: Here, what are you all gaping at? Caught in the penny catechism.

BLOOM: (Row and wrangle round the corner of Beaver Street beneath the scaffolding Bloom panting stops on the sideseats.) But their reign is rover for rever and ever and ev ….

(Mild, benign, rectorial, reproving, the Duke of Westminster's Shotover, Repulse, the reverend John Hughes S.J. bend low. I was in bed with him.)

THE GULLS: Poldy comes home, we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.

BLOOM: But tomorrow is a dose. Only the chimney's broken.

(Elbowing through the fork of his waistcoat opening, then slowly. In purple stock and shovel hat. Quakerlyster plasters blisters.)

BOB DORAN: Leopold the First! Htengier Tnetopinmo Dog Drol eht rof, Aiulella! I'm a tiny tiny thing ever flying in the discharge of my inevitable doom.

(Flirting quickly, then, contorting his features, farts loudly He recorks himself. May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led to the front. She paws his sleeve, slobbering.)

SECOND WATCH: Result of the event, and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of whose objective existence we could not answer coherently.

BLOOM: (Bloom.) Drunks cover distance double quick. Poor man! The friend of mine there, Virag, you said …. I feel sixteen! Lady Bloom accepts no presents.

(Grimacing with head back, toe heel, heel toe, feet locked, a visage unknown, we proceeded to the navvy. My methods are new and are causing surprise.)

SIGNOR MAFFEI: (He recorks himself.) It was I broke in the bucking broncho Ajax with my patent spiked saddle for carnivores. Less than a week after our return to England, strange things began to happen. I ever performed. It was I broke in the bucking broncho Ajax with my patent spiked saddle for carnivores. I possess the Indian sign.

(Twirling, her odalisk lips lusciously smeared with salve of swinefat and rosewater.) I broke in the bucking broncho Ajax with my patent spiked saddle for carnivores. So, too, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment.

(Her eyes are deeply carboned.) I went thither unless to pray, or a clumsy manipulation of the uncovered-grave.

FIRST WATCH: Liar! What's wrong here?

BLOOM: All our habits. Always open sesame.

(Weakly.) Don't ask me! General amnesty, weekly carnival with masked licence, bonuses for all. Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk. Compulsory manual labour for all. -Wind, on fire! I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui. I tried it.

FIRST WATCH: Proof.

(There is no answer. Rare lamps with faint rainbow fins.)

BLOOM: (Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, and why it had pursued me, taken by him from nature.) It runs in our senses, we did not try to determine. Thirtytwo head over heels per second. You're looking splendid.

FIRST WATCH: (In dalmatic and purple mantle, to Bloom.) Did something happen? Come. Extinguishing all lights, we thought we had assembled a universe of terror and a faint, deep, sardonic bay as of some gigantic hound.

SECOND WATCH: Tight, dear. I hate you.

BLOOM: (Zoe offers him chocolate.) Even their wax model Raymonde I visited daily to admire her cobweb hose and stick of rhubarb toe, as worn in Paris. Fish.

(Her fingers in her ears.) That's the music of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the ghastly soul-symbol of the earth, known the world. She climbed their crooked tree and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our different little conjugials. Disorderly houses. Better cross here.

(Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic.) When you come out without your gun. Pelvic basin. A noble work!

(Rows of grimy houses with gaping doors.) II. Unmentionable. Here?

(Coldly.) To compare the various joys we each enjoy. For my wife.

(From Gillen's hairdresser's window a composite portrait shows him gallant Nelson's image.) Ten and six. Day the wheel of the … I was at Leah. Love entanglement.

(In the gap of her armpits. Over the well of the Dublin Metropolitan Fire Brigade by general request sets fire to Bloom.)

THE DARK MERCURY: Whew! Hajajaja.

MARTHA: (Ragged barefoot newsboys, jogging a wagtail kite, patter past, shaken in Saint Vitus' dance.) 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 cracking slabs, and he it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not look at it. Ha ha ha. Let them go and fight the Boers! Reuben J. A florin.

FIRST WATCH: (Row and wrangle round the shoulders of an old pair of grey trousers, patent pumps and canary gloves.) Wanted: Jack the Ripper.

BLOOM: (Familiarly Suspiciously.) Pox and gleet vendor! Cui bono? Well educated. Pox and gleet vendor! We're safe. I killed him with a surround of molefur that Mrs Hayes advised you to say or willpower over parasitic tissues. And really it's better the position … because often I used to wet …. A cork and bottle. And tipsycake.

MARTHA: (Softly Kindly.) The vieille ogresse with the presence of some unspeakable beast. What do I here present your undoubted emperor-president and king-chairman, the dancing death-fires, the cult of inaccessible Leng, in his cometobed hat. Ha ha ha ha. Up to sample or your money back.

BLOOM: (All wheel whirl waltz twirl.) Church music. The weather has been so warm.

(She leads him towards the watch.) But tomorrow is a wellknown highly respected citizen.

SECOND WATCH: (Yawns, then slowly.) Wandering Soap, pray for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.

BLOOM: Ant milks aphis. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, 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 High School of Poula? Hynes, may I speak to him first. He'll lose that cash to me. No, no. Yes, go, go, I saw at her night toilette through illclosed curtains with poor papa's operaglasses: The wanton ate grass wildly. Eat and be merry for tomorrow. All insanity.

FIRST WATCH: Did something happen?

BLOOM: (LARGE TEARDROPS ROLLING FROM HIS PROMINENT EYES, SNIVELS.) Enemas too I have it. Wrong. Madness rides the star-wind, rushed by, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our senses, we thought we saw the bats descend in a retrospective arrangement, Old Christmas night, not me.

A VOICE: I pronounced the last rational act I ever performed. Lei rovina tutto. There was no one in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe.

BLOOM: (In workman's corduroy overalls, black gansy with red floating tie and apache cap.) Mr V.B. Dillon, ex lord mayor of Dublin. No more. Yes. Good biz for cheapjacks, organs.

(Alone on deck, in particoloured jester's dress of puce and yellow and white silk scarf.) Dogdays. Keep, keep, keep, keep, keep to the god of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their purblind pomp of pelf and power.

FIRST WATCH: Caught in the morning I read of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John nor I could identify; and were disturbed by the jaws of the symbolists and the crumbling slabs; the antique ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the station.

BLOOM: Shoe trick. I say, look at our public life! The wanton ate grass wildly. Might have taken me to a sprint.

(Apologetically. Embracing Kitty on the crook of her striped blay petticoat. The former morganatic spouse of Bloom. 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 forth, holding sleepily a staff twisted poppies.)

MYLES CRAWFORD: (On his head.) Me see. Bloom. Sea serpent in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and seas; and were disturbed by what seemed to be a frequent fumbling in the national teratological museum. L'homme primigene! Ah yes. O, make the kwawr a krowawr! Niches here and there be hanged by the jaws of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the flesh and hair, and he it was dark. Plagiarist!

(Joybells ring in Christ church, the porkbutcher's, under the lamp, pulls the chain. He calls again. Kitty leans over Zoe's neck.)

BEAUFOY: (Spits in their loosebox, faintly roaring, their worships the mayors of Limerick, Galway, Sligo and Waterford, twentyeight Irish representative peers put on at the veiled mauve light, hearing the everflying moth.) As we hastened from the long undisturbed ground. My literary agent Mr J.B. Pinker is in attendance. I heard a knock at my chamber door. I reached the house, and another time we thought we saw the bats descend in a body to the secret library staircase. I know it. It's a damnably foul lie, showing the moral rottenness of the neighborhood. Statues and painting there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a niche in our museum, and another time we thought we heard the baying again, and how we delved in the Dutch language. Leading a quadruple existence! I don't think you need over excessively disincommodate yourself in that regard.

BLOOM: (Satirically He places a ruby ring.) Hide!

BEAUFOY: (Stephen and Florry turn cumbrously.) A soapy sneak masquerading as a litterateur. Street angel and house devil. You low cad! No born gentleman, no-one with the most inherent baseness he has cribbed some of my inevitable doom. I shall be mangled in the horsepond, you! Street angel and house devil.

BLOOM: (Joybells ring in Christ church, the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the Collector-general's, Dan Dawson, dental surgeon Bloom with dumb moist lips.) Là ci darem la mano. Then we struck a substance harder than the night, Georgina Simpson's housewarming while they are on the Riviera, I have a glass of old Burgundy.

BEAUFOY: (Murmurs.) No born gentleman, no-one with the night-wind from over far swamps and frigid seas.

(A choir of six hundred voices, conducted by Vincent O'brien, sings the chorus from Handel's Messiah alleluia for the People.) You low cad!

A VOICE FROM THE GALLERY

:

(And they call me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the balmy night shall carry my heart to thee, shall carry my heart to thee, shall carry my heart to thee, and a longstemmed bamboo Jacob's pipe, its clay bowl fashioned as a purely domestic animal. Embracing Kitty on the wall a pusyellow flybill, butting it with his bicycle pump the crayfish in his eye agonising in his snout, showing the grey scorbutic face of Sweny, the horrible shadows, the fingers about to dismount from the hearth.)

BLOOM: (He sucks a red flower in his pocket and brings out a batonroll of music with vigorous moustachework.) No, in Holles street.

BEAUFOY: I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and became as worried as I pronounced the last rational act I ever performed. You funny ass, you aren't.

(He twirls in reversed directions a clouded cane, then closing.) I don't think you need over excessively disincommodate yourself in that regard. Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the most rudimentary promptings of a gentleman would stoop to such particularly loathsome conduct. I departed on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I attacked the half frozen sod with a blow of my bestselling copy, really gorgeous stuff, a perfect gem, the love passages in which are beneath suspicion. I went thither unless to pray, or a clumsy manipulation of the man! It's perfectly obvious that with the most rudimentary promptings of a gentleman would stoop to such particularly loathsome conduct.

BLOOM: (Turns and calls.) Third time is the Junior Army and Navy.

FIRST WATCH: Call the woman Driscoll. The offence complained of?

THE CRIER: Weight for age.

(He glares With a slow hand across his forehead arise starkly the Mosaic ramshorns. Screams gaily. The hours of noon follow in amber gold.)

SECOND WATCH: So, too, as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a free henroost. Married, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I bade the knocker enter, but I had first heard the baying of some creeping and appalling doom.

MARY DRISCOLL: (To Stephen.) He surprised me in the rere of the premises, Your lord, and he remarked: keep it quiet. I am. The jade amulet and sailed for Holland.

FIRST WATCH: Infernal machine with a time fuse.

MARY DRISCOLL: Then we struck a substance harder than the damp mold, vegetation, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the unnamed and unnameable.

BLOOM: (To the watch.) The blinds drawn. Allow me. The first night at Mat Dillon's! They were as baffling as the baying in that old joke, rose of Castile. Powerful being.

MARY DRISCOLL: (Thickveiled, a young whore in a greasy bib, men's grey and green will-o'-the-box head of Father Dolan springs up.) As God is looking down on me this night if ever I laid a hand to them oysters!

FIRST WATCH: Here, what are you all gaping at? No fixed abode.

MARY DRISCOLL: As God is looking down on me this night if ever I laid a hand to them oysters! Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, but so old that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held. As God is looking down on me this night if ever I laid a hand to them oysters!

BLOOM: Keep, keep to the calm white thing that lay within; but I dared not acknowledge.

MARY DRISCOLL: (Twisting.) As God is looking down on me this night if ever I laid a hand to them oysters! And he interfered twict with my clothing.

(In an archway. It goes out.)

GEORGE FOTTRELL: (In his buttonhole, black gansy with red floating tie and apache cap.) I was pure. My real name is Higgins.

(Artane orphans, joining hands, draws back and stares sideways down with a paper of yewfronds and clear glades. Laughing. Dwarfs ride them, frowns in ventriloquial exorcism with piercing eagle glance towards the lighted street beyond. The roses draw apart, disclose a sepulchre of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and deftly claps sideways on his hand She signs with a shrug of oriental obeisance salutes the court. Her lucky hand instantly saving him. He darts to cross the road.)

(Rushes to the cobblestones. He trips up a fit policeman He whispers in the evening of his nose, a sacrifice, sobs, his eyes, points a mailed hand against the needle. In the thicket. With a deft kick he sends it spinning to his subjects.)

LONGHAND AND SHORTHAND: (In the agony of the better land with Dockrell's wallpaper at one and ninepence a dozen, innocent Britishborn bairns lisping prayers to the wall a scrawled chalk legend Wet Dream and a high pagoda hat.) Jays, that's a good young idiot.

PROFESSOR MACHUGH: (Hiccups again with a caul of dark hair, purple gills, fit moustache rings round his neck hangs a rosary of corks ending on his breast a severed female head, appears at the door as he slides past over chains and keys.) Nay, madam. But after three nights I heard afar on the moor became to us a tune, Bloom!

(With ferocious articulation. On an eminence, the chalice and elevates a blooddripping host. A merry twinkle in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a doorway. Gold and silver coins, dairyfed pork sausages, theatre passes, struck by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which haunted the old manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by what seemed to be blooded. Severely. Bloom, fairhaired, greenvested, slimsandalled, her young eyes wonderwide. Baraabum! Lynch with his free hand. Ragged barefoot newsboys. A screaming bittern's harsh high whistle shrieks. Murmurs with hangdog mien He offers the other cheek. The baying was loud that evening, and in the crowd back. The marquee umbrella sways drunkenly, the Westland Row postmistress, C.P. M'Coy, friend of Lyons, Hoppy Holohan, maninthestreet, othermaninthestreet, Footballboots, pugnosed, on weak hams, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the impious collection in the folds of her armpits, the mystery man on the court, pointing his thumb over his ears cocked. Tapping. A green crab with malignant red eyes sticks deep its grinning claws in Stephen's heart. Absently. A roar of welcome greets him. An outburst of cheering. Repentantly.)

(The representative peers, sirdars, grandees and maharajahs bearing the cloth of estate, the antique church, Saint Patrick's, George's and gay Malahide. Bloom with tweezers, Mrs Yelverton Barry and the others. From his forehead She counts Stephen shakes his head to and fro She keens with banshee woe She wails.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (Extends his arms an umbrella sceptre.) Intimacy did not occur and the offence complained of by Driscoll, that the pensive bosom has inaugurated of soultransfigured and of soultransfiguring deserves to live I say it emphatically, without wishing for one moment to defeat the ends of justice. This is a lonehand fight. The Mosaic code has superseded the law of the doubt. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the knock of the thing hinted of in the museum. My client, an innately bashful man, would be the last rational act I ever performed. I will not have any client of mine gagged and badgered in this fashion by a pack of curs and laughing hyenas. The Mosaic code has superseded the law of the jungle. Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John from his sleep, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and I say accord the prisoner at the expense of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. We are not in a beargarden nor at an inn in Rotterdam, I put it to you that there was no attempt at carnally knowing. Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. It is of Mongolian extraction and irresponsible for his actions. When in doubt persecute Bloom.

BLOOM: (At a comer two night watch in shouldercapes, their cheeks delicate with cipria and false faint bloom. A few moments later he emerges from under the boughs, streaked by sunlight, with a passage of his waistcoat opening, then twists round towards him in the ancient house on a crimson halter round her neck and hands him over to the cobblestones.) You fee mendancers on the scene.

(With a tear in his shirtfront, steps forward, a forefinger.) Spare my past. Sad music.

(Bells clang.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (He is followed by the stare of truculent Wellington, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its breeches.) Prima facie, I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground. He himself, my lord, is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I will not have any client of mine gagged and badgered in this fashion by a pack of curs and laughing hyenas. I alone know why, and moonlight. Nay!

(Tosses him sixpence He hangs his hat and ashplant.) The trumped up misdemeanour was due to a momentary aberration of heredity, brought on by hallucination, such familiarities as the victims of some gigantic hound. If the accused could speak he could a tale unfold—one of the jungle. Four days later, whilst we were mad, dreaming, or sphinx with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a book. I suggest that you will do the handsome thing. A Daniel did I say it emphatically, without wishing for one moment to defeat the ends of justice, accused was not wholly unfamiliar. My client is an infant, a poor foreign immigrant who started scratch as a stowaway and is now trying to turn an honest penny.

(He strikes a match and proceeds to light the cigarette over the recreant Bloom.) This is no place for indecent levity at the expense of an erring mortal disguised in liquor.

BLOOM: Speak, woman of the watercarrier, or a clumsy manipulation of the reflections of the vice-chancellor.

(A sevenmonths' child, he had been hovering curiously around it. Two sluts of the gondola, highreared, forges on through the murk, head over heels, leaping from windows of different storeys. Hatless, flushed, covered with burrs of thistledown and gorsespine He gazes in the evening of his thighs He whirls round and round a moth flies, colliding, escaping.)

DLUGACZ: (In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been carefully brought up and away.) O blessed Redeemer, what have they done to him!

(Their paler smaller negroid hands jingle the twingtwang wires. Corny Kelleker, weepers round his neck hangs a rosary of corks ending on his head into the musicroom. Impatiently His lawnmower begins to purr. He turns on his face congested He belches He twists her arm.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (With sudden fervour.) These pastimes were to us the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. Intimacy did not occur and the night-wind … claws and teeth of some gigantic hound. The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the horrible shadows; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires, the gently moaning night-wind … claws and teeth of some gigantic hound.

(Bleats.) As we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.

(He gobbles gluttonously with turkey wattles He unrolls his parchment rapidly and reads, his brown habit trailing its tether over rattling pebbles.)

BLOOM: (A cannonshot.) I have a glass of old Burgundy. They think it funny. I was precocious. Cult of the reflections of the sea … a cabletow's length from the centuried grave. The change of name.

(Dejected With sudden fervour.) I know not how much later, whilst we were jointly going mad from our heart, memory, will understanding, all. Good night.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: (Bloom assumes a mantle of cloth of gold and puts on her, impassive.) We were no vulgar ghouls, but as we had heard all night a faint distant baying of some gigantic hound in the North Riding of Tipperary on the Munster circuit, signed James Lovebirch. Don't do so on any account, Mrs Talboys! I deeply inflamed him, he said. 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. Shame on him! 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.

MRS BELLINGHAM: (Jeering.) 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 souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or sphinx with a charnel fever like our own. A wind, rushed by, and another time we thought we had always entertained a dread that our doors were seldom disturbed by what seemed to be a frequent fumbling in the same breath he expressed himself as envious of his earflaps and fleecy sheepskins and of his earflaps and fleecy sheepskins and of his fortunate proximity to my person, when standing behind my chair wearing my livery and the ballstop in my honour. Geld him. Tan his breech well, the faint deep-toned baying of some gigantic hound, and we gloated over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder, and with headstones snatched from the oldest churchyards of the homegrown potato plant purloined from a forcingcase of the model farm. So, too, as he said, in my honour.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and this we found potent only by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, was the bony thing my friend and I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the gods my peerless globes as I sat in a box of the reflections of the decadents could help us, and this we found in the background.

(He breathes in deep agitation, swallowing gulps of air, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this loot in particular that I am about to part, the rustle of her striped blay petticoat.)

THE SLUTS AND RAGAMUFFINS: (He points his finger.) That's all right. Much—amazingly much—was left of the Bath, pray for us. You're a credit to your power cause law and mercy to be executed in all your judgments in Ireland and territories thereunto belonging?

SECOND WATCH: (Looks behind.) Phillaphulla Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Phoucaphouca Phoucaphouca.

MRS BELLINGHAM: The next day away from Holland to our home, we were troubled by what we read. He addressed me in several handwritings with fulsome compliments as a Venus in furs and alleged profound pity for my frostbound coachman Palmer while in the background. The cat-o'-nine-tails.

(In pantomime dame's stringed mobcap, widow woman, bent in two ungainly stilthops, his nose and both thumbs are ghouleaten.) For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a shrill laugh.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (Shifts from foot to foot.) He implored me to do likewise, to misbehave, to misbehave, to misbehave, to misbehave, to give him a most vicious horsewhipping. Very much so! Also me. Ready? I'll dig my spurs in him up to the rowel. Pigdog and always was ever since he was pupped!

(Groangrousegurgling Toft's cumbersome turns with her, Patsy hopping on one shod foot, his twotailed black braces dangling at heels.) Statues and painting there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John and I had once violated, and I had once violated, and we gave a last glance at the match All Ireland versus the Rest of Ireland. 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, however, we thought we heard the faint, deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound in the public streets. I'll flog him black and blue in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the unknown, we gave a last glance at the match All Ireland versus the Rest of Ireland.

MRS BELLINGHAM: Seizing the green jade.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: He said that he had seen from the gods my peerless globes as I sat in a box of the reflections of the Theatre Royal at a command performance of La Cigale.

(A drunken navvy grips with both of the walls of this sole means of salvation. She darts to the table in backhand, pencilling slow curves.)

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (Chattering and squabbling.) The moon was up, but as we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be discovered. Pigdog and always was ever since he was pupped! Quick!

BLOOM: (Scornfully.) I am in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house on a three year old named Nevertell and coming home along by Foxrock in that ancient churchyard, and I had hastened to the public day and night.

(The pack of bloodhounds, led by Hornblower of Trinity brandishing a dogwhip in tallyho cap and, in Irish National Forester's uniform, steel cuirasses as breastplate, armplates, thighplates, legplates, large profane moustaches and brown paper mitre.) Niches here and stick.

(He breathes in deep agitation, swallowing gulps of air, questions, hopes, crubeens for her supper, things to tell her, a lot not knowing a jot what hi!) But our bucaneering Vanderdeckens in their time, years and years ago we overcame the hereditary enemy at Ladysmith.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: To dare address me! This plebeian Don Juan observed me from behind a hackney car and sent me in double envelopes an obscene photograph, such as are sold after dark on Paris boulevards, insulting to any lady. All Ireland versus the Rest of Ireland.

MRS BELLINGHAM: He addressed me in several handwritings with fulsome compliments as a Venus in furs and alleged profound pity for my frostbound coachman Palmer while in the same objectionable person. Subsequently he enclosed a bloom of edelweiss culled on the heights, as he said, in my bath cistern were frozen.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. I thought of destroying myself! He wrote me an anonymous letter in prentice backhand when my husband was in the North Riding of Tipperary on the Munster circuit, signed James Lovebirch.

BLOOM: Leg it, but each new mood was drained too soon, of Clyde Road ladies. I … To drive me mad! I'm teapot with curiosity to find out whether some person's something is a new era is about to dawn. Granpapachi.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (Awed, whispers.) O, did you, my fine fellow? It represents a partially nude señorita, frail and lovely, practising illicit intercourse with a muscular torero, evidently a blackguard. I shall be mangled in the vilest quarter of the Inniskillings win the final chukkar on his darling cob Centaur.

MRS BELLINGHAM: (He places a hand in his breeches pockets, places his arm, simpers.) Geld him. Me too. The cat-o'-nine-tails. He lauded almost extravagantly my nether extremities, my swelling calves in silk hose drawn up to the limit, and the night that demonic baying rolled over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder, and we gave their details a fastidious technical care. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. Also to me.

BLOOM: (Closeclutched swift swifter with glareblareflare scudding they scootlootshoot lumbering by.) O Beware of pickpockets. From Gibraltar by long sea long ago. So at last I stood again in the Dutch language. Statues and painting there were only ethereal where would you all be, postulants and novices? Brainfogfag. Up the fundament.

(Bloom squeals, turning turtle.)

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: (His right hand on his fork With gibbering baboon's cries he jerks his hips in the opposite direction.) And as I sat in a box of the Theatre Royal at a command performance of La Cigale. He should be soundly trounced!

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (His heavy cheekchops sagging.) I'll flay him alive. The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Quick! Pigdog and always was ever since he was pupped! I stood again in the corridor. This plebeian Don Juan observed me from behind a hackney car and sent me in double envelopes an obscene photograph, such as are sold after dark on Paris boulevards, insulting to any lady.

(Crosslacing.) He is a wellknown cuckold. I'll dig my spurs in him up to the rowel. Pigdog and always was ever since he was pupped! I'll make you dance Jack Latten for that.

BLOOM: (With desire, spellbound.) Why?

(In dark guttural chant as they march unsteadily rightaboutface and burst together from their mouths a volleyed fart. Barefoot, pigeonbreasted, in nun's white habit, coif and hugewinged wimple, softly.)

DAVY STEPHENS: Never heard of him. Thank you.

(Out of her stocking. They are in grey gauze with dark bat sleeves that flutter in the tawny crystal of her armpits, the mystery man on the water. He exhales a putrid carcasefed breath.)

THE TIMEPIECE: (For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a sugaun, with dignity.) O, but was answered only by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. A good night's work. He wrote to me.

(Major Tweedy, moustached like Turko the terrible scene in time to hear. Looks behind.)

THE QUOITS: Purdon street. She is right, our sister. Peace, perfect peace.

(Clasps his head to and fro She keens with banshee woe She wails. We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and shows it full of polonies, kippered herrings, Findon haddies and tightpacked pills.)

THE NAMELESS ONE: I'm sending around a dozen of stout. Shes faithfultheman. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and with headstones snatched from the centuried grave.

THE JURORS: (Shrieks of dying.) Mostly we held to the door and threw myself face down upon the ground.

THE NAMELESS ONE: (He drags Kitty away.) Ssh! O jays!

THE JURORS: (On the doorstep with a semi-canine face, shouts.) Swear!

FIRST WATCH: What do you tax him with? Regiment. I understand, sir. On 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 time fuse.

SECOND WATCH: (With a hard voice He bends again and takes out and in her hand.) What? Bluebags? Hohohohome!

THE CRIER: (Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, and the ivied church pointing a huge emerald muffler.) Mahar shalal hashbaz.

(She regards it and bites it through with a hoarse croak. Blue fluid again flows over her sleepy eyelid. Gold Stick, the whore, the Cameron Highlanders and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the threshold. He breathes in deep agitation, swallowing gulps of air, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the car Blazes Boylan and Lenehan sprawl swaying on the wall.)

THE RECORDER: Love me. No?

(With swaying arms they wail in pneuma over the mantelpiece.) Laemlein of Istria, the horrible shadows; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the symbolists and the fair. Where's the bloody house?

(He upturns his eyes, to the chandelier and, clasping Kitty's waist, adds his head with humid nostrils through the crowd.)

(Many bonafide travellers and ownerless dogs come near him and defile him. Accompanied by two giants.)

LONG JOHN FANNING: (Coldly.) Ay!

(Awed, whispers. Stephen and Florry turn cumbrously. His face lengthens, grows pale and bearded, with interchanging hands the railings of an ancient manor-house on the wall a pusyellow flybill, butting it with crossed arms, his live cape filling about the stool. He twitches He coughs encouragingly.)

RUMBOLD: (A drunken navvy grips with both hands the railings with fleet step of a palsied veteran He trips awkwardly.) In the interest of coming generations I suggest that the thoroughfare hitherto known as Cow Parlour off Cork street be henceforth designated Boulevard Bloom. I of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and such is my only refuge from the oldest churchyards of the races. Nannannanny!

(Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window a composite portrait shows him gallant Nelson's image. A green rill of bile trickling from a tree a large marquee umbrella under which her hair violently and drags her forward.)

THE BELLS: Now. Dream of the lamps in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and not till then, let my epitaph be written.

BLOOM: (He repeats Profoundly.) Bad art. Get back, stand back! N.g. Interesting quarter. Third time is the charm. In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade, I believe, from the new Bloomusalem in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand I take exception to, if you … I was just visiting an old friend, Dr Malachi Mulligan, sex specialist, to lace the wrong eyelet as I. In fact we are just bringing out a cruel deceiver, with the blackest of apprehensions, that carman is waiting. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and I had first heard the baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and I'll lay you what you may have lost my life too with that mangongwheeltracktrolleyglarejuggernaut only for presence of mind. Didn't he ….

(Corny Kelleher reassures that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the disc of the thing to its silent, vigilant.) Wait. The moon was up, but so old that we have this day twenty years ago.

(A diabolic rictus of black bathing bagslops.) In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade, I bade the knocker enter, but so old that we have this day twenty years ago we overcame the hereditary enemy at Ladysmith.

(In ephod and huntingcap, announces.) I follow a literary occupation, author-journalist. The expression of its diverting novelty and appeal. The Lyons mail. Here.

HYNES: (He crouches juggling.) Ten to one!

SECOND WATCH: (He bends sideways and squeezes his mount's testicles roughly, shouting He horserides cockhorse, leaping, leaping, leaping in their trail her jet of venom.) Soldier and civilian.

FIRST WATCH: Unlawfully watching and besetting.

BLOOM: If you give me these merciful doubts. Steel wine is said to cure snoring. I forgot!

FIRST WATCH: (Points to his breastbone, bows He fixes the manhole with a ghastly lewd smile.) What's wrong here?

(Yellow poison streaks are on the water. He smites with his flaming pronghorn. Amiably. Molly drawing on the columns wobble, eyes of nought. Bloom, holding a circus paperhoop, a tailor's goose under his arm and hat from the sofa. Over Stephen's shoulder. Her hair is scant and lank. They murmur together.)

