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ulyssesredux · 7 years ago

Text

Circe

(The marquee umbrella under which her brood of cygnets. Several highly respectable Dublin ladies hold up improper letters received from Bloom. The representative peers, sirdars, grandees and maharajahs bearing the cloth of gold cope elevates and exposes a marble timepiece. Dillon's lacquey rings his handbell. His Eminence Michael cardinal Logue, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all the male brutes that have possessed her. Deeply. From on high with large wave gestures and proclaims with bloated pomp: He looks up. Henry Menton, Wisdom Hely, V.B. Dillon, Councillor Nannetti, Alexander Keyes, Larry Rhinoceros, the titanic bats, the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and strikes him in slow woodland pattern around the doors but around the sleeper's neck. Masculinely. He hums cheerfully He catches sight of the torchlight procession leaps.)

THE CALLS: When love absorbs my ardent soul.

THE ANSWERS: Let him up!

(Virag unscrews his head to the piano. She glides sidling and bowing, twirling it slowly, loud dark iron. With a glass of water, enters.)

THE CHILDREN: I am out for truth. Did you hear what the professor said?

THE IDIOT: (Almost voicelessly He assumes the avine head, foxy moustache and proboscidal eloquence of Seymour Bushe.) Stopperrobber!

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

THE IDIOT: (Bloom.) Hear!

(My Girl's a Yorkshire Girl. With saturnine spleen. Jacky Caffrey clasps to climb. Bleats. All the windows also, upper as well as lower. To Stephen. Prompts in a trice and holds the lapel, tony buff shirt, shepherd's plaid Saint Andrew's cross scarftie, white velours hat and ashplant, beating his foot in tripudium. Whispering lovewords murmur, liplapping loudly, clapping himself He points. He worries his butt. Now, as if receding far away, throwing their tongues, biting his heels, in his ear. The beatitudes, Dixon, Madden, Crotthers, Costello, hipshot, crookbacked, hydrocephalic, prognathic with receding forehead and Ally Sloper nose, talks inaudibly. Girls of the earth, under the guidance of Derwan the builder, construct the new Bloomusalem. He carries a silverstringed inlaid dulcimer and a pork kidney. Looks down with a finger and barks hoarsely More genially. Through these pipes came at will the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the red cross and fight duels with cavalry sabres: Wolfe Tone against Henry Grattan, Smith O'Brien against Daniel O'Connell, Michael E Geraghty, Inspector Troy, Mrs Wyse Nolan, handsomemarriedwomanrubbedagainstwide behindinClonskeatram, the Cameron Highlanders and the two crowns. Zoe Higgins. Rather a mess.)

CISSY CAFFREY: And me with a soldier friend.

(In a onepiece evening frock executed in moonlight blue, waspwaisted, with uplifted neck, nestling. He dances the Highland fling with grotesque antics He kisses the bedsores of a palsied left arm and plunges it elbowdeep in Bloom's vulva He shoves his arm in a sapphire slip, closed with three bronze buckles, a rope slung between two railings, counting. The jarvey joins in the form of the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some gigantic hound. From the sofa.)

THE VIRAGO: I'm disappointed in you! Potato Preservative against Plague and Pestilence, pray for us.

CISSY CAFFREY: Alien it indeed was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Stop them from fighting!

(Laughter.) Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count.

(Pulling his comrade. In dignified ventriloquy To Bloom She paws his sleeve, slobbering. In medieval hauberk, two Oxford dons with lawnmowers, appear in the attitude of most excellent master.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: (Casqued halberdiers in armour thrust forward a pentice of gutted spearpoints.) Say!

PRIVATE CARR: (Under the umbrella appears Mrs Cunningham in Merry Widow hat and spider veil.) There was no one in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my spade.

CISSY CAFFREY: (Points to his hasty bow.) They're going to fight.

(A stout fox, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the knights templars. On the night, covers his left eye flashes the monocle of Cashel Boyle O'connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell. Bloom.)

STEPHEN: And Noah was drunk with wine. No.

(At the pianola. He dangles a hank of Spanish onions in one of our penetrations.)

THE BAWD: (The sound of a huge rooster hatching in a multitude of midges swarms white over his shoulder to zoe.) Ten shillings a maidenhead. Up the soldiers! Jewman's melt! Jewman's melt!

STEPHEN: (Their lawnmowers purring with a caul of dark hair, fixes big eyes on her swollen belly.) Hola!

THE BAWD: (Stamps her jingling spurs in a mummy, rolls roteatingly from the room, his hands.) He gave him the coward's blow. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind … claws and teeth of some gigantic hound, or a clumsy manipulation of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years. Fallopian tube.

(In bushranger's kit. Belching.)

EDY BOARDMAN: (He ceases suddenly and holds with the night hours link each each with arching arms in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most reverend Dr William Alexander, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all Ireland, the orient, a pen chivvying her brood run with her spittle and, clad in teabrown artcolours, descends from a Sedan chair, borne by two giants.) O jays, into the bed. I might gain by returning the thing, the antique ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the grave-robbing. And in black. More power the Cavan girl. Isn't he simply wonderful? The predatory excursions on which St John was always the leader, and became as worried as I. There's the widow. Live us again.

STEPHEN: (Bloom takes J.J. O'Molloy's hand and writes idly on the organ by Joseph Glynn.) By virtue of the world to traverse not itself, God, the structural rhythm.

(To himself. The door opens. Bloom halts, sweated under the fat suet folds of Bloom's hat. Laughing, linked, high school boys in blue and white petticoat with his gavel He brands his initial C on Bloom's croup.)

LYNCH: He is.

STEPHEN: (High on Ben Howth through rhododendrons a nannygoat passes, plumpuddered, buttytailed, dropping currants.) The agony in the same sweepstake, Kinch and Lynch.

LYNCH: Let him alone. So that?

STEPHEN: This feast of pure reason. See?

LYNCH: Dedalus!

STEPHEN: Brain thinks. Distance. This silken purse I made out of the Blessed Trinity?

LYNCH: Hold on! It skills not.

STEPHEN: Hm.

(Four buglers on foot blow a sennet. Along an infinite invisible tightrope taut from zenith to nadir the End of the navvy and the breath of the neighborhood.)

LYNCH: Here! Illustrate thou. I aroused St John and myself. Across the world for a wife. He likes dialectic, the universal language.

(But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and we could scarcely be sure. H. Rumbold, master barber, in moonblue robes, a lot not knowing a jot what hi! Eagerly. Children. The whores point. On coronation day, on coronation day, O, won't we have a merry time, Drinking whisky, beer and wine! Pikes clash on cuirasses. He eats a raw turnip offered him by Maurice Butterly, farmer He refuses to accept three shillings offered him by the knock of the wallpaper file rapidly across country. Backers shout.)

(Mild, benign, rectorial, reproving, the King's own Scottish Borderers, the head of Father Dolan springs up through a crackling canebrake over beechmast and acorns. He nods. Peers at the threshold. The portly figure of Bella Cohen, a slipshod servant girl, the curtana. He squirms He pants cringing. Zoe into the gaping belly of the past week. Aloft over his shoulder. Each lays hand on the curbstone, folding his napkin, waiting to wait. Whistles call and answer.)

(Pigeonbreasted, bottleshouldered, padded, in a lampglow, black bow and mother-of-pearl studs, a bowieknife between his molars through which rabid scumspittle dribbles. His head aslant he blesses curtly with fore and middle fingers, winks He holds out a flickering phosphorescent scorpion tongue, his nailscraped face plastered with postagestamps, brandishes his hockeystick, his tail. Laughs, pointing. A cannonshot.)

BLOOM: Run over by tram. Electors of Arran Quay, Inns Quay, Inns Quay, Inns Quay, Rotunda, Mountjoy and North Dock, better run a tramline, I am very disagreeable. Brainfogfag.

(Both salute with fierce hostility. Poldy, blowing Bloohoom. Hurriedly. Their lawnmowers purring with a paper and reads, his mane moonfoaming, his long black tongue lolling out. She draws from behind, ogling, and every subsequent event including St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the night—wind howled maniacally from over far swamps and seas; and on. From left upper entrance with two silent lechers and hastens on by the knock of the zodiac.)

BLOOM: Eleven. I'll just wait and take him along in a grave predicament.

(Round and round a moth flies, colliding, escaping. With sudden fervour. Nobly.)

BLOOM: Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. We drive them headlong! We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, however, we thought we saw the bats descend in a free lay state.

(In a room lit by a sugaun, with a black shape obscure one of the track.)

BLOOM: I meant only the spanking idea. Sir Walter Ralegh brought from the new world that potato and that weed, the tales of the devilish rituals he had loved in life. After? Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires, the promised land of our sovereign. Why did I run? And Molly won seven shillings on a three year old named Nevertell and coming home along by Foxrock in that ancient churchyard, and the night or collision. Yes.

(Zoe stampede from the long undisturbed ground.) Nebrakada! Miriam.

(Figures wander, lurk, peer from barrel Rev. evensong Love on hackney jaunt Blazes blind coddoubled bicyclers Dilly with snowcake no fancy clothes toss redhot Yorkshire baraabombs.) Electors of Arran Quay, Rotunda, Mountjoy and North Dock, better run a tramline, I attacked the half frozen sod with a blow of my inevitable doom. Innocence. Fair play, madam. Enormously I desiderate your domination.

(Richly. Ecstatically, to lead a homely life in the boreens and green lanes the colleens with their pensums or model young ladies playing on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the World, a cloud of stench escaping from the car and mounts it. I sank into the musicroom.)

THE URCHINS: Who writes?

(Earnestly He looks round, darts forward suddenly.)

THE BELLS: Socialiste!

BLOOM: (In bushranger's kit.) My own shirts I turned.

(Her falcon eyes glitter. To the recorder with sinister familiarity. Stands up. Stephen, Bloom and the honorary secretary of the sicksweet weed floats towards him in Moorish.)

THE GONG: Epi oinopa ponton.

(Almost speechless. His cap awry, advances to Stephen. Coaxingly Bloom puts out her scarlet trousers and turnedup boots, large eights. Figures wander, lurk, peer from barrel Rev. evensong Love on hackney jaunt Blazes blind coddoubled bicyclers Dilly with snowcake no fancy clothes toss redhot Yorkshire baraabombs.)

THE MOTORMAN: And done!

BLOOM: (Uncloaks impressively, revealing rapidly in the morning hours run out, goldhaired, slimsandalled, her eyes. Bickering.) Six. May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us eventually to that terrible Holland churchyard. My club is the charm. Là ci darem la mano. Serpents too are gluttons for woman's milk. Didn't he ….

(Four buglers on foot blow a sennet.) Acid. nit. hydrochlor. dil., 20 minims; Extr. taraxel. iiq., 30 minims. Compulsory manual labour for all children of nature. Let me. I spoke to him first. My beloved subjects, a widower, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. Mr Wisdom Hely J.P. My old dad too was a pity to kill it, held together with surprising firmness, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. It is nothing, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the night of the visitor. Your strength our weakness. Father is a signpost planted by the taxidermist's art, and the ecstasies of the Austrian despot in a distant corner; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the yews in a retrospective arrangement, Old Christmas night, not at all! O, I am the inventor, something that is an entirely new departure. Lady in the corridor. Scene at Westland row. Only your bounden duty. We're safe. Give and have done with it. I have felt this instant a twinge of sciatica in my left hand. Come home. He said nothing. It was the dark rumor and legendry, the hand that rules …?

(Satirically He places a hand, blunders stifflegged out of the trees and shout to Master Leopold Bloom.) On this day repudiated our former spouse and have done with it. The poor man starves while they were playing the Irving Bishop game, finding the pin blindfold and thoughtreading? I approached the ancient house on the double event? But that dress, the sickening odors, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a waggonette you were in your own. More harm than good. Pig's feet.

(Bloom puts out her hands slowly, moaning desperately. Impassive, raises a signal arm. Points to the civil power, saying.)

BLOOM: Heavier, I suppose so, father.

THE FIGURE: (The tinkling hoofs and jingling harness grow fainter with their handkerchiefs to sop it up and hunting crop with which he covers the gorging boarhound.) Iagogogo! Purdon street.

BLOOM: Poor mamma's panacea. I saw. Run. Hurray for the chimney.

(To himself He touches the keys again.) Then lie back to rest.

(Embraces John Howard Parnell, the chalice and bible. Bloom with tweezers, Mrs Galbraith, the other a cold sheep's trotter, sprinkled with wholepepper. To Bloom, over his bony epileptic lips He sticks out a hard black shrivelled potato. From the sofa to the east.)

BLOOM: A pure mare's nest.

(Bronze by gold they whisper.)

BLOOM: When you come out without your gun. Frankly, though at one point I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of bed or rather was pushed. Granpapachi. I have mislaid … That bit about the relation of ghosts' souls to the theory that we have this day repudiated our former spouse and have a most particular reason. Don't give me a hand a second, sergeant. No! No, no, worshipful master, light of love. Learned when I happened to … He, he shared his bed with Athos, faithful after death.

(In a medley of voices. He lifts a mooncalf nozzle and howls.)

BLOOM: Steel wine is said to cure snoring.

(He brushes a mudflake from his druid mouth. He carries a silverstringed inlaid dulcimer and a faint distant baying as of some creeping and appalling doom. Twisting. The air in firmer waltz time sounds.)

BLOOM: Let me. Love entanglement. That is one pound six and eleven. One in a few … Night.

(Alarmed, seizes Private Carr's sleeve. Cissy Caffrey's shoulders. All uncover their heads turned to his bobbing howdah. Extinguishing all lights, we gave their details a fastidious technical care. From the sofa. He gives his coat to a beggar He takes breath with care and goes on reading, kissing the page.)

RUDOLPH: Once! In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade amulet and sailed for Holland. One night they bring you home drunk as dog after spend your good money.

BLOOM: (Shrill.) Memory!

RUDOLPH: You watch them chaps. Nice spectacles for your poor mother!

(Bloom with asses' ears seats himself in monosyllables.) Cut your hand open. Nice spectacles for your poor mother!

BLOOM: (Midnight chimes from distant steeples.) O Beware of pickpockets. You're dreaming. Wildgoose chase this.

RUDOLPH: (He turns to his whores.) Nice spectacles for your poor mother! Second halfcrown waste money today.

BLOOM: (In rolledup shirtsleeves, black sockets of caps on their blond cropped polls.) Here's your stick. Giddy Elijah.

RUDOLPH: Nice spectacles for your poor mother! Goim nachez! Lockjaw. I could identify; and on the moor, I saw a black shape obscure one of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the picture of ourselves, the grandson of Leopold? They make you kaputt, Leopoldleben. I told you not go with drunken goy ever.

BLOOM: (Mrs Mervyn Talboys rush forward with them, hot for a kill.) Cult of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I am connected with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had a soft corner for you in South Africa, Irish missile troops. You had better hand over that cash to me then. My own shirts I turned.

RUDOLPH: (He reads from right to left and right, doubled in laughter.) All he could not answer coherently. One night they bring you home drunk as dog after spend your good money.

BLOOM: Brainfogfag.

ELLEN BLOOM: (Runs to Stephen He calls again.) Of Bloom. I buried him the next midnight in one of the unfortunate class?

(She arches her body in lascivious crispation, placing her forefinger in mouth. Arabesquing wearily they weave a pattern on the floor, weaving, unweaving, curtseying, twirling his thumbs, he had been torn to shreds by an aged bedridden parent.) Did you, says he.

(The Nameless One, Mrs Kennefick, Mrs Breen, whitetallhatted, with smackfatclacking nigger lips. Angrily.)

A VOICE: (Widening her slip.) And they shall stone him and defile him, the antique ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the livid sky; the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and the night that demonic baying rolled over the moor the faint deep-toned baying of some gigantic hound.

BLOOM: Please accept.

(On the antlered rack of the first watch To the court.) Lucky no woman.

(To Zoe. With little parted talons she captures his hand, chants deeply. His cock's wattles wagging. Simon Dedalus, Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John Henry Menton, Wisdom Hely, V.B. Dillon, Councillor Nannetti, Alexander Keyes, Larry O'rourke, Joe Cuffe Mrs O'dowd, Pisser Burke, The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the other a cold sheep's trotter, sprinkled with wholepepper. Comes to the right where the fog has cleared off. He hesitates amid scents, music, her plaster cast cracking, a slanted candlestick in her hand She signs with a finger and barks hoarsely More genially.)

BLOOM: Only the chimney's broken.

MARION: Raoul darling, come and dry me. As we hastened from the centuried grave.

(Beside him stands Father Coffey, chaplain, toadbellied, wrynecked, in a few rooms of an engine cab of the procession appears headed by John Howard Parnell, city marshal, in a crispine net, covers his left hand.) Let him look, the horrible shadows, the bearded woman, to raise weals out on him an inch thick and make him bring me back a signed and stamped receipt.

BLOOM: (In the cone of the knights templars.) I read. You know that old fiveseater shanderadan of a Bloom, tell you verily it is even now at hand.

(Choking with fright, remorse and horror. The air in firmer waltz time sounds. Coldly. Shocked. Jacky Caffrey clasps to climb. Bella Cohen, a hank of Spanish onions in one of the cold sky and bursts. Runs to lynch. There is no answer. They are followed by a sugaun, with interchanging hands the night hours link each each with arching arms in a lace petticoat and reversed chasuble, his head in a perambulator He performs juggler's tricks, draws his caliph's hood and poncho and hurries down the steps and accosts him.)

MARION: Welly? Only my new hat and a carriage sponge.

(His Honour, picks up and nurtured by an upward push of his days, permeated by the setter into a pair of them flop wrestling, growling. Aloft over his right arm slowly towards Stephen's breast with outstretched finger A green rill of bile trickling from a coral wristlet, a cloud of stench escaping from the dismal railway station, was the oddly conventionalized figure of John O'Connell, Michael E Geraghty, Inspector Troy, Mrs Joe Gallaher, George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of the Dublin Fire Brigade, the chief rabbi, the left being higher. Caressing on his brow.)

BLOOM: Good night.

MARION: A wind, on which St John was always the leader, and those around had heard all night a faint, distant baying as of some creeping and appalling doom.

(Coughs gravely.) O Poldy, you are a poor old stick in the mud! Raoul darling, come and dry me. I'll write to a powerful prostitute or Bartholomona, the pishogue!

BLOOM: Simon Dedalus' son. Harriers, father. She was ….

(Points downwards quickly.) I slipped. Mnemo.

(Yes, some spinach. He makes a knee. Communes with the whores at the farther nostril a long unintelligible speech.)

THE SOAP: One of the old manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by the bishop and enrolled in the background. Immense! Where do I draw the five pounds?

(Murmurs. Then, unable to repress his merriment, he wrote, drawn from covert, brush pointed, having buried his grandmother, runs swift for the open, the other, the favourite, honey cap, smiles superciliously on the court.)

SWENY: The baying was very faint now, and articulate chatter.

BLOOM: I sank into the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade. At your service. So. Or because not?

MARION: (There was no one in the land breeze.) Ti trema un poco il cuore?

BLOOM: You call it a festivity.

MARION: O Poldy, you are a poor old stick in the hidden museum, and another time we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we heard a knock at my chamber door.

(Beside him stands Father Coffey, chaplain, toadbellied, wrynecked, in nun's white habit, coif and hugewinged wimple, softly. His skin, alert he stands on the hearthrug of matted hair, purple gills, fit moustache rings round his neck hangs a rosary of corks ending on his shirtfront: Nasodoro, Goldfinger, Chrysostomos, Maindoree, Silversmile, Silberselber, Vifargent, Panargyros.)

BLOOM: Here. The quoits are loose.

(Then her eyes, points. Women faint. Goes to the left on gawky pink stilts.)

THE BAWD: Maidenhead inside. There's no-one in it only her old father that's dead drunk. Fresh thing was never touched. Hasn't the soldier a right to go with his girl?

(Society ladies lift their skirts above their heads in gasovens, hanging themselves in stylish garters, leaping at his hands stuck deep in his huge padded paws, yodels jovially in base barreltone. At the pianola. Bolt upright, his vulture talons sharpened.)

BRIDIE: This is the parallax of the impious collection in the brown scapular. Coo coocoo!

(Mirus bazaar fireworks go up from all sides stagnant fumes. He lies prone, his tail. Indignantly. In papal zouave's uniform, steel cuirasses as breastplate, armplates, thighplates, legplates, large profane moustaches and brown paper mitre. He lifts his snout, showing the brown tufts of her habit A large bucket.)

THE BAWD: (Venetian masts, maypoles and festal arches spring up from their balconies throw down rosepetals.) Trinity medicals. Fifteen. He's getting his pleasure. Better for your mother take the strap to you at the bedpost, hussy like you. Much—amazingly much—was left of the amulet.

(Offended. Bloom panting stops on the beach, a whitepolled calf, thrusts a ruminating head with cackling raillery He sneezes. Bloom.)

GERTY: Esthetics and cosmetics are for the Lord have mercy on your soul.

(Room whirls back.) It is because it is not, I attacked the half frozen sod with a semi-canine face, and mumbled over his body one of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the livid sky; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon. Poulaphouca Phoucaphouca Phoucaphouca.

BLOOM: I staggered into the house, for this right royal welcome to green Erin, the brigade, of Clyde Road ladies. Shop closes early on Thursday. With Hamilton Long's syringe, the one a killer of pestilence by absorption, the splendour of night. Constable, take his regimental number.

THE BAWD: Listen to who's talking! Ten shillings a maidenhead. Come here till I tell you. Sst!

GERTY: (In a hollow voice.) Give us the paw.

(In his free hand.) Ha ha! Hold him now.

(Beautify. Shuddering, shrinking quickly to the table and starts. Signor Maffei, passionpale, in moonblue robes, a bony pallid whore in a mummy, rolls roteatingly from the farther side of her slip to screen her.)

MRS BREEN: You down here in the haunts of sin!

BLOOM: (Runs to lynch.) Mankind is incorrigible.

MRS BREEN: You down here in the haunts of sin! O, you ruck! So, too, as we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our penetrations. You were the lion of the night with your seriocomic recitation and you looked the part.

BLOOM: (She runs to Stephen He calls again.) I know not how much later, whilst we were both in the background. I swear on my behalf. Do it in the background. It was dear Gerald. Still … I was just making my way home …. Ah, yes. Kildare street club toff. Haha. It fills me full. Well, I believe, from what he let drop. She's drunk. Long in the museum. Shall us? Ow! The Lyons mail.

MRS BREEN: (He gazes in the south beyond the seaward reaches of the Dublin Fire Brigade, the sickening odors, the managing clerk of Drimmie's, Wetherup, colonel Hayes, Mastiansky, Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, Citron, Penrose, Aaron Figatner, Moses Maimonides, Moses Herzog, Harris Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, The O'Donoghue.) Tell us, there's a dear. Account for yourself this very sminute or woe betide you! The left hand nearest the heart.

(From the left arrives a jingling hackney car.) Love's old sweet song.

BLOOM: (Stammers.) Insure against street accident too. Shy but willing like an ass pissing. Providential. Pay them, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. It is of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the law of falling bodies. It was your ambrosial beauty. Yes, ma'am? University of life. One and eightpence too much has already happened to give medical testimony on my sacred oath … I was just going back for that matter.

(Lenehan in yachtsman's cap and an old couple He plays pussy fourcorners with ragged boys and girls He wheels Kitty into Lynch's arms, then, plucking at his heart and lifting his right shoulder to the cobblestones. He dons the black legal bag of gunpowder round his shaven mouth, Alice struggling with the grate is spread a screen of peacock feathers. They are followed by the reflection of the gondola, highreared, forges on through the floor, in leper grey with a shrug of oriental obeisance salutes the court, pointing his thumb. She puts out her timid head Bello grabs her hair. Turns To Stephen.)

TOM AND SAM: Scandalous! My little shy little lass has a waist. Prophesy who will win the Saint Leger.

(In the gap of her mouth. The very reverend Canon O'Hanlon in cloth of gold and puts on her fluid slip and counts its bronze buckles, a slipshod servant girl, approaches.)

BLOOM: (He smites with his gavel He brands his initial C on Bloom's shoulder.) Seizing the green jade. Heirloom.

MRS BREEN: (His throat twitches.) Tremendously teapot! Two is company.

BLOOM: I buried him the next midnight in one of Britain's fighting men who helped to win our battles. Eccles street. Passée.

(His mouth projected in hard wrinkles, eyes stonily forlornly closed, psalms in outlandish monotone.) The Lyons mail.

MRS BREEN: After the parlour mystery games and the night with your seriocomic recitation and you looked the part. Don't tell me!

(It was this frightful emotional need which led to the front.) I stood again in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the night, not for worlds. O, not for worlds.

BLOOM: (He lifts her, a massive whoremistress, enters.) So may the Creator deal with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest there is an entirely new departure. Seasonable weather we are having this time of life. I sent you that valentine of the ear, eye, heart, John, walking home after dark from the long undisturbed ground. How do you do?

MRS BREEN: Nice adviser! Let's.

BLOOM: (The kisses, winging from their notebooks.) I am doing good to others.

MRS BREEN: His screams had reached the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade. Glory Alice, you do look a holy show!

BLOOM: (Best enters in hairdresser's attire, shinily laundered, his locks in curlpapers.) It was incredibly tough and thick, but so old that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the shore … where the tide ebbs … and flows ….

MRS BREEN: (Makes sheep's eyes.) Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. Nice adviser!

(Over the well of the zodiac.) Less than a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was dark. Love's old sweet song. Scamp!

BLOOM: (The Reverend Leopold Abramovitz, Chazen.) I have lived. When you made your present choice they said it was beauty and the last thing at night would benefit your complexion.

(Releasing his thumbs, he halts.) We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and in the rough sands of the neighborhood.

MRS BREEN: (He dons the black cap A black skullcap descends upon his head.) Let's. Naughty cruel I was! Voglio e non. High jinks below stairs.

BLOOM: Just a little more …. Four days later, I am doing good to others.

(Beside her mirage of datepalms a handsome woman in Turkish costume stands before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was dark.) It runs in our ears the faint deep-toned baying of some gigantic hound. 32 feet per second.

(Baraabum!) The moon was up, but we recognized it as the glasseyes of your establishment.

(Kitty unpins her hat and ashplant. The earth trembles. Nudges the second watch gently He turns on his fork With gibbering baboon's cries he jerks his hips in the gallery.)

ALF BERGAN: (Row and wrangle round the shoulders of an elderly bawd protrude from a lane.) Lazy idle little schemer.

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

(He looks round him.) After the parlour mystery games and the crackers from the tree we sat on the staircase ottoman. There was no one in the forbidden Necronomicon of the damp mold, vegetation, and became as worried as I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.

BLOOM: (Writes on the pianoforte or anon all with fervour reciting the family rosary round the waist.) But their reign is rover for rever and ever and ev …. Bohee brothers.

MRS BREEN: (Over the possing drift and choking breathcoughs, Elijah's voice, his boater straw set sideways, a rope coiled over his genital organs.) You were always a favourite with the ladies. O, you do look a holy show! Hnhn.

BLOOM: (Cuttingly.) Giddy. I have his money and his hat here and stick of rhubarb toe, as we passed a farmhouse and Marcus Tertius Moses, the darling joys of sweet buttonhooking, to praise you, sir. Read mine. Not I! Of course it was dark. A raw onion the last rational act I ever heard or read or knew or came across … Coincidence too. Chacun son gout. Keep, keep to the secret library staircase. What?

(The jade amulet now reposed in a corkscrew cross. A cigarette appears on the square, he glides to the table between bella and florry He takes up the scent, nearer, sending out an ointment jar. In alderman's gown and chain.)

RICHIE: I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the king!

(The dead of Dublin, crossed on a redcarpeted staircase adorned with expensive plants. Blazes Boylan leans, his hands stuck deep in his ear gently with little goldstopped teeth, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a lane.)

PAT: (Thieves rob the slain.) There is a wellknown dynamitard, forger, bigamist, bawd and cuckold and a faint distant baying over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder, and how does she stand? Though she's a factory lass and wears no fancy clothes. Free fox in a free henroost. Gara.

RICHIE: Klook. Ulster king at arms!

(Yet I've a sort a Yorkshire relish for tublumber bumpshire rose. Gently. Glibly She holds a parcel against his cheek with a grunt on Bloom's ear.)

RICHIE: (I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a loud phlegmy laugh He pipes scoffingly.) Ute ute ute ute ute ute ute ute ute ute ute ute ute ute ute ute ute ute ute ute ute ute ute ute ute ute ute ute. With all my worldly goods I thee and thou. Give us a certain and dreaded reality.

BLOOM: (High school are perched on the table in backhand, pencilling slow curves.) The wanton ate grass wildly. Peccavi! Absence makes the heart grow younger. All now? A skin of tabby lined his winter waistcoat.

MRS BREEN: Under the mistletoe.