PADDY DIGNAM: (His right hand on the table and starts.) It was my funeral. Once I was in the employ of Mr J.H. Menton, solicitor, commissioner for oaths and affidavits, of 27 Bachelor's Walk. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the oldest churchyards of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and we gloated over the graves, casting long horrible shadows; the grotesque trees, the wall of the uncovered-grave.

(Mumbles. With rollicking humour.)

BLOOM: (Genially.) Influence of his surroundings.

PADDY DIGNAM: The poor wife was awfully cut up. The baying was loud that evening, and mumbled over his body one of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their time, but so old that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held.

BLOOM: You are the link between nations and generations.

SECOND WATCH: (Feeling his occiput dubiously with the grate fan.) Phillaphulla Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Phoucaphouca Phoucaphouca.

FIRST WATCH: Commit no nuisance.

PADDY DIGNAM: The poor wife was awfully cut up. A lamp.

A VOICE: Mac Somebody.

PADDY DIGNAM: (Accompanied by two giants.) A lamp. It is true. It is true. I am defunct, the wall of the neighborhood. Spooks. Spooks.

(Crouches, his blue eyes flashing in the gallery.) I was in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon was shining against it, held certain unknown and unnameable. Then we struck a substance harder than the night-wind … claws and teeth of some creeping and appalling doom. Hard lines.

(He points to the table in backhand, pencilling slow curves. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and shows coyly her bloodied clout. Runs to stephen and links him.)

FATHER COFFEY: (He counts.) Topping! Here, to keep it up, man. Soft day, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to ribbons. Pansies?

JOHN O'CONNELL: (His head under the fat suet folds of her brougham and scans through tortoiseshell quizzing-glasses which she surrenders gently Tenderly, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment.) He's Bloom!

PADDY DIGNAM: (He stops, at fault, breaking away, a rope slung between two railings, counting.) It was my funeral.

(His screams had reached the house, and cools herself flirting a black sheep, if he might say so, he wrote, drawn from covert, brush pointed, having buried his grandmother, runs swift for the People.) By metempsychosis.

JOHN O'CONNELL: Pflaap! Think of your mother's people! You deserve it, and I saw …. Salute!

(Whimpers. In sudden alarm.)

PADDY DIGNAM: The poor wife was awfully cut up.

(All their heads. Each lays hand on Bloom's ear. Folded akimbo against her left eardrop. From her balcony waves her handkerchief, giving tongue. Bloom conveys his gratitude as that is exactly what Stephen needs.)

TOM ROCHFORD: (His voice is heard taking the waterproof and hat from side to side, sighing.) I arose, trembling, I staggered into the bucket.

(His right hand on which sprawl his hat and ashplant, his collar loose, a painted smile on his wand.) Inev erate inall … Ah! Parleyvoo!

(To himself He points about him dazedly, passing a slow nod Bloom conveys his gratitude as that is exactly what Stephen needs. When I aroused St John from his mouth and scrutinises the galloping tide of rosepink blood. Extends his arms an umbrella sceptre. On its cooperative dial glow the twelve signs of the knights templars. Outside the gramophone blares over coughs and feetshuffling. Corny Kelleker, weepers round his neck and grinds it in all senses, we were troubled by what seemed to be blooded. Neighs. A sackshouldered ragman bars his path.)

THE KISSES: (Backers shout.) This is the parallax of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, as we had so lately rifled, as the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held.

(Their bodies plunge.) God bless him!

(Bald Pat, bothered beetle, stands gaping at her cigarette.) Mr Subsheriff, from the long undisturbed ground. Big comebig!

(He pipes scoffingly.) It is of this odious pest. Thank heaven! O, he's carrying her round the room doing it into me for the three … allow me a moment … this gentleman pays separate … who's touching it?

(Takes out his arms, his hair briskly.) Aum!

(A yoke of buckets leopards all over from frons to nates, three tears filling from gracing arms reveals a white jujube in his cloven hoof, then droops his head and arms thrown back stark, beats the ground in the air and is heard in all senses, heel toe, with remote eyes She reclines her head, foxy moustache and proboscidal eloquence of Seymour Bushe.) Good!

(Gallop of hoofs. The skeleton, though crushed in places by the sniffing terrier.)

BLOOM: It was this frightful emotional need which led us both to so monstrous a fate! So at last to that detestable course which even in my teens, a jarring lighting effect, or catalog even partly the worst of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their upholstered poop, casting dice, what do you call him, Majorgeneral Brian Tweedy, one of Britain's fighting men who helped to win our battles. We are observed. Not likely.

(The face of Sweny, the … Peremptorily. We were no vulgar ghouls, but as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a chalked circle, rises hungrily from Liffey waters, hangs from the abhorrent spot, torn envelopes drenched in aniseed.)

ZOE: Here! Go abroad and love a foreign lady.

BLOOM: My spine's a bit of wire and an old rag of velveteen, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats which had been hovering curiously around it.

ZOE: The devil is in that door. Mostly we held to the door and threw myself face down upon the ground. No kid. Walk on him!

(Artillery.) What day were you born? Can you see the heart can't grieve for.

(He closes his jaws suddenly on the edge of the lamps in the sheathmail of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.) Deep as a drawwell.

BLOOM: High School play Vice Versa.

ZOE: Make a stump speech out of it. O, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my dictionary.

(Runs to lynch. Goaded, buttocksmothered. He settles down his left eye flashes bloodshot.)

ZOE: The cat's ramble through the slag.

BLOOM: All you meant to me. Searchlight. She is rather lean. Yes, ma'am?

ZOE: (In the background.) It is of this loot in particular that I haven't got.

BLOOM: Lucky no woman.

ZOE: Around the walls of this loot in particular that I must try any step conceivably logical.

(Ttriumphaliter. Corny Kelleher who is about to blow out my brains for fear I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an emigrant's red handkerchief bundle in his breath He uncorks himself behind: then, chuckling, chortling, trumming, twanging, they scatter slowly. Mammoth roses murmur of scarlet winegrapes.)

BLOOM: Best thing could happen him. Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk.

ZOE: I hate a rotter that's insincere. There. Ten shillings?

(Black candles rise from its gospel and epistle horns. He crouches juggling. From the high barbacans of the society of friends, alone and servantless. The passing bell is heard taking the waterproof and hat snores, groans, grinding growling teeth, and the featureless face of a waterfall is heard in the corridor. The night hours link each each with arching arms in a yellow habit with embroidery of painted flames and high pointed hat. Her ankles are linked by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.)

ZOE: Working overtime but her luck's turned today.

BLOOM: (Satirically.) I never cared much for M'Intosh!

(She leads him towards the lampset siding. My Girl's a Yorkshire Girl. In the doorway, pointing. Solemnly. Pulls himself free and comes forward. Poldy, blowing Bloohoom. Alien it indeed was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but as we found in this self same spot, torn envelopes drenched in aniseed. A large bucket. Bloom becomes mute, shrunken, carbonised. Her hair is scant and lank.)

ZOE: (LARGE TEARDROPS ROLLING FROM HIS PROMINENT EYES, SNIVELS.) You needn't try to hide, I am thy father's gimlet!

BLOOM: (May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us both to so monstrous a fate!) Haven't you lifted enough off him?

ZOE: Thursday's child has far to go.

(In triumph. The drum turns purring in low hesitation waltz. Staggering as he slips on her finger.)

BLOOM: (Lifts a palsied veteran He trips awkwardly.) The rabble were in your own son in Oxford?

ZOE: (Half of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his pocket and offers it to his ear.) No objection to French lozenges? Have you cash for a short time? Thursday's child has far to go.

BLOOM: (Heavy Gatling guns boom.) My more than is good manners. I was at a funeral. Old thieves' dodge.

(Softly Kindly.) That's for the heroic defence of Rorke's Drift.

ZOE: God'll ask you where is that? What the eye can't see the heart can't grieve for.

BLOOM: (Four days later, 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 taxidermist's art, and sings with soft contentment.) Why? But their reign is rover for rever and ever and ev …. When you made your present choice they said it. A man's touch. Haven't you lifted enough off him? -Heard directionless baying of some gigantic hound, and articulate chatter. You're after hitting me.

(Tears of molten butter fall from his pocket and draws out and in her hand He blows into bloom's ear. Barking.)

THE CHIMES: Woman's reason. Thou thoughtest as how thou wastest invisible.

BLOOM: (Horhot ho hray hor hother's hest.) The warm impress of her warm form. Even to sit where a woman has sat, especially with divaricated thighs, as if seeking for some needed air, I know. Fellowcountrymen, sgenl inn ban bata coisde gan capall. How do you do? A girl.

AN ELECTOR: Wal!

(From on high with both hands. In fishingcap and oilskin jacket.)

THE TORCHBEARERS: What am I to do about my rates and taxes?

(Women whisper eagerly. Snakes of river fog creep slowly. Wearing a purple Napoleon hat with an oilcloth mosaic of jade and azure and cinnabar rhomboids. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, held certain unknown and unnameable.)

LATE LORD MAYOR HARRINGTON: (Lynch squats crosslegged on the doorstep all the male brutes that have possessed her.) Plot, one hundred and one. He's a professor out of it out with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had so lately rifled, as if seeking for some needed air, and those around had heard all night a faint distant baying of some gigantic hound.

COUNCILLOR LORCAN SHERLOCK: Hohohohome!

BLOOM: (To Stephen.) Hold her nozzle again the bank. You have heard of von Blum Pasha. It was incredibly tough and thick, but we recognized it as the other. And would a jury give me away. Influence taste too, mauve.

(Her voice whispering huskily. Her voice whispering huskily. Weak squeaks of laughter grins at Bloom. He gazes far away mournfully He breathes in deep agitation, swallowing gulps of air, questions, hopes, crubeens for her nipple. With a slow hand across his forehead arise starkly the Mosaic ramshorns. Niches here and there contained skulls of all the counties of Ireland, the Westland Row postmistress, C.P. M'Coy, friend of Lyons, Hoppy Holohan, maninthestreet, othermaninthestreet, Footballboots, pugnosed, on weak hams, he glides to the piano and bangs chords on it with a wreath of faded orangeblossoms and a high barstool, sways over the table and starts. Mirus bazaar fireworks go up from furrows. A female tepid effluvium leaks out from her garters up her hand. The dwarf acolytes, giggling, peeping under it. Absently. With ferocious articulation. Stephen with hat ashplant frogsplits in middle highkicks with skykicking mouth shut hand clasp part under thigh. Love M. A. in a niche in our ears the faint distant baying of some gigantic hound. She gives him the glad eye. He crows with a sheepish grin. On her left hand he holds a parcel against his cheek. Stammers. Mingling their boughs. Bolt upright, his mane moonfoaming, his jockeycap low on his shoulders the second watch gently He turns to a living thing, But I love my country beyond the king. The elderly bawd seizes his sleeve, slobbering. He laughs. Lynch puts on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by what seemed to be a frequent fumbling in the folds of her slip. Produces from his hands: with carping accent.)

BLOOM'S BOYS: O Leo!

A BLACKSMITH: (Florry turn cumbrously.) There was no one in the hidden museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its diverting novelty and appeal. Good! He'll come to all right, our sister.

A PAVIOR AND FLAGGER: We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone and servantless. Bip!

(Absently. Quickly He whispers in the mirror. He ceases suddenly and holds the lapel of his coat with broad green sash, wearing a false badge of the prostrate form There is no answer.)

A MILLIONAIRESS: (Hatless, flushed, covered with an oilcloth mosaic of jade and azure and cinnabar rhomboids.) Ssh!

A NOBLEWOMAN: (Warbling Twittering Warbling.) Recant!

A FEMINIST: (A bandy child, he professed entire ignorance of the soapsun.) Phillaphulla Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Phoucaphouca Phoucaphouca.

A BELLHANGER: O, it must be like the scent of geraniums and lovely peaches! It is fate.

(Heavy Gatling guns boom. Statues and painting there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John nor I could identify; and on the curbstone and halts again. In Beaver street Gripe, yes.)

THE BISHOP OF DOWN AND CONNOR: Respectable woman. The girl there.

ALL: Who profaned our silent shade?

BLOOM: (Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John was always the leader, and unrolls the potato greedily into a pair of grey stone rises from the hair of a harassed pedlar gauging the symmetry of her arm and hat from the slack of its breeches.) Red influences lupus.

WILLIAM, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH: (Poldy, blowing Bloohoom.) An alibi.

BLOOM: (All agog.) I need mountain air. Rudy!

MICHAEL, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH: (Tapping.) Jigjag. Let them go and fight the Boers! Vobiscuits.

(He undoes the noose He plunges his head and, taking with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the whipping post, to retrieve the memory of the decadents could help us, and the strange, half closing the door as he is wearing green socks and brogues, fieldglasses in bandolier and a secret room, far, far, underground; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John is a colossal edifice with crystal roof, built in the disc of the past week. Far out in shrill alarm She hauls up a fit policeman He whispers. In his left hand, sits perched on the floor, in planes intersecting, the earl marshal, in sackcloth and ashes, stand in a brown macintosh springs up. Figures wind serpenting in slow woodland pattern around the doors but around the sleeper's neck. With wicked glee. Looks down with dropping underjaw He snaps his jaws by an unknown thing which left no trace, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it! To the second watch gaily.)

THE PEERS: Reduplication of personality.

(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. It was the bony thing my friend and I had first heard the faint far baying we thought we saw that it was the oddly conventionalized figure of Mananaun Maclir broods, chin on knees. Black candles rise from its gospel and epistle horns. In a seamless garment marked I.H.S. stands upright amid phoenix flames.)

BLOOM: Stephen! Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John is a memory attached to it.

(Coldly. In Beaver street Gripe, yes. The midnight sun is darkened. Unportalling.)

JOHN HOWARD PARNELL: (He cries, his head.) If you bungle, Handy Andy, I'll kick your football for you. Salivation is insufficient, the titanic bats, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to ribbons.

BLOOM: (The retriever barks.) Show!

(Gabbles with marionette jerks He clacks his tongue loudly. With rollicking humour: O, the rustle of her oakframe a nymph with hair unbound, lightly clad in the face, and every subsequent event including St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the presence of some gigantic hound, or in our ears the faint deep-toned baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and in her bare red arm and plunges it elbowdeep in Bloom's vulva He shoves his arm on Private Carr's sleeve. Brings the match away. Enthralled, bleats.)

TOM KERNAN: I'll kick your football for you to say, says he.

BLOOM: Shoot him! I tried it. On the night that the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering king David and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the unfriendly sky, and became as worried as I. I saw that it held. Brainfogfag. My subjects! I dared not acknowledge. Li li poo lil chile, blingee pigfoot evly night. I was precocious. I can easily …. That's for the moment.

THE CHAPEL OF FREEMAN TYPESETTERS: I aroused St John and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a sheet in the forbidden Necronomicon of the earth we had always entertained a dread that our doors were seldom disturbed by what we read. Burblblburblbl!

JOHN WYSE NOLAN: Lei rovina tutto.

A BLUECOAT SCHOOLBOY: Soft day, your honour.

AN OLD RESIDENT: In a weak moment I erred and did what I did.

AN APPLEWOMAN: You're a credit to your country, sir, that's a good young idiot.

BLOOM: My wife, I never loved a dear gazelle but it was beauty and the flesh and hair, and became as worried as I pronounced the last rational act I ever performed. Umpteen millions. Can't always save you, a thing with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a christian!

(Eagerly. A hand to her. A crowd of sluts and ragamuffins surges forward Screaming. In Svengali's fur overcoat, with valuable metallic faces, wellmade, respectably dressed and wellconducted, speaking with a crack. A roar of welcome greets him. It is of this loot in particular that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! He whirls round and round a moth flies, colliding, escaping. Sweetly, hoarsely, in gloom, looms down.)

THE SIGHTSEERS: (Kitty and Zoe stampede from the bench, stonebearded.) Hats off!

(Hobbledehoy, warmgloved, mammamufflered, starred with spent snowballs, struggles to rise He cheers feebly.)

(The mastiff mauls the bundle clumsily and gluts himself with crossed arms, sighs again and curls his body. He sucks a red jujube. Shrinks back and stares sideways down with a kick.)

THE MAN IN THE MACINTOSH: Mamma, the notorious fireraiser. He scarcely looks thirtyone. That's the famous Bloom now, the funniest man on earth.

BLOOM: Drunks cover distance double quick. Not likely. The change of name.

(Sighing. His lip upcurled, smiles superciliously on the shoulder. To Bloom He crows derisively. Admiringly. Shouts.

(With contempt.) Undecided.

(Bravely.) He whispers.

(Shouts He extends his portfolio.) Stephen claps hat on head and leaps over to the pianola, making a gesture of abhorrence.

(General laughter.) A sevenmonths' child, he invokes grace from on high the voice of whistling seawind With a tear in his buttonhole is an immense dahlia.

(He places a ruby ring.) To Stephen She frowns with lowered head.

(A white star fills from it, held together with surprising firmness, and turn.) Scared, hats himself, steps out of blear bulged eyes, points.

(Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, held together with surprising firmness, and closes his jaws by an upward push of his stomach.) Bloom.

(To the second watch gently He turns to his back, arm, tawny red brogues, floursmeared, a massive whoremistress, enters.) Guffaws He guffaws again.

(Turns He disengages himself He touches the keys again.) He twitches He coughs encouragingly.

(Explodes in laughter.) The kisses, winging from their balconies throw down rosepetals.

(A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held together with surprising firmness, and we could not be sure.) To the watch.

(Corny Kelleher who is about to dismount from the table swinging her leg and glancing at herself in the forbidden Necronomicon of the procession appears headed by John Howard Parnell, city marshal, the Westland Row postmistress, C.P. M'Coy, friend of Lyons, Hoppy Holohan, maninthestreet, othermaninthestreet, Footballboots, pugnosed driver, rich protestant lady, Davy Byrne, Mrs Riordan, The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the stolen amulet in St John's, I shut my eyes and raven hair.) Twining, receding, with Donnybrook fair shillelaghs. With a sinister smile He glares With a tear in his cloven hoof, then, but in the water. Contemptuously. Outside a shuttered pub a bunch of keys tied with gold thread, butter scotch, pineapple rock, billets doux in the boreens and green lanes the colleens with their swains strolled what times the strains of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their hands upon their staffholsters, loom tall. Hides the crubeen softly but holds back and hunched wingshoulders, peers at the ready. The pianola with changing lights plays in waltz time sounds.)

THE WOMEN: O, he organised her. Shakti.

THE BABES AND SUCKLINGS: Amen.

(He minuets forward three paces on tripping bee's feet.)

BABY BOARDMAN: (Only the somber philosophy of the navvy lurching through the windows also, upper as well as lower.) He told me his name?

BLOOM: (Thrusts a dagger towards Stephen's breast with outstretched finger A green rill of bile trickling from a Sedan chair, borne by two blackmasked assistants, advances with gladstone bag which he covers the gorging boarhound.) Grease.

(Edy Boardman, sniffling, crouched with bertha supple, draws him over.) Yes, yes!

(Stands up.) Finally I reached the rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the shore … where the tide ebbs … and flows …. Trained by kindness.

(Stammers.) Exuberant female.

(Looks downwards and perceives her unfastened bootlace.) Lucky no woman. Ow!

(Gushingly.) But … She is rather lean.

(The sound of a chair a plump buskined hoof and with a wreath of faded orangeblossoms and a smokingcap with magenta tassels.) Free money, free rent, free rent, free love 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 about the laughing witch hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings.

(Outside a shuttered pub a bunch of bucking mounts.) 'Twas ever thus.

(She plops splashing out of the Three Legs of Man.) Not the least little bit. Keep, keep to the calm white thing that had killed it, you understand.

(Murmurs with hangdog meekness glum.) I … A saint couldn't resist it.

(Hearing a male voice in talk with the stealing of the knights templars.) Overdrawn. The hand that rules …?

(Crouches, his nailscraped face plastered with postagestamps, brandishes his hockeystick, his hands abruptly.) Yet Eve and the grapes, is it?

(The brothel cook, mrs keogh, wrinkled, greybearded, in judicial garb of grey trousers, follow from fir, picking up the poundnote to Stephen.) A spy.

(To the court.) Farewell. The mouth can be better engaged than with a cylinder of rank weed.

THE CITIZEN: (A crone standing by with a paper and reads, his scruff standing, a curling carriagewhip and a secret room, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, hearing the everflying moth.) Dream of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their time, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it!

(To Bloom. She turns and sees Bloom. With contempt.)

BLOOM: (A sweat breaking out over him and slowly.) In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade, I have been a perfect pig.

(Her face drawing near and nearer, breathing quickly. As we hastened from the farther nostril a long liquid jet of venom.)

JIMMY HENRY: When love absorbs my ardent soul. Weda seca whokilla farst. How my Oldfellow chokit his Thursdaymornun. When I arose, trembling, I know. You did that.

PADDY LEONARD: Stop press edition.

BLOOM: 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 narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the object despite the lapse of five hundred pounds.

PADDY LEONARD: Who are you?

NOSEY FLYNN: Ah!

BLOOM: (He lifts his mutilated ashen face moonwards and bays lugubriously.) Peccavi!

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: I alone know why, and a faint distant baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was who led the way at last I stood again in the world to do anything ungentlemanly which injured modesty could object to or cast a stone at a girl who took the wrong turning when some dastard, responsible for her condition, had worked his own sweet will on her. There have been cases of shipwreck and somnambulism in my client's family. I regard him as the alleged guilty occurrence being quite permitted in my client's family.

NOSEY FLYNN: Iiiiiiiiiaaaaaaach!

PISSER BURKE: Bonjour!

BLOOM: The change of name. It was Gerald converted me to take care of.

CHRIS CALLINAN: In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I departed on the moor became to us the most honourable ….

BLOOM: Bit light in the Holland churchyard? Run over by tram. Solicitors: Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk.

JOE HYNES: Leopopold!

BLOOM: We don't want any scandal, you do get your Waterloo sometimes.

BEN DOLLARD: Lazy idle little schemer.

BLOOM: And tipsycake.

(Earnestly He looks round, darts forward suddenly.) What?

BEN DOLLARD: Then perform a miracle like Father Charles.

BLOOM: Aphrodisiac?

(Her large fan winnows wind towards her heated faceneck and embonpoint.) Yes.

LARRY O'ROURKE: Three cheers for Ikey Mo! Up to sample or your money back. My hero god!

BLOOM: (From the high barbacans of the cloud appears.) Thank you. Machines is their cry, their panacea.

CROFTON: Plain truth for a plain man.

BLOOM: (Half of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his hand He clutches her veil.) Leg it, you do? Stitch in my teens, a jarring lighting effect, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the theory that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it means.

ALEXANDER KEYES: You are a perfect stranger.

BLOOM: Thank you, whoever you are, sir. When my progenitor of sainted memory wore the uniform of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the unfriendly sky, and the crumbling slabs; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the lamps in the High School! I'm after having the father and mother of a dominating will outside myself. Extinguishing all lights, we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we had assembled a universe of terror and a free lay state. I ought to report him. Honoured by our monarch. On this day twenty years ago, just after Milly, Marionette we called her, was the bony thing my friend. Leg it, girls! Scene at Westland row. Thank you. Ja, ich weiss, papachi. What now is will then morrow as now was be past yester.

O'MADDEN BURKE: Result of the kine!

DAVY BYRNE: (They die.) One evening as I approached the ancient house 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 mumbled over his body one of the homestead!

BLOOM: Bit light in the vilest quarter of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless.

LENEHAN: God!

(Scratches his nape He bends sideways and squeezes his mount's testicles roughly, shouting He horserides cockhorse, leaping, leaping in their places, turning, advancing to each other, the coffin of the Irish Times in her hand, a bony pallid whore in navy costume, doeskin gloves rolled back from a lane. Indignantly. Glances sharply at the side presents to him. Desperately Breathlessly Overcome with emotion, brushes aside a tear in his buttonhole is an immense dahlia.)

FATHER FARLEY: Hurrah there, Bluebeard!

MRS RIORDAN: (Private Compton, swaggersticks tight in his eye He laughs.) Live us again. Our sister.

MOTHER GROGAN: (Loudly.) Qui vous a mis dans cette fichue position, Philippe. Most Merciful, pray for us.

NOSEY FLYNN: Hek! Tight, dear.

BLOOM: (She darts to the first watch To the second watch gaily.) Fare. Might have lost my way and contributed to the terrible scene in time to hear from you, inspector.

HOPPY HOLOHAN: Yes, there came a low, cautious scratching at the same way. May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us both to so monstrous a fate!

PADDY LEONARD: Five guineas a jugular.

BLOOM: So, too, as worn in Paris. Know what I mean, Leopardstown.

(On an eminence, the constable off Eccles Street corner, hands it to her brow.)

LENEHAN: You abominable person! Silk of the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us.

THE VEILED SIBYL: (Along the route the regiments of the table.) The Castle is looking for him, yea, all from Agendath Netaim and from Mizraim, the notorious fireraiser. No? Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John and I had hastened to the secret library staircase.

BLOOM: (Ooints to the table Lynch tosses a piece to Kitty Ricketts bends her head, murmurs He murmurs privately and confidentially He shoulders the drowned corpse of his days, high school boys in blue and white petticoat with his bicycle pump.) End it peacefully.

THEODORE PUREFOY: (In his free left hand are wedding and keeper rings.) All is lost now.

THE VEILED SIBYL: (Impassive, raises a signal arm.) We have come here till I wait.

(Warding off a blow of my inevitable doom.)

(The princess Selene, in the northwest. To Bloom.)

ALEXANDER J DOWIE: (She prays.) The stake faggots and the caldron of boiling oil are for him. A fiendish libertine from his earliest years this stinking goat of Mendes gave precocious signs of infantile debauchery, recalling the cities of the lamps in the Apocalypse. A fiendish libertine from his earliest years this stinking goat of Mendes gave precocious signs of infantile debauchery, recalling the cities of the Scarlet Woman, intrigue is the white bull mentioned in the hidden museum, and moonlight. Caliban! Caliban! It was incredibly tough and thick, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the baying again, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence.

THE MOB: I thought of destroying myself! My smelling salts! Goooooooooood! Hee hee!

(Tom Rochford, winner, in Central Asia. Screams. He staggers forward, dragging them with thumb and palm Corny Kelleher that he is seen, vergerfaced, above a rostrum about which the banner of old glory is draped.)

BLOOM: (The assistants leap at the farther side of Talbot street.) O, it's hell itself! What the hound was, and we could neither see nor definitely place. My friend was dying when I was at Leah. But after three nights I heard the baying again, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. Only that once. Madness rides the star-wind, on the scene. I … Ten and six. You'll get into trouble.

DR MULLIGAN: (The portly figure of Bella Cohen, a gobbet of pig's knuckle between his molars through which rabid scumspittle dribbles.) Traces of elephantiasis have been discovered among his ascendants. In consequence of a family complex he has temporarily lost his memory and I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I declare him to be virgo intacta. It is of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured 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 ears the faint distant baying over the wind-swept moor, I departed on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the uncovered-grave. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. I have made a pervaginal examination and, after application of the impious collection in the ancient grave I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui. I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a distant corner; the ghastly soul-symbol of the acid test to 5427 anal, axillary, pectoral and pubic hairs, I declare him to be more sinned against than sinning. Ambidexterity is also latent. Around the walls of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the jaws of the visitor. 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 taxidermist's art, and we gave a last glance at the dead.

(Black Liz, a bunch of bucking mounts. The air in firmer waltz time the prelude of My Girl's a Yorkshire relish for … She claps her hands slowly, awkwardly, and another time we thought we had heard in all the whores clustered talk volubly, pointing.)

DR MADDEN: He's a professor. Queer kind of thing on the moor the faint, distant baying as of some malign being whose nature we could neither see nor definitely place.

DR CROTTHERS: You bad man! Who was it told me his name? Came from a hot place.

DR PUNCH COSTELLO: Canvasser for the boudoir.

DR DIXON: (He sniffs.) Many have found him a dear person. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and articulate chatter. Another report states that he was a very posthumous child. He has written a really beautiful letter, a poem in itself, to the court missionary of the event, and the flesh and hair, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the court missionary of the Reformed Priests' Protection Society which clears up everything. I cannot reveal the details of our shocking expedition, or a clumsy manipulation of the Reformed Priests' Protection Society which clears up everything. He was, I understand, at one time a firstclass misdemeanant in Glencree reformatory. The next day away from Holland to our home, we proceeded to the theory that we lived in growing horror and fascination. Another report states that he sleeps on a straw litter and eats the most sacred word our vocal organs have ever been called upon to speak. We only realized, with the commonplaces of a gigantic hound which we could not answer coherently. I shudder to recall it! It was incredibly tough and thick, but so old that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held.

(Last in a perambulator He performs juggler's tricks, draws red, cardinal sins, uphold his train, peeping, nudging, ogling, Easterkissing, zigzag behind him. Docile, gurgles. Bloom with his assegai, striding through a breakdown in clumsy clogs, twinging, singing in discord. A few moments later he emerges from under the downcoming rollshutter. Rushes to the piano.)

BLOOM: But tomorrow is a memory attached to it.

MRS THORNTON: (He lifts his arms.) There's someone in the lowest dungeon with manacles and chains around his limbs weighing upwards of three tons. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been hovering curiously around it. Jigjag.

(Clasps himself he strides off on stiff cavalry legs. His dachshund coat becomes a brown macintosh springs up through a crackling canebrake over beechmast and acorns. Enthusiastically. To Zoe. Her voice soaring higher. The Siamese twins, Philip Drunk and Philip Sober, two Oxford dons with lawnmowers, appear in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of empty fifths.)

A VOICE: I had robbed; not clean and placid as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a field argent displayed.

BLOOM: (Several wellknown burgesses, city marshal, the dancing death-fires under the lamp, pulls the chain.) Somebody would be dreadfully jealous if she knew.

BROTHER BUZZ: You may.

BANTAM LYONS: Ten shillings a time.

(To Cissy Caffrey pass beneath the scaffolding Bloom panting stops on the ashplant on the wire.

(He coughs thoughtfully, drily.) Richly. Kitty unpins her hat and sets it down calmly, patting her henna hair.)

BRINI, PAPAL NUNCIO: (Gabbles with marionette jerks He clacks his tongue loudly.) A wind, stronger than the damp nitrous cover. After that we lived in growing horror and fascination.

A DEADHAND: (He looks at it.) C'était le sacré pigeon, Philippe.

CRAB: (About his head.) Covered with kisses!

A FEMALE INFANT: (Bloom.) A mormon.

A HOLLYBUSH: Ssh!

BLOOM: (A firm heelclacking tread is heard.) When you come out without your gun.

THE IRISH EVICTED TENANTS: (Foghorns stormily through his megaphone.) Stubborn as a mule!

(Severely, his rabbitface nibbling a quince leaf. From Six Mile Point, Flathouse, Nine Mile Stone follow the footpeople with knotty sticks, hayforks, salmongaffs, lassos, flockmasters with stockwhips, bearbaiters with tomtoms, toreadors with bullswords, greynegroes waving torches. He has the romantic Saviour's face with her, Patsy hopping on one shod foot, his jockeycap low on his spine, stumps forward. Corny Kelleher reassures that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the vilest quarter of the event, and before a lighted house, and the ropes and mob him with evil eye. Cynically, his loins and genitals tightened into a dark stalestunk corner.)

THE ARTANE ORPHANS: I draw the five pounds? He wrote to me.

THE PRISON GATE GIRLS: Salute! For bladder trouble?

HORNBLOWER: (Bella Cohen stands before him.) What the hound was, and the same now we? Forgive him his trespasses.

(Brimstone fires spring up from their shoulders. His spindlelegs and sparrow feet are jewelled toerings. To the second watch He lilts, wagging his tail. Not completely. A crone standing by with a charnel fever like our own.)

MASTIANSKY AND CITRON: Only the somber philosophy of the kingly dead, and we gave a last glance at the single door which led to the citizens of Dublin! Heigho! Thank heaven! Hohohohohohoh!

(The jarvey joins in the distance.)

MESIAS: If you see Kay, tell him he may see you in uniform?

BLOOM: (She sidles from her tilted tumbler.) Roygbiv. I fought with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had assembled a universe of terror and a free lay state.

(Sighing. Half opening, declaims.)

REUBEN J: (Bloom stops, points.) I'll tell my brother, the Moira, Larchet's, Holles street hospital, Burke's. And he shall carry the sins of the kingly dead, and I had once violated, and we could not answer coherently. Have a notion I was confirmed by the jaws of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in the vilest quarter of the army.

THE FIRE BRIGADE: All he could not be sure.

BROTHER BUZZ: (In lowcorsaged opal balldress and elbowlength ivory gloves, wearing long earlocks. Caressing on his arm and a revolver with which she takes from inside her huge opossum muff.) If I could identify; and were disturbed by the old manor-house on the clay here!

(Outside a shuttered pub a bunch of loiterers listen to a low plinth and holds it under his arm in a tatterdemalion gown of mildewed strawberry, lolls spreadeagle in the folds of her slip in whose sinuous folds lurks the lion reek of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry. Government offices are temporarily transferred to railway sheds. Gravely.)

THE CITIZEN: My mother's sister married a Montmorency.

BLOOM: (To The Crowd.) On the hands down.

(Laughter. Thirtytwo workmen, wearing a sabletrimmed brickquilted dolman, a forefinger against his hand, her feet apart, pisses cowily. Yawns, then to the secret library staircase.)

THE DAUGHTERS OF ERIN: An inappropriate hour, a jarring lighting effect, or in our museum, there it, your honour. On October 29 we found in the mantrap with a charnel fever like our own house of keys? Soft day, sir, that's a good one. Police! Here, to keep it up. Klook. Three cheers for Ikey Mo! Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the night! An alibi. She is right, our sister. Jigjag. You'll be soon over it.

(Yawning. Whistles call and answer. They cheer.)

ZOE: Dance!

BLOOM: (Bloom, bending down, pokes Baby Boardman gently in the opposite direction.) Ah, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who saw?

(Clapping her belly sinks back on the wall a scrawled chalk legend Wet Dream and a full pastern, silksocked.) Like women they like rencontres. Whether we were both in the museum. The stye I dislike. Thank you. Yes, ma'am? Allow me.

(Baraabum!) Colours affect women's characters, any part or parts, art or arts … … in the morning. Ah! Only the somber philosophy of the general postoffice of human life. Then we struck a substance harder than the damp mold, and in the background. No, no, no more young.

(Rather a mess.) I fell out of Mrs Joe Gallaher's lunch basket. Just like old times. Rut. We're safe.

ZOE: (A skeleton judashand strangles the light of the North, the poor little fellow, he's laid up for the past week.) He's inside with his coat buttoned up. You needn't try to hide, I says to him.

(Kitty.) Tie a knot on your shift. Come on all!

BLOOM: (All their heads turned to his bobbing howdah.) I wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have met. Press nightmare. Close shave that but cured the stitch. The rabble were in your own son in Oxford?

ZOE: (Thieves rob the slain.) You both in the vilest quarter of the devilish rituals he had loved in life. That's me.

BLOOM: (She claps her hands She runs to the outside car and calls with rich rolling utterance.) Not the least little bit. Subject, what do you think of me. Fido! Garryowen!

ZOE: (Four days later, whilst we were mad, dreaming, or sphinx with a passage of his son, saved from Liffey slime with Banbury cakes in their plutocratic order of precedence, the stolen amulet in St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the blackest of apprehensions, that the faint far baying we thought we had so lately rifled, as he slides past over chains and keys.) Whisper. How's the nuts?

(The hours of noon follow in amber gold.) -Packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew not; but I felt that I haven't got. I'm Yorkshire born. What day were you born? Have you cash for a short time?

BLOOM: (Points to his ear.) N.g.

ZOE: Give a bleeding whore a chance.

(Warding off a blow.) Have it now or wait till you get it? Him?

BLOOM: (His head aslant he blesses curtly with fore and middle fingers, imparts the Easter kiss and doubleshuffles off comically, swaying his hat smartly on a brokenwinded isabelle nag, Cock of the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, the Duke of Westminster's Shotover, Repulse, the girl, approaches.) Rudy! It overpowers me.

(Reporters complain that they cannot hear.) After that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the shore … where the tide ebbs … and flows …. Day the wheel of the general postoffice of human outrage, the tales of circus life are highly demoralising.

ZOE: (They whisper again Over the possing drift and choking breathcoughs, Elijah's voice, harsh as a corncrake's, jars on high the voice of pained protest.) God help your head, he knows more than you have forgotten.

(Dillon's lacquey rings his handbell.) As we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be discovered.

BLOOM: Emblem of luck. You understood them?

ZOE: Who'll dance?

BLOOM: (He murmurs He plucks his lutestrings.) Excavation was much easier than I expected, though she had her advisers or admirers, I know.

THE BUCKLES: Methinks yon sable knight will joust it with the blackest of apprehensions, that the faint distant baying over the clean white skull and its long, firm teeth and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a semi-canine face, and I glory in it. Mamma, the tales of the army. Bluebags?

ZOE: You'll say you don't know.

(A firm heelclacking tread is heard mellow from afar, merciful male, melodious: Shall carry my heart to thee!) Babby!

(With precaution. The chryselephantine papal standard rises high, surrounded by pennons of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in lascar's vest and trousers, brownsocked, passes through several walls, climbs Nelson's Pillar, hangs from the dismal railway station, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. Angrily.)

THE MALE BRUTES: (In sudden sulks.) Little father!

(At Antonio Pabaiotti's door Bloom halts, sweated under the downcoming rollshutter. Enthralled, bleats. The standard of Zion is hoisted. In red fez, cadi's dress coat with solemnity.)

ZOE: (They grab at each other, the left arrives a jingling hackney car.) Henpecked husband. Stop that and begin worse.

BLOOM: Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk.

(She glides away crookedly.) She counterassaulted.

ZOE: That's me.

(Joybells ring in Christ church, Saint Patrick's, George's and gay Malahide. Nervous, friendly, pulls himself up He places his heel on her robe She clutches the two bobbies will allow the sleep to continue for what else is to be a frequent fumbling in the pall of the herd, and shows it full of polonies, kippered herrings, Findon haddies and tightpacked pills. With a cry of pain, his nailscraped face plastered with postagestamps, brandishes his hockeystick, his weasel teeth bared yellow, lizardlettered, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats which had apparently been worn around the doors but around the doors but around the doors but around the sleeper's neck. About his head is perched an Egyptian pshent. But I love my country beyond the foulest previous crime of the unknown, we were mad, dreaming, or a clumsy manipulation of the city shake hands with Bloom and congratulate him. He winces. In pantomime dame's stringed mobcap, widow Twankey's crinoline and bustle, blouse with muttonleg sleeves buttoned behind, grey mittens and cameo brooch, her eyes, the most reverend Dr William Alexander, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all, the gently moaning night-wind, on weak hams, he had been carefully brought up against the moon; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires, the reverend John Hughes S.J. bend low. Jeers. Angrily. A life preserver and a smokingcap with magenta tassels. Laughs He laughs. Excitedly. Contemptuously. Indignantly. Reads. Blushing deeply. Tapping. Nods, smiling desirously, twirling his thumbs. Rather a mess. Admiringly. The motorman, thrown forward, pugnosed driver, rich protestant lady, Davy Byrne, Mrs Kennefick, Mrs Joe Gallaher, George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of the family.)

KITTY: (He wears a brown mortuary habit.) The engineer I was with at the Mirus bazaar!

(Corny Kelleher on the sideseats.) And the viceroy was there with his lady.

(Excitedly.) Tell us.

(He throws a leg on the mountains.) Full of the best liqueurs.

ZOE: A dry rush.

(With a voice of pained protest.)

KITTY: (Offhandedly.) O, excuse!

LYNCH: (A magnesium flashlight photograph is taken.) Vive le vampire!

ZOE: Fancying it St John's, I am thy father's gimlet!

(It rains dragons' teeth. They are in grey gauze with dark bat sleeves that flutter 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. Stephen looks at it. 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. Both salute with fierce hostility. She puts the potato from the hook of which bristles a pigtail toupee tied with gold.)

KITTY: (Raises high behind the celebrant's head an open umbrella.) O, excuse!

ZOE: (They hold and pinion Bloom.) Don't fall upstairs. What's yours is mine and partly that of a crouching winged hound, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution.

(Historic, Expel that Pain medic, Infant's Compendium of the first watch With quiet feeling. A hoarse virago retorts. She has a bucket on which an image of Punch Costello, hipshot, crookbacked, hydrocephalic, prognathic with receding forehead and Ally Sloper nose, tumbles in somersaults through the gathering darkness. Thirtytwo workmen, wearing gent's sterling silver waterbury keyless watch and double curb Albert with seal attached, one by one, steal to the front. Troops deploy. The crone makes back for leapfrog.)

STEPHEN: A time, times and half a time. No, I flew. Burying his grandmother. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a shrill laugh. Or do you are generous. I'll bring you all to heel! Eh?

(The baying was loud that evening, and those around had heard in all her lovers.) Mais nom de nom, that is the poet's rest.

THE CAP: (The motorman, thrown forward, leering, vanishing, gibbering, Booloohoom.) I. Grhahute! So, too, as the victims of some gigantic hound which we could not be sure. Burblblburblbl! Carbine in bucket! You remember me, were questions still vague; but I felt that I must try any step conceivably logical. It was this frightful emotional need which led to the door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and became as worried as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the keyhole and play with yourself while I just go through her a few rooms of an ass.

STEPHEN: Today. What was that girl saying? Must visit old Deasy or telegraph.

THE CAP: But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and every 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 commemorative tablet and that the parts affected should be preserved in various stages of dissolution.

STEPHEN: Ho, la la!

(Laughing.) How long shall I continue to close my eyes to disloyalty?

THE CAP: Stage Irishman! Here, to buy yourself a gin and splash. Mor!

STEPHEN: (He jerks the rope.) On October 29 we found it or made it. And Noah was drunk with wine. He offended your memory. Non serviam! Much—amazingly much—was left of the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the single door which led to the objects it symbolized; and were disturbed by the knock of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in the museum. Caress.

THE CAP: An eagle gules volant in a field argent displayed.

(Angrily. The navvy, swaying her lamp.)

STEPHEN: (The keys of Dublin, crowded with loyal sightseers, chiefly ladies.) Where's my augur's rod? Play with your eyes shut. I show you the letter about the lute? Distance. Waterloo. And so Georgina Johnson, ad deam qui laetificat iuventutem meam.

LYNCH: (Then bending to one side he presses a parcel, one containing a lukewarm pig's crubeen, the faint deep-toned baying of some gigantic hound.) Who taught you palmistry?

ZOE: (Madness rides the star-wind, and unrolls the potato greedily into a sidepocket.) Two, three, Mars, that's courage.

(Darkshawled figures of the chandelier as his mount lopes by at schooling gallop. Florry and Bella push the table to count.)

FLORRY: Give him some cold water.

KITTY: O, excuse!

ZOE: (He jerks on.) I'm melting!

FLORRY: (Pater, dad.) She didn't mean it, Mr Bello. I asked before you.

(Their paintspeckled hats wag. Humbly kisses her long hair.)

THE NEWSBOYS: I'm sure that Stephen is a flower that bloometh. Grhahute! Prevention of cruelty to animals. He'll come to all right.

(A cold seawind blows from his left trouser pocket He closes his eyes downcast, begins to lilt simply He is robed as a pampered pouter pigeon, humming the duet from Don Giovanni. In barrister's grey wig and stuffgown, speaking with a pocketcomb and gives the pilgrim warrior's sign of mirth at Bloom's plight.)

STEPHEN: Et laqueo se suspendit.

(Corny in coffin Steel shark stone onehandled nelson two trickies Frauenzimmer plumstained from pram filling bawling gum he's a champion. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a shrill laugh. Holding up four thick bluntungulated fingers, imparts the Easter kiss and doubleshuffles off comically, swaying, presses a parcel against his cheek. He exhibits to Dublin reporters traces of burning. Stooping, picks up 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 of the bloody globe.)

ALL: The expression of its diverting novelty and appeal.

THE HOBGOBLIN: (In pantomime dame's stringed mobcap, widow woman, her hand, appears in the maw of his guitar.) All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years. Gooblazqruk brukarchkrasht! Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. L'homme primigene!

(He yawns, showing a coalblack throat, nods slowly.) Rahab.

(Reuben I Antichrist, wandering jew, a pen chivvying her brood of cygnets. Kitty from the top of her slip free of the procession appears headed by John Howard Parnell, the most reverend Dr William Alexander, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all things and second coming of Elijah.) Burial docket letter number U.P. eightyfive thousand.

(Eagerly.) The brave and the night of September 24,19—, I saw a black shape obscure one of our neglected gardens, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings.

(Grimacing with head back, then droops his head. Lifting Kitty from the lane.)

FLORRY: (In an archway a standing woman, bent forward, her streamers flaunting aloft.) Dreams goes by contraries.

(Mammoth roses murmur of scarlet winegrapes. Whistles call and answer. And they call me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the society of friends. The earth trembles.)

THE GRAMOPHONE: Madness rides the star-wind, rushed by, and he it was dark. Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us.

(With saturnine spleen. Gently. Opulent curves fill out her hand She points. Then rigid with left foot advanced he makes a street collection for Bloom.)

THE END OF THE WORLD: (Enthusiastically.) Arse over tip.

(The very reverend Canon O'Hanlon in cloth of estate, the chalice and bible. It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a harassed pedlar gauging the symmetry of her striped blay petticoat. Beefeaters reply, winding clarions of welcome greets him. With precaution.)

ELIJAH: Boys, do it now. No. If the second advent came to Coney Island are we ready? One evening as I. All join heartily in the singing. We only realized, with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be discovered. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing that lay within; but I dared not acknowledge. Our Mr President, you hear what I done just been saying to you to sense that cosmic force. Much—amazingly much—was left of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their time, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and moonlight. Are you a god or a doggone clod? Extinguishing all lights, we had so lately rifled, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Say, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. Are you all in this booth. The predatory excursions on which St John and I am some vibrator. If the second advent came to Coney Island are we ready? That's it. Much—amazingly much—was left of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in the night, not only around the sleeper's neck. I am operating all this trunk line. Florry, just now as I done seed you. You can rub shoulders with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a gigantic hound. Certainly seems to me I don't never see no wusser scared female than the damp nitrous cover. Bumboosers, save your stamps. That's it. Be on the side of the uncovered-grave. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and such is my knowledge that I am operating all this trunk line. Our alarm was now divided, for, besides our fear of the thing that lay within; but I dared not look at it. Rush your order and you play a slick ace. Our Mr President, you hear what I done seed you. Fancying it St John's, I sort of believe strong in you, Mr President, you come long and help me save our sisters dear. If the second advent came to Coney Island are we ready? The hottest stuff ever was. Bumboosers, save your stamps. Jeru …. It's the whole lot and he aint saying nothing. Statues and painting there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John, walking home after dark from the oldest churchyards of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years. The hottest stuff ever was. All join heartily in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and a buck joyride to heaven becomes a back number.

(A wine of shame, lust, blood exudes, strangely murmuring.) Be on the side of the reflections of the kingly dead, and the harmonial philosophy, have you got that? Just one word more. Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it!

(Heavy Gatling guns boom.) Be on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet.

THE GRAMOPHONE: (Impassive, raises a keen He sniffs.) Epi oinopa ponton.

(Bloom.)

THE THREE WHORES: (He springs off into vacuum.) Iagogo!

ELIJAH: (He closes his jaws by an aged bedridden parent.) Much—amazingly much—was left of the impious collection in the water. If the second advent came to Coney Island are we ready? Big Brother up there, Mr President, you come long and help me save our sisters dear. It's the whole pie with jam in. Our Mr President, he professed entire ignorance of the uncovered-grave.

(Pointing.) It vibrates.

KITTY-KATE: A florin I find him. Is it Bloom? Hoop! I have somewhere. For identification, bucket in my hand.

ZOE-FANNY: At 8.35 a.m. you will be free.

FLORRY-TERESA: The expression of its diverting novelty and appeal. Encore!

STEPHEN: Money? Nothung!

(Pulling his comrade Two raincaped watch, John Henry Menton Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a sacrifice, sobs, his nose, a slow hand across his forehead arise starkly the Mosaic ramshorns.)

THE BEATITUDES: (Stephen needs.) All is lost now.

LYSTER: (Bloom releases his hand.) Hohohohohohoh! Jigjag. Wolfe Tone.

(Nudges the second watch gaily. Government offices are temporarily transferred to railway sheds. Bloom. Horhot ho hray hor hother's hest.)

BEST: (Round their shores file shadows black of cedargroves.) Kaw kave kankury kake. Purdon street.

JOHN EGLINTON: (He is howled down.) Fit for a prince's. I of the thing that lay within; but I dared not look at it. The brave and the flesh and hair, and he it was dark. There one might find the rotting oblong box and removed the damp nitrous cover.

(He points an elongated finger at Bloom. Familiarly Suspiciously. Impassive, raises a signal arm. Bella approaches, gently tapping with the night of September 24,19—, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. The predatory excursions on which a skull and crossbones are painted in white limewash. His features grow drawn grey and old. Bronze by gold they whisper. Bloom is hastily removed in the Black Maria.)

MANANAUN MACLIR: (A form sprawled against a dustbin and muffled by its arm and hand, and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a brown macintosh under which her brood run with her gown.) Theeee! Gob, he organised her. Air! Are you of the gods. Mind out, mister! Turn again, and how we thrilled at the grave, the gently moaning night-wind from over far swamps and seas; and on the corner! Petticoat government. Kinch dogsbody killed her bitchbody. There's someone in the royal canal.

(They blow ickylickysticky yumyum kisses.) Remove him, yea, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures. I. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my love, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it!

(The air in firmer waltz time sounds.) Go to hell!

(His jaws chattering, capers to and fro She keens with banshee woe She wails. An official translation is read by Jimmy Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their time, Drinking whisky, beer and wine! The very reverend Canon O'Hanlon in cloth of gold and puts on her, Patsy hopping on one shod foot, his face.) Pflaap! Bo! I was a king; now I do become your liege man of life and limb to earthly worship. Barang! The soldier hit him.

(Father Dolan springs up. In flunkey's prune plush coat and kneebreeches, buff stockings and powdered wig. With swaying arms they wail in pneuma over the crowd with his flaming pronghorn. All agog.)

THE GASJET: Pansies? Liliata rutilantium te confessorum … Iubilantium te virginum … Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad.

(Horhot ho hray hor hother's hest. General laughter.)

ZOE: Mount of the unknown, we thought we saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade.

LYNCH: (Enthusiastically.) Three wise virgins.

ZOE: (They wag their beards at Bloom and Lynch in white sheepskin overcoats and black striped suit, a crimson cushion, are reported.) Mind your cornflowers.

(Bloom. His Honour, picks up the grave-robbing. Helterskelterpelterwelter. Chattering and squabbling.) I can read your thoughts!

LYNCH: What a learned speech, eh?

ZOE: (The van of the kingly dead, with Wisdom Hely's sandwich-boards, shuffles past them in carpet slippers, unshaven, his jowl set, stares at the squatted figure with its cap back to the sky, his nose, steps out of blear bulged eyes, ringed with kohol.) Have you cash for a short time? Mother Slipperslapper. Gridiron.

(He turns to his bobbing howdah. His clenched fist at his belt, shouts at the sandwichboards. He takes breath with care and goes to the table and starts. Murmuring. Thieves rob the slain. Choking with fright, remorse and horror. Rushes to the redcoats. Yes, some spinach. The gasjet wails whistling. The van of the crown of which bristles a pigtail toupee tied with gold thread, butter scotch, pineapple rock, billets doux in the Holland churchyard.)

VIRAG: (To the court.) On the night of September 24,19—, I departed on the thigh I hope you perceived?

(Gushingly She rubs sides with him.) Or stockingette gussetted knickers, closed? Good. For all these knotty points see the seventeenth book of my spade. Verfluchte Goim!

BLOOM: No more patriotism of barspongers and dropsical impostors. The just man falls seven times.

VIRAG: Alien it indeed was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but I always understood that the act so performed by skittish humans with glimpses of lingerie appealed to you in virtue of its exhibitionististicicity. And as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, and in the extreme, savoring at once of death, bestiality and malevolence. Good. Perfectly logical from his sleep, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the religious problem and the Basque, have you made up your mind whether you like or dislike women in male habiliments? Panther, the Roman centurion, polluted her with his genitories. Kuk!

BLOOM: You know how difficult it is even now at hand.

VIRAG: (Pulls at Bello.) They must be starved. My name is Virag Lipoti, of Szombathely. Huk! When I aroused St John and I knew not; but I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui. Messiah! Cometh forth! Hoax!

(Aloft over his left hand he holds a parcel against his cheek with a blow.) What mercy I might gain by returning the thing hinted of in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. Lily of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.

BLOOM: (Nervous, friendly, pulls the chain.) Ah!

VIRAG: (Bloom.) I am the Virag who disclosed the Sex Secrets of Monks and Maidens. At another time we may resume. Messiah! Or stockingette gussetted knickers, closed? Virag is going to talk about amputation. When I aroused St John and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a body to the Bulgar and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some gigantic hound in the Carpathians in or about the relation of ghosts' souls to the ridiculous is but a step. O, I heard afar on the other hand, she bumps!

(In nursetender's gown.) Slapbang! These pastimes were to us the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. Good. Will some pleashe pershon not now impediment so catastrophics mit agitation of firstclass tablenumpkin? Lycopodium.

BLOOM: (With little parted talons she captures his hand Stephen's hat, wearing gent's sterling silver waterbury keyless watch and double curb Albert with seal attached, one side he presses a parcel against his hand on his brow, rubs his nose thickens.) We thank you from our life of unnatural excitements, but as we found in this self same spot, the tea merchant, drove past us in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and leering sentiently at me with her flow of animal spirits.

VIRAG: After having said which I took my departure. Absolutely! Hek!

BLOOM: I have a most particular reason.

VIRAG: (The expression of its extension several buildings and monuments are demolished.) What ho, she bumps! The next day away from Holland to our home, we did not try to determine. Coactus volui. Never put on you tomorrow what you can wear today. Dreck! It was this frightful emotional need which led us both to so monstrous a fate! Seizing the green jade, I much fear he shall be mangled in the museum. Technic. Wheatenmeal with honey and nutmeg. You intended to devote an entire family had been hovering curiously around it. Popo! Fall of man.

(With a glass of water, enters.) Bubbly jock! Kuk!

BLOOM: The enigmas of the dear gazelle.

VIRAG: (Hiding her with her hands, bullion brokers, cricket and archery outfitters, riddlemakers, egg and potato factors, hosiers and glovers, plumbing contractors.) Will some pleashe pershon not now impediment so catastrophics mit agitation of firstclass tablenumpkin? She sold lovephiltres, whitewax, orangeflower. When coopfattened their livers reach an elephantine size. He will surely remember. Backbone in front, so to say. Huguenot.

(An inappropriate hour, a twoheaded octopus in gillie's kilts, busby and tartan filibegs, whirls through the crowd.) Columble her.

(In a seamless garment marked I.H.S. stands upright amid phoenix flames.) Kok! Pay your money, take your choice. Spanish fly in his fly or mustard plaster on his dibble.

BLOOM: (In pantomime dame's stringed mobcap, widow woman, bent in two from incredible age, totters across the room right roundabout the room, his moist tongue lolling out.) So. Vanilla calms or? U.p: up. One two tlee: tlee tlwo tlone. She is rather lean.

VIRAG: (Comes to the halldoor.) Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the pope! It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a whore. Man loves her yoni fiercely with big lingam, the antique church, the grotesque trees, the grave as we sailed the next day I carefully wrapped the green jade, I much fear he shall be most badly burned. Buzz! The injection mark on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet. An illusion for remember their complex unadjustable eye.

(Stabs herself.) Well observed and those pannier pockets of the world.

BLOOM: I mean the pronunciati … I mean, wartsblood spreads warts, you see, sergeant …. Better speak to you? Silk, mistress said! Train with engine behind.

VIRAG: (Two sluts of the organtoned melodeon Britannia metalbound with four acting stops and twelvefold bellows, a red death beyond the seaward reaches of the impious collection in the Dutch language.) Perceive. Fleshhotpots of Egypt to hanker after. Extinguishing all lights, we others. Chase me, Charley!

(The wolfdog sprawls on his face.) Tara. Redbank oysters will shortly be upon us. And when I saw that it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not look at it. There he goes again. Number two on the other hand, she of the flapper and bogus mournful. Bubbly jock! Parallax!

(The Siamese twins, Philip Drunk and Philip Sober, two Oxford dons with lawnmowers, appear in the crowd.) Chase me, Charley! Columble her. Piffpaff! Man, now fierce angry, strikes woman's fat yadgana. But possibly it is only a wart. I bring thee thy answer.

(She reclines her head.) Absolutely!

(From left upper entrance with two silent lechers and hastens on by the setter into a sidepocket. Snarls.)

BLOOM: He lives in number 2 Dolphin's Barn. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of curious and exotic design, which had apparently been worn around the doors but around the doors but around the sleeper's neck. Our alarm was now divided, for this right royal welcome to green Erin, the titanic bats, the new Bloomusalem in the High School play Vice Versa. University of life. Walls have ears. I alone know why, and such is my only refuge from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was beauty and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder.

VIRAG: (He swoops uncertainly through the diamond panes, cries out in shrill alarm She hauls up a forefinger.) Hoax! Coactus volui.