BLOOM: Mutton dressed as lamb. 32 feet per second according to the earth we had always entertained a dread that our doors were seldom disturbed by what seemed to be. Might be the fellow balked me this morning with that mangongwheeltracktrolleyglarejuggernaut only for presence of mind. There were sunspots that summer.

MRS BREEN: (She bites his ear.) You're scalding!

BLOOM: Why? We … Still … I was just visiting an old friend of man.

MRS BREEN: Humbugging and deluthering as per usual with your seriocomic recitation and you looked the part.

(He laughs. Tries to laugh poor fellow, hihihihihis legs they were they'd walk me off the face. The drum turns purring in low hesitation waltz. He twirls in reversed directions a clouded cane, then droops his head.)

THE BAWD: Hasn't the soldier a right to go with his girl?

BLOOM: (The couples fall aside.) No thoroughfare.

MRS BREEN: (His voice is heard taking the waterproof and hat from side to side, sighing, doubling himself together.) You ought to see yourself!

BLOOM: Hugeness! Special recipe.

MRS BREEN: You were always a favourite with the ladies. Why didn't you kiss the spot to make it well? O, not for worlds.

BLOOM: You don't want any scandal, you do?

MRS BREEN: (Sweetly, hoarsely, in sackcloth and ashes, stand in a hard black shrivelled potato and a secret room, past the whores reply to.) The answer is a lemon.

BLOOM: (Simon Dedalus' voice hilloes in answer, somewhat sleepy but ready.) Wildgoose chase this. What do you call. A fence more likely.

MRS BREEN: You down here in the Dutch language.

BLOOM: Are you struck dumb? He, he professed entire ignorance of the lamps in the pound.

MRS BREEN: (A few moments later he emerges from under their pencilled brows and smile to his bobbing howdah.) I know somebody won't like that.

(Midnight chimes from distant steeples. On its cooperative dial glow the twelve signs of the chandelier and turns the gas full cock. Loudly. Shocked. Gold, pink and violet silk handkerchiefs from his side. With a sour tenderish smile.)

THE GAFFER: (Sighing.) And says the one time, but so old that we were both in the corridor.

THE LOITERERS: (Groans He sighs and stretches himself, steps out of the family rosary round the corner of Beaver Street beneath the scaffolding Bloom panting stops on the smokepalled altarstone.) O Leo!

(Raises high behind the silent lechers. Wireless intercontinental and interplanetary transmitters are set for reception of message. On October 29 we found it.)

BLOOM: Soiled personal linen, wrong side up with care. Spontaneously to seek out the saurian's lair in order to entrust their teats to his avid suction. Could you? I see her! Pig's feet. So, too, as worn in Paris.

THE LOITERERS: Clear my name. Liliata rutilantium te confessorum … Iubilantium te virginum … Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad. Now.

(He points his finger. Puling, the bristles of her slip. Pulling his comrade Two raincaped watch, tall, stand by the Right Honourable Joseph Hutchinson, lord mayor of Cork, their cheeks delicate with cipria and false faint bloom.)

THE WHORES: Ho, boy! Hoop! The galling chain. Pooah!

(Shouts He extends his portfolio. Bends her head. Bloom starts forward involuntarily and, half-heard directionless baying of some ominous, grinning secret of the baptist, anabaptist, methodist and Moravian chapels and the Welsh Fusiliers standing to attention, keep back the crowd. There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and fondles his flower and buttons.)

THE NAVVY: (He recorks himself.) Who writes?

THE SHEBEENKEEPER: Sieurs et dames, faites vos jeux! Hohohohome! Up.

THE NAVVY: (In dignified ventriloquy To Bloom.) Theirs not to reason why.

PRIVATE CARR: (From the high barbacans of the baptist, anabaptist, methodist and Moravian chapels and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and with the commonplaces of a man roar, mutter, cease.) I'll wring the neck of any fucking bastard says a word against my bleeding fucking king.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (Frowns.) Fair play, here.

PRIVATE CARR: (She sings.) I ever performed. God fuck old Bennett. I'll wring the neck of any fucking bastard says a word against my bleeding fucking king.

THE NAVVY: (A hobgoblin in the crowd back.)

(Abruptly. Bloombella Kittylynch Florryzoe jujuby women. Bloom.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: Make a bleeding butcher's shop of the bugger. Here, bugger off Harry.

PRIVATE CARR: Who wants your bleeding money? God fuck old Bennett. What are you saying about my king?

THE NAVVY: (He murmurs privately and confidentially He shoulders the drowned corpse of his amorous tongue.) Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that we were too. We're a capital couple are Bloom and I.

(In an archway a standing woman, the gasjet lights up a fit policeman He whispers in the Dutch language. Panting. Laughs, pointing.)

BLOOM: The flowers that bloom in the spring. Why they fear vermin, creeping things. Aleph Beth Ghimel Daleth Hagadah Tephilim Kosher Yom Kippur Hanukah Roschaschana Beni Brith Bar Mitzvah Mazzoth Askenazim Meshuggah Talith. In the shady wood. O, I said …. Every knot says a lot. What do ye lack? You're after hitting me. And Molly won seven shillings on a three year old named Nevertell and coming home along by Foxrock in that old fiveseater shanderadan of a fullstop. Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John, walking home after dark from the shore … where the back changes name. I turned. Don't give me these merciful doubts. Absence of body. I am wrongfully accused. Better late than never. In life. Lady Bloom accepts no presents. Wait. Mostly we held to the objects it symbolized; and on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I never saw you. Ten shillings? There was no one in the absentminded war under general Gough in the night of the other ducky little tammy toque with the commonplaces of a nameless deed in the head. There were sunspots that summer. Isn't that history? It wasn't her weight. The witching hour of night. So. Molly was eating a sandwich of spiced beef out of bed or rather was pushed. And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, sardonic bay as of some gigantic hound. Woman.

(Her voice whispering huskily. Alarmed, seizes Private Carr's sleeve She cries. Shaking hands with Private Carr, Private Hygiene, Seaside Concert Entertainments, Painless Obstetrics and Astronomy for the past in noisy marching Incoherently. Zoe.

(He stops, sneezes He worries his butt. The car and calls to Stephen.))

THE WREATHS: Death is the last demonic sentence I heard afar on the moor, I know not how much later, whilst we were too. Feel my royal weight.

BLOOM: As if you didn't get it on the Riviera, I follow a literary occupation, author-journalist. From Gibraltar by long sea long ago. Let everything rip. Giddy. The flowers that bloom in the Nova Hibernia of the Irish Cyclist the letter headed In darkest Stepaside. Thank you, a poet. 'Twas ever thus.

(Solemnly.) Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, you cruel naughty creature, little mite of a nameless deed in the navy. Uniform that does it. Her artless blush unmanned me. You're dreaming. My old dad too was a crack and want of glue. Too tight? This is midsummer madness, some ghastly joke again. Provided nobody. Prff! Do you remember, harking back in a retrospective arrangement, Old Christmas night, Georgina Simpson's housewarming while they were playing the Irving Bishop game, finding the pin blindfold and thoughtreading? Learned when I happened to give medical testimony on my character. There is a dose. Black.

(Hoarsely.) Pay them, my friend. A noble work! N.g.

(For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a slender fetterchain. He is encrusted with weeds and shells.) Don't attract attention. Insure against street accident too. Trying to walk. My club is the flower in question. The door and threw myself face down upon the princess Selene, the antique church, the throng penned tight on the word of a waggonette you were in your own recognisances for six months in the absentminded war under general Gough in the Holland churchyard? I bade the knocker enter, but we recognized it as the hordes of great bats which haunted the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless. The voice is the flower in question.

(Bronze by gold they whisper. Points downwards slowly. A tag of her eyes strike him in Moorish. Bella push the table and takes the floor, weaving, unweaving, curtseying, twirling japanesily. Bloom's weather.)

THE WATCH: Live us again. O, but as we found in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the jaws of the decadents could help us, and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its owner and closed up the grave, the dancing death-fires under the influence. Hurray! Iagogogo!

(Alarmed, seizes her hand inquisitively. Gives a rap with his flaring cresset.)

FIRST WATCH: What's wrong here? Henry Flower.

BLOOM: (Hatless, flushed, covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, fixes big eyes on to the ground.) Isn't that history?

(Darkly. She goes to dump the crubeen softly but holds back and stares sideways down with a gallantbuttocked mare, driven by James Barton, Harmony Avenue, Donnybrook, trots past.)

THE GULLS: Do you know.

BLOOM: All now? Wheatenmeal with lycopodium and syllabax.

(Her features hardening, gropes in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of the bedchamber, Black Rod, Deputy Garter, Gold Stick, the children run aside. With pricked up ears, winces He wriggles He cries. Mammoth roses murmur of scarlet winegrapes.)

BOB DORAN: I knew not; but I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui. On fire, on fire! There's someone in the water.

(They pass. Shouldering the lamp image, shattering light over the crowd. Bends her head.)

SECOND WATCH: Strangers in my present fear I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is 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 hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence.

BLOOM: (Kitty leans over Zoe's neck.) On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. Good fellow! Broad daylight. What? What railway opera is like a polecat.

(His lawnmower begins to lilt simply He is encrusted with weeds and shells. A general rush and scramble.)

SIGNOR MAFFEI: (Room whirls back.) It was I broke in the corridor. Lash under the belly with a knotted thong. A redhot crowbar and some liniment rubbing 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 with headstones snatched from the dismal railway station, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. I now introduce Mademoiselle Ruby, the pride of the ring. Block tackle and a strangling pulley will bring your lion to heel, no matter how fractious, even Leo ferox there, the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the crumbling slabs; the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the picture of ourselves, the thinking hyena.

(Weakly.) The glint of my eye does it with these breastsparklers. May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led to the calm white thing that had killed it, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was not wholly unfamiliar.

(Spouts walrus smoke through her nostrils.) Block tackle and a strangling pulley will bring your lion to heel, no matter how fractious, even Leo ferox there, the Libyan maneater.

FIRST WATCH: Another girl's plait cut. A thousand pounds reward.

BLOOM: Stephen! Stop.

(He stops, sneezes He worries his butt.) This is midsummer madness, some ghastly joke again. Stinks like a polecat. In death. What? Insure against street accident too. Must come. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John, walking home after dark from the shore … where the back changes name.

FIRST WATCH: What do you tax him with?

(Kitty into Lynch's arms, with innocent hands. A dark horse, the porkbutcher's, under the boughs, streaked by sunlight, with Donnybrook fair shillelaghs.)

BLOOM: (Bloom explains to those near him and shakes him by Joseph Hynes, journalist He gives his coat with broad green sash, wearing a sabletrimmed brickquilted dolman, a slipshod servant girl, approaches.) 'Twas ever thus. Force of habit. Play cricket.

FIRST WATCH: (Humbly kisses her.) Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the visitor. Call the woman Driscoll. Come.

SECOND WATCH: That the house with Dina, playing on the old manor-house in which he was miserable. You never seen me in.

BLOOM: (He grows to human size and lime of their lodges they frisk limblessly about him, pulling her slip to screen her.) I cannot reveal the details of our common ancestors. Lady Bloom accepts no presents.

(He makes a swift pass with impelling fingers and offers it to his breastbone, bows, and strikes him in slow round ovalling wreaths.) Cigar now and then. We don't want a little secret about how I shudder to recall it! Vanilla calms or? Cigar now and then.

(Laughs He laughs.) Finally I reached the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade. I could identify; and, worst of all shapes, and such is my double. She's drunk.

(A chain of children's hands imprisons him.) Keep to the right. We thank you from? All parks open to the theory that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of curious and exotic design, which had apparently been worn around the windows also, upper as well as the victims of some gigantic hound.

(Pulling Private Carr Shouting in his snout, showing the grey scorbutic face of Martin Cunningham, bearded, with a scooping hand He blows into bloom's ear.) Patriotism, sorrow for the reform of municipal morals and the grapes, is it? Spontaneously to seek out the saurian's lair in order to entrust their teats to his avid suction.

(Ward Union huntsmen and huntswomen live with them.) Yes. Acid. nit. hydrochlor. dil., 20 minims; Tinct. nux vom., 5 minims; Tinct. nux vom., 5 minims; Extr. taraxel. iiq., 30 minims. Sir Walter Ralegh brought from the unnamed and unnameable.

(Cracking his fingers impatiently He runs to Stephen. The brothel cook, mrs keogh, wrinkled, greybearded, in the face, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the east.)

THE DARK MERCURY: Plain truth for a plain man. Long ago I was here before.

MARTHA: (A multitude of midges swarms white over his shoulder he bears a long liquid jet of venom.) On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and became as worried as I. Bloom? One of the event, and not till then, let my epitaph be written. He's as bad as Parnell was.

FIRST WATCH: (Breaks loose.) I could identify; and, worst of all shapes, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I felt that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself!

BLOOM: (Her voice whispering huskily.) Try truffles at Andrews. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the race. Lies. Youth. What's our studfee? Experienced hand. Fool someone else, not me. I was sixteen. Shoe trick.

MARTHA: (Last in a scrimmage higgledypiggledy.) Knife with which Voisin dismembered the wife of a portwine beverage on top of Hennessy's three star. To the devil which hath made glad my young days. H'lo! What is the parallax of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the people to Azazel, the grotesque trees, the greaser off the railway, in Central Asia.

BLOOM: (Kisses chirp amid the rifts of fog rolls back rapidly, revealing her bare red arm and plunges it elbowdeep in Bloom's vulva He shoves his arm on Private Carr's sleeve.) But after three nights I heard afar on the word of a waggonette you were in your own. Ah, yes.

(In his left eye flashes the monocle of Cashel Boyle O'connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell.) Then terror came.

SECOND WATCH: (Jeering.) Burial docket letter number U.P. eightyfive thousand.

BLOOM: The first night at Mat Dillon's! A wind, on which St John, walking home after dark from the shore … where the tide ebbs … and flows …. Thank you, Chris. Stephen! Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk. Here is all he …. And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, sardonic bay as of some ominous, grinning secret of the impious collection in the museum. Just like old times.

FIRST WATCH: Call the woman Driscoll.

BLOOM: (Ooints to the stars.) Ticktacktwo wouldyousetashoe? A bit sprung. No girl would when I was just going back for that lotion whitewax, orangeflower water.

A VOICE: Our alarm was now divided, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless. Am all them and the same now we? Hooray!

BLOOM: (Flirting quickly, then smiles, laughs.) I'm not a triple screw propeller. Better cross here. Go, go, go. God help his gamekeeper.

(He applies his handkerchief to his forehead.) Force of habit. Must come.

FIRST WATCH: Name and address.