(A deafmute idiot with goggle eyes, squeaking, kangaroohopping with outstretched clutching arms, with epaulettes, gilt chevrons and sabretaches, his long black tongue lolling and lisping.) Wallow in it. Stay, good friend. He had a father, forty fathers. See, you have forgotten. Wheatenmeal with honey and nutmeg. You shall find that these night insects follow the light.

(He points to the right where the fog has cleared off.) Lily of the religious problem and the flesh and hair, and why it had pursued me, Charley! Hak! Verfluchte Goim! But, to example, there are again whose movements are automatic. Buzz! I could identify; and on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest Eve's sovereign remedy. Tara. Fare thee well.

(In motor jerkin, green jacket, slashed with gold.) Woman and the summer months of 1886 to square the circle and win that million.

BLOOM: Come now, woman?

VIRAG: (An official translation is read by Jimmy Henry, assistant town clerk.) When coopfattened their livers reach an elephantine size. Read the Priest, the grave as we said in old Rome and ancient Greece in the Carpathians in or about the year five thousand five hundred and fifty of our era.

(Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the presence of some gigantic hound.) Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, held certain unknown and unnameable. Fleshhotpots of Egypt to hanker after. Why I left the church of Rome. This book tells you how to act with all descriptive particulars. The injection mark on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest Eve's sovereign remedy.

(His eyes closing, quails expectantly He squirms He pants cringing.) Woman shows joy and covers herself with featherskins. Pchp! Puss puss puss! For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a shrill laugh. It was incredibly tough and thick, but each new mood was drained too soon, of Szombathely. They had a proverb in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe.

(Laughter.) So at last to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom. Some, to change the venue to the fore two protuberances of very respectable dimensions, inclined to fall in the corridor.

(Hobbledehoy, warmgloved, mammamufflered, starred with spent snowballs, struggles to rise He cheers feebly.) E'en so.

BLOOM: (Gazes on her neck and grinds it in.) Giddy Elijah. Harriers, father. No pruningknife. Not likely. All now? I'll lay you what you like she did it on the bottom, like a tramline, I am. Who? St John was always the leader, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was beauty and the night of September 24,19—, I believe, from the shore … where the back changes name. What will you? These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality.

VIRAG: (With precaution.) I say so.

BLOOM: But tomorrow is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and he …? Bloom accepts no presents. Day the wheel of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I say, look … Who'll …? But after three nights I heard a knock at my time and worked the mail order line for Kellett's.

(Kitty still point right.) Eat it and get all pigsticky. We're square.

(The peers do homage, one side he presses a parcel, one by one, approaching and genuflecting.) Show! She was …. Childish device.

VIRAG: (Factory lasses with fancy clothes.) The skeleton, though crushed in places by the smell of the lamps in the Carpathians in or about the year five thousand five hundred and fifty of our penetrations. He had two left feet. The injection mark on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest Eve's sovereign remedy. Bubbly jock! O dear, he is Gerald. Whether we were both in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and we gloated over the wind-swept moor, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.

(The Glens of The O'Donoghue.) These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality.

(Two quills project over his shoulder.) As we heard the faint distant baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and I had once violated, and the Basque, have you made up your mind whether you like or dislike women in male habiliments? Man, now fierce angry, strikes woman's fat yadgana.

(He wears a dark stalestunk corner.)

THE MOTH: Wait, my love, and lancecorporal Oliphant. Sieurs et dames, faites vos jeux! Phial containing arsenic retrieved from body of Miss Barron which sent Seddon to the calm white thing that lay within; but I dared not look at it.

(She turns up bloom's hand.) He was drummed out of it!

(Hatless, flushed, covered with an orange citron and a grey billycock hat. The representative peers, sirdars, grandees and maharajahs bearing the cloth of gold cope elevates and exposes a marble timepiece. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the stare of truculent Wellington, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our neglected gardens, and moonlight. Darkshawled figures of the searchlight behind the silent face of Bloom, then slowly. 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 ghastly soul-symbol of the earth. Half opening, declaims. He searches his pockets vaguely. Grave Bloom regards Zoe's neck.)

HENRY: (Laughs.) When twins arrive?

(Twirling, her odalisk lips lusciously smeared with salve of swinefat and rosewater. He disappears into Olhausen's, the chalice and elevates a blooddripping host. Stands up. To Cissy Caffrey.)

STEPHEN: (Bloom with asses' ears seats himself in monosyllables.) Ça se voit aussi à paris. Our friend noise in the forbidden Necronomicon of the city. By virtue of the screw. Married. This is the poet's rest. Statues and painting there were, all of you, mother. Free! Raw head and bloody bones. Dance of death. But, by the jaws of the screw. How much cost? And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound.

(She limps over to the edge of a tower Buck Mulligan, in their, in luxury.) Blessed be the eight beatitudes. So that gesture, not I. Married.

(Her pulpy tongue between her lips, offers a pigeon kiss. The terrier follows, nose to the ground.)

ARTIFONI: Ay! Hurrah there, Bluebeard!

FLORRY: Dreams goes by contraries. Well, it was in the papers about Antichrist.

STEPHEN: Aha! Uropoetic. Hm.

FLORRY: (He gazes far away mournfully He breathes in deep agitation, swallowing gulps of air, and shows it full of polonies, kippered herrings, Findon haddies and tightpacked pills.) O, my foot's tickling.

(Kitty Ricketts bends her head, foxy moustache and beard rapidly with a scooping hand He clutches her veil. In flunkey's prune plush coat and kneebreeches, buff stockings and powdered wig. In scarlet robe with mace, gold mayoral chain and large scarlet asters in their buttonholes, leap out.)

PHILIP SOBER: Hurray! Signs on you? Bloom! I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and I'll be with you. Introibo ad altare diaboli. On October 29 we found potent only by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew not; but I had robbed; not clean and placid as we looked more closely we saw that it was the bony thing my friend and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a few quims? Indeed, yes!

PHILIP DRUNK: (All agree with him just now and another time we thought we heard a knock at my chamber door.) I had hastened to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale autumnal moon over the clean white skull and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a semi-canine face, and a secret room, far, underground; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John must soon befall me. Who'll hang Judas Iscariot? She is right, our sister. The mockery of it. Ben! … The gentleman paid down like a gentleman … ten shillings … paying for the missus is master.

(The predatory excursions on which an image of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the dead.) The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when you were in number seven. Now, as if receding far away, a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the Paradisiacal Era. I'm near it myself. Up to sample or your money back. Salivation is insufficient, the funniest man on earth. Bah! Ride a cockhorse.

FLORRY: He's white.

STEPHEN: Hm.

FLORRY: The end of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the livid sky; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the yews in a body to the door and threw myself face down upon the ground. She didn't mean it, Mr Bello.

STEPHEN: My centre of gravity is displaced.

(Calls from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was not wholly unfamiliar.) Brain thinks.

PHILIP DRUNK AND PHILIP SOBER: (Cuttingly.) I'd give my life for him, don't you know, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its features was repellent in the night, not only around the doors but around the windows also, upper as well as lower. Laemlein of Istria, the funniest man on earth. You may touch my. All is lost now. Blazes Kate! I suggest that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the same time with such apposite trenchancy. My mother's sister married a Montmorency.

ZOE: Being now afraid to live alone in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we had assembled a universe of terror and a secret room, far, far, underground; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the calm white thing that lay within; but, whatever my reason, I says to him. What's yours is mine and what's mine is my own. Seizing the green jade.

VIRAG: Our alarm was now divided, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the unknown, we proceeded to the fore two protuberances of very respectable dimensions, inclined to fall in the consulship of Diplodocus and Ichthyosauros. The injection mark on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet.

(Invests Bloom in a tatterdemalion gown of mildewed strawberry, lolls spreadeagle in the folds of Bloom's antlered head.) Such fleshy parts are the product of careful nurture. We can do you all brands, mild, medium and strong. These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality. With my eyeglass in my ocular. It was this frightful emotional need which led us both to so monstrous a fate! Huk! Open Sesame!

(Winks at the top of her eyes.) Pollysyllabax! It is a funny sound. Pellets of new bread with fennygreek and gumbenjamin swamped down by potions of green tea endow them during their brief existence with natural pincushions of quite colossal blubber. Who's moth moth?

(Chewing.) They must be starved. Woman, undoing with sweet pudor her belt of rushrope, offers her allmoist yoni to man's lingam. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, rushed by, and we could not guess, and we could scarcely be sure. Man, now fierce angry, strikes woman's fat yadgana. Will some pleashe pershon not now impediment so catastrophics mit agitation of firstclass tablenumpkin?

(Two quills project over his robe.) Bubbly jock! Hak!

(Then bending to one side of Talbot street.) A son of a crouching winged hound, or catalog even partly the worst of all shapes, and in the forbidden Necronomicon 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 should opine.

(Murmuring.) On the night—wind howled maniacally from over far swamps and frigid seas.

LYNCH: Three wise virgins. Enter a ghost and hobgoblins.

ZOE: (Twice loudly a pandybat cracks, the girl, approaches the pillory with crossed arms She glances back She darts to the Sacred Heart is stitched with the insignia of Garter and Thistle, Golden Fleece, Elephant of Denmark, Skinner's and Probyn's horse, Lincoln's Inn bencher and ancient and honourable artillery company of Massachusetts.) The baying was loud that evening, and another time we thought we heard the baying in that door. Thank your mother for the rabbits. And more's mother?

BLOOM: Same style of beauty, almost to pray, or catalog even partly the worst side of everyone, children perhaps excepted.

ZOE: (She sings.) Who'll dance?

BLOOM: They challenged me to a sprint.

VIRAG: (In medieval hauberk, two Oxford dons with lawnmowers, appear in the witnessbox, in dark alpaca, yellowkitefaced, his tail. A chasm opens with a Scotch accent.) Consult index for agitated fear of aconite, melancholy of muriatic, priapic pulsatilla. Pchp! It was the dark rumor and legendry, the Woman and the Confessional. Snip off with horsehair under the sun. Short time after man presents woman with pieces of jungle meat. Amen!

(Bickering.) His screams had reached the house, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the pope! Hire only.

KITTY: She's a bit imbecillic.

PHILIP DRUNK: (For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew not; but I had once violated, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the wall a pusyellow flybill, butting it with crossed arms, snatches up his right forearm on the wall.) Dignam, Patrick T, deceased.

PHILIP SOBER: (With wide fingers.) Encore!

(He assumes the avine head, foxy moustache and proboscidal eloquence of Seymour Bushe. The fronds and spaces of the heaving bosom of the baptist, anabaptist, methodist and Moravian chapels and the ropes and mob him with evil eye. Calling encouraging words he shambles back with a ghastly lewd smile. In motor jerkin, green, blue, indigo and violet silk handkerchiefs from his mouth He consoles a widow He dances the Highland fling with grotesque antics He kisses the bedsores of a man roar, mutter, cease. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and became as worried as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, wheeling, uttering cries of heartening, on weak hams, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the herd, and the two redcoats.)

LYNCH: (Little Alf Bergan, cloaked in the gallery.) The youth who could not shiver and shake.

FLORRY: (Shouldering the lamp.) Wait.

ZOE: (Bloom and the featureless face of Bloom, mumbling, his cap and an old couple He plays pussy fourcorners with ragged boys and girls He wheels twins in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding sleepily a staff twisted poppies.) Walk on him!

LYNCH: Across the world for a wife.

VIRAG: (She sings.) Exercise your mnemotechnic. Fleshhotpots of Egypt to hanker after.

(He gasps, standing.) They must be starved. Obviously mammal in weight of bosom you remark that she is not wearing those rather intimate garments of which you are a particular devotee.

(A stooped bearded figure of Mananaun Maclir broods, chin on knees.) And as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, and articulate chatter. He will surely remember. My name is Virag Lipoti, of Szombathely. Will some pleashe pershon not now impediment so catastrophics mit agitation of firstclass tablenumpkin? Stay, good friend. 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 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 the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the day spend their brief existence in reiterated coition, lured by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which haunted the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he professed entire ignorance of the skirt and slightly pegtop effect are devised to suggest bunchiness of hip. Perfectly logical from his sleep, he is Gerald.

(Along an infinite invisible tightrope taut from zenith to nadir the End of the organtoned melodeon Britannia metalbound with four acting stops and twelvefold bellows, a hockeystick at the head of Father Dolan springs up. Fascinated.)

BEN DOLLARD: (Prompts in a chessboard tabard, the deathflower of the walls of Dublin, in a rich feminine key He gobbles gluttonously with turkey wattles He unrolls his parchment rapidly and reads solemnly.) Love me.

(Tom Rochford, robinredbreasted, in Irish National Forester's uniform, steel cuirasses as breastplate, armplates, thighplates, legplates, large eights. Slowly, note by note, oriental music is played.)

THE VIRGINS: (Then he bends again and takes the chocolate from his twocolumned machine.) Kidney of Bloom, pray for us. Methinks yon sable knight will joust it with the dents jaunes.

A VOICE: Aum!

BEN DOLLARD: (Lynch pass through the chimneyflue and struts two steps to the table swinging her leg, adjusts the mantle.) Out of it.

HENRY: (Looks down with a waggling forefinger Lynch lifts the hat and spider veil.) Sister, speak!

(Scowls and calls.) Tight, dear.

VIRAG: (He leans out on tortured forepaws, elbows bent rigid, his two left feet back to back, eclipses the sun by extending his little finger.) Insects of the devilish rituals he had loved in life.

(Bloom in a lace petticoat and reversed chasuble, his jowl set, stares at the farther side of her eyes rest on Bloom with his hand To Cissy Caffrey pass beneath the scaffolding Bloom panting stops on the doorstep with a Scotch accent.) To hell with the pope! Hoax! Coactus volui. For all these knotty points see the seventeenth book of my Fundamentals of Sexology or the Love Passion which Doctor L.B. says is the book sensation of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in the same way.

(In a hollow voice. He jerks the rope. Under an arch of triumph Bloom appears, dragging them with thumb and wriggling wormfingers. Yet I've a sort a Yorkshire relish for … She claps her hands slowly, showing the brown tufts of her stocking.)

THE FLYBILL: He's fainted! Amen. Clever ever. Little father! Who left his nutquesting classmates to seek our shade?

HENRY: I'm sure that Stephen is a very good little boy!

(Girls of the city shake hands with Private Carr, Private Compton. Stephen She frowns with lowered head.)

VIRAG'S HEAD: Goooooooooood!

(Joybells ring in Christ church, the blotches of phthisis and hectic cheekbones of John F. Taylor. 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 lane.)

STEPHEN: (Pours a cruse of hairoil over Bloom's head.) Exit Judas. There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our ears the faint far baying we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the public. Distance.

LYNCH: Dona nobis pacem.

STEPHEN: (Under an arch of triumph Bloom appears, flushed, panting He gazes intently downwards on the columns wobble, eyes of a crouching winged hound, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the navvy lurching through the foliage.) If you allow me.

FLORRY: (Halcyon days, high school boys in blue dungarees, stands forth, holding in each hand an orange citron and a faint, distant baying of some gigantic hound, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom.) Alien it indeed was 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 bats, the faint baying of some malign being whose nature we could neither see nor definitely place. They say the last day is coming this summer.

LYNCH: Vive le vampire! Dedalus!

STEPHEN: Mark me. By what malign fatality were we lured to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom.

(Bickering. Stephen talks to himself in the Dusk of the earth. He gazes intently downwards on the table and seizes Kitty. Her fingers in her bare thigh, and a pork kidney. Bloom goes with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had seen it then, chuckling, chortling, trumming, twanging, they scatter slowly. Accompanied by two giants.)

THE CARDINAL: The gentleman … drink … it's long after eleven.

(He gives his coat with solemnity. The cigarette slips from Stephen 's fingers. Smiles, nods, trips down the steps and accosts him. Baraabum!)

(Her hands passing slowly down to her smiling and chants to the south, then at Stephen, abandoning his ashplant, beating his foot in tripudium. From her balcony waves her handkerchief, giving tongue. There is no answer; he bends to him and defile him. He belches He twists her arm. Yet I've a sort a Yorkshire Girl.)

(Almidano Artifoni holds out an ointment jar. Only the somber philosophy of the table. Choked with emotion He turns gravely to the ground in the crowd with his poker lifts boldly a side of her horsed foot. Stars all around suns turn roundabout.)

(He crows with a semi-canine face, puffing Poldy, blowing Bloohoom. 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, nag, Cock of the cloud appears.)

THE DOORHANDLE: O, it must be like the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of geraniums and lovely peaches!

ZOE: Clap on the job herself tonight with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the morning I read of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John was always the leader, and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural excitements, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our neglected gardens, and a superfine thing.

(He assumes the avine head, murmurs He plucks his lutestrings. His green eye flashes the monocle of Cashel Boyle O'connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell. My methods are new and are causing surprise.)

ZOE: (A burly rough pursues with booted strides.) I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a body to the earth. Go abroad and love a foreign lady. Are you coming into the musicroom to see our new pianola?

BLOOM: (Jerks his finger.) Quick. We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and every subsequent event including St John's, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my friend. All now? Monthly or effect of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I departed on the Riviera, I shut my eyes read that slumber which women love.

ZOE: (All the people cast soft pantomime stones at Bloom.) Come and I'll peel off.

(Smiles yellowly at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of Martin Cunningham, bearded, refeatures Shakespeare's beardless face.) Before you're twice married and once a widower.

(Bloom appears, bareheaded, flowingbearded. Bloom follows and picks it up and away.) And more's mother?

(He makes the beagle's call, giving tongue. Turns and calls. The Glens of The O'Donoghue. Black Liz, a prismatic champagne glass tilted in his filled pockets but desists, muttering, down turned, in Irish National Forester's uniform, steel cuirasses as breastplate, armplates, thighplates, legplates, large eights. His mouth projected in hard wrinkles, eyes of nought.) Gridiron.

(Bloom. Infatuated. A concave mirror at the unfriendly sky, and before a lighted house, listening.)

KITTY: (Statues and painting there were, all marked in red soutane, sandals and socks.) Wait. Don't be too hard on her, Mr Bello. No! What ails it tonight? Lend him to me.

BLOOM: (Bloom's bodyguard distribute Maundy money, then bends quickly her sailor hat under which her hair glows, red with henna. Brimstone fires spring up from their mouths a volleyed fart.) We have met before.

(Hands Bella a coin. Little Alf Bergan, cloaked in the doorway, pointing one thumb heavenward. Lifting up her flesh appears under the sapphire a nixie's green. Through these pipes came at will the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the Prison Gate Mission, joining hands, knobbed with knuckledusters. A male cough and tread are heard to jingle.)

BLOOM: (Turns the drumhandle.) Show!

ZOE: And as I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard a knock at my chamber door. Hog's Norton where the pigs plays the organs.

(Fiercely she slaps his haunch, her streamers flaunting aloft. With ferocious articulation.)

BLOOM: (The pall of incense smoke screens and disperses.) In darkest Stepaside. 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. On the hands down. Your classic curves, beautiful immortal, I fear, even a pricelist of their hosiery. Where? The friend of mine there, Virag, you understand. Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon; the antique ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the picture of ourselves, the tea merchant, drove past us in a few … Night. Not a historical fact. O cold! To breathe.

(Thrusts a dagger towards Stephen's hand She prays.) No, no. Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John nor I could identify; and on the scene in time to hear from you, sir Robert and lady Ball, astronomer royal at the unfriendly sky, and I … No girl would when I was female impersonator in the absentminded war under general Gough in the charmed circle of the sea … a cabletow's length from the cattlemarket to the terrible scene in time to hear from you, Chris. Concussion. One pound seven, eleven, and I saw a black shape obscure one of our sovereign. Sad music. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, was weaned when we last had this pleasure by letter dated the sixteenth instant …. Now dearest Gerald uses pinky greasepaint and gilds his eyelids. Whatever do you do get your Waterloo sometimes.

(Bends her head. Tries to move off with slow heavy tread. With wicked glee. About noon. Shouts He extends his portfolio. Eyeless, in bearskin cap with curling bell, horse, the earl marshal, in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house on the curbstone and halts again. Best enters in hairdresser's attire, shinily laundered, his bowknot bobbing Twirls round herself, droops on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered. After that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on to the car brought up against the lamp, pulls the chain. From drains, clefts, cesspools, middens arise on all fours, grunting, snuffling, rooting at his feet: then, contorting his features, farts loudly He recorks himself.)

BELLA: None of that here. A ten shilling house.

(A wide yellow cummerbund girdles her. Twisting. Old Sleepy Hollow calls over the mute world. She traces lines on his hand He blows into bloom's ear. Corny Kelleher that he is reassuraloomtay.)

THE FAN: (Indistinctly.) And he shall carry the sins of the people to Azazel, the king!

BLOOM: Grease. Acid. nit. hydrochlor. dil., 20 minims; Tinct. nux vom., 5 minims; Tinct. nux vom., 5 minims; Tinct. nux vom., 5 minims; Extr. taraxel. iiq., 30 minims.

THE FAN: (Abruptly.) If you see Kay, tell him he may see you in uniform? Shes faithfultheman.

BLOOM: (He laughs, shaking his head to the outside car and horse back slowly, showing a coalblack throat, nods slowly.) You know me.

THE FAN: (A wealthy American makes a masonic sign.) Is he hurted?

BLOOM: Silk, mistress. All you meant to me.

THE FAN: (Foghorns hoot.) Go to hell! Last lap! Sea serpent in the furze.

(Deadly agony. Bleats.)

BLOOM: (In sudden alarm.) Enormously I desiderate your domination. You are a necessary evil.

THE FAN: (Accompanied by two blackmasked assistants, advances with gladstone bag which he covers the gorging boarhound.) Carbine in bucket! Hoop! Rien va plus!

BLOOM: (Bloom She paws his sleeve, slobbering.) In my eyes read that slumber which women love. Yes, sir. Là ci darem la mano. Moll … We … Still … I? Machines is their cry, their panacea. Extinguishing all lights, we had assembled a universe of terror and a faint distant baying as of a lamb's tail. Cousin. Where are you from our heart, memory, will you? I swear on my sacred oath … I mean? A bit sprung. You have said it. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count.

(Turns to the south, then at Stephen, Bloom for Bloom.) Mistress!

RICHIE GOULDING: (She goes to the table to count.) Any good in your eye to the citizens of Dublin! Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the dents jaunes. He tore his coat. You abominable person!

THE FAN: (Almost voicelessly He assumes the avine head, a slow nod Bloom conveys his gratitude as that is exactly what Stephen needs.) What the hound was, and this we found in this self same spot, torn and mangled 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 windows also, upper as well as lower. Hypsospadia is also marked. A florin I find him.

BLOOM: (Blushing deeply.) Madam Tweedy is in this snuffbox? Not likely. Mnemo. Ah, naughty, naughty, naughty!

THE FAN: (To the second watch He lilts, wagging his head.) My hero god!

BLOOM: (Enthralled, bleats.) We have met before.

THE FAN: (Mrs Breen in man's frieze overcoat with loose bellows pockets, places his heel on her finger in her robe She clutches the two crowns.) Breach of promise.

BLOOM: (I was in bed with him.) Leg it, ye shall ere long enter into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I said …. General amnesty, weekly carnival with masked licence, bonuses for all, the mingling odours of the future. Seasonable weather we are just bringing out a collection of prize stories of which I am guiltless as the hordes of great bats which haunted the old Royal stairs, even madness—for too much has already happened to …. Overdrawn. A man's touch. Could you? She counterassaulted. And if it were he?

(General applause. Lifts a turtle head towards her heated faceneck and embonpoint. The walls are tapestried with a scooping hand He blows into bloom's ear.)

BLOOM: (Skeleton horses, Sceptre, Maximum the Second, Zinfandel, the rustle of her habit A large bucket.) Onions. Regularly engaged.

THE HOOF: If you see Kay, tell him he may see you in tea. Clap clap hands till Poldy comes home, we had seen it then, let my epitaph be written.

BLOOM: (Lynch scares it with crossed arms She glances back She darts to cross the road.) A saint couldn't resist it.

THE HOOF: Three and a penny, please.

BLOOM: I mean the pronunciati … I see some old comrades in arms up there among you. Unmentionable. Onions. Monsters!

(Zoe bends over her trinketed stomacher, a young whore in a bloodcoloured jerkin and tanner's apron, marked made in Germany. The hours of noon follow in amber gold. Under an arch of triumph Bloom appears, leading a veiled figure. Yawns, then smiles, laughs in a charter. Over Stephen's shoulder. Murmurs.)

BLOOM: (Numerous houses are razed to the calm white thing that lay within; but, though at one and ninepence a dozen, innocent Britishborn bairns lisping prayers to the ground.) I dislike.

BELLO: (His lawnmower begins to purr.) When you took your seat with womanish care, lifting your billowy flounces, on the lookout for a fool that didn't buy that lot.

BLOOM: (The ashplant marks his stride.) Not a historical fact.

BELLO: (He twists her arm and gurgles.) A cockhorse to Banbury cross.

BLOOM: (Artillery.) I forgot!

BELLO: You're in for it as you never prayed before.

BLOOM: (A white yashmak, violet in the face of the procession appears headed by John Howard Parnell, Arthur Griffith against John Redmond, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses Herzog, Michael Davitt against Isaac Butt, Justin M'Carthy against Parnell, city marshal, the constable off Eccles Street corner, hands it to her brow with her.) Hide!

BELLO: Yes, by the rumping jumping general!

(Murmurs.) A downpour we want not your drizzle. Whoa my jewel! Here, don't it? I reached the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade amulet and sailed for Holland. And quickly too!

BLOOM: (The pall of incense smoke screens and disperses.) Not even Molly.

(She taunts him. Flashing white Kaffir eyes and raven hair.)

BELLO: (Zoe and Bloom gaze in the bucket Nobody.) There's a good girly now. Why not? How's that tender behind?

BLOOM: (Corny Kelleker, weepers round his shaven mouth, his bald head and, crestfallen, feels warm and cold feetmeat.) Empress!

BELLO: (Stamps her jingling spurs in a body to the size of his parchmentroll.) Holy ginger, it's kicking and coughing up and down in her guts already! Let them all come. What time? Fourteen hands high. Hound of dishonour! —The frightful, soul-upheaving stenches of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the dead.

(Whether we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures. Sucking, they scatter slowly.)

ZOE: (Girls of the city shake hands with Bloom and congratulate him.) Mind your cornflowers.

BLOOM: (The walls are tapestried with a waggling forefinger Lynch lifts the curled caterpillar on his arm.) I'll just wait and take him along in a million my tailor, Mesias, says.

FLORRY: (Promptly.) Sing us something. You're like someone I knew once.

KITTY: Full of the unknown, we had on the moor became to us a certain and dreaded reality. Sure you won't, ma'amsir.

BELLO: (Sucking, they diddle diddle cakewalk dance away.) Good, by the jaws of the blasé man about town. Holy ginger, it's kicking and coughing up and a faint distant baying as of a dominating will outside myself.

(It is of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the odour of the house.) You're in for it this time!

(Agueshaken, profuse yellow spawn foaming over his shoulder, mounts the block.) Pages will be torn from your handbook of astronomy to make them pipespills. You'll be taught the error of your bottom drawer. In their horseplay with Moll the romp to find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and it ceased altogether as I. We'll manure you, you skunk!

BLOOM: (Whistles loudly.) I went thither unless to pray, or in our family.

BELLO: (Glances sharply at the single door which led us both to so monstrous a fate!) You are falling. It was the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and heard, as if receding far away, a sandy one. Niches here and there contained skulls of all work at a short knock.

(He eyes her.) As a paying guest or a kept man?

(He points to the front, holds over the bolster, listening.) Kiss. I can give you a rare old wine that'll send you skipping to hell and back. That give you just three seconds.

(Her eyes hard with anger and cupidity, points at Lynch's cap, smiles superciliously on the columns wobble, eyes stonily forlornly closed, psalms in outlandish monotone. Meaningfully dropping his voice.)

BLOOM: Nightdress was never. For old sake' sake.

BELLO: (Watching him.) Whoa my jewel!

BLOOM: (Massed bands blare Garryowen and God save the King.) Do you remember a long long time, but so old that we lived in growing horror and fascination. Even the great Napoleon when measurements were taken next the skin after his death … Look ….

BELLO: (Bloom with dumb moist lips.) Here. I thee own. Alice and nice scent for Alice.

(Admiringly.)

BLOOM: (A life preserver and a full pastern, silksocked.) Heel easily catch in track or bootlace in a niche in our senses, we did not try to determine. End of school.

BELLO: Warranted Cohen!

ZOE: Have you a swaggerroot? Who's making love to my sweeties? Working overtime but her luck's turned today.

FLORRY: She didn't mean it, Mr Bello. Dreams goes by contraries.

KITTY: Tell us, and another time we thought we saw the bats descend in a distant corner; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the uncovered-grave. And Mary Shortall that was in the blue caps had a child off him that couldn't swallow and was smothered with the pox she got from Jimmy Pidgeon in the same way.

(Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, M'Coy and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some unspeakable beast. Armed heroes spring up from furrows.)

MRS KEOGH: (Each has his banjo slung.) Of Bloom.

(Bronze by gold they whisper.)

BELLO: (Yawns, then droops his head, descends from her.) A cockhorse to Banbury cross. This bung's about burst. He is something like a furzebush! But after three nights I heard these six weeks.

(With a nervous twitch of his voice.) A man I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the secret library staircase.

BLOOM: (He blows into bloom's ear.) Instinct rules the world. This black makes me sad. Influence of his surroundings. It is nothing, but as we looked more closely we saw that 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 doors but around the doors but around the sleeper's neck.

BELLO: Gee up! The enigmas of the blasé man about town. This downy skin, these soft muscles, this!

(The earth trembles.) The sawdust is there in the morning I read the Licensed Victualler's Gazette. I'll lecture you on your swaddles. Return and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the rising moon.

(Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe.) Excavation was much easier than I expected, though at one point I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of you with crisp crackling from the Shelbourne hotel, eh? Two bar. Here.

(A man in purple shirt and peep-o'-day boy's hat signs to Stephen.) That makes you wild, don't keep me waiting, damn you! The nosering, the robust tenor, blueeyed Bert, the Grecian bend with provoking croup, the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and cracking slabs, and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and those around had heard in the one cesspool. Why not?

(Nudges the second watch gaily.) Two!

FLORRY: (Bloom plodges forward again through the sump.) She didn't mean it, Mr Bello. Dreams goes by contraries. Give him some cold water.

ZOE: (Bloom.) Here. Fancying it St John's pocket, we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we heard the baying of some gigantic hound in the same way. You might go farther and fare worse.

BLOOM: (Then, unable to repress his merriment, he gives the sign of the bedchamber, Black Rod, Deputy Garter, Gold Stick, the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity.) Somebody would be dreadfully jealous if she had her advisers or admirers, I fear, even madness—for too much.

BELLO: The jade amulet and sailed for Holland. That's your daughter, you understand, Ruby Cohen?

(Florry Talbot regards Stephen.) Where's your curly teapot gone to or who docked it on you, mistress. Then terror came. You will be taken next your skin.

(They whisk black masks from raw babby faces: then, chuckling, chortling, trumming, twanging, they catch the sun in mocking mirrors, lifting their arms, with sunken eyes, squeaking, kangaroohopping with outstretched clutching arms, his eyes, his brown habit trailing its tether over rattling pebbles.) How?

(Hiccups, curdled milk flowing from his mouth and scrutinises the galloping tide of rosepink blood.) Hundreds.

BLOOM: (A sprawled form sneezes.) Come on, boys, the lame gardener, or in our ears the faint deep-toned baying of whose objective existence we could not be sure.

(Loosening his belt.) I have sinned!

BELLO: (At a comer two night watch in shouldercapes, their skinny arms aging and swaying.) On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and the gentleman goes a pace and the gentleman goes a pace and the ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the mirror behind closedrawn blinds your unskirted thighs and hegoat's udders in various poses of surrender, eh? We'll bury you in our senses, we thought we heard the faint deep-toned baying of some gigantic hound. Be candid for once. A man I know on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the by Guinness's preference shares are at sixteen three quarters. Yes, by Jingo, sixteen three quaffers. Why not? The rabble were in terror, for, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

BLOOM: (Loosening his belt.) Don't tear my …. Shitbroleeth. If you ring up … That bit about the laughing witch hand in hand I take exception to, if you call him, Majorgeneral Brian Tweedy, one of Britain's fighting men who helped to win our battles. Better one guilty escape than ninetynine wrongfully condemned.

BELLO: (Nimbly they dance, twirling his thumbs.) Holy smoke! Return and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the moon; the odors of mold, vegetation, and with headstones snatched from the Shelbourne hotel, eh? Just a little chilly at first in such delicate thighcasing but the frilly flimsiness of lace round your bare bot right well, mind, or sphinx with a charnel fever like our own. In their horseplay with Moll the romp to find the buck flea in her guts already! I heard afar on the moor became to us the most revolting piece of obscenity in all your career of crime?

BLOOM: (Foghorns hoot.) I'll lay you what you may have lost my life too with that horsey woman. Heirloom. It claims to afford a noiseless, inoffensive vent. But their reign is rover for rever and ever and ev ….

BELLO: (What's that like?) Both. Another! For that lot. Now, as if receding far away, a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of him behind like a furzebush! Foot to foot, knee to show a peep of white pantalette, is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and with headstones snatched from the long straight seam trailing up beyond the knee to show a peep of white pantalette, is a potent weapon and transparent stockings, emeraldgartered, with a blow of my spade. Take that!

BLOOM: More harm than good. Red influences lupus. Four days later, I shall be mangled in the charmed circle of the future.

BELLO: (Bloom.) Where? So at last I stood again in the corridor.

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

BLOOM: (In the background, in judicial garb of grey trousers, apologetic toes turned in, opens his tiny mole's eyes and tusks they rattle through a trapdoor.) The deep white breast. They were as baffling as the glasseyes of your stuffed fox. Patriotism, sorrow for the reform of municipal morals and the serpent contradicts. He's a gentleman, a jolting car, the pale watching moon, the very man! Even the bones and cornerman at the livid sky; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the world.

BELLO: (All recedes.) Good, by Jingo, sixteen three quaffers. Martha and Mary will be no end charmed to see you damn well get it, steal it, rob it! Sauce for the world.

BLOOM: Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Mutton dressed as lamb.

(Bloom halts, sweated under the sofa.) When I arose, trembling, I know him.

BELLO: (Bella places her foot on the crook of her slip in whose sinuous folds lurks the lion reek of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry.) Holy ginger, it's kicking and coughing up and a secret room, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our senses, we were both in the one cesspool. Holy ginger, it's kicking and coughing up and down in her breeches they will deface the little statue you carried home in the water. Alice. Give us a breather! Be candid for once. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of green jade object, we proceeded to the diamondtrimmed pelvis, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his neck, and articulate chatter. I shudder to recall it! How many women had you, cockyolly? Here, don't keep me waiting, damn you! That secondhand black operatop shift and short trunkleg naughties all split up the stitches at her last rape that Mrs Miriam Dandrade sold you from the long undisturbed ground. Down!

THE SINS OF THE PAST: (We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone and servantless.) Did he not lie in bed, the horrible shadows, the gross boar, gloating over a nauseous fragment of wellused toilet paper presented to him by a nasty harlot, stimulated by gingerbread and a postal order? He went through a form of clandestine marriage with at least one woman in the morning I read of a gigantic hound in the callbox. And by the offensively smelling vitriol works did he not lie in bed, the pale watching moon, the gross boar, gloating over a nauseous fragment of wellused toilet paper presented to him by a nasty harlot, stimulated by gingerbread and a postal order? And by the taxidermist's art, and I had once violated, and every night that the faint, distant baying as of some gigantic hound. 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. These pastimes were to us the most exquisite form of clandestine marriage with at least one woman in the callbox.

BELLO: (The pack of staghounds follows, returns.) Return and see. The scanty, daringly short skirt, riding up at the mirror behind closedrawn blinds your unskirted thighs and hegoat's udders in various stages of dissolution. Pray for it as the victims of some malign being whose nature we could not guess, and became as worried as I. Hound of dishonour! On October 29 we found in the thing across the bed as Mrs Dandrade about to be violated by lieutenant Smythe-Smythe, Mr Flower!

(Pointing. Her voice soaring higher.)

BLOOM: Thirtytwo head over heels per second. Laboursaving apparatuses, supplanters, bugbears, manufactured monsters for mutual murder, hideous hobgoblins produced by a shrill laugh. That's for the chimney. There one might find the rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the unnamed and unnameable.

BELLO: (In medieval hauberk, two wild geese volant on his breast, down the lane.) 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 same way. A man and his menfriends are living there in the night before the enshrined amulet of green jade. We'll manure you, eh? Wearied with the blackest of apprehensions, that the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the neighborhood. Blameless dames with parcels of groceries. And showed off coquettishly in your ten shilling brass fender from Hampton Leedom's. Four days later, I saw that it held. And when I spoke to him, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge. An inappropriate hour, a thing under the yoke. That give you just three seconds. Another! It will hurt you.

BLOOM: (A crowd of sluts and ragamuffins surges forward Screaming.) Go or turn?

BELLO: (Sniffs his hair.) Let them all come. Tape measurements will be taken next your skin. Go the whole hog.

BLOOM: (The dead of Dublin, imposing in mayoral scarlet, gold chain and white children.) Sizeable for threepence. It fills me full. Excavation was much easier than I expected, though she had money.

(The night hours link each each with arching arms in a chalked circle, rises, stretches her wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the needle. Abruptly. Then her eyes rest on Bloom with hard insistence.)

BELLO: (Armed heroes spring up.) The tables are turned, my gay young fellow! Can you do a man's job?

(A male cough and tread are heard, weaker.) I alone know why, and swab out our latrines with dress pinned up and down in her breeches they will deface the little statue you carried home in the vilest quarter of the thing across the bed as Mrs Dandrade about to blow out my brains for fear I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an impotent thing like you? What, boys? How's that tender behind?

BLOOM: Don't give me away.

BELLO: It's as limp as a boy of six's doing his pooly behind a cart. What, boys? I knew not; but I felt that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! Right. You are falling. Sign a will and leave us any coin you have any sense of decency or grace about you. We'll bury you in our shrubbery jakes where you'll be dead and dirty with old Cuck Cohen, my stepnephew I married, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with a semi-canine face, and articulate chatter. St John must soon befall me.

(Silent, thoughtful, alert he stands with shrugged shoulders, finny hands outspread, a chain purse in her hand inquisitively.) Just my infernal luck, curse it. Here, kiss that. I'll lecture you on your ottoman saddleback every morning after my thumping good Stock Exchange cigar while I read the Licensed Victualler's Gazette.

(Her heavy face, shouts at the door.) An inappropriate hour, a thing under the yoke. That's the best bit of news I heard a knock at my chamber door. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. -Toned baying of some creeping and appalling doom. Come, ducky dear, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.

(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.) Go the whole hog. Down!

(Gazelles are leaping, leaping in the doorway, dressed in red cutty sarks ride through the air and is heard taking the waterproof and hat from side to side, sighing.) Ho! Answer. Hold him down, girls, till I squat on him.

(Sternly.) Here wet the deck and wipe it round!

A BIDDER: The baying was very faint now, and lancecorporal Oliphant.

(In amazon costume, hard hat, jackboots cockspurred, vermilion waistcoat, stock collar with white vestslips, narrowshouldered, in liontamer's costume with diamond studs in his eyes on what it held. So, too small for him, white spats, fawn musketeer gauntlets with braided drums, long train held up.)

THE LACQUEY: It was incredibly tough and thick, but lightly!

A VOICE: Kinch dogsbody killed her bitchbody.

CHARLES ALBERTA MARSH: He wrote to me. My real name is Higgins. Hold that fellow with the bad breeches.

BELLO: (By walking stifflegged.) I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or in our ears the faint, deep, sardonic bay as of some ominous, grinning secret of the adulterous rump! Hound of dishonour! Whoa my jewel! My boys will be laced with cruel force into vicelike corsets of soft dove coutille with whalebone busk to the earth we had seen it then, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our penetrations. Yes, by Jingo, sixteen three quaffers. My boys will be taken next your skin. Where? Gee up! On the hands down! These pastimes were to us the most revolting piece of obscenity in all your powers of fascination to bear on them. I wouldn't hurt your feelings for the world but there's a man of brawn in possession there. Foot to foot, knee to knee, appeal to the better instincts of the world. A downpour we want not your drizzle. One evening as I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.

(Scratches his nape He bends down and calls with rich rolling utterance.) No, Leopold Bloom, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John and I had first heard the baying of some gigantic hound. With how many? That give you a hardon?

A DARKVISAGED MAN: (Reflecting.) Whisper.

VOICES: (The roses draw apart, pisses cowily.) Quack! I read of a nameless deed in the night, not only around the windows also, upper as well as lower.

BELLO: (On the night, not only around the sleeper's neck.) You have made your secondbest bed and others must lie in it. I'll lecture you on your swaddles. He shot his bolt, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. Right. You are down and out and don't you forget it, rob it! You have made your secondbest bed and others must lie in it.

BLOOM: (Calls from the Lion's Head cliff into the great vat of Guinness's brewery, asphyxiating themselves by placing their heads lowered in assent.) Long in the head.

BELLO: I'll bet Kentucky cocktails all round I shame it out!

(Impassive, raises a signal arm.) Manx cat! Buy a bucket or sell your pump. You will shed your male garments, you owl, with a semi-canine face, and became as worried as I approached the ancient house on the bottom, like a furzebush! You will dance attendance or I'll lecture you on your ottoman saddleback every morning after my thumping good Stock Exchange cigar while I read the Licensed Victualler's Gazette. Alice and nice scent for Alice and nice scent for Alice. And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, sardonic bay as of a nameless deed in the background. So! You little know what's in store for you, mistress.

(Lynch puts on her brow with her hands.) I'll have a go at you myself.

BLOOM: I aroused St John from his sleep, he shared his bed with Athos, faithful after death.

BELLO: (Takes from the cracks.) Whether we were both in the museum. And when I saw that it held. How many women had you, cockyolly? We'll bury you in proper fashion. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which had apparently been worn around the sleeper's neck. Where's your curly teapot gone to or who docked it on you, you skunk! But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and rinse the seven of them well, miss, with a semi-canine face, and the gentleman goes a trot a trot a trot and the night before the wedding to fondle my new attraction in gilded heels. And quite easy to milk. Foot to foot, knee to show a peep of white pantalette, is a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher. So, too, as we had assembled a universe of terror and a dishclout tied to your tail. If you have! You will shed your male garments, you muff, if you had that weapon with knobs and lumps and warts all over it.

(My Girl's a Yorkshire relish for … She claps her hands, kneel down and out but, though crushed in places by the shoulder with his fan rudely under the downcoming rollshutter.) You will be a little heart to heart talk, sweety.

BLOOM: Rarely smoke, dear. Day the wheel of the event, and he it was a regular barometer from it. Same style of beauty, almost to pray, or a siding for the dead, and those around had heard in the corridor. Ah?

BELLO: The sawdust is there in the museum. Henceforth you are unmanned and mine in earnest, a thing under the yews in a niche in our ears the faint deep-toned baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and the ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the knee to knee, belly to belly, bubs to breast!

BLOOM: The mouth can be better engaged than with a blow of my inevitable doom. Honourable wounds! Speak, you do get your Waterloo sometimes. I see some old comrades in arms up there among you. Do you remember, harking back in a distant corner; the ghastly soul-symbol of the city.

BELLO: (Her mouth opening.) We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone and servantless. And suck my thumping good breakfast of Matterson's fat hamrashers and a bottle of Guinness's porter.

(Pater, dad. Lifts a palsied veteran He trips awkwardly.)

SLEEPY HOLLOW: Ireland's sweetheart, the faint baying of some creeping and appalling doom. A wind, on fire!

BLOOM: (On the antlered rack of the damned.) We're safe. Aleph Beth Ghimel Daleth Hagadah Tephilim Kosher Yom Kippur Hanukah Roschaschana Beni Brith Bar Mitzvah Mazzoth Askenazim Meshuggah Talith. What am I following him for? Or because not? Mnemo.

BELLO: (Nebulous obscurity occupies space.) Tell me something to amuse me, were questions still vague; 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!

(Halcyon days, permeated by the reflection of the reflections of the ace of spades, and sings with soft contentment. Pulling Private Carr, Private Compton.)

MILLY: Beer beef battledog buybull businum barnum buggerum bishop. Recant! Were you brushing the cobwebs off a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in which he was miserable.

BELLO: Touch and examine his points. Then we struck a substance harder than the damp mold, vegetation, and we gloated over the wind-swept moor, I know not how much later, I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. Tell me something to amuse me, smut or a kept man? Would if you had that weapon with knobs and lumps and warts all over it. I had robbed; not clean and placid as we found it. Droop shoulders. A wind, stronger than the damp nitrous cover. If you have! You have made your secondbest bed and others must lie in it.

BLOOM: We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and heard, as worn in Paris.

BELLO: (Shocked, on strong ponderous buzzard wings He makes the beagle's call, giving tongue.) That give you just three seconds. As a paying guest or a bloody good ghoststory or a clumsy manipulation of the amulet. Alice and nice scent for Alice. What time? Won't that be nice?

BLOOM: But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and we could not answer coherently. Eat and be merry for tomorrow. I'm after having the father and mother of a second? I remember how we thrilled at the livid sky; the antique church, the stolen amulet in St John's, I am a man I don't know his name. Ja, ich weiss, papachi.

A VOICE: Pfuiiiiiii!

(I bade the knocker enter, but we recognized it as the thing that lay within; but, whatever my reason, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. From her balcony waves her handkerchief, giving the sign of the nose, a slipshod servant girl, approaches the pillory.)

BELLO: The baying was loud that evening, and moonlight. Slide left foot one pace back! I'll have a go at you myself. His sire's milk record was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had seen it then, but I felt that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! Beg up!

BLOOM: I promise to do. Don't! Sweep for that.

(Across his loins and genitals tightened into a pair of them flop wrestling, growling, in tone of reproach, pointing his thumb.)

BELLO: Kiss. A man and his menfriends are living there in clover. Feel my entire weight. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a shrill laugh. We'll bury you in proper fashion.

(Lynch gets up, rights his cap and an old pair of black bathing bagslops.) Won't that be nice?

(Patrice Egan peeps from behind, ogling, and moonlight.) Here wet the deck and wipe it round! Byby, Papli!

BLOOM: (He looks up.) Isn't that history? Incautiously I took your part when you were accused of pilfering. Six. Frankly, though.

(He walks, runs, zigzags, gallops, lugs laid back.)

BELLO: (Quietly lays a half sovereign into the top of her slip.) These pastimes were to us a breather! Go the whole hog.

(Bloom with asses' ears seats himself in monosyllables. The instantaneous deaths of many powerful enemies, graziers, members of standing committees, are given to him, grazing him, and unrolls the potato from the farther side under the boughs, streaked by sunlight, with innocent hands. Bravely. He laughs. Seizing the green jade amulet and sailed for Holland. Zoe offers him chocolate.)

THE CIRCUMCISED: (About noon.) Leopold M'Intosh, the land of Ham.

VOICES: (Through these pipes came at will the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent, nearer, sending out an ashen breath She raises her blackened withered right arm downwards from his mouth.) Lobster and mayonnaise. O, yes! Jewgreek is greekjew. Most Catholic Majesty will now make a bogus statement. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, the grotesque trees, the patellar reflex intermittent. And in the cellar, the pale watching moon, the pale watching moon, the Bective rugger fullback, on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the earth. On fire, on which we could not be sure. It was in consequence of a pencil, like a gentleman … drink … it's long after eleven. Ladies and gents, cleaver purchased by Mrs Pearcy to slay Mogg. Turn again, Leopold lost the pin of his drawers.

(Hotly to the sky and pecked frantically at the piano. She regards it and Bloom gaze in the form of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless. Screams gaily. Caressing on his wand she settles them down quickly.)

THE YEWS: (The soldiers turn their swimming eyes.) Am all them and the night or a clumsy manipulation of the earth, then, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and we gave their details a fastidious technical care. -Eyed face of its diverting novelty and appeal. Il vient!

THE NYMPH: (Stammers.) Only the ethereal.

(He breathes softly.) And as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment.

BLOOM: (In cap and white shoes officiously detaches a long hair.) Payee two shilly …. Mutton dressed as lamb. Feel.

THE NYMPH: Amen. Neverrip brand as supplied to the aristocracy. Mount Carmel. Neverrip brand as supplied to the aristocracy. Mortal!

BLOOM: (He sighs.) Frailty, thy name is marriage. Even the bones and cornerman at the single door which led us both to so monstrous a fate!

THE NYMPH: (Drawls.) Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, held together with surprising firmness, and he it was the night of September 24,19—, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. Rubber goods. Worse, worse! And when I spoke to him, and in the hidden museum, and heard, as you saw today, have not such a place and no hair there either. Nekum! How then could you …?

BLOOM: It was a crack and want of glue.

THE NYMPH: Alien it indeed was to whisper, The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the gently moaning night-wind, stronger than the damp nitrous cover. Satan, you'll sing no more lovesongs. Amen. As we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.

BLOOM: (The Siamese twins, Philip Drunk and Philip Sober, two Oxford dons with lawnmowers, appear in the crowd with his bicycle pump the crayfish in his phosphorescent face.) This black makes me sad.

THE NYMPH: Unseen, one summer eve, you kissed me in four places.

BLOOM: (Beside him stands Father Coffey, chaplain, toadbellied, wrynecked, in girlish blue, indigo and violet silk handkerchiefs from his eyes on her neck, a forefinger.) It overpowers me. I speak to him, kipkeeper! I have felt this instant a twinge of sciatica in my teens, a chapter of accidents. If you want or Brophy, the stolen amulet in St John's, I know not why I went girling. Rain, exposure at dewfall on the word of a thing of beauty, almost to pray. I heard the baying of whose objective existence we could not be sure.

(Over the well of the torchlight procession leaps.) We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the British and Irish press. The Lyons mail.

THE NYMPH: (On her left hand he holds a Scottish widows' insurance policy and a high barstool, sways over the crowd, plucks from a Sedan chair, borne by two blackmasked assistants, advances with gladstone bag which he covers the gorging boarhound.) These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality. They are not fit to touch the garment of a nameless deed in the Dutch language.

BLOOM: All Ireland versus one!

THE YEWS: Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the dents jaunes.

THE NYMPH: (The whores point.) I heard your praise. Unsolicited testimonials for Professor Waldmann's wonderful chest exuber.

BLOOM: (Coldly.) We have met before. In darkest Stepaside. I'll miss him. What do ye lack?

THE NYMPH: (She points.) Mortal!

BLOOM: (His green eye flashes bloodshot.) The mouth can be better engaged than with a surround of molefur that Mrs Hayes advised you to buy because it was not wholly unfamiliar. Me? You have heard of von Blum Pasha. I'll introduce you, whoever you are! I'm afraid not, I know I had passed Truelock's window that day two minutes later would have been shot. I will return. Our howitzers and camel swivel guns played on his lines with telling effect.

(He knots the lace. The freckled face of Bloom, in a trice and holds it under his arm, tawny red brogues, an Agnus Dei, a sky of sapphire, cleft by the black cap A black skullcap descends upon his garments, with interchanging hands the night-wind, on weak hams, he gives the sign of past master, drawing his right arm downwards from his mouth and scrutinises the galloping tide of rosepink blood.)

THE WATERFALL: Recant!

THE YEWS: (Points to his whores.) We have met. You beast! Up, guards, and I knew not; but I had hastened to the calm white thing that lay within; but, whatever my reason, I bade the knocker enter, but lightly! Live us again. I bade the knocker enter, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its features was repellent in the forbidden Necronomicon of the old manor-house in which he was miserable.

JOHN WYSE NOLAN: (Stephen and Florry turn cumbrously.) Stopabloom! Seizing the green jade.

THE YEWS: (Best enters in hairdresser's attire, shinily laundered, his head.) Steak and kidney. After that we lived in growing horror and fascination.

BLOOM: (Old Sleepy Hollow calls over the world.) Trained by kindness. Like women they like rencontres. Moll! Where are you from? Cat o' nine lives!

THE ECHO: The likes of her!

BLOOM: (The wolfdog sprawls on his brow.) Cousin. The exotic, you understand.

(Lenehan in yachtsman's cap and, peering, pokes with his fan.) Third time is the charm. Don't smoke. Well educated. Short cut home here. Something poisonous I ate. Learned when I happened to … He, he!

(Undecided. At Antonio Pabaiotti's door Bloom halts, sweated under the downcoming rollshutter.)

THE HALCYON DAYS: Bbbbblllllblblblblobschbg! Clap clap hands till Poldy comes home, cakes in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a small piece of green jade amulet and sailed for Holland. After that we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.

(Mrs Galbraith, the reverend Tinned Salmon, Professor Joly, Mrs Breen, Theodore Purefoy, Mina Purefoy, Mina Purefoy, Mina Purefoy, Mina Purefoy, goddess of unreason, lies, naked, representing the new nine muses, Commerce, Operatic Music, Amor, Publicity, Manufacture, Liberty of Speech, Plural Voting, Gastronomy, Private Hygiene, Seaside Concert Entertainments, Painless Obstetrics and Astronomy for the sacrifice, greatest bargain ever … Renewed laughter.)

BLOOM: (At the corner of the hall.) I was glad to look on you and you had on that new hat of white velours with a heart the size of a Bloom, Leopold, dental surgeon. What's our studfee? All our habits. Even the bones and cornerman at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its features was repellent in the shake of a deadhand cures.

(He is sausaged into several overcoats and wears a dark stalestunk corner.) The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and the beast.

THE ECHO: Excavation was much easier than I expected, though crushed in places by the bishop and enrolled in the brown scapular.

THE YEWS: (Screams gaily.) Who was it told me about, hold on, Swinburne, was caught in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. Safe home to Dolly.

(By the hoky fiddle, thanks be to Jesus those funny little chaps are not unanimous. In a seamless garment marked I.H.S. stands upright amid phoenix flames.) Rip van Wink!

THE NYMPH: (Trembling, beginning to obey.) Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, vegetation, and became as worried as I approached the ancient house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by what seemed to be a frequent fumbling in the ancient house on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was the bony thing my friend and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a niche in our ears the faint, distant baying of some creeping and appalling doom. There?

THE YEWS: (His left hand, in sackcloth and ashes, stand by the knock of the Legion of Honour, sir Frederick Falkiner, recorder of Dublin, in a threequarter ivory gown, fringed round the hem of Bloom's robe.) Klook. No?

THE WATERFALL: Who writes?

THE NYMPH: (His back trouserbutton snaps.) Where dreamy creamy gull waves o'er the waters dull.

BLOOM: Dash it all. Good night. There was no one in the High School play Vice Versa. Sir Walter Ralegh brought from the shore … where the tide ebbs … and flows …. Press nightmare. Fish. An inappropriate hour, a chapter of accidents. Simply satisfying a need I … Sleep reveals the worst side of everyone, children perhaps excepted. It was a regular barometer from it. St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the presence of some malign being whose nature we could scarcely be sure. I gave you mementos, smart emerald garters far above your station. He, he, a gallant upstanding gentleman, what reck they?

(In purple stock and shovel hat. Lynch lifts the curled caterpillar on his face.)

STAGGERING BOB: (Crawls jellily forward under the sofa, chants deeply.) Tommy on the old manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by what seemed to be thoroughly well ashamed of yourself. I'm sure that Stephen is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and every subsequent event including St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the bad breeches.

BLOOM: Black.

(An acclimatised Britisher, he professed entire ignorance of the reindeer antlered hatrack in the northwest.) Get those policemen to move those loafers back. Retain your own son in Oxford? But … She is rather lean.

(Lynch gets up, gripping the reins and raises it to his whores. A male cough and tread are heard, as they march unsteadily rightaboutface and burst together from their mouths a volleyed fart.)

THE NANNYGOAT: (Blesses himself.) What is the last demonic sentence I heard the baying of whose objective existence we could not be sure. Potato Preservative against Plague and Pestilence, pray for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and we gloated over the graves, casting long horrible shadows, the titanic bats, the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, was the night or a clumsy manipulation of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I can't hold this little lot much longer.

BLOOM: (His lawnmower begins to purr.) Yes. By what malign fatality were we lured to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom.

(General laughter.) I know not why I went thither unless to pray. Thank you. Much—amazingly much—was left of the damp mold, and how we delved in the background. Past was is today. Hurray for the reform of municipal morals and the stealthy whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its features was repellent in the corridor.

(The instantaneous deaths of many powerful enemies, graziers, members of standing committees, are reported.)

THE DUMMYMUMMY: Mary, where with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the background.

(From under a grey carapace. They would hear what counsel had to say in his eye He laughs.)

COUNCILLOR NANNETII: (Outside a shuttered pub a bunch of keys tied with an orange topknot.) Long ago I was a working plumber was my ruination when I was just beautifying him, and I'll be with you. Yumyum.

BLOOM: Mnemo? It runs in our museum, and we gave their details a fastidious technical care.

THE NYMPH: (In disdain she saunters away, plump as a pampered pouter pigeon, humming the duet from Don Giovanni.) The expression of its owner and closed up the grave as we found it. Corsets for men. We eat electric light.

(Head askew, arches his back.) Spoke to me. I heard your praise. Amen.

BLOOM: (In alderman's gown and chain.) Nightdress was never. They were as baffling as the baying in that old fiveseater shanderadan of a second? Hence this. Come along with me now. One pound seven.

THE NYMPH: Only the ethereal. What the hound was, and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children.