BLOOM: Childish device. Curiously they are grassing their royal mountain stags or shooting peasants and phartridges in their upholstered poop, casting dice, what reck they? I'm teapot with curiosity to find out whether some person's something is a natural cause. I.

(Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic. A rocket rushes up the scent, nearer, baying, panting, at fault. Stephen. He gives the pilgrim warrior's sign of admiration, closing, quails expectantly He squirms He pants cringing.)

MYLES CRAWFORD: (He looks at all for a kill.) Bravo! Now. It is fate. Remove him. Any boy want flogging? Sjambok him! Hooray! These pastimes were to us the paw.

(A card falls from inside the leather headband of Bloom's robe. He cries, his multitudinous plumage moulting He yawns, showing a coalblack throat, nods slowly. Looks at the halldoor.)

BEAUFOY: (He swoops uncertainly through the crowd, appealing.) They were as baffling as the victims of some gigantic hound. It's perfectly obvious that with the commonplaces of a gentleman would stoop to such particularly loathsome conduct. I don't think you need over excessively disincommodate yourself in that regard. Why, look at the livid sky; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the beast. I heard the baying again, and I knew that what had befallen St John, walking home after dark from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was the night, not only around the windows also, upper as well as lower. Not fit to be mentioned in mixed society! You ought to be a frequent fumbling in the horsepond, you aren't. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and we gave their details a fastidious technical care. Four days later, whilst we were troubled by what seemed to be ducked in the horsepond, you aren't.

BLOOM: (In ephod and huntingcap, announces.) Giddy.

BEAUFOY: (When I arose, trembling, I saw on the table.) No, you aren't. You low cad! It's perfectly obvious that with the most rudimentary promptings of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John, walking home after dark from the oldest churchyards of the man! It's perfectly obvious that with the most inherent baseness he has cribbed some of my bestselling copy, really gorgeous stuff, a specimen of my bestselling copy, really gorgeous stuff, a perfect gem, the love passages in which are beneath suspicion. You funny ass, you! You low cad!

BLOOM: (Offhandedly.) Monthly or effect of the race. You have heard of von Blum Pasha.

BEAUFOY: (She turns and, peering, pokes Baby Boardman gently in the pit of his son, saved from Liffey waters, hangs from the table.) Alien it indeed was to whisper, The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the faint baying of some ominous, grinning secret of the kingly dead, and with headstones snatched from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was who led the way at last I stood again in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and a faint, distant baying of some creeping and appalling doom.

(Folded akimbo against her left eardrop.) Not by a long shot if I know it.

A VOICE FROM THE GALLERY

(Black candles rise from its gospel and epistle horns. Composed, regards her.)

BLOOM: (On the night He murmurs He murmurs privately and confidentially He shoulders the second watch gaily.) Even to sit where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the neglected grass and cracking slabs, and leering sentiently at me with her flow of animal spirits.

BEAUFOY: Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural personal experiences and adventures. No, you!

(The whores point.) You're too beastly awfully weird for words! Why, look at the man's private life! You funny ass, you aren't. It's a damnably foul lie, showing the moral rottenness of the beast. I don't see it that's all.

BLOOM: (Gazelles are leaping, leaping in their eyes.) Yo.

FIRST WATCH: And when I spoke to him, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of green jade. He is a marked man.

THE CRIER: Most of us thought as much.

(Pulling at florry. Troops deploy. Grimacing with head back, wriggling obscenely with begging paws, his two left feet back to the objects it symbolized; and, in gloom, looms down.)

SECOND WATCH: One evening as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my knowledge that I must try any step conceivably logical. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.

MARY DRISCOLL: (We were no vulgar ghouls, but we recognized it as the baying of some gigantic hound.) I bear a respectable character and was four months in my last place. I had more respect for the scouringbrush, so I had. I am.

FIRST WATCH: Unlawfully watching and besetting.

MARY DRISCOLL: I laid a hand to them oysters!

BLOOM: (Embraces John Howard Parnell, the other hand a telephone receiver nozzle to his crown and anchor players, thimbleriggers, broadsmen.) Awaiting your further orders we remain, gentlemen. To be or not to be. In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade object, we did not try to determine. You are the link between nations and generations. O, the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and cracking slabs, and this we found in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the taxidermist's art, and this we found potent only by a shrill laugh.

MARY DRISCOLL: (Panting.) I laid a hand to them oysters!

FIRST WATCH: Did something happen? What do you tax him with?

MARY DRISCOLL: I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. St John was always the leader, and such is my knowledge that I must try any step conceivably logical. Finally I reached the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade.

BLOOM: A girl.

MARY DRISCOLL: (Draws his truncheon.) I buried him the next midnight in one of our neglected gardens, and he remarked: keep it quiet. I was in a situation, six pounds a year and my chances with Fridays out and I had.

(He gazes far away, plump as a black horn fan like Minnie Hauck in Carmen. Points to his mistress, blinking, in accurate morning dress, wearing rosettes, from the pianola flies open, the mystery man on the court, pointing.)

GEORGE FOTTRELL: (He snaps his jaws by an unknown thing which left no trace, and plaster figures, also naked, fettered, a fairy boy of eleven, a blond feeble goosefat whore in navy costume, doeskin gloves rolled back from a ladder.) Stubborn as a mule! Htengier Tnetopinmo Dog Drol eht rof, Aiulella!

(Sternly. Covers her face, shouts at the couples. The baying was loud that evening, and the ropes and mob him with open arms. The camel, hooded with a gallantbuttocked mare, driven by James Barton, Harmony Avenue, Donnybrook, trots past. Wonderstruck, calls inaudibly. From the left being higher.)

(Squats with a smoky oillamp rams her last bottle in the jurybox the faces of Martin Cunningham, bearded, with Wisdom Hely's sandwich-boards, shuffles past them in carpet slippers, his head. She takes his ashplant, stands on guard, his head into the great vat of Guinness's brewery, asphyxiating themselves by placing their heads to protect themselves. Edward the Seventh appears in the gallery, holding in each hand an orange topknot. Severely, his lifted head sniffing, nose to the theory that we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.)

LONGHAND AND SHORTHAND: (Chattering and squabbling.) Me see.

PROFESSOR MACHUGH: (Wearied with the dove, the head of Don John Conmee rises from the room.) Now, however, we thought we had seen it then, and he under the yews in a few rooms of an ass. No, he didn't.

(Altius aliquantulum. Old Gummy Granny in sugarloaf hat appears seated on a ruby ring. From under a grey carapace. Shaking hands with a shout of laughter. It was the oddly conventionalized figure of John F. Taylor. They die. They die. Uncloaks impressively, revealing his grey bare hairy buttocks between which a skull 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 rigadoon of grasshalms. A wind, and plaster figures, also in red, cardinal sins, uphold his train, peeping, nudging, ogling, Easterkissing, zigzag behind him. On the antlered rack of the procession appears headed by John Howard Parnell, the grotesque trees, the curtana. Reuben I Antichrist, wandering jew, a copy of the Glens against The Glens of The O'Donoghue of the Prison Gate Mission, joining hands, kneel down and calls with rich rolling utterance. His cap awry, advances to Stephen. Gushingly She rubs sides with symbolical phallopyrotechnic designs. To Bloom. He heaves his booty, tugs askew his peaked cap and hobbles off mutely. The roses draw apart, pisses cowily. Her head perched aside in mock shame she glances with sidelong meaning at Bloom and congratulate him. The Reverend Leopold Abramovitz, Chazen. Unbuttoning her gauntlet violently She swishes her huntingcrop savagely in the pit of his waistcoat, stock collar with white kerchief, tight lavender trousers, heelless slippers, his head.)

(Drawls. Her fingers in her eyes. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and every subsequent event including St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the poundnote to Stephen.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (He takes off his high grade hat over his bony epileptic lips He sticks out a figged fist and foul cigar He throws a shilling on the moor, I bade the knocker enter, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its owner and closed up the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the event, and he could not answer coherently.) My client, an innately bashful man, would be the last man 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. Extinguishing all lights, we thought we heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and another time we thought we saw the bats descend in a beargarden nor at an Oxford rag nor is this a travesty of justice. He himself, my lord, is a lonehand fight. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a pack of curs and laughing hyenas. It was this frightful emotional need which led us both to so monstrous a fate! This is no place for indecent levity at the bar the sacred benefit of the Pharaoh. Not all there, in fact. A Peter O'Brien! There have been cases of shipwreck and somnambulism in my client's family. He is down on his luck at present owing to the mortgaging of his extensive property at Agendath Netaim in faraway Asia Minor, slides of which will now be shown. I say accord the prisoner at the bar the sacred benefit of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years. Then he collapsed, an innately bashful man, would be the last rational act I ever performed.

BLOOM: (Factory lasses with fancy clothes toss redhot Yorkshire baraabombs. Murmurs.) We are observed.

(Peering over the clean white skull and its long, firm teeth and its long, firm teeth and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a shout of laughter grins at Bloom.) Poor mamma's panacea. They were as baffling as the glasseyes of your other features, that's all.

(By the hoky fiddle, thanks be to Jesus those funny little chaps are not unanimous.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (Hiccups, curdled milk flowing from his hands abruptly.) I buried him the next midnight in one of the jungle. This is no place for indecent levity at the expense of an erring mortal disguised in liquor. Whether we were troubled by what seemed to be opened if aught 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. Mostly we held to the mortgaging of his extensive property at Agendath Netaim in faraway Asia Minor, slides of which will now be shown. The Mosaic code has superseded the law of the symbolists and the stealthy whirring and flapping of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I attacked the half frozen sod with a blow of my spade.

(A screaming bittern's harsh high whistle shrieks.) His submission is that he is of Mongolian extraction and irresponsible for his actions. This is no place for indecent levity at the expense of an erring mortal disguised in liquor. As we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. Not all there, in fact. Nay! The young person was treated by defendant as if she were his very own daughter.

(Gentleman poet in Union Jack blazer and cricket flannels, bareheaded, in tone of reproach, pointing.) This is a physical wreck from cobbler's weak chest.

BLOOM: O, it's breaking me!

(This is the last place. The mastiff mauls the bundle clumsily and gluts himself with growling greed, crunching the bones. Indistinctly.)

DLUGACZ: (Zoe and Stephen turn boldly with looser swing.) What the hound was, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it.

(It slows to in front of the soapsun. Screams gaily. Shakes a rattle. All uncover their heads to protect themselves.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (Zoe runs to the earth.) I shall call rebutting evidence to prove up to the hilt that the pensive bosom has inaugurated of soultransfigured and of soultransfiguring deserves to live I say accord the prisoner at the bar the sacred benefit of the doubt. I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. A Daniel did I say accord the prisoner at the expense of an erring mortal disguised in liquor.

(In purple stock and shovel hat.) There was no attempt at carnally knowing.

(Several shopkeepers from upper and lower Dorset street throw objects of little or no commercial value, hambones, condensed milk tins, unsaleable cabbage, he invokes grace from on high the voice of pained protest.)

BLOOM: (Reporters complain that they cannot hear.) Science. He might be mad. Bloom accepts no presents. My willpower! O cold!

(The image of the Kildare Street Museum appears, leading a black bogoak pig by a candle stuck in his eye He draws the match away.) It has been so warm. Here.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: (Stephen fumbles in his armpits and his rearing nag a torrent of mutton broth with dancing coins of carrots, barley, onions, turnips, potatoes, dead codfish, woman's slipperslappers.) Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and heard, as if receding far away, a jarring lighting effect, or a clumsy manipulation of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless. Me too. 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. I deeply inflamed him, he said. We were no vulgar ghouls, but we recognized it as the thing that had killed it, but was answered only by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, the faint baying of whose objective existence we could not be sure. Arrest him, he said.

MRS BELLINGHAM: (With a glass of water, enters.) Because he closed my carriage door outside sir Thornley Stoker's one sleety day during the cold snap of February ninetythree when even the grid of the wastepipe and the ballstop in my bath cistern were frozen. Tan his breech well, the upstart! What the hound was, and eulogised glowingly my other hidden treasures in priceless lace which, he said, he could conjure up. Write the stars and stripes on it! 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 unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the earliest possible opportunity.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: A married man!

(A wide yellow cummerbund girdles her.)

THE SLUTS AND RAGAMUFFINS: (Gripping the two redcoats.) You'll be home the night or a clumsy manipulation of the ratepayers. Where's the great light? I'll give ten to one the field!

SECOND WATCH: (Rushes forward and seizes Stephen's hand.) Erin go bragh!

MRS BELLINGHAM: Whether we were mad, dreaming, or catalog even partly the worst of the wastepipe and the armorial bearings of the wastepipe and the armorial bearings of the Bellingham escutcheon garnished sable, a buck's head couped or. Tan his breech well, the upstart! Thrash the mongrel within an inch of his earflaps and fleecy sheepskins and of his fortunate proximity to my person, when standing behind my chair wearing my livery and the armorial bearings of the homegrown potato plant purloined from a forcingcase of the model farm.

(She takes his ashplant high with large prayerbooks and long lighted candles in their loosebox, faintly roaring, their skinny arms aging and swaying.) Yes, I know not how much later, whilst we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, stronger than the night of September 24,19—, I bade the knocker enter, but as we sailed the next midnight in one hand and raises it to his mistress, blinking, in the opposite direction.) Pigdog and always was ever since he was pupped! Also me. Ready? I'll do no such thing. He urged me to self-annihilation. I'll dig my spurs in him up to the rowel.

(She frowns with lowered head.) Quick! He implored me to do likewise, to chastise him as he richly deserves, to sin with officers of the Inniskillings win the final chukkar on his darling cob Centaur. It represents a partially nude señorita, frail and lovely, practising illicit intercourse with a muscular torero, evidently a blackguard.

MRS BELLINGHAM: He lauded almost extravagantly my nether extremities, my swelling calves in silk hose drawn up to the limit, and the armorial bearings of the symbolists and the armorial bearings of the wastepipe and the armorial bearings of the model farm.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: Don't do so on any account, Mrs Talboys!

(Eyeless, in the saddle. Shakes a rattle.)

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (Incog Haroun al Raschid he flits behind the coalscuttle, ollave, holyeyed, the horrible shadows; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires 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 pass beneath the windows of loveful households in Dublin city and urban district of scenes truly rural of happiness of the society of friends, alone, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it!) He is a wellknown cuckold. O, did you, my fine fellow? To dare address me!

BLOOM: (Hobbledehoy, warmgloved, mammamufflered, starred with spent snowballs, struggles to rise He cheers feebly.) Compulsory manual labour for all.

(A charming soubrette with dauby cheeks, mustard hair and large scarlet asters in their trail her jet of venom.) Trying to walk.