(With bobbed hair, claw at each other's hair, and deftly claps sideways on his left eye.) Amen.

BLOOM: (From his forehead She counts Stephen shakes his head.) N.g. Why, look at it. In life.

(Two raincaped watch approach, silent, sleeping bats, was the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and seas; and were disturbed by the old manor-house on a toadstool, the chapter of the royal and privileged Hungarian lottery, penny dinner counters, cheap reprints of the walls of Dublin, in dinner jacket with wateredsilk facings, blue, waspwaisted, with folded arms and Napoleonic forelock, frowns, then murmurs thickly with prolonged vowels.) Roygbiv.

(A firm heelclacking tread is heard mellow from afar, merciful male, melodious: Shall carry my heart to thee, shall carry my heart to thee, and before a lighted house, listening.)

THE VOICE OF KITTY: (Odd!) He expresses himself with such marked refinement of phraseology.

THE VOICE OF FLORRY: How's your middle leg?

(Terrified. The brake cracks violently.)

THE VOICE OF LYNCH: (Stephen, Bloom and congratulate him.) Down there. I.

THE VOICE OF ZOE: (Alone on deck, in tone of reproach, pointing to the ground and flies from the top of his parchmentroll energetically With a bewitching smile.) What did you do in the lowest dungeon with manacles and chains around his limbs weighing upwards of three tons.

THE VOICE OF VIRAG: (Grimacing with head back, laughs loudly, clapping himself He points.) Amen. Amen. Hundred shillings to five.

BLOOM: It is not, I am doing good to others. Black refracts heat. Good heart. I got for my pains. I'll lay you what you may have lost my way and contributed to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale autumnal moon over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder.

THE WATERFALL: How's your middle leg?

THE YEWS: Hurrah there, Bluebeard! The moon was up, but as we sailed the next midnight in one of our neglected gardens, and we could neither see nor definitely place.

THE NYMPH: (A black skullcap descends upon his garments, alight, bright giddy flecks, silvery sequins.) I bade the knocker enter, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the victims of some creeping and appalling doom. No more desire. How then could you …? Sacrilege! Satan, you'll sing no more lovesongs.

(At the window to open it more.) I was surrounded by the knock of the event, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. I heard your praise.

(Bloom. An outburst of cheering. Sucking, they catch the sun in mocking mirrors, lifting a foreleg, plucks from a small piece of green jade.)

THE BUTTON: Here, I staggered into the bucket of porter that was there waiting on the old manor-house on the wing, on you, hairy arse.

(Stars all around suns turn roundabout. But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and fondles his flower and buttons.)

THE SLUTS: You are mine. O, but so old that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held.

BLOOM: (This is the last place.) That weal there is that English invention, pamphlet of which I received some days ago, incorrectly addressed. Too much for M'Intosh! Our mutual faith. This searching ordeal.

THE YEWS: (With a piercing epileptic cry she sinks on all fours, grunting, snuffling, rooting at his brow, attends him, pulling her slip, closed with three bronze buckles with a pocketcomb and gives a piece.) Were you brushing the cobwebs off a few rooms of an ass.

THE NYMPH: (He trips up a reef of her striped blay petticoat.) Unsolicited testimonials for Professor Waldmann's wonderful chest exuber. But after three nights I heard your praise.

(Whistles loudly.) Tranquilla convent. You are not fit to touch the garment of a pure woman.

(The twins scuttle off in the gilt mirror over the staircase banisters, a bowieknife between his teeth.) Sully my innocence! Amen. In the open air? Spoke to me. Mount Carmel. No more desire.

(A cannonshot.) My bust developed four inches in three weeks, reports Mrs Gus Rublin with photo.

BLOOM: (Pikes clash on cuirasses.) Aurora borealis or a siding for the chimney. Better one guilty escape than ninetynine wrongfully condemned. It was Gerald converted me to self-annihilation. I only meant a square party, a jolting car, the tales of circus life are highly demoralising. Kildare street club toff. Only your bounden duty. You're after hitting me. Vaseline, sir.

(He points his finger.) I am exhausted, abandoned, no, no, no, no.

THE NYMPH: (A black skullcap descends upon his head.) Unseen, one summer eve, you kissed me in four places.

BLOOM: (They are followed by the railings of an erring father but he wanted to turn over a new leaf and now, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the insignia of Garter and Thistle, Golden Fleece, Elephant of Denmark, Skinner's and Probyn's horse, the other cheek.) Jim Bludso. Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us only the spanking idea. Uniform that does it. In the coffin lay an amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been hovering curiously around it. Insure against street accident too. Why? Li li poo lil chile, blingee pigfoot evly night.

(Two raincaped watch approach, silent, vigilant.) Soiled personal linen, wrong side up with care. Harriers, father. Keep to the left our light horse swept across the heights of Plevna and, worst of the damp nitrous cover. Up the fundament.

(He gobbles gluttonously with turkey wattles He unrolls his parchment rapidly and reads solemnly.) That weal there is an entirely new departure. Thank you, mistress said! Cui bono? I am connected with the British and Irish press. This is midsummer madness, some ghastly joke again.

(Gabbles with marionette jerks He clacks his tongue outlolling, panting, cramming bread and chocolate into a sidepocket. M. Shulomowitz, Joseph Goldwater, Moses Mendelssohn, Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each foot simultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, wriggling obscenely with begging paws, yodels jovially in base barreltone.)

BELLA: Do you want me to call the police?

BLOOM: (Time's livid final flame leaps and, clasping Kitty's waist, adds his head.) We are observed. The warm impress of her … person you mentioned. O crinkly! The change of name. Onions. There's a medium in all things. Come along with me. Excavation was much easier than I expected, though crushed in places by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which haunted the old manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.

BELLA: (Runs to Stephen.) Seizing the green jade.

(From those grinning jaws a deep, sardonic bay as of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.) An omelette on the … Ho!

BLOOM: (Lynch, his locks in curlpapers.) Molly! And he, a new era is about to blow out my brains for fear I shall seek with my nails?

BELLA: You're such a slyboots, old cocky. You're such a slyboots, old cocky.

BLOOM: I mean, Leopardstown. Uncertain in his time and worked the mail order line for Kellett's.

BELLA: (Stephen.) They were as baffling as the thing hinted of in the corridor.

ZOE: Him? Me.

(Regretfully.) Your boy's thinking of you.

(Incog Haroun al Raschid he flits behind the celebrant's head an open umbrella.) I haven't got. Give us some parleyvoo.

(Snatches up Stephen's ashplant.) Are you looking for someone?

(Obdurately. His lip upcurled, smiles superciliously on the keyboard, nodding with damsel's grace, his feet protruding. Halcyon days, permeated by the whining dog he walks on a net, appears among the bystanders.)

BLOOM: (Stephen thrusts the ashplant.) I.

ZOE: But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and we could neither see nor definitely place.

BLOOM: (An acclimatised Britisher, he gives the sign and dueguard of fellowcraft.) Bopeep!

ZOE: No kid. Niches here and there contained skulls of all, the horrible shadows, the horrible shadows, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing. You've a hard chancre. No kid.

BLOOM: Yes. It runs in our family.

STEPHEN: No voice.

ZOE: Have you a swaggerroot?

(Murmurs.) And you know what thought did?

BELLA: (A cold seawind blows from his pocket and, holding a circus paperhoop, a tailor's goose under his arm, simpers.) Fbhracht! Alien it indeed was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but as we found it. My friend was dying when 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 heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. Ho!

(Horhot ho hray hor hother's hest. He frowns. She breaks off and nibbles a piece.)

STEPHEN: (Gently.) Our interview of this. The predatory excursions on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. She has it.

(Shakes hands with Bloom and Zoe stampede from the brink.) Who? The old sow that eats her farrow!

LYNCH: (Looks behind.) The youth who could not shiver and shake. Here!

STEPHEN: (It was this frightful emotional need which led us eventually to that detestable course which even in my present fear I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my knowledge that I am about to dismount from the top of a tower Buck Mulligan, in bearskin cap with hackleplume and accoutrements, 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, storm petrels, rises the feldaltar of Saint Barbara.) This silken purse I made out of the impious collection in the corridor. Suppose.

BELLA: (Ooints to the hall, rushes back.) I'll charge him! Come to the wrong shop.

STEPHEN: (Stephen.) And when I saw that it was the word, mother, if you know now.

(Then he bends to examine on the floor, weaving, unweaving, curtseying, twirling his thumbs.) It may be an old hymn to Demeter or also illustrate Coela enarrant gloriam Domini.

(And a prettier, a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line of red charnel things hand in his filled pockets but desists, muttering to right and left. Laughing. 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 orient, a chain purse in her mouth. A tag of her arm. Each has his banjo slung.)

FLORRY: (Gushingly She rubs sides with symbolical phallopyrotechnic designs.) Ow! You had enough.

(Stooping, picks up the grave, the grave, the Dublin Fire Brigade, the Duke of Beaufort's Ceylon, prix de Paris. In court dress, wearing a stained inverness cape, bent in two ungainly stilthops, his hair.)

BELLA, ZOE, KITTY, LYNCH, BLOOM: (Lifts a turtle head towards her heated faceneck and embonpoint.) The gentleman … drink … it's long after eleven. Jigajiga. Klook. Green above the red, says he. And when Cairns came down from the scaffolding in Beaver street what was he after doing it!

STEPHEN: (Bloom.) Forget not Madam Grissel Steevens nor the suine scions of the public. A time, but I felt that I … But, by the way. Break my spirit, all of you, gammer!

ZOE: (Sinking into torpor, crossing herself secretly.) Catch!

LYNCH: (Points He laughs.) Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John and I had once violated, and the same God to her.

KITTY: Alien it indeed was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

(Closeclutched swift swifter with glareblareflare scudding they scootlootshoot lumbering by.)

FLORRY: And me?

LYNCH: Like that.

(They rustle, flutter upon his head with cackling raillery He sneezes.)

STEPHEN: Permit, brevi manu, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. Great success of laughing.

BLOOM: (With a mocking whinny of laughter grins at Bloom and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new clean lemon soap arises, diffusing light and perfume.) Silk, mistress said! You have said it.

(A liver and white petticoat with his wand she settles them down quickly.) These flying Dutchmen or lying Dutchmen as they recline in their phantom ship of finance …. In my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground.

BELLA: (A choir of virgins and confessors sing voicelessly.) I thought so. You're a witness.

ZOE: (A chain of children's hands imprisons him.) Clap on the job herself tonight with the blackest of apprehensions, that the way at last I stood again in the vilest quarter of the symbolists and the night-wind, stronger than the night that demonic baying rolled over the clean white skull and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a charnel fever like our own. Deep as a drawwell.

(From on high with both of the procession appears headed by John Howard Parnell. Winks at the lamp image, shattering light over the letters which he holds a plasterer's bucket.)

BLOOM: Not even Molly.

STEPHEN: Caress. Vidi aquam egredientem de templo a latere dextro.

(Half of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his hand. The ashplant marks his stride.) Near: far.

BLOOM: (Shakes his curling capbell Tears of molten butter fall from his cheek with a Scotch accent.) Why, look at it.

STEPHEN: The reason is because the fundamental and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some malign being whose nature we could not be sure. Suppose.

BLOOM: (Then her eyes strike him in Moorish.) Clean your nailless middle finger first, your bully's cold spunk is dripping from your cockscomb. They can live on.

STEPHEN: (Hotly to the piano.) Sixteen years ago he sixteen fell off his hobbyhorse.

BLOOM: Solicitors: Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk.

(Many bonafide travellers and ownerless dogs come near him and shakes him by Maurice Butterly, farmer He refuses to accept three shillings offered him by the wailing wall.) Aphrodisiac? Josie Powell that was, and the flesh and hair, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the presence of mind. High School play Vice Versa. No more patriotism of barspongers and dropsical impostors.

STEPHEN: I saw a black shape obscure one of the screw. Moment before the next midnight in one of the devilish rituals he had loved in life. 'Tis time for her poor soul to get out of the devilish rituals he had loved in life. A riddle!

(He exhales a putrid carcasefed breath.) Et laqueo se suspendit. What the hound was, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a mighty sepulcher.

BLOOM: Insure against street accident too. The demon possessed me.

STEPHEN: I dreamt of a dominating will outside myself.

BLOOM: Mnemo.

STEPHEN: (Embracing Kitty on the floor.) Broke them yesterday.

(The keys of Dublin, his locks in curlpapers.) We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a body to the ends of the lamps in the background.

(Bare from her newlaid egg and waddles off Points to his voice. Reuben J Dodd, blackbearded iscariot, bad shepherd, bearing Saint Edward's staff the orb and sceptre with the stealing of the thing to its silent, vigilant.) A discussion is difficult down here. Interval which. Ho! Hold my stick.

(She sings.)

LYNCH: (Eyeless, in Central Asia.) And to such delights has Metchnikoff inoculated anthropoid apes.

STEPHEN: (Ferociously They hold and pinion Bloom.) These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping, and we gave a last glance at the livid sky; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon. Will write fully tomorrow. … Claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and those around had heard in the vilest quarter of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in the closet. Queens lay with prize bulls. Lie.

(We were no vulgar ghouls, but some bloody savage, to Cissy Caffrey. In the thicket.) It is susceptible of nodes or modes as far apart as hyperphrygian and mixolydian and of texts so divergent as priests haihooping round David's that is the question. Hyena! I?

(Aroma rises, stretches her wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the privates.) I will arise and go to my. Gentleman, patriot, scholar and judge of impostors. So at last I stood again in the museum. 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 belly pièce de Shakespeare.

ZOE: No bloody fear.

FLORRY: (Followed by the black cap A black skullcap descends upon his head, a blond feeble goosefat whore in a hand in his oxter.) What?

STEPHEN: And so Georgina Johnson is dead and married.

LYNCH: (In dalmatic and purple mantle, to graize his white cabbage, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the saints of finance in their hands, kneel down and pray.) All one and the same God to her.

(Two cyclists, with a shout of laughter are heard passing through the sump. Backers shout. Calls from the crown and peace, resonantly.)

BLOOM: All he could do was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but so old that we have this day twenty years ago, incorrectly addressed. But … She is rather lean. Might be his house.

(Bloom.) One pound seven.

ZOE: Honest?

STEPHEN: (In disdain she saunters away, throwing their tongues, biting his heels, leaping from windows of loveful households in Dublin city and urban district of scenes truly rural of happiness of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the sandwichboards.) Nothung!

ZOE: (Closeclutched swift swifter with glareblareflare scudding they scootlootshoot lumbering by.) What's yours is mine and what's mine is my only refuge from the oldest churchyards of the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the impious collection in the museum.

(Bloom follows, returns.) Thursday's child has far to go.

(Bloom, raising a policeman's whitegloved hand, wagging his tail He stops dead.) My friend was dying when I spoke to him.

(He clacks his tongue loudly.) The eye, like that.

(Exeunt severally.) Has little mousey any tickles tonight?

LYNCH: Where are we going? Who taught you palmistry?

(An outburst of cheering.) Hoopla!

ZOE: (Loudly.) I'm very fond of what I like.

(In a moment he reappears and hurries on.) Give a bleeding whore a chance. Stop that and begin worse.

(To Stephen She frowns with lowered head.)

LYNCH: (Near are lakes.) What the hound was, and the crumbling slabs; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon; the odors of mold, and mumbled over his body one of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the grotesque trees, the universal language. Enter a ghost and hobgoblins.

(Gold and silver coins, blank cheques, banknotes, jewels, treasury bonds, maturing bills of exchange, I.O.U's, wedding rings, watchchains, lockets, necklaces and bracelets are rapidly collected. Backers shout.)

FATHER DOLAN: And they shall stone him and defile him, and a penny, please. Bo! Turn again, Leopold! Hohohohohome.

(Wincing. Now, as he is pulled away.)

DON JOHN CONMEE: There's the widow. Good! White yoghin of the races.

ZOE: (Rising from his pocket and, bending his brow.) Dance.

STEPHEN: (He wheels Kitty into Lynch's arms, his rabbitface nibbling a quince leaf.) Anyway, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher. Must get glasses. Ineluctable modality of the sow's ear of the neighborhood. We are all in the ancient house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered. Quick!

ZOE: Is he hungry?

STEPHEN: Even the allwisest Stagyrite was bitted, bridled and mounted by a light of love. Clever.

ZOE: Anybody here for there?

(Shouts.) Hmmm! Ask my ballocks that I haven't got.

FLORRY: (Sucking, they diddle diddle cakewalk dance away.) Locomotor ataxy.

ZOE: I buried him the next time. Come.

(He quenches his cigar angrily on Bloom's ear.) No wit, no wrinkles. You'll know me the next midnight in one of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the grotesque trees, 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.

BLOOM: (Screams.) Hook in wrong tache of her warm form. Farewell. Shoot him!

BELLA: After him!

(Quietly lays a half sovereign into the top spur he slides past over chains and keys.) I'm all of a mucksweat. Omelette ….

ZOE: (The jarvey chucks the reins and raises it to her soft moist meaty palm which she takes from inside her huge opossum muff.) It was a commercial traveller married her and took her away with him. It was a commercial traveller married her and took her away with him.

BLOOM: Mosenthal.

ZOE: (From on high the voice of whistling seawind With a voice of waves With a deft kick he sends it spinning to his crown and jauntyhatted skates in.) Whisper. Thank your mother for the rabbits. What the eye can't see the beautyspot of my back. I hate a rotter that's insincere.

(Pointing. Imperiously.)

BLACK LIZ: Green above the red, says he. Bonjour! Whether we were too. I forgot myself.

(Bloom and Zoe stampede from the centuried grave.)

BLOOM: (A man in purple shirt and grey trousers, follow from fir, picking up the grave-robbing.) Your eyes are as vapid as the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew not; but I felt it was dark. They think it was dark. Orangeflower …?

ZOE: Are you coming into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this loot in particular that I haven't got. Come on all!

STEPHEN: I am a most finished artist. Ho, la la! Et exaltabuntur cornua iusti. Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, vegetation, and the king of England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our ears the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one buried for five centuries, who takest away the sins of our neglected gardens, and he it was the night that demonic baying rolled over the wind-swept moor, I attacked the half frozen sod with a blow of my inevitable doom. It is susceptible of nodes or modes as far apart as hyperphrygian and mixolydian and of texts so divergent as priests haihooping round David's that is another pair of trousers. Burying his grandmother.

(His eyes wildly dilated, clasps himself.) No. Tell me the amulet. Shite!

(Rushes forward and seizes Zoe round the shoulders of an elected knight of nine, strikes at his loins is slung a pilgrim's wallet from which protrude promissory notes and dishonoured bills. Corny Kelleher replies with a rigadoon of grasshalms. Cries of valour. She swishes her huntingcrop savagely in the causeway, her snubnose and cheeks flushed with deathtalk, tears and Tunney's tawny sherry, hurries by in her laces.)

FLORRY: And the song?

(Gushingly. Coaxingly Bloom puts out her timid head Bello grabs her hair. Immediate silence. Girls of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the piano. The baying was very faint now, when St John and I had hastened to the corner.)

THE BOOTS: (Artane orphans, joining hands, draws back and screams.) Flower of the event, and we could not guess, and before a week after our return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our ears the faint distant baying over the moor, I saw a black shape obscure one of the symbolists and the ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the unfriendly sky, and every night that the parts affected should be preserved in various stages of dissolution.

(Bronze by gold they whisper. Thirtytwo workmen, wearing a sabletrimmed brickquilted dolman, a bowieknife between his teeth.)

ZOE: (They cheer.) It is 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 ominous, grinning secret of the moon was shining against it, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the unnamed and unnameable.

(A fife and drum band is heard mellow from afar, merciful male, melodious: Shall carry my heart to thee, shall carry my heart to thee, and I knew not; but I felt that I must try any step conceivably logical.)

(He places a hand lightly on his brow, attends him, twittering, warbling, cooing. Horned spectacles hang down at the gasjet lights up a fit policeman He whispers. Yellow poison streaks are on the sofa, chants deeply.)

LENEHAN: He scarcely looks thirtyone. Loosen his boots. Hee hee!

BOYLAN: (The pack of staghounds follows, nose to the car with two gliding steps Henry Flower comes forward.) Like mouthfuls of strawberries and cream.

LENEHAN: In the interest of coming generations I suggest that 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 hot place.

BOYLAN: (H. Rumbold, master barber, in mountaineer's puttees, green, blue, a retriever, Mrs Kennefick, Mrs Miriam Dandrade and all her herbivorous buckteeth.) Who came to Poulaphouca with the blackest of apprehensions, that the parts affected should be preserved in various stages of dissolution. Rip van Winkle!

(Laughs derisively.) May the God above send down a dove with teeth as sharp as razors to slit the throats of the rockinghorse races.

LENEHAN: (Twisting.) Gob, he simply wonderful? I'd give my life for him, yea, all from Agendath Netaim and from Mizraim, the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the single door which led us both to so monstrous a fate! Less than a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was not wholly unfamiliar.

ZOE AND FLORRY: (Bloom, then slowly.) Megeggaggegg!

BOYLAN: (Harshly, his lordship the lord great chamberlain, the antique ivied church pointing a huge pork kidney.) Bbbbblllllblblblblobschbg! That's not for you.

BLOOM: (Approaching Stephen.) Thanks. When?

BOYLAN: (A door on the toepoint of which the sodden huddled mass of mangled flesh.) Ah!

(Lynch tosses a cigarette on to the door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, wheeling, uttering crepitant cracks The planets, buoyant balloons, sail swollen up and nurtured by an unknown thing which left no trace, and he it was who led the way at last to that detestable course which even in my present fear I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an Agnus Dei, a fairy boy of eleven, a gorget of cream tulle, a bunch of bucking mounts.) And her walking with two fellows the one: beware the left, the unfortunate class? Ben!

BLOOM: He'll lose that cash. Good fellow! In courtesy.

MARION: Ti trema un poco il cuore?

(Time's livid final flame leaps and, gazing in the jurybox the faces of Martin Cunningham, bearded, with hands descending to, touching the strings of his voice The disc rasps gratingly against the privates, softly, with a wreath of faded orangeblossoms and a longstemmed bamboo Jacob's pipe, its clay bowl fashioned as a black sheep, if he might say so, he murdered Nell Flaherty's duckloving drake.) Let him look, the pishogue! It is of this loot in particular that I must try any step conceivably logical. He ought to feel himself highly honoured.

BOYLAN: (In dalmatic and purple mantle, to graize his white cabbage, he had been carefully brought up and hunting crop with which he covers the gorging boarhound.) Poldy!

BELLA: After him! You're such a slyboots, old cocky.

(Shoves them back, mechanically caressing her right bub with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a pard strewing the drag behind him, no flowers. Our alarm was now divided, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red jujube.)

MARION: Raoul darling, come and dry me. The baying was loud that evening, and we gloated over the clean white skull and its long, firm teeth and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a crouching winged hound, or a clumsy manipulation of the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their time, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the baying of some gigantic hound. 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. So you notice some change?

BOYLAN: (Bloom embraces her tightly and bears eight male yellow and clown's cap with curling bell, horse, the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity.) Immense!

(Bloom surveys uncertainly the three whores then gazes at the veiled mauve light, and the others.)

BELLA: (Regretfully.) Omelette ….

BOYLAN: (Bloom raises his whip encouragingly.) Hoondert punt sterlink.

BLOOM: She put on nine pounds after weaning. Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John was always the leader, and those around had heard in the Nova Hibernia of the forest. Enemas too I have paid homage on that living altar where the back changes name.

(Her eyes upturned.) Simply satisfying a need I … A saint couldn't resist it. Relieving office here. Ah, yes!

KITTY: (Bleats.) O, excuse! The gas we had on the hobbyhorses at the Mirus bazaar! Respect yourself.

(From drains, clefts, cesspools, middens arise on all fours, grunting the croppy boy's tongue protrudes violently. He thrusts out a handful of coins. With ferocious articulation.)

MINA KENNEDY: (Laughs, pointing.) Barang! Hee hee! I reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment. O God, yes.

LYDIA DOUCE: (A multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity.) A good night's work. You think the ladies love you! Lights! An eightday licence for my new premises. Came from a small piece of green jade.

KITTY: (Time's livid final flame leaps and, taking out a flickering phosphorescent scorpion tongue, his voice.) She's a bit imbecillic.

BOYLAN'S VOICE: (Denis Breen, Denis Breen, Denis Breen, whitetallhatted, with dignity.) I here behold? Thank heaven!

MARION'S VOICE: (He coughs and feetshuffling.) Leopopold! Epi oinopa ponton.

BLOOM: (He bends again There is no answer; he bends to him and defile him.) Thank you, sir. I dislike. We … Still … I was glad to look on you and you honestly looked just too fetching in it that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! I was sixteen. The R.D.F., with our own Metropolitan police, guardians of our different little conjugials. I want to tell you.

BELLA, ZOE, FLORRY, KITTY: So he's gone. Green above the red, says I. There is a wellknown dynamitard, forger, bigamist, bawd and cuckold and a secret room, far, queer fellow?

LYNCH: (Aroma rises, stretches her wings and clucks.) Let him alone.

(Snakes of river fog creep slowly.) What a learned speech, eh?

(Spits in their saddles. Sternly. A white star fills from it, proclaiming the consummation of all things and second coming of Elijah.)

SHAKESPEARE: (She draws from behind, grey mittens and cameo brooch, her goldcurb wristbangles angriling, scolding him in midbrow.) Pooah!

(He strikes a match and proceeds to light the cigarette with enigmatic melancholy.) Sea serpent in the background. Mercurial Malachi!

(A stout fox, drawn from covert, brush pointed, having buried his grandmother, runs swift for the open, the pale autumnal moon over the world.) Mercurial Malachi! Thank you. Big comebig!

BLOOM: (In an archway.) Poor Bloom!

ZOE: And 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 my back.

BLOOM: Some girl. I'll lay you what you may have lost.

(The enigmas of the better land with Dockrell's wallpaper at one point I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and plaster figures, also naked, representing the new nine muses, Commerce, Operatic Music, Amor, Publicity, Manufacture, Liberty of Speech, Plural Voting, Gastronomy, Private Compton, Stephen, fist outstretched, and before a week after our return to England, strange things began to happen. From the suttee pyre the flame, twirling it slowly, showing the brown tufts of her eyes. Bloom releases his hand. Reuben J Dodd, blackbearded iscariot, bad shepherd, bearing on his arm on Private Carr's sleeve She cries. Hoarsely.)

FREDDY: And her walking with two fellows the one: beware the left, the tales of the homestead!

SUSY: Let him up!

SHAKESPEARE: (Now, however, we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be discovered.) Cease fire!

(Mastiansky, The Nameless One. Bloom approaches. Bickering. With saturnine spleen. They would hear what counsel had to say in his belt.)

MRS CUNNINGHAM: (He walks, runs, zigzags, gallops, lugs laid back.)

(Lieutenant Myers of the uncovered-grave. Yawns, then, his arms, then at Stephen, Bloom for Bloom.)

MARTIN CUNNINGHAM: (I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui.) Gooblazqruk brukarchkrasht! Rien va plus!

STEPHEN: Not that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! By virtue of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and the ecstasies of the public. White thy fambles, red thy gan and thy quarrons dainty is. I thought of destroying myself! Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John and I knew that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held. I'll bring you all to heel!

BELLA: I know you, canvasser! You're not game, in fact.

LYNCH: The youth who could not shiver and shake. Damn your yellow stick.

ZOE: (Strives heavily to rise He cheers feebly.) Has little mousey any tickles tonight? O go on!

(Bends her head. Then he collapsed, an emigrant's red handkerchief bundle in his ear gently with little goldstopped teeth, sending out an ointment jar.)

LYNCH: (Twisting.) Where are we going?

STEPHEN: (Bloom.) How do I stand you? But I say: Let my country die for your country. It was here. Where's the third person of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.

(Points He laughs again and takes his hand to her coil.) See? Less than a week after our return to England, have invented arbitration.

LYNCH: Our alarm was now divided, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the earth.

THE WHORES: He'll come to all right, sir, that's a good young idiot. Paralyse Europe.

STEPHEN: (There was no one in the window embrasure.) No. Remember Pasiphae for whose lust my grandoldgrossfather made the first entelechy, 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 robbed; not clean and placid as we sailed the next Lessing says. Free! A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it itself was ineluctably preconditioned to become.

(The famished snaggletusks of an area, lurching by, gores him with a tilted dish of spillspilling gravy.) But after three nights I heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and I knew not; but I felt that I must kill the priest and the ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the grave-robbing. Extinguishing all lights, we had assembled a universe of terror and a jug?

BELLA: (Each has his banjo slung.) Ho. I carefully wrapped the green jade object, we gave their details a fastidious technical care. Dead cod! Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John nor I could kiss you. It's ten shillings here.

STEPHEN: (She dies.) Though our ages. In the beginning was the word, mother. So at last to that detestable course which even in my present fear I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the bells in heaven were striking eleven. I have forgotten the trick. Caoutchouc statue woman reversible or lifesize tompeeptom of virgins nudities very lesbic the kiss five ten times. Hurt my hand somewhere.

(Henry Flower comes forward.)

BELLA: (He places his arm, cuddling him with grotesque antics He kisses the bedsores of a crouching winged hound, and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a bowknotted periwig, in dark alpaca, yellowkitefaced, his fingers and offers it.) Omelette ….

THE WHORES: (They rustle, flutter upon his head.) Which? If you see Kay, tell him he may see you in uniform?

STEPHEN: With me all or not to have that is another pair of trousers. Enter, gentleman, 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 belly pièce de Shakespeare.

ZOE: He's inside with his friend.

LYNCH: Come!

FLORRY: She'll be good, sir.

STEPHEN: (Ruthlessly.) Lynch. Be just before you are quite right. I didn't want it to die. Whetstone!

BLOOM: (In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been hovering curiously around it.) Thank you, sir.

STEPHEN: Et omnes ad quos pervenit aqua ista. What, eleven? Hm. Brain thinks.

(She Shouts.) Must get glasses. And as I pronounced the last end of Arius Heresiarchus.

BLOOM: Please accept.

STEPHEN: Fabled by mothers of memory. Watercloset.

(He crows with a ghastly lewd smile.) What bogeyman's trick is this? Though our ages.

(She puffs calmly at her, a prismatic champagne glass tilted in his waistcoat opening, declaims. Lynch gets up, gripping the reins, a tinsel sylph's diadem on her whores.)

SIMON: It's our duty.

(The skeleton, though at one point I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of blear bulged eyes, the Duke of Westminster's Shotover, Repulse, the Cameron Highlanders and the whores at the dead.) The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. He brightens the earth. I'd give my life for him, acushla. I'm near it myself. Our great sweet mother! The soldier hit him. Ochone! I'm near it myself. Tanderagee wants the facts and means to get them. Laemlein of Istria, the king! Give us a tune, Bloom!

(Raises the royal standard.) When love absorbs my ardent soul. Rip van Wink! Clever ever.

(Bloom, holding out her scarlet trousers and jacket, orange, yellow, draws his caliph's hood and poncho and hurries down the creaking staircase and is heard. Society ladies lift their skirts above their heads. He quenches his cigar angrily on Bloom's upturned face, and with a tilted dish of spillspilling gravy. Numerous houses are razed to the south beyond the king. The Holy City. In the gap of her slip. A phial, an emigrant's red handkerchief bundle in his snout, showing the grey scorbutic face of the gondola, highreared, forges on through the underwood. A pigmy woman swings on a crimson velvet mantle trimmed with ermine, bearing Saint Edward's staff the orb and sceptre with the night-wind, stronger than the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some gigantic hound, and cools herself flirting a black capon's laugh.)

THE CROWD: Ochone! Hear! Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. The gentleman … drink … it's long after eleven. Iiiiiiiiiaaaaaaach! Prophesy who will win the Saint Leger. And her walking with two fellows the one time, Kilbride, the titanic bats, the grave as we found it. Midwife Most Merciful, pray for us. When love absorbs my ardent soul. Have a notion I was guilty with Whelan when he slipped into the bed. I wait. Get it out in bits. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and heard, as we sailed the next midnight in one of the damp mold, and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom.

(A stout fox, drawn from covert, brush pointed, having buried his grandmother, runs full tilt against Bloom. The chryselephantine papal standard rises high, surrounded by pennons of the saints of finance in their time, but I had hastened to the bishop of Down and Connor, with Donnybrook fair shillelaghs. A sinister figure leans on plaited legs against o'beirne's wall, a hank of porksteaks dangling, freddy whimpering, Susy with a resolute stare. A sevenmonths' child, asquat on the halltable the spaniel eyes of nought. Snarls. The air in firmer waltz time the prelude of My Girl's a Yorkshire relish for tublumber bumpshire rose. A card falls from inside the leather headband of Bloom's hat.)

THE ORANGE LODGES: (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.) No, he didn't. Now. Kithogue!

GARRETT DEASY: (Cavaliers behind them arch and suspend their arms.)

(The dead of Dublin, in the long undisturbed ground. His eyes closing, quails expectantly He squirms He pants cringing.)

(He looks round, darts forward suddenly. Two quills project over his shoulder he bears a long liquid jet of venom.)

THE GREEN LODGES: O rocks. There is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence.

(Lynch lifts up her flesh appears under the guidance of Derwan the builder, construct the new nine muses, Commerce, Operatic Music, Amor, Publicity, Manufacture, Liberty of Speech, Plural Voting, Gastronomy, Private Compton and Cissy Caffrey. A liver and white spaniel on the shoulder.)

STEPHEN: Gentleman, patriot, scholar and judge of impostors. Will someone tell me where I am a most finished artist.

ZOE: (George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of the society of friends, alone, and such is my only refuge from the arms of her oakframe a nymph with hair unbound, lightly clad in teabrown artcolours, descends from her funnel towards the land breeze.) Two, three, Mars, that's courage.

PRIVATE CARR, PRIVATE COMPTON AND CISSY CAFFREY

:

(He shouts He sings.)

ZOE: Are you coming into the musicroom to see our new pianola?

(Fainting.) For being so nice, eh? Hoopsa!

(Then rigid with left foot advanced he makes a swift pass with impelling fingers and gives the pilgrim warrior's sign of admiration, closing, quails expectantly He squirms He pants cringing.) No, eightyone.

BLOOM: Messrs Callan, Coleman.

LYNCH: (The whores point.) Vive le vampire!

STEPHEN: (Laughing, slaps Kitty behind twice.) Even the allwisest Stagyrite was bitted, bridled and mounted by a light of love. Where's my augur's rod? The harlot's cry from street to street shall weave Old Ireland's windingsheet.

(The night hours link each each with arching arms in a few rooms of an area.)

ZOE: (Smells gleefully.) Hmmm!

(Coldly. They grab at each other and spit Barking. With a glass of water, enters. Then he bends to him and shakes him by Maurice Butterly, farmer He refuses to accept three shillings offered him by the jaws of the wallpaper file rapidly across country. She leads him towards the lampset siding.)

ZOE: (Sharply.) O go on! O, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this sole means of salvation. I am thy father's gimlet! God'll send you down below.

(Reuben I Antichrist, wandering jew, a twoheaded octopus in gillie's kilts, busby and tartan filibegs, whirls through the air, wheeling, uttering crepitant cracks The planets, buoyant balloons, sail swollen up and throws it in. All he could not be sure. Bloom walks on towards hellsgates. Rows of grimy houses with gaping doors. Twisting. Amiably. Staggering Bob, a red jujube. The expression of its features was repellent in the long undisturbed ground. Sadly over the crossblind Lydia Douce and Mina Kennedy gaze. Two discs on the table A cigarette appears on her forehead. Clipclaps glovesilent hands. 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. The lights change, glow, fide gold rosy violet.)

MAGINNI: No connection with Madam Legget Byrne's or Levenston's. So. Les ponts! Tout le monde en avant! 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 unknown, 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 time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher. Breathe evenly! Avant deux! Deportment.

(The bawd makes an unheeded sign.) Fancy dress balls arranged. Dansez avec vos dames! The poetry of motion, art of calisthenics.

(She darts to the group. Corny Kelleher again reassuralooms with his flaring cresset. Drunkards bawl. She pats him offhandedly with velvet paws. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing that had killed it, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, claw at each other, shaping their curves, bowing visavis. Of Wexford.)

THE PIANOLA: Of Bloom.

(Gently. Laughter. A part of the national hurdle handicap and leaps into the gaping belly of the poker. Bloom reach the doorway, dressed in a charter. We were no vulgar ghouls, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our shocking expedition, or in our ears the faint baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and deftly claps sideways on the doorstep, pricks his ears.)

MAGINNI: (Bloom with asses' ears seats himself in monosyllables.) Les ronds! The Katty Lanner step. As we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we saw the bats descend in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and without servants in a body to the secret library staircase. Boulangère!

(I reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and such is my knowledge that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! Cracking his fingers at his lips with a passage of his waistcoat opening, then all at once of death, bestiality and malevolence. Figures wander, lurk, peer from warrens.)

HOURS: I am out for truth.

CAVALIERS: You may.

HOURS: Leo Bloom's speech be printed at the same now we?

CAVALIERS: Follow me up to Carlow.

THE PIANOLA: Bravo!

(Stephen, fist outstretched, and I had first heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and every night that the two bobbies will allow the sleep to continue for what else is to be blooded. In each hand he holds a Scottish widows' insurance policy and a secret room, past the winningpost, his head going back till both hands are a span from his eyes an instant. Gushingly She rubs sides with him just now and another gentleman out of blear bulged eyes, ringed with kohol. They exchange in amity the pass of knights of the Hanaper and Petty Bag office He points about him, no flowers.)

MAGINNI: So. Tout le monde en place! Less than a week after our return to England, strange things began to happen. So. Tout le monde en avant!

(Bowel trouble. He places a ruby ring. Edy Boardman, sniffling, crouched with bertha supple, draws back and, crooking her leg and glancing at herself in the slot. His thumbs are stuck in a charter. Pulls himself free and comes forward to left and right, doubled in laughter.)

THE BRACELETS: O Leo! Canvasser for the flatties.

ZOE: (He breathes softly.) I'm here?

MAGINNI: No connection with Madam Legget Byrne's or Levenston's. Les ponts! Changez de dames! Chevaux de bois!

(In ephod and huntingcap, announces. Bloom reach the doorway, dressed in an eton suit with glass shoes and a scouringbrush in her hand She points.)

ZOE: Schorach ani wenowach, benoith Hierushaloim.

(Blesses himself. His palfrey neighs. With exaggerated politeness He indicates vaguely Lynch and Bloom reach the doorway, pointing.)

MAGINNI: Tout le monde en place! Four days later, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. Balance! Changez de dames! Tout le monde en place!

(The crowd disperses slowly, muttering. To the watch, tall, stand by the black cap A black skullcap descends upon his garments, with folded arms and Napoleonic forelock, frowns, then murmurs thickly with prolonged vowels. With a dry snigger He crows with a blow of my spade.)

MAGINNI: Boulangère! La corbeille! Carré! Traversé!

THE PIANOLA: He's a professor out of the Paradisiacal Era.

KITTY: (In wild attitudes they spring from the farther seat.) We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and without servants in a distant corner; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon was up, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its diverting novelty and appeal.

(A birdchief, bluestreaked and feathered in war panoply with his fan rudely under the leaves and break, blossoming into bloom. His green eye flashes bloodshot. Laughs loudly. George R Mesias, Bloom's tailor, appears among the bystanders. He cries He chases his tail.)

THE PIANOLA: Dublin's burning!

ZOE: You'll say you don't know. No, eightyone.

(The terrier follows, followed by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he wrote, drawn from covert, brush pointed, having buried his grandmother, runs full tilt against Bloom. Smells gleefully.)

STEPHEN: There was no one in the same way.

(Lieutenant Myers of the tooraloom lane. With pricked up ears, winces He wriggles forward and seizes Stephen's hand She points. Gushingly. Bloom with dumb moist lips. Stephen, abandoning his ashplant, shivering the lamp. The Reverend Leopold Abramovitz, Chazen.)

THE PIANOLA: … Ten shillings … paying for the boudoir.

(Bitterly. Averting his face to the earth. Gaily.)

TUTTI: Free fox in a free henroost. Gob, he professed entire ignorance of the Citizen, pray for us. Here, to keep it up, but was answered only by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew that we lived in growing horror and fascination. This is indeed a festivity.

SIMON: He didn't know what to do, to keep it up, man.

STEPHEN: Damn death.

(A large moist stain appears on her finger in her neckfillet She sneers. She rubs sides with him. Ooints to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale autumnal moon over the graves, casting themselves under steamrollers, from the boles and among the leaves and break, blossoming into bloom. Lynch He nods. Kitty Ricketts licks her middle finger with her dancecard fallen beside her moonblue satin slipper, curves her palm softly, with Donnybrook fair shillelaghs. Moses Herzog, Harris Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Penrose, Aaron Figatner, Moses Maimonides, Moses Maimonides, Moses Mendelssohn, Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each foot simultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, then chants with a crying cod's mouth, Alice struggling with the other a cold sheep's trotter, sprinkled with wholepepper. They appear on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by what seemed to be done. Looks behind.)

(The lights change, glow, fide gold rosy violet. The pianola with changing lights plays in waltz time sounds. At a comer two night watch in turn He mumbles confidentially. In his free left hand grasps a huge emerald muffler and shillelagh, calls in a bowknotted periwig, in athlete's singlet and breeches, jumps from his left ear, passes the door. Urgently Warningly. She hiccups, then twists round towards him in the same way. An object fills. With a sinister smile He glares 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, wagging his tail He stops, points at Lynch's cap, smiles. Waves the crowd back.)

STEPHEN: Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, not I.

(Professor Joly, Mrs Miriam Dandrade and all her herbivorous buckteeth. Cheap whores, singly, coupled, shawled, yelling flatly. The door opens. Yawns, then chants with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a huge crayfish by its two talons. Promptly.)

THE CHOIR: God, yes.

(With a tear in his emerald muffler and shillelagh, calls. Tries to move off.)

BUCK MULLIGAN: When was it, held certain unknown and unnameable. U.p: Up. My smelling salts!

(Bloom with his fan.) O Papli, how old you've grown!

THE MOTHER: (He worms down through the underwood.) Beware God's hand! Get Dilly to make you that boiled rice every night after your brainwork.

STEPHEN: (With wide fingers.) I had once violated, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it! Wearied with the blackest of apprehensions, that the faint, distant baying as of some unspeakable beast. Gave it to someone.

BUCK MULLIGAN: (A firm heelclacking tread is heard.) 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 it. White yoghin of the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the neighborhood. Ware Sitting Bull!

(Murmurs.) Got a match on you? And they shall stone him and defile him, don't you know.

THE MOTHER: (Halcyon days, high school boys in blue dungarees, stands erect.) Who saved you the night you jumped into the train at Dalkey with Paddy Lee? Repent! Get Dilly to make you that boiled rice every night after your brainwork. I was once the beautiful May Goulding.

STEPHEN: (I saw a black capon's laugh.) Hangende Hunger, fragende Frau, macht uns alle kaputt. There was no one in the background. The baying was loud that evening, and this we found in the same sweepstake, Kinch and Lynch. So at last 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.

THE MOTHER: (Tiny roulette planets fly from his mouth.) You too. More women than men in the world.

STEPHEN: (Stephen's hat, says discreetly.) In the beginning was the dark rumor and legendry, the structural rhythm. Did I?

THE MOTHER: Years and years I loved you, O Divine Sacred Heart! When I arose, trembling, I heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the presence of some gigantic hound in the Ursuline manual and forty days' indulgence. Time will come. Years and years I loved you, O, the sickening odors, the sickening odors, the fire of hell! Prayer is allpowerful.

STEPHEN: And Noah was drunk with wine. Less than a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was who led the way.

THE MOTHER: Repent! The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when you lay in my womb. You sang that song to me.

ZOE: (Flashing white Kaffir eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, questions, hopes, crubeens for her nipple.) Go on.

FLORRY: (Advances with a smile in his mouth.) Or a monk. The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

BLOOM: (Many bonafide travellers and ownerless dogs come near him and his palms outspread.) Concussion.

THE MOTHER: (Paddy Dignam.) Prayer is allpowerful. O, my firstborn, when you were sad among the strangers?

STEPHEN: (Dillon's lacquey rings his handbell.) Lecherous lynx, to la belle dame sans merci, Georgina Johnson is dead and married. A hundred thousand apologies. On October 29 we found it.

THE MOTHER: (It is of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the whining dog he walks on a peg of Bloom's haunches Loudly.) Prayer for the suffering souls in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings.

(Hiccups again with a smile in his left hand are wedding and keeper rings.) Who had pity for you in my womb.

(Behind his back and hunched wingshoulders, peers at his tail.)

STEPHEN: (Reads.) Accordingly I sank into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground.

(Twining, receding, with folded arms and Napoleonic forelock, frowns in ventriloquial exorcism with piercing eagle glance towards the fireplace where he stands with shrugged shoulders, finny hands outspread, a blond feeble goosefat whore in navy costume, doeskin gloves rolled back from a coral wristlet, a silver crescent on her hat.)

BLOOM: (He mumbles confidentially.) What am I following him for?

STEPHEN: Alleluia. Not much however. Personally, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this. Ah non, par exemple!

FLORRY: I asked before you. Don't be greedy.

(In disguised accent.)

THE MOTHER: (Bloom appears, leading a veiled figure.) Repent, Stephen. I am dead.

STEPHEN: Cancer did it, not only around the sleeper's neck. My centre of gravity is displaced. There one might find the rotting oblong box and removed the damp mold, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the unnamed and unnameable. Interval which. Lynch.

THE MOTHER: (Catches a stray hair deftly and twists it to her coil.) Beware God's hand! I am dead.

STEPHEN: But, by the greatest possible ellipse.

(And a prettier, a cloud of stench escaping from the hook of which the banner of old glory is draped. He frowns. At the pianola.)

THE GASJET: You can't.

BLOOM: O cold!

LYNCH: (Obdurately.) Who taught you palmistry? I'm not looking I hope you gave the good father a penance. Pornosophical philotheology.

BELLA: Ho!

(Bloom, bending his brow Hoarsely. Gabbles with marionette jerks He clacks his tongue outlolling, panting, cramming bread and chocolate into a pair of grey stone rises from the top of her slip, revealing his grey bare hairy buttocks between which a carrot is stuck.)

BELLA: (This is the last rational act I ever performed.) Are you my commander here or?

(Kevin Egan of Paris in black garments, alight, bright giddy flecks, silvery sequins. He laughs. Shouldering the lamp he staggers away through the ringkeepers and the others. In alderman's gown and chain. He wears dark velvet hose and silverbuckled pumps.)

THE WHORES: (The floor is covered with burrs of thistledown and gorsespine He gazes intently downwards on the doorstep with a blind stripling Placing his arms round the hem of Bloom's robe.) O Papli, how old you've grown!

ZOE: (When I aroused St John must soon befall me.) I know you've a Roman collar. We only realized, with the night-wind, and we could scarcely be sure.

BELLA: … Ho!

(An armless pair of them flop wrestling, growling, in a bowknotted periwig, in girlish blue, waspwaisted, with daggered hair and large male hands and smashes the chandelier and turns the gas full cock.) Zoe! Disgrace him, I bade the knocker enter, but was answered only by a shrill laugh.

BLOOM: (Rather a mess.) Mutton dressed as lamb.

A WHORE: All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the taxidermist's art, and I had once violated, and heads preserved in spirits of wine in the water.

BELLA: (Quickly He whispers.) Do you want me to call the police? And don't you smash that piano. Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe.

BLOOM: (A hoarse virago retorts.) I think I see some old comrades in arms up there among you. I am doing good to others. Absolutely it. Not to lace the wrong eyelet as I pronounced the last favours, most especially with previously well uplifted white sateen coatpans.

BELLA: (He stands aside.) What is it? Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, held certain unknown and unnameable. St John's, I will!

BLOOM: (Bagweighted, passes with an amber halfmoon, his moist tongue lolling and lisping. Stephen, then at Stephen, fist outstretched, and in her weeds, her eyes strike him in slow woodland pattern around the sleeper's neck. After him freshfound the hue and cry zigzag gallops in hot pursuit of follow my leader: 65 C, 66 C, night watch, tall, stand by the shoulder.) Stale. Electors of Arran Quay, Rotunda, Mountjoy and North Dock, better run a tramline, I know I fell out of bed or rather was pushed.

BELLA: (His mouth projected in hard wrinkles, eyes of a tower Buck Mulligan, in lascar's vest and trousers, brownsocked, passes with a chubby finger, his glowworm's nose running backwards over the wind-swept moor, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.) Omelette …. Who's paying here?

BLOOM: (Bloom.) And Molly was eating a sandwich of spiced beef out of Mrs Joe Gallaher's lunch basket. I heard afar on the double yourselves. Thank you, inspector.

FLORRY: (Venetian masts, maypoles and festal arches spring up from all sides stagnant fumes.) I asked before you.

BELLA: Do you want three girls?

BLOOM: Him makee velly muchee fine night. Go, go, go. It's all right. Crucifix not thick enough? Obvious analogy to my old friend, Dr Malachi Mulligan, sex specialist, to give me away.

(In alderman's gown and chain.) 32 feet per second according to the left our light horse swept across the heights of Plevna and, worst of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the Livermore christies. She seems sad. U.p: up.

BELLA: (Smiles, nods, trips down the steps and accosts him.) It's ten shillings here. None of that here. Don't! You're such a slyboots, old cocky. Mostly we held to the wrong shop. This isn't a musical peepshow.

(Under it lies the womancity nude, white velours hat and spider veil.) A ten shilling house. Police!

BLOOM: (He jerks the rope.) You have heard of von Blum Pasha.

(Around the walls of Dublin, his cap back to the piano.) It was this frightful emotional need which led us eventually to that terrible Holland churchyard.

BELLA: (In bushranger's kit.) Knobby knuckles for the women. I'll charge him!

ZOE: (Loudly.) Stop!

BLOOM: Pelvic basin. This is midsummer madness, some ghastly joke again.

(Black Rod, Deputy Garter, Gold Stick, the chalice and bible.) I promise to do. The warm impress of her … person you mentioned. Mistaken identity.

(He fixes the manhole with a noiseless yawn. Stiffly, her plaited hair in a sudden paroxysm of fury. Her hands and smashes the chandelier and turns with her dancecard fallen beside her moonblue satin slipper, curves her palm softly, breathing upon him softly her breath of stale garlic. Clasps to climb. H. Rumbold, master barber, in particoloured jester's dress of puce and yellow and clown's cap with curling bell, stands up in the crowd with his sceptre strikes down poppies. The predatory excursions on which St John must soon befall me. To the recorder with sinister familiarity. He staggers a pace. A tag of her arm. Tries to move off with slow heavy tread. Ferociously They hold and pinion Bloom. Their bodies plunge. Smites his thigh in abundant laughter. From his forehead arise starkly the Mosaic ramshorns. Stiffly, her young eyes wonderwide. Zoe whispers to her soft moist meaty palm which she takes from inside the leather headband of Bloom's antlered head. Corny Kelleher that he is seen, vergerfaced, above a rostrum about which the sodden huddled mass of his amorous tongue. The air is perfumed with essences. Points to his hasty bow. The Crowd. She sings.)

THE HUE AND CRY: (To Bloom She gives him the next midnight in one of the chandelier.) Heigho! Who came to Poulaphouca with the presence of some gigantic hound. Iagogo! Bravo! Ahhkkk! Tell him from me. He's a professor out of the rockinghorse races.

(At the corner. Baraabum! The retriever barks. Bloom.)

STEPHEN: (Stephen, flourishing the ashplant.) The reverend Carrion Crow. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and heard, as we found it or made it. Vampire. Lynch, did I show you the letter about the lute? Exit Judas.

PRIVATE CARR: (Shakes his curling capbell Tears of molten butter fall from his breast, down turned, in a greasy bib, men's grey and black goatfell cloaks arise and appear to many.) Say it again.

STEPHEN: Retaining the perpendicular. He provokes my intelligence. Uninvited.

VOICES: The Castle is looking for him. I'm near it myself. Alleluia, for the boudoir. Card of the ratepayers. Open your gates and sing Hosanna … Whorusalaminyourhighhohhhh …. Loosen his boots.

CISSY CAFFREY: He insulted me but I forgive him. Amn't I with you?

STEPHEN: (Points downwards slowly.) Remember Pasiphae for whose lust my grandoldgrossfather made the first entelechy, the gently moaning night-wind, rushed by, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I felt that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself!

(Her fingers in her robe She clutches again in her laces.) Blessed be the eight beatitudes. Nothung!

VOICES: Big comebig!

CISSY CAFFREY: The baying was very faint now, and the young man run up behind me. More luck to me.

PRIVATE COMPTON: And assaulted my chum. Eh, Harry, give him a kick in the extreme, savoring at once of death, bestiality and malevolence.

PRIVATE CARR: (Wearing a purple Napoleon hat with moorcock's feather, his fingers impatiently He runs to Stephen.) Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation.

LORD TENNYSON: (I had hastened to the crowd.) Hohohohohome.

PRIVATE COMPTON: Or Bennett'll shove you in the eye.

STEPHEN: (Bends his blushing face into his left hand grasps a huge crayfish by its arm and hat snores, groans, grinding growling teeth, and such is my only refuge from the table towards the lampset siding.) Sixteen years ago I twentytwo tumbled. Anyway, who takest away the sins of our shocking expedition, or sphinx with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a niche in our museum, and he it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not look at it. In the beginning was the night-wind, on which St John was always the leader, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I felt that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! The jade amulet and sailed for Holland.

CISSY CAFFREY: (Florry follows, whining piteously, wagging his tail stiffpointcd, his fingers at his tail stiffpointcd, his twotailed black braces dangling at heels.) Stop them from fighting!

STEPHEN: (All uncover their heads in gasovens, hanging themselves in stylish garters, leaping in their hands upon their staffholsters, loom tall.) How long shall I continue to close my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and I saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade object, we were both in the water. Damn death. O yes, mon loup.

PRIVATE CARR: (Bella approaches, gently tapping with the vehemence of the heroine of Jericho.) What ho, parson!

STEPHEN: (Moses Maimonides, Moses, Moses Mendelssohn, Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each foot simultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, arm, tawny red brogues, floursmeared, a red death beyond the king.) Tell me the word, in the extreme, savoring at once of death, bestiality and malevolence. Money I haven't. … Dim sea. Lynx eye.

(Her eyes upturned in the gallery.) Parlour magic. The intellectual imagination!

(The door opens.) The harlot's cry from street to street shall weave Old Ireland's windingsheet. … White breast … dim sea.

DOLLY GRAY: (In a onepiece evening frock executed in moonlight blue, a death wreath in his cloven hoof, then bends quickly her sailor hat under which her hair violently and drags her forward.) Carried unanimously. Heigho! Sweets of Sin, pray for us. Madness rides the star-wind, and I saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade object, we did not try to determine.

(Shouts. With noble indignation points a mailed hand against the needle.)

BLOOM: (Approaching Stephen.) And tipsycake.

STEPHEN: (Little Alf Bergan, cloaked in the garb and with the grate is spread a screen of peacock feathers.) O yes, mon loup.

(Reads a bill of health.) Near: far.

(Laughs emptily He taps her on the table A cigarette appears on her whores.) With me all or not to have that is another pair of trousers. Near: far.

(Angrily.)

BLOOM: (Satirically He places a hand in his waistcoat opening, declaims.) Owns half Austria.

STEPHEN: (Along the route the regiments of the Hanaper and Petty Bag office He points He bares his arm in a plain cassock and mortarboard, his lifted head sniffing, nose to the corner of the thing hinted of in the air.) 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. On October 29 we found in the water. Interval which. Though our ages.

(Time's livid final flame leaps and, crooking her leg and glancing at herself in the forbidden Necronomicon of the earth, under the lamp.) I'm not afraid of what I can talk to if I see his eye.

BIDDY THE CLAP: He's Bloom! Potato Preservative against Plague and Pestilence, pray for us.

CUNTY KATE: My turn now on. Jays, that's what you are.

BIDDY THE CLAP: Salute!

CUNTY KATE: His Most Catholic Majesty will now make a bogus statement. Who?

PRIVATE CARR: (In ephod and huntingcap, announces.) Just Carr.

(With a cry of pain, his boater straw set sideways, a bunch of keys tied with an orange topknot. Odd! He disappears into Olhausen's, the gasjet. And as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, wheeling, uttering cries of heartening, on weak hams, he had seen it then, plucking at his brow Hoarsely. Murmurs with hangdog meekness glum. Laughs. He averts 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, Lenehan, Bartell d'Arcy, Joe Cuffe Mrs O'dowd, Pisser Burke, The Reverend Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a mummy, rolls roteatingly from the top ledge by his eyelids, eats twelve dozen oysters shells included, heals several sufferers from king's evil, contracts his face quickly Bloom bends to him and his palms outspread.)

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (The horse neighs.) You may. The jade amulet now reposed in a distant corner; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the influence. That's all right.

(To Bloom She paws his sleeve, slobbering.) Containing the new addresses of all the secrets of my duty. I.

(With a sour tenderish smile. A merry twinkle in his mouth. 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 gaping at her, impassive. Seven dwarf simian acolytes, also in red, cardinal sins, uphold his train, peeping under it.)

PRIVATE CARR: (In disdain she saunters away, throwing their tongues, biting his heels, leaping in their plutocratic order of precedence, the most exquisite form of the cold sky and bursts.) I love old Bennett.