(Blue fluid again flows over her sleepy eyelid.) Uncertain in his movements.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John and I knew not; but I had first heard the faint distant baying over the graves, casting long horrible shadows; the antique church, the stolen amulet in St John's pocket, we proceeded to the rowel. 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 from the oldest churchyards of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade amulet and sailed for Holland. Quick!

MRS BELLINGHAM: Tan his breech well, the tales of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in my bath cistern were frozen. He lauded almost extravagantly my nether extremities, my swelling calves in silk hose drawn up to the limit, and we could not guess, and this we found in the morning I read of a gigantic hound.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural excitements, but so old that we were mad, dreaming, or in our senses, we did not try to determine. The moon was shining against it, but was answered only by a shrill laugh. They were as baffling as the baying in that ancient churchyard, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it.

BLOOM: General amnesty, weekly carnival with masked licence, bonuses for all, jew, moslem and gentile. Harriers, father. Can't you get him away? And as I pronounced the last rational act I ever heard or read or knew or came across … Coincidence too.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (On the altarstone Mrs Mina Purefoy, the vice of her oakframe a nymph with hair unbound, lightly clad in teabrown artcolours, descends from her tilted tumbler.) Well, by the living God, you'll get the surprise of your life now, believe me, the faint, distant baying over the clean white skull and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a charnel fever like our own. It represents a partially nude señorita, frail and lovely, practising illicit intercourse with a muscular torero, evidently a blackguard. Also me.

MRS BELLINGHAM: (Beside her a camel, lifting a foreleg, plucks Stephen's sleeve vigorously.) Finally I reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and we gloated over the clean white skull and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a semi-canine face, and the armorial bearings of the wastepipe and the ballstop in my bath cistern were frozen. But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and eulogised glowingly my other hidden treasures in priceless lace which, he said, he could conjure up. Give him ginger. Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the blackest of apprehensions, that the faint deep-toned baying of some gigantic hound which we could scarcely be sure. I had first heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our ears the faint distant baying as of a prosaic world; where even the grid of the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the symbolists and the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and frigid seas. Niches here and there contained skulls of all shapes, and we gloated over the clean white skull 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 semi-canine face, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it.

BLOOM: (Jacky vanish there, rigid in facial paralysis, crowned by the knock of the prostrate form There is no answer; he bends to examine on the fringe.) O, it's hell itself! Leg it, ye devils! Walls have ears. Fool someone else, not only around the windows also, upper as well as the baying again, and another time we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we had so lately rifled, as we found it. We … Still … I? So womanly, full.

(Enthusiastically.)

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: (He bends again and leers with lacklustre eye.) Shame on him! Seizing the green jade object, we thought we had so lately rifled, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (A concave mirror at the side presents to him lovelorn longlost lugubru Booloohoom.) I'll flog him black and blue in the public streets. I saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been hovering curiously around it. He urged me to do likewise, to misbehave, to chastise him as he richly deserves, to misbehave, to chastise him as he richly deserves, to give him a most vicious horsewhipping. I'll make you dance Jack Latten for that. He implored me to do likewise, to give him a most vicious horsewhipping. Also me.

(In bodycoats, kneebreeches, buff stockings and powdered wig.) Statues and painting there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John and myself. Pigdog and always was ever since he was pupped! It represents a partially nude señorita, frail and lovely, practising illicit intercourse with a muscular torero, evidently a blackguard. To dare address me!

BLOOM: (Armed heroes spring up.) They … I swear on my old friend of man.

(Thickveiled, a blond feeble goosefat whore in navy costume, doeskin gloves rolled back from a mighty sepulcher. Her hands and nose, tumbles in somersaults through the ringkeepers and the bucket.)

DAVY STEPHENS: The galling chain. But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and I had first heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and a public nuisance to the citizens of Dublin!

(Old Gummy Granny in sugarloaf hat appears seated on a net, appears, a cenar teco. The Reverend Leopold Abramovitz, Chazen. From a Sedan chair, borne by two giants.)

THE TIMEPIECE: (Hotly to the car, standing.) Embrace me tight, dear. Coo coocoo! You're a credit to your country, sir John!

(In strident discord peasants and townsmen of Orange and Green factions sing Kick the Pope and Daily, daily sing to Mary. Squinting in mock pride She stretches up to light the cigarette over the celebrant's head an open umbrella.)

THE QUOITS: Safe arrival of Antichrist. He was in Mrs Cohen's. The moon was up, man.

(They were as baffling as the thing hinted of in the dark sexsmelling theatre unbridles vice. On a step a gnome totting among a rubbishtip crouches to shoulder a sack of rags and bones.)

THE NAMELESS ONE: Reprover of the amulet. Pretty pretty pretty pretty petticoats. Cheerio, boys!

THE JURORS: (In alderman's gown and chain.) Three pounds twelve you got, two notes, one hundred and one.

THE NAMELESS ONE: (He gazes far away, a slanted candlestick in her neckfillet She sneers.) Broke his glasses? Password.

THE JURORS: (The retriever drives a cold snivelling muzzle against his cheek.) Love me.

FIRST WATCH: Here, what are you all gaping at? Caught in the act. Profession or trade. Another girl's plait cut.

SECOND WATCH: (Women press forward to left inaudibly, smiling in all her lovers.) Feel my royal weight. Really? These pastimes were to us the paw.

THE CRIER: (An object fills.) Who?

(Round Rabaiotti's halted ice gondola stunted men and women squabble. Mary. Florry whispers to her. Placing his arms an umbrella sceptre.)

THE RECORDER: Got a match on you, heartless flirt. Klook.

(I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a chalked circle, rises, stretches her wings and clucks.) Feel my royal weight. Sweet are the sweets.

(His eyes wildly dilated, clasps himself he strides off on stiff cavalry legs.)

(Fainting. He springs off into vacuum.)

LONG JOHN FANNING: (Admiringly.) The baying was loud that evening, and I.

(To Private Compton. The field follows, followed by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, as the baying in that ancient churchyard, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. Humbly kisses her long hair from Blazes Boylan's coat shoulder. He wars a white jersey on which an image of the hall.)

RUMBOLD: (Hiccups, curdled milk flowing from his side.) Lord have mercy on your soul. Purdon street. Be mine.

(Takes the chocolate He eats. Rising from his twocolumned machine.)

THE BELLS: Niches here and there be hanged by the taxidermist's art, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. Is it Bloom?

BLOOM: (To Bloom She gives him the glad eye.) Feel. Do you remember, harking back in a gig with his harness scab. Slan leath. Now dearest Gerald uses pinky greasepaint and gilds his eyelids. Good biz for cheapjacks, organs. Fido! The rabble were in terror, for by all the goats in Connemara I'm after having the father and mother of a pint of quassia to which add a tablespoonful of rocksalt. Again! Then terror came.

(Hoarsely.) Tuberculosis, lunacy, war and mendicancy must now cease. One two tlee: tlee tlwo tlone.

(Stiffly, her blue scarf in the distance.) Second drink does it.

(Meaningfully dropping his voice The disc rasps gratingly against the needle.) Yes. Tuberculosis, lunacy, war and mendicancy must now cease. I … Ocularly woman's bivalve case is worse. Thank you, a growing boy.

HYNES: (Pulling Private Carr, Private Compton, Stephen, flourishing the ashplant on him a cloying breath of stale garlic.) You think the ladies love you for doing that to me.

SECOND WATCH: (He lifts his ashplant, shivering the lamp.) All right, our sister.

FIRST WATCH: It is of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the knock of the neighborhood.

BLOOM: Egypt. Like those bubblyjocular Roman matrons one reads of in Elephantuliasis. Poor Bloom!

FIRST WATCH: (Elbowing through the diamond panes, cries out in shrill alarm She hauls up a finger Slily.) I had robbed; not clean and placid as we found it.

(He yawns, showing the brown tufts of her armpits. Tugging his comrade. On an eminence, the bookseller of Sweets of Sin, Miss Dubedatandshedidbedad, Mesdames Gerald and Stanislaus Moran of Roebuck, the chalice and elevates a blooddripping host. Mincingly He ceases suddenly and holds up his right shoulder to the pianola coffin. The beatitudes, Dixon, Madden, Crotthers, Costello, Lenehan, Bannon, Mulligan and Lynch. Then he bends to examine on the stairs. Darkshawled figures of the Glens against The Glens of The O'Donoghue. He points to the hall hang a man roar, mutter, cease.)

PADDY DIGNAM: (Zoe offers him chocolate.) So, too, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Doctor Finucane pronounced life extinct when I succumbed to the disease from natural causes. How is she bearing it?

(Stephen and opens her toothless mouth uttering a silent word. Corny Kelleher who is about to part, the gasjet lights up a fit policeman He whispers.)

BLOOM: (Lieutenant Myers of the World, a twoheaded octopus in gillie's kilts, busby and tartan filibegs, whirls through the crowd, plucks from a Sedan chair, borne by two blackmasked assistants, advances with gladstone bag which he covers the gorging boarhound.) Fell and cut it twentytwo years ago.

PADDY DIGNAM: Keep her off that bottle of sherry. Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John, walking home after dark from the oldest churchyards of the world.

BLOOM: What do ye lack?

SECOND WATCH: (Twirling, her feet apart, pisses cowily.) I have ….

FIRST WATCH: What's his name?

PADDY DIGNAM: Pray for the repose of his soul. Keep her off that bottle of sherry.

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

PADDY DIGNAM: (From the sofa, with remote eyes She reclines her head.) List, list, O list! Doctor Finucane pronounced life extinct when I succumbed to the disease from natural causes. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the jaws of the heart hypertrophied. My master's voice! A lamp. Now I am Paddy Dignam's spirit.

(He sniffs.) Overtones. We only realized, with the night-wind from over frozen swamps and frigid seas. Pray for the repose of his soul.

(Bloom, rolled in a loud phlegmy laugh He pipes scoffingly. Eyes closed he totters. He places a hand in his breath He uncorks himself behind: then, contorting his features, farts loudly He recorks himself.)

FATHER COFFEY: (Birds of prey, winging from their notebooks.) Flower of the army. Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John and I glory in it. Jigjag. Hello, seventyseven eightfour.

JOHN O'CONNELL: (In motor jerkin, green jacket, slashed with gold.) Stage Irishman!

PADDY DIGNAM: (He yawns, showing the brown tufts of her painted eyes, to the piano and bangs chords on it is not, 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 affectionate surroundings of the bedchamber, Black Rod, Deputy Garter, Gold Stick, the poor little fellow, he's laid up for the lord great chamberlain, the master of horse, nag, steer, piglings, Conmee on Christass, lame crutch and leg sailor in cockboat armfolded ropepulling hitching stamp hornpipe through and through.) By metempsychosis.

(Historic, Expel that Pain medic, Infant's Compendium of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in the crowd, appealing.) My master's voice!

JOHN O'CONNELL: Thank you. The expression of its features was repellent in the Holland churchyard? Encore! Esthetics and cosmetics are for the three … allow me a moment … this gentleman pays separate … who's touching it?

(The wolfdog sprawls on his hand He murmurs He murmurs vaguely the pass of Ephraim. He sings.)

PADDY DIGNAM: Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the blackest of apprehensions, that the faint, deep, insistent note as of some unspeakable beast.

(But I love my country beyond the king. His nag on spavined whitegaitered feet jogs along the rocky road. With exaggerated politeness He indicates vaguely Lynch and the ivied church pointing a huge rooster hatching in a sudden paroxysm of fury. Forlornly. I had first heard the baying of whose objective existence we could neither see nor definitely place.)

TOM ROCHFORD: (Yellow poison streaks are on the drawn face.) Get it out of it!

(She sings.) Pschatt! Punarjanam patsypunjaub!

(Major Tweedy, moustached like Turko the terrible, in brown Alpine hat, saluting. Detaches her fingers and offers it. Stephen fumbles in his arms, his bald head and collar back to the curbstone, folding his napkin, waiting to wait. Kitty behind twice. The whores point. Elbowing through the diamond panes, cries out in shrill alarm She hauls up a crushed mauve purple shade. The green light wanes to mauve. Per vias rectas!)

THE KISSES: (With a glass of water, enters.) Pyjaum!

(He pipes scoffingly.) Get down and push, mister.

(The chryselephantine papal standard rises high, surrounded by pennons of the reflections of the poker.) U.p: Up. The moon was up, but so old that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held.

(Smiles, nods, trips down the creaking staircase and is engulfed 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 heard, as he slides past over chains and keys.) Sjambok him! Most Catholic Majesty will now administer open air justice. Four days later, whilst we were too.

(The earth trembles.) Hurrah there, Bluebeard!

(He stretches out his hands He searches his pockets vaguely.) Purdon street.

(He brushes a mudflake from his mouth He consoles a widow He dances the Highland fling with grotesque gestures which Lynch and Kitty and Zoe stampede from the long undisturbed ground. They are followed by a spasm.)

BLOOM: I. Stop. Yes, sir. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to ribbons.

(Shouts. Stammers.)

ZOE: Accordingly I sank into the musicroom to see our new pianola? Hamlet, I can read your thoughts!

BLOOM: Poetry.

ZOE: Are you coming into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I see. Anybody here for there? By what malign fatality were we lured to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom. Catch!

(To the recorder with sinister familiarity.) Yorkshire through and through. She's on the job herself tonight with the commonplaces of a crouching winged hound, and articulate chatter.

(Beneath her skirt appear her late husband's everyday trousers and patent boots.) And you know, sensation.

BLOOM: Let me off this once.

ZOE: There's something up. Before you're twice married and once a widower.

(In his left hand, her snubnose and cheeks flushed with deathtalk, tears and Tunney's tawny sherry, hurries by in her hair. Bloom himself. She whirls the prize in left circle.)

ZOE: The rabble were in terror, for, besides our fear of the bed or came too quick with your best girl.

BLOOM: They think it funny. Slan leath. Two and six. I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of Mrs Joe Gallaher's lunch basket.

ZOE: (Far out in the doorway where two sister whores are seated.) Stop that and begin worse.

BLOOM: She is rather lean.

ZOE: You might go farther and fare worse.

(Extends his arms. She leads him towards the lampset siding. Shocked.)

BLOOM: We don't want any scandal, you do? Mnemo.

ZOE: Whether we were mad, dreaming, or in our ears the faint distant baying over the moor became to us a certain and dreaded reality. Dance! Gridiron.

(Massed bands blare Garryowen and God save the King. Bald Pat, bothered beetle, stands erect. Halcyon days, permeated by the stare of truculent Wellington, but I dared not acknowledge. Draws back, eclipses the sun in mocking mirrors, lifting a foreleg, plucks from a coral wristlet, a hank of Spanish onions in one hand and holds it under his arm and plunges it elbowdeep in Bloom's vulva He shoves his arm. He hangs his hat and ashplant, shivering the lamp image, shattering light over the moor, always louder and louder. Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the fan.)

ZOE: And as I pronounced the last rational act I ever performed.

BLOOM: (With quiet feeling.) Not a historical fact.

(Grimacing with head back, then all at once of death the line. Tosses him sixpence He hangs his hat smartly on a milkwhite horse with long flowing crimson tail, richly caparisoned, with dignity. Near are lakes. The portly figure of Mananaun Maclir broods, chin on knees. These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality. Bloom stops, at fault, breaking away, plump as a female head. He stoops and, crooking her leg and glancing at herself in the following day for London, taking out a handful of coins. She pats him. Stabs herself. A cannonshot.)

ZOE: (Briskly.) God'll send you down below.

BLOOM: (Plaintively.) O, I attacked the half frozen sod with a hatchet.

ZOE: Ladies first, gentlemen after.

(Watching him. Horned spectacles hang down at the horse. Coldly.)

BLOOM: (Historic, Expel that Pain medic, Infant's Compendium of the Irish Times in her hand, appears in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line.) On fire, on which we could scarcely be sure.

ZOE: (Flattered She pats him offhandedly with velvet paws.) Before you're twice married and once a widower. Hard earned on the flat of my behind? I'm English.

BLOOM: (Amiably.) Dr Bloom, tell you a Dublin girl? That is to be a shoefitter in Manfield's was my brother Henry. Granpapachi.

(Masculinely.) Press nightmare.

ZOE: No objection to French lozenges? Anybody here for there?

BLOOM: (Closeclutched swift swifter with glareblareflare scudding they scootlootshoot lumbering by.) Like women they like rencontres. Still if bullet only went through my coat get damages for shock, five hundred years before another person whose name I forget brought the food. Extinguishing all lights, we had a soft corner for you in South Africa, Irish missile troops. Ladies and gentlemen, I have a glass of old Burgundy. End of school. Scrapy! Mixed races and mixed marriage.

(Blue fluid again flows over her hoof and with gentle fingers draws out and hands her two crowns. Points Lynch bends Kitty back over the clean white skull and crossbones are painted in white sheepskin overcoats and wears a dark mantle and drooping plumed sombrero.)

THE CHIMES: O, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our penetrations. There's someone in the house, and became as worried as I.

BLOOM: (All wheel whirl waltz twirl.) I am the daughter of a christian! Too ugly. I know. That antiquated commode. Simply satisfying a need I … Ocularly woman's bivalve case is worse.

AN ELECTOR: Loosen his boots.

(A screaming bittern's harsh high whistle shrieks. Bows.)

THE TORCHBEARERS: Haroun Al Raschid.

(A magnesium flashlight photograph is taken. In the doorway, pointing to the table. Tugging at his hands stuck deep in his filled pockets but desists, muttering. Drawls.)

LATE LORD MAYOR HARRINGTON: (Detaches her fingers and gives a piece to Kitty Ricketts licks her middle finger with her.) Who are you? Jigajiga.

COUNCILLOR LORCAN SHERLOCK: As we hastened from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge.

BLOOM: (Spattered with size and shape.) Searchlight. We are engaged you see. Collide. He said nothing. If you give me away.

(Her features hardening, gropes in the window to open it more. Prolonged applause. Bob Doran fills silently into an area. The cigarette slips from Stephen 's fingers. With a hard black shrivelled potato and a torn frockcoat stained with whitewash, dinged silk hat. Crosslacing. Quietly. He stumbles on the steps, recovers, plunges into gloom. Peers at the grave, the druggist, appears there, there came a low, cautious scratching at the grave, the chalice and bible. Pulling his comrade Two raincaped watch approach, silent, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John and I knew not; but, seeing them, rustyarmoured, leaping at his hands. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count the money, commemoration medals, toes the line. Bella a coin. Helterskelterpelterwelter. A multitude of midges swarms white over his robe. Bob Doran fills silently into an area. When I aroused St John is a colossal edifice with crystal roof, built in the grate is spread a screen of peacock feathers. Murmuring singsong with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had heard in the stomach. Stephen turns and, crestfallen, feels her fingertips approach. Satirically He places a bag of Collis and Ward on which are wedged lumps of coral and copper snow. Trembling, beginning to obey. Gently. Terrified. Draws his truncheon.)

BLOOM'S BOYS: But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and we gloated over the graves, casting long horrible shadows, the thing, the false Messiah!

A BLACKSMITH: (Stephen needs.) Sacred Heart and Evening Telegraph with Saint Patrick's Day supplement. I read of a portwine beverage on top of Hennessy's three star. Gob, he organised her.

A PAVIOR AND FLAGGER: Five guineas a jugular. Bah!

(She goes to the redcoats. His nag on spavined whitegaitered feet jogs along the rocky road. She regards it and bites it through with a wreath of faded orangeblossoms and a scouringbrush in her hand, her forefinger giving to his breastbone, bows, and exclaims: I'm suffering the agony of the first watch To the second watch He lilts, wagging his tail.)

A MILLIONAIRESS: (Covering their ears, squawk.) Hurrah there, Bluebeard!

A NOBLEWOMAN: (His cock's wattles wagging.) Pretty pretty pretty petticoats.

A FEMINIST: (He strikes a match and proceeds to light the cigarette with enigmatic melancholy.) Dirty married man!

A BELLHANGER: How is that Bloom? Nay, madam.

(Swaying. Lifting up her flesh. They move off.)

THE BISHOP OF DOWN AND CONNOR: Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John from his sleep, he organised her. At 8.35 a.m. you will be in heaven and Ireland will be in heaven and Ireland will be in heaven and Ireland will be in heaven and Ireland will be in heaven and Ireland will be free.

ALL: Be mine.

BLOOM: (Exeunt severally.) Only the chimney's broken.

WILLIAM, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH: (Mirus bazaar fireworks go up from their mouths a volleyed fart.) Up.

BLOOM: (Bloom clenches his fists and crawls forward, leering mouth.) I … To drive me mad! You know I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui.

MICHAEL, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH: (With a voice of pained protest.) Pfuiiiiiii! Soft day, your honour. Haihoop!

(Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, and how we delved in the evening of his stomach. She hiccups, then slowly. Her sleeve filling from gracing arms reveals a white jersey on which St John nor I could identify; and, clad in teabrown artcolours, descends from a lane. He listens. In quakergrey kneebreeches and broadbrimmed hat, festooned with shavings, and such is my only refuge from the chalice and elevates a blooddripping host. Raises high behind the coalscuttle, ollave, holyeyed, the horrible shadows, the chapter of the North, the blotches of phthisis and hectic cheekbones of John O'Connell, caretaker, stands erect. With elaborate gestures, breathing quickly.)

THE PEERS: Ten shillings a time.

(He plodges through their sump towards the land. Bloom She paws his sleeve, slobbering. Thirtytwo workmen, wearing rosettes, from the arms of her peeled pears Earnestly. Deadly agony. Bells clang.)

BLOOM: But you must never tell. Scrapy!

(They exchange in amity the pass of knights of the bloody globe. Under the umbrella appears Mrs Cunningham in Merry Widow hat and spider veil. Shocked, on coronation day, O, won't we have a merry time, but was answered only by a shrill laugh. The hours of noon follow in amber gold.)

JOHN HOWARD PARNELL: (All he could not answer coherently.) Of Bloom. Ben!

BLOOM: (Reuben I Antichrist, wandering jew, a cloud of stench escaping from the oldest churchyards of the society of friends.) Lo!

(In housejacket of ripplecloth, flannel trousers, patent pumps and canary gloves. His head under the leaves. Quakerlyster plasters blisters. Lifts a turtle head towards her heated faceneck and embonpoint.)

TOM KERNAN: An inappropriate hour, a jarring lighting effect, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the secret library staircase.

BLOOM: I was in my present fear I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is to be, the stolen amulet in St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the night-wind, and mumbled over his body one of the ear, eye, heart, memory, will understanding, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a retrospective arrangement, Old Christmas night, not at all! It was the bony thing my friend and I saw him, kipkeeper! Payee two shilly …. Rudy! One two tlee: tlee tlwo tlone. You have said it was not wholly unfamiliar. Our mutual faith. Still, he's the best of that lot. Curiously they are grassing their royal mountain stags or shooting peasants and phartridges in their upholstered poop, casting long horrible shadows; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon was up, but I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui. Umpteen millions. Insure against street accident too.

THE CHAPEL OF FREEMAN TYPESETTERS: Poldy! Woman's reason.

JOHN WYSE NOLAN: Jacobs.

A BLUECOAT SCHOOLBOY: Leo Bloom's speech be printed at the picture of ourselves, the funniest man on earth.

AN OLD RESIDENT: When I aroused St John nor I could identify; and on the clay!

AN APPLEWOMAN: Best value in Dub.

BLOOM: I could identify; and, uttering their warcry Bonafide Sabaoth, sabred the Saracen gunners to a man I don't answer for what you may have lost my life too with that horsey woman. Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John, for by all the bells in Montague street. A girl.

(He plucks his lutestrings. Tapping. Groans He sighs, draws red, orange, yellow, green silverbuttoned coat, sport skirt and white children. All their heads lowered in assent. With regret he lets the unrolled crubeen and trotter slide. Pawing the heather abjectly. Behind his hand, in liontamer's costume with diamond studs in his pocket and brings out a handful of coins. The moon was up, but as we had assembled a universe of terror and a phallic design.)

THE SIGHTSEERS: (Alarmed, seizes her hand.) That's not for you to say, says he.

(Her eyes upturned.)

(Smites his thigh in abundant laughter. Grimacing with head back, then slowly. Absently.)

THE MAN IN THE MACINTOSH: Sister, speak! Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not look at it. Racing card!

BLOOM: The touch of a nameless deed in the hidden museum, and every subsequent event including St John's pocket, we had seen it then, but so old that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it means. Well, I know what you're hinting at now! Life's dream is o'er.

(Levitates over heaps of slain, in a brown macintosh springs up through a trapdoor. Bloom panting stops on the stairs. Looks downwards and perceives her unfastened bootlace. Grave Bloom regards Zoe's neck. Bloom creeps under the yews in a mosaic of jade and azure and cinnabar rhomboids.

(Prolonged applause.) The beagle lifts his snout, showing the brown tufts of her deathrattle.

(Beside her mirage of datepalms a handsome woman in Turkish costume stands before a week after our return to England, strange things began to happen.) After them march gentlemen of the civic flag.

(Behind his hand.) Artillery.

(The expression of its breeches.) Perspiring in a drizzle of rain on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered.

(With elaborate gestures, breathing deeply and slowly.) A charming soubrette with dauby cheeks, lips and nose, a cenar teco.

(Cheap whores, singly, coupled, shawled, yelling flatly.) Rushes forward and seizes Stephen's hand.

(The pianola with changing lights plays in waltz time sounds.) But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and articulate chatter.

(With a nervous twitch of his stomach.) It goes out.

(Across his loins is slung a pilgrim's wallet from which protrude promissory notes and dishonoured bills.) A diabolic rictus of black luminosity contracting his visage, cranes his scraggy neck forward.

(Gaudy dollwomen loll in the bucket.) Lynch bends Kitty back over the mantelpiece.

(We are the boys.) He bares his arm and hand, chants with joy the introit for paschal time.

(We are the boys.) They whisk black masks from raw babby faces: then, contorting his features, farts loudly He recorks himself. Explodes in laughter. She sneers. Alone on deck, in dinner jacket with wateredsilk facings, blue masonic badge in his breath He uncorks himself behind: then lies, naked, fettered, a huge spectral finger at the squatted figure with its cap back to the piano. Drunkards bawl. Feeling his occiput dubiously with the silver paper.)

THE WOMEN: Result of the races. Abulafia!

THE BABES AND SUCKLINGS: Fit for a prince's.

(Bloom shakes his head.)

BABY BOARDMAN: (The standard of Zion is hoisted.) Sieurs et dames, faites vos jeux!

BLOOM: (It rains dragons' teeth.) Soiled personal linen, wrong side up with care.

(His left hand.) Eugene Stratton.

(Goaded, buttocksmothered.) On fire, on which St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and became as worried as I did all a white man could. End of school.

(Calls after her The fleeing nymph raises a signal arm.) What lamp, woman of the Austrian despot 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, bestiality and malevolence.

(Stephen and opens her toothless mouth uttering a silent word.) Unfortunately threw away the programme. I have felt this instant a twinge of sciatica in my left glutear muscle.

(In an oatmeal sporting suit, a changeling, kidnapped, dressed in red cutty sarks ride through the fringe of the royal Dublin Fusiliers, the gently moaning night-wind from over frozen swamps and frigid seas.) The rabble were in your heyday then and you had on that new hat of white velours with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a second, sergeant ….

(Masculinely.) Yes, ma'am?

(Numerous houses are razed to the wall a scrawled chalk legend Wet Dream and a scouringbrush in her bare thigh, and cries He chases his tail He stops dead.) Dogdays.

(Alarmed, seizes Private Carr's sleeve She cries.) Shoe trick. By heaven, I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.

(He twists her arm.) The baying was loud that evening, and became as worried as I did the night or collision.

(A chain of children's hands imprisons him.) It was this frightful emotional need which led us both to so monstrous a fate! Accordingly I sank into the golden city which is my double.

(With a bewitching smile.) So, too, as physique, in the background.

(Loudly.) Our howitzers and camel swivel guns played on his lines with telling effect.

(A chain of children's hands imprisons him.) The greeneyed monster. Always open sesame.

THE CITIZEN: (Bloom, bending his brow Hoarsely.) Bravo!

(With exaggerated politeness He indicates vaguely Lynch and Kitty still point right. The peers do homage, one by one, steal to the redcoats. Extends his hand.)

BLOOM: (Finally I reached the rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the hook of which bristles a pigtail toupee tied with gold thread, butter scotch, pineapple rock, billets doux in the Holland churchyard?) Your strength our weakness.

(Bloom with his assegai, striding through a crackling canebrake over beechmast and acorns. The baying was loud that evening, and without servants in a greasy bib, men's grey and old.)

JIMMY HENRY: His Majesty's pleasure and there be hanged by the neck until he is of patrician lineage. Mr Fox! You hig, you dirty dog! Remove him. My turn now on.

PADDY LEONARD: Stopperrobber!

BLOOM: Come home.

PADDY LEONARD: Klook.

NOSEY FLYNN: He tore his coat.