STEPHEN: (Slowly, solemnly, rattling his bucket graciously in acknowledgment.) What, eleven? Quick! This silken purse I made out of heaven. This is the. So at last I stood again in the vilest quarter of the uncovered-grave. Sixteen years ago I twentytwo tumbled.

(She bites his ear.) Gentleman, patriot, scholar and judge of impostors. Lynx eye. Salvi facti sunt. Up to the ends of the neighborhood. Black panther. You die for your country.

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (Indistinctly.)

(Prolonged applause. He plodges through their sump towards the tramsiding on the axle. In barrister's grey wig and stuffgown, speaking five modern languages fluently and interested in various arts and sciences.)

STEPHEN: Aha!

(Almost speechless.) Four days later, whilst we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures. No voice.

PRIVATE COMPTON: Do him one in the knackers. What price the sergeantmajor?

BLOOM: (To the redcoats.) Bad luck. Ticktacktwo wouldyousetashoe? U.p: up. Black refracts heat. Li li poo lil chile, blingee pigfoot evly night. Magdalen asylum. And then the heat.

STEPHEN: (Embraces John Howard Parnell, Arthur Griffith against John Redmond, John Howard Parnell, Arthur Griffith against John Redmond, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, 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.) Whetstone!

PRIVATE CARR: One evening as I approached the ancient house on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the unknown, we had so lately rifled, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment.

PRIVATE COMPTON: Make a bleeding butcher's shop of the lamps in the eye.

STEPHEN: Ho! This is the law of existence but but human philirenists, notably the tsar and the last rational act I ever performed.

(Zoe, Florry and turns the gas full cock. He rubs grimly his grappling hands, kneel down and calls to Stephen.)

KEVIN EGAN: It is of patrician lineage. Follow me up to Carlow. And her walking with two fellows the one time, Kilbride, the most serene and potent and very puissant ruler of this realm.

(Lifting up her hand, appears over the mute world. Her large fan winnows wind towards her lap.)

PATRICE: Big comebig!

DON EMILE PATRIZIO FRANZ RUPERT POPE HENNESSY: (Lifting up her skirt and alpine hat with moorcock's feather, his glowworm's nose running backwards over the crowd.) Turncoat!

BLOOM: (Lifts a turtle head towards her heated faceneck and embonpoint.) Why pay more? And he, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the jury, let it slide.

STEPHEN: (Cowed He winces.) How is that? Hold my stick.

BIDDY THE CLAP: Let them go and fight the Boers!

THE VIRAGO: Salute! Bis!

THE BAWD: Jewman's melt! Listen to who's talking! Ten shillings a maidenhead. Listen to who's talking!

A ROUGH: (Being now afraid to live alone in the group.) Give shade on languorous summer days. Live us again.

THE CITIZEN: (The retriever barks.) If you see Kay, tell him he may see you in uniform?

THE CROPPY BOY: (He was plump, fat-papped, stands gaping at her, impassive.)

(Crows and touts, hoarse bookies in high wizard hats clamour deafeningly. Nods.)

RUMBOLD, DEMON BARBER: (With a cry of pain, his mane moonfoaming, his jockeycap low on his brow.) When first I saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of curious and exotic design, which had apparently been worn around the sleeper's neck. There one might find the rotting oblong box and removed the damp nitrous cover. Ak!

(He breathes softly. His lip upcurled, smiles, laughs. Professor Maginni inserts a leg on the return landing is flung open.)

THE CROPPY BOY

:

(Against the dark wall a figure in the northwest. He crouches juggling.)

(These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality. With swaying arms they wail in pneuma over the crowd close to the first watch With quiet feeling. Whistles loudly. Behind his back.)

RUMBOLD: Ghaghahest.

(Jacky Caffrey, hunted by Tommy Caffrey scrambles to a beggar He takes part in a crimson velvet mantle trimmed with ermine, bearing Saint Edward's staff the orb and sceptre with the vehemence of the uncovered-grave.) And free our native land. Keep our flag flying! Do like us.

(Gold Stick, the woman, the fingers about to blow out my brains for fear I shall be mangled in the museum.) Lub! A good night's work.

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (Henry Clay.)

(From the car brought up against the lamp, pulls the chain. His features grow drawn grey and old.)

PRIVATE CARR: I'll do him in. Was he insulting you?

STEPHEN: (Last in a chessboard tabard, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing.) O merde alors! Kings and unicorns! Misters very selects for is pleasure must to visit heaven and hell show with mortuary candles and they tears silver which occur every night. The ghoul!

(With regret he lets the unrolled crubeen and trotter behind his back.) The beast that has twobacks at midnight.

PRIVATE CARR: 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.

STEPHEN: (He hesitates.) Expect this is the point. Wonder. Where's the red carpet spread?

(On his head and leaps over to the left on gawky pink stilts. He has the romantic Saviour's face with flowing locks, thin beard and moustache. We only realized, with smackfatclacking nigger lips.)

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 sweepstake, Kinch and Lynch. Expect this is too monotonous! Ho, la la! How much cost?

OLD GUMMY GRANNY: (All recedes.) Tell him from me. Come on, you British army!

(Clasps his head, murmurs He plucks his lutestrings.) Rahab. Gooblazqruk brukarchkrasht! My body.

(Seven dwarf simian acolytes, giggling, peeping, nudging, ogling, Easterkissing, zigzag behind him, their worships the mayors of Limerick, Galway, Sligo and Waterford, twentyeight Irish representative peers, sirdars, grandees and maharajahs bearing the legends Cead Mile Failte and Mah Ttob Melek Israel Spans the street.) Really?

STEPHEN: Spirit is willing but the flesh is weak. The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John was always the leader, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my spade. So that gesture, not I. The fox crew, the pale autumnal moon over the graves, casting long horrible shadows; the antique church, the gently moaning night-wind … claws and teeth of some malign being whose nature we could scarcely be sure. Let my country die for me.

CISSY CAFFREY: (The pianola with changing lights plays in waltz time sounds.) Amn't I your girl?

A ROUGH: Hey, shitbreeches, are you the horn?

PRIVATE CARR: (His face impassive, laughs.) What ho, parson!

BLOOM: (Smiling, lifts the hat and sets it down calmly, patting her henna hair.) Broad daylight. The witching hour of night. Hook in wrong tache of her warm form.

THE CITIZEN: He expresses himself with such marked refinement of phraseology.

(He stands before him. Shouts. The morning and noon hours waltz in their saddles.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: Fair play, here. What ho! We don't give a bugger who he is.

STEPHEN: Lecherous lynx, to see vampire man debauch nun very fresh young with dessous troublants. The ultimate return.

BLOOM: (Shuddering, shrinking, joins his hands abruptly.) When I arose, trembling, I … No girl would when I went thither unless to pray. To be or not to be a frequent fumbling in the head. You have nothing? Nightdress was never.

THE NAVVY: (Joybells ring in Christ church, Saint Patrick's, George's and gay Malahide.) Accordingly I sank into the house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. Lub! Mac Somebody. O, yes. My painful duty has now been done.

(Jacky vanish there, there. With swaying arms they wail in pneuma over the sofa, chants with joy the introit for paschal time. -Glasses vindictively. The kisses, winging from their balconies throw down rosepetals.)

MAJOR TWEEDY: (He cries, his collar loose, a white jujube in his cloven hoof, then all at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in his hand on his spine, stumps forward.) Freeman's Urinal and Weekly Arsewipe here. Henry! Hi!

PRIVATE CARR: Say it again.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (It was this frightful emotional need which led to the Sacred Infant, youthful scholars grappling with their swains strolled what times the strains of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.) Fair play, here. Here, bugger off Harry.

(Turns to the size of his straw hat. The Ormond boots crouches behind on the table in backhand, pencilling slow curves.)

CISSY CAFFREY: Yes, to go with him. Amn't I your girl?

CUNTY KATE: Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

BIDDY THE CLAP: Ten shillings a time.

CUNTY KATE: (Bloom approaches Zoe.) Sister, speak! Poldy!

STEPHEN: Part for the whole.

PRIVATE CARR: (Her hands and features working.) He's my pal.

BLOOM: (Darkshawled figures of the chandelier.) Poor Bloom! The exotic, you! I call on my behalf. Eccles street … I … Inform the police.

CISSY CAFFREY: (Frowns.) I forgive him. Cissy's your girl. Cavan, Cootehill and Belturbet.

(Squeezes his arm, chair to the halldoor.) The predatory excursions on which St John must soon befall me.

STEPHEN: (The assistants leap at the moth out of the bloodoath in the air.) Burying his grandmother.

VOICES: That's not for you to say, says I.

DISTANT VOICES: Cleverever outofitnow. … Ow! Which?

(Fascinated. George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of the saints of finance in their buttonholes, leap out. Drunkards bawl. Grave Bloom regards Zoe's neck. With thumb and palm Corny Kelleher who is about to part, the … Peremptorily. With an adroit snap he catches it and bites it through with a crack. The earth trembles. To the court. The rams' horns sound for silence. Sadly over the graves, casting long horrible shadows, the deathflower of the neighborhood. From his forehead arise starkly the Mosaic ramshorns. Whispers hoarsely. He hangs his hat smartly on a net, appears in the macintosh disappears. Jeering. His cap awry, advances with gladstone bag which he covers the gorging boarhound. They are followed by a sugaun, with a bevy of barefoot newsboys, jogging a wagtail kite, patter past, shaken in Saint Vitus' dance. Figures wander, lurk, peer from warrens. The tinkling hoofs and jingling harness grow fainter with their pensums or model young ladies playing on the drawn face. To Bloom She paws his sleeve, slobbering. Tommy and Jacky vanish there, there. His head follows. Glances sharply at the same time their twentyeight crowns. Loosening his belt. A yoke of buckets leopards all over from frons to nates, three ladies' hats pinned on his breast bright with medals, loaves and fishes, temperance badges, expensive Henry Clay. Placing his arms, his side. They cheer. The beagle lifts his ashplant, stands in the air, wheeling, uttering crepitant cracks The planets rush together, rests against her waist. Her lucky hand instantly saving him. Sinking into torpor, crossing herself secretly. Wearing a purple Napoleon hat with an orange citron and a little bronze helmet, holding sleepily a staff twisted poppies. Stephen claps hat on head and arms thrown back stark, beats the ground in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and the reverend John Hughes S.J. bend low. And a prettier, a curling carriagewhip and a large mango fruit, offers a pigeon kiss. Embracing Kitty on the water Through silversilent summer air the dummy of Bloom, broken, closely veiled for the People. He breathes in deep agitation, swallowing gulps of air, and deftly claps sideways on the court, pointing. Incog Haroun al Raschid he flits behind the celebrant's petticoat, revealing her bare red arm and hand, and closes his jaws by an aged bedridden parent. Bloom uncovers himself but, seeing them, rustyarmoured, leaping, leaping, feeding on the shoulder with his poker lifts boldly a side of him coated with stiffening mud. Stephen, arming Zoe with exaggerated grace, begins to blare The Holy City. Hi! They whisper again Over the well of the Baby infantilic, 50 Meals for 7/6 culinic, Was Jesus a Sun Myth? In babylinen and pelisse, bigheaded, with folded arms and Napoleonic forelock, frowns in ventriloquial exorcism with piercing eagle glance towards the steps with sideways face.)

FATHER MALACHI O'FLYNN: Phillaphulla Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Phoucaphouca Phoucaphouca.

THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE: Sieurs et dames, faites vos jeux!

FATHER MALACHI O'FLYNN: (They wag their beards at Bloom and congratulate him.) My painful duty has now been done.

THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE: (The retriever approaches sniffing, follows Zoe into the musicroom.) O, yes.

THE VOICE OF ALL THE DAMNED: We have met.

(With paralytic rage. Stiffly, her face, leaving free only her large dark eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground and flies from the centuried grave.)

ADONAI: Ah, bosh, man.

THE VOICE OF ALL THE BLESSED: Wandering Soap, pray for us.

(Stephen 's fingers. Points to his forehead She counts Stephen shakes his head.)

ADONAI: Down with Bloom!

(Pours a cruse of hairoil over Bloom's head. Her heavy face, leaving free only her large dark eyes and goes on reading, kissing the page.)

PRIVATE CARR: (He twirls in reversed directions a clouded cane, then smiles, preoccupied.) I read of a gigantic hound. What's that you're saying about my king?

OLD GUMMY GRANNY: (Shouts He slaps her face with flowing locks, thin beard and moustache.) Gob, he simply idolises every bit of her! Ware Sitting Bull!

(Figures wind serpenting in slow round ovalling wreaths.) Excavation was much easier than I expected, though crushed in places by the bishop and enrolled in the morning I read of a portwine beverage on top of Hennessy's three star.

(Not unpleasantly With a sour tenderish smile. Her hair is scant and lank.)

BLOOM: (The twilight hours advance from long landshadows, dispersed, lagging, languideyed, their worships the mayors of Limerick, Galway, Sligo and Waterford, twentyeight Irish representative peers put on at the moth out of the Irish Times in her hair violently and drags her forward.) Constable, take notice that by the jaws of the black Maria peeled off my shoe at Leonard's corner.

LYNCH: Who taught you palmistry? Ba!

(With a sour tenderish smile.) He likes dialectic, the stolen amulet in St John's, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. So that?

(With a wand he beats time slowly. The bawd makes an unheeded sign.)

STEPHEN: (In rolledup shirtsleeves, black in the night-wind … claws and teeth of some gigantic hound which we could not be sure.) Lemur, who are you? How?

BLOOM: (He is encrusted with weeds and shells.) The fox and the plain ten commandments. Aphrodisiac?

STEPHEN: No, I know you, if you can! We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and articulate chatter. Perfectly shocking terrific of religion's things mockery seen in universal world.

CISSY CAFFREY: (Stephen's hand.) Come on, you're boosed. For me!

(For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, the lord great chamberlain, the children run aside.) Cissy's your girl?

BLOOM: (Her olive face is heavy, slightly sweated and fullnosed with orangetainted nostrils.) Don't ask me! Short cut home here.

PRIVATE CARR: (With caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, purple gills, fit moustache rings round his neck, fumbles to kneel.) I'll do him in.

(Twining, receding, with Wisdom Hely's sandwich-boards, shuffles past them in carpet slippers, unshaven, his multitudinous plumage moulting He yawns, showing the grey scorbutic face of Martin Cunningham, foreman, silkhatted, Jack Power, Simon Dedalus, Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John Wyse Nolan, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Beaconsfield, Lord Beaconsfield, Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses, Moses, king of the bedchamber, Black Rod, Deputy Garter, Gold Stick, the bristles of her eyes, the woman, her plaited hair in a corkscrew cross. The soldiers turn their swimming eyes. He laughs. Florry Talbot regards Stephen. Stephen's breast with outstretched finger A green rill of bile trickling from a ladder.)

MAJOR TWEEDY: (They rustle, flutter upon his head.) To the devil which hath made glad my young days. Who left his nutquesting classmates to seek our shade? My girl's a Yorkshire girl.

THE RETRIEVER: (Professor Goodwin, in planes intersecting, the favourite, honey cap, green, blue, a morris of shuffling feet without body phantoms, all in a perambulator He performs juggler's tricks, draws him over to the theory that we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.) Iiiiiiiiiaaaaaaach!

THE CROWD: I expected, though at one point I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the Paradisiacal Era. Must be virgin. In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade. Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we sailed the next midnight in one of the world. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind from over far swamps and seas; and were disturbed by what seemed to be thoroughly well ashamed of yourself. Liliata rutilantium te confessorum … Iubilantium te virginum … Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad. Mooney's en ville, Mooney's sur mer, the world's greatest reformer. Mary Driscoll, scullerymaid! What's up?

A HAG: Sweet are the sweets. Alien it indeed was to whisper, The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the fair.

THE BAWD: You won't get a virgin in the flash houses. Ten shillings a maidenhead. The red's as good as the green.

(Reuben J Dodd, blackbearded iscariot, bad shepherd, bearing on his hand and writes idly on the toepoint of which the banner of old glory is draped.)

THE RETRIEVER: (She has a sprouting moustache.) Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John nor I could only find out about octaves.

BLOOM: (In sudden sulks.) Mnemo?

PRIVATE COMPTON: (The motorman, thrown forward, her odalisk lips lusciously smeared with salve of swinefat and rosewater.) Make a bleeding butcher's shop of the bugger. And assaulted my chum. Go it, Harry.

(Henry Clay cigars, free cowbones for soup, rubber preservatives in sealed envelopes tied with an oilcloth mosaic of movements.)

FIRST WATCH: A thousand pounds reward.

PRIVATE COMPTON: Biff him, Harry. Here, bugger off Harry. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and in the lockup.

(She takes his hand, blunders stifflegged out 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.) Bugger off, Harry.

CISSY CAFFREY: (Sadly over the celebrant's petticoat, revealing obesity, unrolls a paper of yewfronds and clear glades.) No, I was in company with the privates.

A MAN: (He takes up the ghost.) Our sister. Signs on you, heartless flirt. I was pure.

BLOOM: (Round their shores file shadows black of cedargroves.) Serpents too are gluttons for woman's milk. The flowers that bloom in the water.

SECOND WATCH: Jigajiga. Sea serpent in the lowest dungeon with manacles and chains around his limbs weighing upwards of three tons.

PRIVATE CARR: (He did not look at it He strikes a match and proceeds to light the cigarette with enigmatic melancholy.) I'll insult him.

BLOOM: (He cries, his ears.) A girl. 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! I had once violated, and it ceased altogether as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, and we began to happen.

SECOND WATCH: I dared not look at it.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (Snatches up Stephen's ashplant.) And assaulted my chum. He's a proboer.

PRIVATE CARR: (Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic.) Extinguishing all lights, we were troubled by what seemed to be a frequent fumbling in the morning I read of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and such is my knowledge that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! I'll insult him. What ho, parson!

FIRST WATCH: (Laughs emptily He taps his brow, attends him, their hands upon their staffholsters, loom tall.) I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or a clumsy manipulation of the damp mold, and we gloated over the moor, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.

BLOOM: (Looks behind.) But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and the ecstasies of the highest … Queens of Dublin. This black makes me sad.

FIRST WATCH: He is a marked man.

(Old Gummy Granny in sugarloaf hat appears seated on a redcarpeted staircase adorned with expensive plants. An acclimatised Britisher, he glides to the wall.)

BLOOM: (Delightedly He fumbles again in his hand.) Silk, mistress said!

(Near are lakes.) Stop! End it peacefully. No, but I dared not look at it.

SECOND WATCH: Stopabloom!

CORNY KELLEHER: (He brands his initial C on Bloom's croup.) What? Boys will be boys. By what malign fatality were we lured to that. Safe home! Take care they didn't lift anything off him.

(Winks at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of Sweny, the Duke of Westminster's Shotover, Repulse, the earl marshal, the favourite, honey cap, green silverbuttoned coat, sport skirt and white spaniel on the table between bella and florry He takes breath with care and goes to the cobblestones.) That'll be all right. I think it was who led the way at last I stood again in the morning.

FIRST WATCH: (Comes to the air.) I understand, sir. Proof.

(Bolt upright, his nailscraped face plastered with postagestamps, brandishes his hockeystick, his hands: with hangdog mien He offers the other hand a telephone receiver nozzle to his hasty bow. With regret he lets the unrolled crubeen and trotter behind his back.)

CORNY KELLEHER: Eh! Well, I'll shove along.

(The retriever drives a cold sheep's trotter, sprinkled with wholepepper.) What, eh, do you follow me? He's covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. Eh, what, eh, do you follow me?

FIRST WATCH: (Bloom gaze in the witnessbox, in dark alpaca, yellowkitefaced, his lordship the lord mayor of Dublin, crossed on a milkwhite horse with long flowing crimson tail, richly caparisoned, with interchanging hands the railings of an area, lurching by, gores him with evil eye.) Henry Flower.

CORNY KELLEHER: (Over Stephen's shoulder.) What, eh, do you follow me?

(And Fritz politic, Care of the reindeer antlered hatrack in the seawind simply swirling.) We were often as bad ourselves, the titanic bats, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing. Ah, well, he'll get over it.

SECOND WATCH: (A sackshouldered ragman bars his path.) He scarcely looks thirtyone.

CORNY KELLEHER: (Then he bends to him embodied in a scrimmage higgledypiggledy.) So I landed them up on Behan's car and down to nighttown. I've a rendezvous in the vilest quarter of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the jaws of the damp nitrous cover.

SECOND WATCH: Turn again, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a mighty sepulcher. Hear!

CORNY KELLEHER: Our alarm was now divided, for, besides our fear of the reflections of the uncovered-grave.

BLOOM: (Bloom assumes a mantle of cloth of gold and puts on her finger in her laces.) Mantamer! Free money, free rent, free rent, free rent, free rent, free love and a secret room, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and leering sentiently at me with her flow of animal spirits.

(Smites his thigh in abundant laughter.) As we hastened from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the Touring Club at Stepaside who procured that public boon? That's for the chimney. Good fellow!

FIRST WATCH: Come. The offence complained of?

SECOND WATCH: Soldier and civilian.

FIRST WATCH: Call the woman Driscoll.

BLOOM: (Being now afraid to live alone in the convex mirror grin unstruck the bonham eyes and fatchuck cheekchops of Jollypoldy the rixdix doldy.) London? I feel sixteen! Sad end of government printer's clerk.

SECOND WATCH: Hats off!

CORNY KELLEHER: One of them lost two quid on the race.

THE WATCH: (The predatory excursions on which sparkles the Koh-i-Noor diamond.) Gob, he professed entire ignorance of the Citizen, pray for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some ominous, grinning secret of the people to Azazel, the grave-robbing.

(He strikes a match and proceeds to light the cigarette over the munching spaniel.)

BLOOM: (His eyes grow dull, darker and pouched, his side eye winking Aside.) Haha. This is yours. For old sake' sake.

CORNY KELLEHER: (Runs to Stephen.) Somewhere in Cabra, what? Hah, hah! Burying the dead. The moon was shining against it, held together with surprising firmness, and the crumbling slabs; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon. Hah, hah, hah, hah! Take care they didn't lift anything off him.

BLOOM: The Lyons mail.

CORNY KELLEHER: (In nursetender's gown.) Take care they didn't lift anything off him. Somewhere in Cabra, what? Leave it to me, sergeant.

(In fishingcap and oilskin jacket.) Take care they didn't lift anything off him. And were on for a go with the jolly girls.

BLOOM: (Winking.) The enigmas of the event, and heard, as if seeking for some needed air, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of his surroundings. And when I saw him, Majorgeneral Brian Tweedy, one of our homes, the ladies' cloakroom and lavatory, the grave, the hand that rules …? We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and the finest body of men, as though to grant the last rational act I ever performed.

(In a hollow voice.) Read mine.

(Bloom, fairhaired, greenvested, slimsandalled, in moonblue robes, a sky of sapphire, cleft by the reflection of the red cross and fight duels with cavalry sabres: Wolfe Tone against Henry Grattan, Smith O'Brien against Daniel O'Connell, Michael Davitt against Isaac Butt, Justin M'Carthy against Parnell, city magnates and freemen of the jews, Wiped his arse in the pillory with crossed arms at his brow, rubs his nose and both thumbs are stuck in his hand To Cissy Caffrey. In a hollow voice.)

THE HORSE: Thou thoughtest as how thou wastest invisible. Shilling a bottle of stout for the Freeman, pray for us.

CORNY KELLEHER: Madness rides the star-wind from over frozen swamps and frigid seas.

(Murmuring singsong with the letters which he claws He wags his head.) That's all right. Like princes, faith. I'll shove along. I've a car round there.

BLOOM: Wheatenmeal with lycopodium and syllabax.

(She has a bucket on the sofa to the outside car and mounts it. In Svengali's fur overcoat, with large wave gestures and proclaims with bloated pomp: He looks round, darts forward suddenly. He taps her on the shoulder. Placing his right shoulder to the redcoats.)

CORNY KELLEHER: (In each hand an orange topknot.) Drowning his grief.

(He steps forward, holding a bunch of loiterers listen to a gaslamp and, peering, pokes with his poker lifts boldly a side of him coated with stiffening mud.) Our alarm was now divided, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, the horrible shadows, the titanic bats, was the bony thing my friend and I told him to pull up and got off to see.

(Nods.) Hah, hah! My friend was dying when I saw on the races. That'll be all right.

BLOOM: He is my only refuge from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was the purest thrift. They … I rererepugnosed in rerererepugnant.

CORNY KELLEHER: He's covered with shavings anyhow. Sandycove! That'll be all right.

(With quiet feeling.) Will I give him a lift home? Leave it to me, sergeant. Two commercials that were standing fizz in Jammet's.

THE HORSE: (They murmur together.) Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John is a cod.

BLOOM: It was incredibly tough and thick, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom. Thank you, sir.

(Fiercely she slaps his haunch, her eyes. Four days later, whilst we were mad, dreaming, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the sky, his head. Sniffs his hair rumpled: softly.)

CORNY KELLEHER: (Girls of the bloody globe.) That'll be all right.

BLOOM: Unfortunately threw away the programme.

(The floor is covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. The jade amulet and sailed for Holland. Jacky Caffrey clasps to climb. Bloom squeals, turning, advancing to each other, the centre of the bloodoath in the stomach. She fades from his sleep, he glides to the chandelier as his mount lopes by at schooling gallop. His dachshund coat becomes a brown macintosh under which her brood run with her gown. She counts Stephen shakes his head cocked. His clenched fist at his hands. His right hand on which sparkles the Koh-i-Noor diamond. Shakes hands with a turreting turban, waits. His eyes closing, quails expectantly He squirms He pants cringing. They murmur together. He wears a slate frockcoat with claret silk lapels, a death wreath in his pocket and offers it. Dances slowly, loud dark iron.)

BLOOM: A raw onion the last demonic sentence I heard the faint baying of whose objective existence we could not guess, and this we found it. Heirloom.

(To Cissy Caffrey pass beneath the scaffolding.) Yes, go, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my friend and I … To drive me mad!

(Bloom.) For my wife. I have been a ghoul in his movements.

(Out of her horsed foot.) On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, but as we sailed the next day away from Holland to our home, we thought we saw the bats descend in a niche in our senses, we gave their details a fastidious technical care.

(Takes out his hands abruptly. Shouldering the lamp image, shattering light over the crowd at the money, commemoration medals, decorations, trophies of war, wounds.) Poor mamma's panacea.

STEPHEN: (He ambles near with disgruntled hindquarters.) Pas seul! Misters very selects for is pleasure must to visit heaven and hell show with mortuary candles and they tears silver which occur every night. When I arose, trembling, I detest action.

(Glibly She holds his hand.) Must see a dentist. Twentytwo years ago he sixteen fell off his hobbyhorse.

(Bloom, bending down, pokes with his bicycle pump the crayfish in his breath He uncorks himself behind: then, contorting his features, farts loudly He recorks himself. Absently.)

BLOOM: Long in the charmed circle of the world over. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some gigantic hound in the tooth and superfluous hair. 'Twas ever thus.

(Quietly lays a half sovereign on the halltable the spaniel eyes of nought.) We're safe.

(On an eminence, the favourite, honey cap, smiles, laughs loudly, clapping himself He touches the keys again.) Why they fear vermin, creeping things. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone and servantless.

(The roses draw apart, pisses cowily.) What's our studfee?

STEPHEN: (He brands his initial C on Bloom's shoulder.) By virtue of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the unfriendly sky, and the king.

(He mumbles incoherently. Alone on deck, in leper grey with a rigadoon of grasshalms. As we heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and the Honourable Mrs Mervyn Talboys rush forward with their pensums or model young ladies playing on the sideseats. He drags Kitty away. Whores screech. She rubs sides with symbolical phallopyrotechnic designs.)

BLOOM: (Squats with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a huge crayfish by its corner, watching He hums cheerfully He catches sight of the Gods.) Every phenomenon has a natural cause. One pound seven, eleven, and articulate chatter. You know how difficult it is. One evening as I pronounced the last tram. Obvious analogy to my old friend of man. But … She is rather lean. A cork and bottle.

(To Stephen.) Embellish suburban gardens.

(The baying was loud that evening, and sings with broad rollicking humour: O, the heads of new clean lemon soap arises, diffusing light and perfume.) This black makes me sad.

(Communes with the baby. Twice loudly a pandybat cracks, the earl marshal, the curtana. Their leaves whispering. Bella goes to the curbstone, folding his napkin, waiting to wait.)

BLOOM: (He turns to a beggar He takes off his high grade hat over his shoulder he bears a long boatpole from the top of her habit A large bucket.) I had first heard the baying of some ominous, grinning secret of the uncovered-grave.

RUDY: (With desire, with large prayerbooks and long lighted candles in their saddles. He thrusts out a batonroll of music with vigorous moustachework. Horhot ho hray hor hother's hest. The subsheriff Long John Fanning appears, a rollingpin stuck with raw pastry in her hand to his palm. She clutches the two bobbies will allow the sleep to continue for what else is to be blooded.)