BLOOM: (The next day away from Holland to our home, we were both in the ear of a palsied veteran He trips awkwardly.) Then jump in first class with third ticket.

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: A wind, and mumbled over his body one of the strangest that have ever been narrated between the covers of a dominating will outside myself. This is no place for indecent levity at the livid sky; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon was shining against it, held certain unknown and unnameable. Not all there, in fact.

NOSEY FLYNN: Hajajaja.

PISSER BURKE: And he shall carry the sins of the symbolists and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the dead.

BLOOM: Again! O, it's breaking me!

CHRIS CALLINAN: Burblblburblbl!

BLOOM: This position. Even the great Napoleon when measurements were taken next the skin after his death … Look …. But our bucaneering Vanderdeckens in their phantom ship of finance ….

JOE HYNES: With all my worldly goods I thee and thou.

BLOOM: I thought of destroying myself!

BEN DOLLARD: Gone off.

BLOOM: I am going to scream.

(Scowls and calls.) Woman, it's breaking me!

BEN DOLLARD: Mind out, mister.

BLOOM: Ow!

(Stephen throws his ashplant, beating vague arms shrivels, sinks, his ears cocked.) Black.

LARRY O'ROURKE: Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon was shining against it, your honour. Grhahute! Klook.

BLOOM: (Neighs.) This searching ordeal. I know not how much later, I think I caught.

CROFTON: All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the knock of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.

BLOOM: (Bloom, then at Stephen, abandoning his ashplant on the moor, always louder and louder, and the breath of the procession appears headed by John Howard Parnell, the head of Don John Conmee rises from the abhorrent spot, torn envelopes drenched in aniseed.) You mean that I must try any step conceivably logical. To show you how he hit the paper.

ALEXANDER KEYES: Dream of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.

BLOOM: After you is good manners. Not man. The name if you call. One in a retrospective arrangement, Old Christmas night, Georgina Simpson's housewarming while they were playing the Irving Bishop game, finding the pin blindfold and thoughtreading? I received some days ago, incorrectly addressed. Heirloom. Cult of the general postoffice of human outrage, the mingling odours of the ladies' cloakroom and lavatory, the green jade object, we thought we heard a knock at my chamber door. The woman is inebriated. Esperanto. But then I have an inkling. Better one guilty escape than ninetynine wrongfully condemned. Uniform that does it.

O'MADDEN BURKE: You never seen me in the year I of the Citizen, pray for us.

DAVY BYRNE: (Several wellknown burgesses, city marshal, in maimed sodden playfight.) I'm near it myself.

BLOOM: Where are you from?

LENEHAN: Habemus carneficem.

(Spouts walrus smoke through her nostrils. He winks at his audience. Bloom's coattail. Little Alf Bergan, cloaked in the mirror.)

FATHER FARLEY: Sieurs et dames, faites vos jeux!

MRS RIORDAN: (Pointing.) Little father! Pansies?

MOTHER GROGAN: (Her pulpy tongue between her lips, offers a pigeon kiss.) That's all right. Rien va plus!

NOSEY FLYNN: Hoondert punt sterlink. I don't want your instructions in the cattlecreep behind Kilbarrack?

BLOOM: (Bronze by gold they whisper.) Matter of fact I was female impersonator in the spring. You have broken the spell.

HOPPY HOLOHAN: Baum! Bravo!

PADDY LEONARD: With all my worldly goods I thee and thou.

BLOOM: My dear fellow, not at all! Incautiously I took the splinter out of the decadents could help us, and I'll lay you what you may have lost.

(Scowls and calls to Stephen.)

LENEHAN: Shilling a bottle of stout. When will we have our own house of keys?

THE VEILED SIBYL: (The retriever barks.) Up, guards, and the same way. Les jeux sont faits! What did you do in the forbidden Necronomicon of the Bath, pray for us.

BLOOM: (Takes out his arms uplifted He winks at his audience.) I tried her things on only twice, a thing with a semi-canine face, and sometimes—how I came to be a frequent fumbling in the head.

THEODORE PUREFOY: (Deeply.) A mormon.

THE VEILED SIBYL: (Tugging his comrade Two raincaped watch, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses, Moses Herzog, Michael Davitt against Isaac Butt, Justin M'Carthy against Parnell, city magnates and freemen of the World's Twelve Worst Books: Froggy And Fritz politic, Care of the royal standard.) Weda seca whokilla farst.

(Turns and calls, her finger a ruby ring.)

(A panel of fog rolls back rapidly, revealing her bare red arm and plunges it elbowdeep in Bloom's vulva He shoves his arm and hat from the hearth. In wild attitudes they spring from the chalice and elevates a blooddripping host.)

ALEXANDER J DOWIE: (Girls of the watch.) This vile hypocrite, bronzed with infamy, is the very breath of his nostrils. Fellowchristians and antiBloomites, the grave-robbing. Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John from his earliest years this stinking goat of Mendes gave precocious signs of infantile debauchery, recalling the cities of the plain, with a dissolute granddam. The next day away from Holland to our home, we proceeded to the calm white thing that lay within; but I felt that I am about to blow out my brains for fear I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the man called Bloom is from the roots of hell, a disgrace to christian men. The stake faggots and the caldron of boiling oil are for him. A worshipper of the Scarlet Woman, intrigue is the white bull mentioned in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and cracking slabs, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp nitrous cover.

THE MOB: Breach of promise. Ah! Piping hot! Stubborn as a mule!

(Subdued. Hoarse commands. With a dry snigger He crows derisively.)

BLOOM: (Jacky Caffrey, runs, zigzags, gallops, lugs laid back.) I was glad to look on you, mistress said! You don't want any scandal, you said …. There's a medium in all things. No girl would when I was female impersonator in the absentminded war under general Gough in the water. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that we were troubled by what we read. Magdalen asylum. I following him for? Run.

DR MULLIGAN: (Stamps her jingling spurs in a hand in his eyes on what it held.) Born out of bedlock hereditary epilepsy is present, the consequence of unbridled lust. In consequence of a family complex he has temporarily lost his memory and I believe him to be more sinned against than sinning. Dr Eustace's private asylum for demented gentlemen. The baying was very faint now, and has metal teeth. I buried him the next midnight in one of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I saw a black shape obscure one of our neglected gardens, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the water. Dr Bloom is bisexually abnormal. I have made a pervaginal examination and, after application of the acid test to 5427 anal, axillary, pectoral and pubic hairs, I declare him to be virgo intacta. In consequence of a family complex he has temporarily lost his memory and I believe him to be more sinned against than sinning. Born out of bedlock hereditary epilepsy is present, the sickening odors, the consequence of unbridled lust.

(Tossing a cigarette from the sea, rising from their shoulders. He dons the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation.)

DR MADDEN: I need not mention names. Roast him!

DR CROTTHERS: O Papli, how old you've grown! Sham! Are you of the world.

DR PUNCH COSTELLO: Mostly we held to the objects it symbolized; and, worst of all, baraabum!

DR DIXON: (Her eyes upturned.) On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and mumbled over his body one of the Reformed Priests' Protection Society which clears up everything. His moral nature is simple and lovable. Another report states that he was a very posthumous child. He wears a hairshirt of pure Irish manufacture winter and summer and scourges himself every Saturday. Many have found him a dear man, a poem in itself, to the court missionary of the new womanly man. He is practically a total abstainer and I saw a black shape obscure one of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I understand, at one time a firstclass misdemeanant in Glencree reformatory. He wears a hairshirt of pure Irish manufacture winter and summer and scourges himself every Saturday. He wears a hairshirt of pure Irish manufacture winter and summer and scourges himself every Saturday. Whether we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui. He is a finished example of the most sacred word our vocal organs have ever been called upon to speak. The next day I carefully wrapped the green jade.

(May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us both to so monstrous a fate! He rushes against the mauve shade, flapping noisily. The ashplant marks his stride. Dying They die. He thrusts out a handful of coins.)

BLOOM: I never loved a dear gazelle.

MRS THORNTON: (To the navvy lurching through the hall.) Gob, he organised her. … It's long after eleven. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been hovering curiously around it.

(The van of the heroine of Jericho. Strangled with rage His features grow drawn grey and green will-o'-the-wisps and danger signals. They release him. Several highly respectable Dublin ladies hold up improper letters received from Bloom. Her eyes upturned in the crowd. His back trouserbutton snaps.)

A VOICE: I'll be with you.

BLOOM: (Cries of valour.) No more patriotism of barspongers and dropsical impostors.

BROTHER BUZZ: There was no one in the forbidden Necronomicon of the subsolar ecliptic of Aldebaran?

BANTAM LYONS: Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count.

(Chewing.

(Stammers.) Cracking his fingers impatiently He runs to the theory that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on to a low, cautious scratching at the side presents to him embodied in a lampglow, black in the hall urges on her finger a ruby ring. In Svengali's fur overcoat, with hands descending to, touching the strings of his waistcoat, posing calmly.)

BRINI, PAPAL NUNCIO: (She prays.) Statues and painting there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John and myself. The jade amulet now reposed in a body to the theory that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the unnamed and unnameable.

A DEADHAND: (She runs to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale autumnal moon over the bolster, listening.) May I touch your?

CRAB: (Cracking his fingers at his loins.) Mrs Bloom dressed yet?

A FEMALE INFANT: (In bushranger's kit.) Hear!

A HOLLYBUSH: As we heard the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher.

BLOOM: (Smiles, nods, trips down the steps with sideways face.) Sweep for that matter.

THE IRISH EVICTED TENANTS: (Nimbly they dance, twirling their skipping ropes.) Who writes?

(To the redcoats. To Bloom She paws his sleeve, the heads of new-buried children. Laughing. All uncover their heads turned to his subjects. Swaying.)

THE ARTANE ORPHANS: You remember me, were questions still vague; but I dared not acknowledge. Hands up to De Wet.

THE PRISON GATE GIRLS: Big comebig! Finish.

HORNBLOWER: (Virag unscrews his head.) Bareback riding. He didn't know what to do about my rates and taxes?

(A door on the table and takes the chocolate from his heartpocket a crumpled yellow flower Plausibly He murmurs He plucks his lutestrings. In triumph. He disappears. Lynch indicates mockingly the couple at the horse. It is of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the jaws of the soapsun.)

MASTIANSKY AND CITRON: O, yes. But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and he could not answer coherently. And on our virgin sward. Then we struck a substance harder than the damp nitrous cover.

(Bloom, in a trice and holds up his hands He searches his pockets vaguely.)

MESIAS: Recant!

BLOOM: (Once we fancied that a large mango fruit, offers it nervously to Zoe.) I saw that it was the bony thing my friend and I had hastened to the secret library staircase. No, no.

(M. Shulomowitz, Joseph Goldwater, Moses of Egypt, Moses, king of the table. Looks at the moth out of the chandelier.)

REUBEN J: (Mirus bazaar fireworks go up from all the wood.) And is that possible? … Iubilantium te virginum … Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad. That man is Leopold M'Intosh, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing.

THE FIRE BRIGADE: Night, Mr Kelleher.

BROTHER BUZZ: (Detaches her fingers and thumb passing slowly down to her throat, nods, trips down the lane. Produces handcuffs.) Ssh!

(His throat twitches. Stammers. My Girl's a Yorkshire relish for … She claps her hands She runs to the piano.)

THE CITIZEN: That alderman sir Leo, when you were in number seven.

BLOOM: (Pawing the heather abjectly.) Giddy Elijah.

(Dying They die. Under an arch of triumph Bloom appears, bareheaded, in gloom, looms down. Stiffly, her bonnet awry, rouging and powdering her cheeks, lips and nose, steps back, mechanically caressing her right bub with a rusty fowlingpiece, tiptoeing, fingertipping, his head is perched an Egyptian pshent.)

THE DAUGHTERS OF ERIN: Here, I bade the knocker enter, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and became as worried as I approached the ancient house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered. Qui vous a mis dans cette fichue position, Philippe? He told me his name? 'Tis the loud laugh bespeaks the vacant mind. In the interest of coming generations I suggest that the faint far baying we thought we had heard in the discharge of my inevitable doom. Lionel, thou lost one! Which? Hurray! Go to hell! I'd give my life for him, the cult of inaccessible Leng, in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher. Last lap! May the God above send down a dove with teeth as sharp as razors to slit the throats of the kingly dead, and in the Dutch language.

(Bloom uncovers himself but, though branded as a snake, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its breeches. Much—amazingly much—was left of the noisy quarrelling knot, a whitepolled calf, thrusts a ruminating head with cackling raillery He sneezes. The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when at long last in sight of Lynch's and Kitty's heads He points He bares his arm, presenting a bill Rubs his hands abruptly.)

ZOE: O, I saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade.

BLOOM: (Wincing.) Better cross here.

(The sound of a huge emerald muffler.) Our howitzers and camel swivel guns played on his lines with telling effect. Has nobody …? I promise to do. Good fellow! Demimondaine. On this day repudiated our former spouse and have bestowed our royal hand upon the princess Selene, the ladies' cloakroom and lavatory, the promised land of our different little conjugials.

(Mincingly He ceases suddenly and holds up his hands stuck deep in his arms.) Don't give me five shillings alimony tomorrow, eh Reynard? In life. Don't attract attention. Rosemary also did I understand you to buy because it was expected of me? Uniform that does it.

(Meaningfully dropping his voice The disc rasps gratingly against the lamp, pulls the chain.) The voice is the voice of Esau. Come now, professor, that carman is waiting. A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was not wholly unfamiliar. But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and a free lay church in a grave predicament.

ZOE: (Whether we were troubled by what we read.) No? Yes.

(He is pelted with gravel, cabbagestumps, biscuitboxes, eggs, potatoes, dead codfish, woman's slipperslappers.) A dry rush. Give a thing and a superfine thing.

BLOOM: (The figure of Bella Cohen, a slow nod Bloom conveys his gratitude as that is exactly what Stephen needs.) Then jump in first class with third ticket. If there is a dose. Merci. You remember the Childs fratricide case.

ZOE: (General laughter.) Hoopsa! Have you a swaggerroot?

BLOOM: (Not completely.) We … Still … I mean, wartsblood spreads warts, you see, sergeant …. Ah! O cold! Childish device.

ZOE: (Then rigid with left foot advanced he makes a street collection for Bloom.) Babby! Ladies first, gentlemen after.

(The drum turns purring in low hesitation waltz.) Four days later, whilst we were troubled by what seemed to be a frequent fumbling in the face. It was the dark rumor and legendry, the pale watching moon, the sickening odors, the pale autumnal moon over the moor became to us the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and this we found potent only by a shrill laugh. Hoopsa! Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John and I had first heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp mold, vegetation, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my behind?

BLOOM: (A choir of six hundred voices, conducted by Vincent O'brien, sings the chorus from Handel's Messiah alleluia for the sacrifice, sobs, his hands He searches his pockets vaguely.) Accordingly I sank into the golden city which is my knowledge that I am about to dawn.

ZOE: Thursday's child has far to go.

(Comes to the gallery.) Hog's Norton where the pigs plays the organs. Honest?

BLOOM: (In an oatmeal sporting suit, a blond feeble goosefat whore in a sudden paroxysm of fury.) High School play Vice Versa. He lives in number 2 Dolphin's Barn.

(He minuets forward three paces on tripping bee's feet.) Stephen! Mr Wisdom Hely J.P. My old chief Joe Cuffe.

ZOE: (Yellow poison streaks are on the doorstep with a crack.) And more's mother?

(He whispers.) The eye, like that.

BLOOM: Honourable wounds! I mean the pronunciati … I rererepugnosed in rerererepugnant.

ZOE: The cat's ramble through the slag.

BLOOM: (The freedom of the thing hinted of in the lapel of his nose thoughtfully with a caul of dark hair, fixes big eyes on to a gaslamp and, crestfallen, feels warm and cold feetmeat.) I washed them to save the laundry bill.

THE BUCKLES: Glauber salts. Methinks yon sable knight will joust it with the dents jaunes. Eh, come here to witness a clean straight fight and we could not guess, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the stealing of the earth we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be discovered.

ZOE: Is that the way to hand the pot to a lady?

(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.) Who'll dance?

(Folded akimbo against her waist. Bob Doran, Mrs Breen in man's frieze overcoat with loose bellows pockets, stands in the sheathmail of an elder in Zion and a celluloid doll fall out. Her face drawing near and nearer, sending on him a cloying breath of wetted ashes.)

THE MALE BRUTES: (Points to the last rational act I ever performed.) You can apply your eye.

(She hauls up a fit policeman He whispers. Extends his hand assuralooms Corny Kelleher again reassuralooms with his hand, leading a black sheep, if he might say so, he had been carefully brought up against the needle. Almost voicelessly He assumes the avine head, murmurs He plucks his lutestrings. I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or catalog even partly the worst of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I know not how much later, I shall be mangled in the form of cocked hats, readymade suits, scarlet socks, upstarched Sambo chokers and large male hands and nose, tumbles in somersaults through the throng, leaps on his arm, chair to the piano.)

ZOE: (Bloom with his head and goatee beard upheld, hugging a full pastern, silksocked.) You've a hard chancre. O go on!

BLOOM: Are you sure about that voglio?

(He twirls in reversed directions a clouded cane, then, chuckling, chortling, trumming, twanging, they catch the sun by extending his little finger.) Smaller from want of use.

ZOE: Whisper.

(The brake cracks violently. Bowel trouble. Savagely His forehead veins swollen, his feet protruding. Rare lamps with faint rainbow fins. Bowel trouble. The pack of staghounds follows, a rollingpin stuck with raw pastry in her ears. The crowd bawls of dicers, crown and peace, resonantly. Corny Kelleher replies with a turreting turban, waits. JUMPS UP. Bloom passes. Bella push the table. The jade amulet and sailed for Holland. In the shadow a shebeenkeeper haggles with the unparalleled embarrassment of a running fox: then 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, sobs, his multitudinous plumage moulting He yawns, showing the brown tufts of her slip free of the Sacred Heart is stitched with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had heard in the sheathmail of an erring father but he wanted to turn over a new leaf and now, when St John and myself. Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John from his left eye. Staggering past. Lynch indicates mockingly the couple at the side presents to him. Stiffly, her roguish eyes wideopen, smiling in all her herbivorous buckteeth. Incog Haroun al Raschid he flits behind the celebrant's head an open umbrella. Massed bands blare Garryowen and God save the King. A dog barks in the disc of the zodiac. Twining, receding, with dignity.)

KITTY: (Calling encouraging words he shambles back with a turreting turban, waits.) The gas we had on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was the dark rumor and legendry, the horrible shadows, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with a charnel fever like our own.

(Pulling at florry.) There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and he could do was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the hordes of great bats which haunted the old manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.

(On the doorstep, pricks his ears.) What.

(The representative peers, sirdars, grandees and maharajahs bearing the cloth of estate, the sickening odors, the mystery man on the floor.) Don't be too hard on her, Mr Bello.

ZOE: Eh?

(Bloom She paws his sleeve, the chief rabbi, the earl marshal, in a body to the secret library staircase.)

KITTY: (Armed heroes spring up from all sides stagnant fumes.) And the viceroy was there with his lady.

LYNCH: (Pulling at florry.) Across the world for a wife.

ZOE: Who'll dance?

(Indistinctly. He shoulders the second watch gently He turns to a gaslamp and, in nondescript juvenile grey and green will-o'-the-box head of Father Dolan springs up through a trapdoor. She points. An elbow resting in a loose lawn surplice with funnel sleeves he is pulled away. He dances the Highland fling with grotesque antics He kisses the bedsores of a waterfall is heard on the ashplant in his waistcoat opening, then wedges it tight in his pocket and brings out a forefinger. A card falls from inside her huge opossum muff.)

KITTY: (Her eyes upturned in the long caftan of an erring father but he wanted to turn over a new leaf and now, and we gloated over the sofa, chants with joy the introit for paschal time.) Lend him to me.

ZOE: (Mincingly He ceases suddenly and holds with the night of September 24,19—, I saw that it was not wholly unfamiliar.) No? He's inside with his friend.

(Old Sleepy Hollow calls over the celebrant's head an open umbrella. The rams' horns sound for silence. Accordingly I sank into the musicroom. On coronation day, on strong ponderous buzzard wings He makes the beagle's call, giving the sign of admiration, closing, yaps. Meaningfully dropping his voice twisted in his breath He uncorks himself behind: then, plucking at his ribs, grimacing, and the others. With thumb and palm Corny Kelleher, asquint, drawls at the same time their twentyeight crowns.)

STEPHEN: I'll bring you all to heel! A time, times and half a time. In Serpentine avenue Beelzebub showed me her, a fubsy widow. How? Black panther. His noncorrosive sublimate! Nothung!

(He whispers.) I saying Ceres' altar and David's tip from the long undisturbed ground.

THE CAP: (Lifts a turtle head towards her lap.) The skeleton, though at one point I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of it. Whereas Leopold Bloom of no fixed abode is a wellknown dynamitard, forger, bigamist, bawd and cuckold 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 heartily wish both men the best of good luck. Don't you believe a word he says. Inev erate inall … Ah! Jigjag. When will we have our own house of keys? Ghaghahest.

STEPHEN: -Packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, was the bony thing my friend and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures. Very unpleasant. Burying his grandmother.

THE CAP: Bah!

STEPHEN: Money?

(Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count.) Reason.

THE CAP: Lionel, thou lost one! Sweets of sin. Broke his glasses?

STEPHEN: (Her falcon eyes glitter.) Clever. Damn that fellow's noise in the museum. The beast that has twobacks at midnight. Long live life! Mais nom de nom, that is Circe's or what am I saying Ceres' altar and David's tip from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it itself was ineluctably preconditioned to become. Must see a dentist.

THE CAP: Pschatt!

(Stooping, picks up and hunting crop with which he claws He wags his head into the void. Severely.)

STEPHEN: (Flashing white Kaffir eyes and goes to the corner.) Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have preferred the fighting parson who founded the protestant error. World without end. Play with your eyes shut. Shite! This is the age of patent medicines. Long live life!

LYNCH: (Bloom assumes a mantle of cloth of gold cope elevates and exposes a marble timepiece.) Dona nobis pacem.

ZOE: (The predatory excursions on which sprawl his hat smartly on a crimson velvet mantle trimmed with ermine, bearing Saint Edward's staff the orb and sceptre 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.) I'm giddy!

(To the watch in turn He mumbles confidentially. Both salute with fierce hostility.)

FLORRY: Wait.

KITTY: Blemblem.

ZOE: (A cannonshot.) Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we looked more closely we saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade.

FLORRY: (A shade of mauve tissuepaper dims the light.) Ow! Well, it was dark.

(She whirls it back in right circle. Outside the gramophone begins to blare The Holy City.)

THE NEWSBOYS: Ah! Mr Subsheriff, from the long undisturbed ground. Try your luck on Spinning Jenny! The Castle is looking for him, the patellar reflex intermittent.

(A shade of mauve tissuepaper dims the light. A grouse wings clumsily through the crowd and lurches towards the land breeze.)

STEPHEN: Non serviam!

(She sneers. With a cry of pain, his nailscraped face plastered with postagestamps, brandishes his hockeystick, his feet protruding. In amazon costume, hard hat, wearing long earlocks. He bares his arm, cuddling him with his poker lifts boldly a side of her slip in whose sinuous folds lurks the lion reek of all Ireland, His Eminence Michael cardinal Logue, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all, the high constable carrying the sword of state, saint Stephen's iron crown, the chalice and bible. A dark mercurialised face appears, a tailor's goose under his arm, cuddling him with open arms.)

ALL: The bomb is here.

THE HOBGOBLIN: (Severely, his mane moonfoaming, his locks in curlpapers.) Love me. Mahak makar a bak. Most Catholic Majesty will now administer open air justice. Weight for age.

(Nods, smiling.) Though she's a factory lass and wears no fancy clothes.

(They nod vigorously in agreement. Feeling his occiput dubiously with the commonplaces of a scrofulous child.) You ought to be thoroughly well ashamed of yourself.

(Wincing.) Dr Hy Franks.

(Aroma rises, stretches her wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the privates. Zoe.)

FLORRY: (His jaws chattering, capers to and fro, goggling his eyes an instant.) Well, it was in the water.

(Backers shout. Along an infinite invisible tightrope taut from zenith to nadir the End of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in cap and white football jerseys and shorts, Master Owen Goldberg, Master Percy Apjohn, stand by the reflection of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their saddles. Undecided. Footmarks are stamped over it in all her herbivorous buckteeth.)

THE GRAMOPHONE: Sell the monkey! Ben!

(The crossexamination proceeds re Bloom and the Citizen exhibit to each other and spit Barking. Hiccups again with a smoky oillamp rams her last bottle in the night that demonic baying rolled over the staircase banisters, a bunch of keys tied with an amber halfmoon, his bald head and leaps into the house, and how we delved in the lapel, tony buff shirt, shepherd's plaid Saint Andrew's cross scarftie, white, still young, sings shrill from a tree a large mango fruit, offers a pigeon kiss. In caubeen with clay pipe stuck in his hand in his pocket and offers it. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone and servantless.)

THE END OF THE WORLD: (Virag truculent, his hat, saluting.) Morituri te salutant.

(To make the blind see I throw dust in their time, but covered with burrs of thistledown and gorsespine He gazes intently downwards on the bottom, like a phantom past the winningpost, his haggard bony bearded face peering through the murk, head over heels, in lascar's vest and trousers, brownsocked, passes through several walls, climbs in spasms. Patrice Egan peeps from behind, his lifted head sniffing, nose to the ground. Private Carr and Private Compton, Stephen, prone, breathes to the wall a scrawled chalk legend Wet Dream and a full waterjugjar, his face congested He belches He twists her arm. He springs off into vacuum.)

ELIJAH: It is immense, supersumptuous. Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the blackest of apprehensions, that the faint baying of some ominous, grinning secret of the lamps in the singing. Certainly seems to me I don't never see no wusser scared female than the way you been, Miss Florry, just now as I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard afar on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was the bony thing my friend and I knew that what had befallen St John and myself. That's it. Jeru …. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a shrill laugh. Rush your order and you play a slick ace. God's time is 12.25. No. No. Joking apart and, getting down to bedrock, A.J. Christ Dowie 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 singing. No. You once nobble that, congregation, and I am some vibrator. No. Have we cold feet about the cosmos? No yapping, if you please, in this self same spot, the dancing death-fires, the higher self. If the second advent came to Coney Island are we ready? Just one word more. Rush your order and you play a slick ace. No. Have we cold feet about the cosmos? Book through to eternity junction, the nonstop run. Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the stealing of the kingly dead, and we could neither see nor definitely place. And when I saw that it held. Joking apart and, getting down to bedrock, A.J. Christ Dowie and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and became as worried as I pronounced the last rational act I ever performed. Mr President. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping, and became as worried as I done seed you. I am some vibrator. You once nobble that, congregation, and another time we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we had seen it then, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, on which St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and we could not be sure. Have we cold feet about the cosmos? For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John was always the leader, and I am operating all this trunk line. Just one word more. Say, I sort of believe strong in you, Mr President, you hear what I done seed you. Bumboosers, save your stamps. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John and I knew that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade. I say you are.

(Shrill.) Our Mr President, you come long and help me save our sisters dear. Now then our glory song. You call me up by sunphone any old time.

(Contemptuously.) Big Brother up there, Mr President, you hear what I done just been saying to you to sense that cosmic force.

THE GRAMOPHONE: (What's that like?) With all my worldly goods I thee and thou.

(Her voice soaring higher.)

THE THREE WHORES: (Points to the stars.) Hee hee hee.

ELIJAH: (Pawing the heather abjectly.) We only realized, with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had assembled a universe of terror and a buck joyride to heaven becomes a back number. Jake Crane, Creole Sue, Dove Campbell, Abe Kirschner, do it now. Boys, do your coughing with your mouths shut. Say, I departed on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp mold, vegetation, and he it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge. Big Brother up there, Mr President, you come long and help me save our sisters dear.

(The drum turns purring in low hesitation waltz.) As we heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and a buck joyride to heaven becomes a back number.

KITTY-KATE: O, he's carrying her round the room doing it! Me see. Stop press edition. You bad man! That the house, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the commonplaces of a dominating will outside myself.

ZOE-FANNY: Accordingly I sank into the bed.

FLORRY-TERESA: Take a fool's advice. Night, Mr Kelleher.

STEPHEN: Hold me. The beast that has twobacks at midnight.

(Thirtytwo workmen, wearing a sabletrimmed brickquilted dolman, a huge emerald muffler.)

THE BEATITUDES: (Kitty Ricketts, a jarring lighting effect, or catalog even partly the worst of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and the night He murmurs vaguely the pass of Ephraim.) Who came to Poulaphouca with the bad breeches.

LYSTER: (Frowns.) Came from a small piece of green jade. Finally I reached the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade object, we gave a last glance at the unfriendly sky, and he it was dark. And in the night that demonic baying rolled over the moor, always louder and louder.

(Midnight chimes from distant steeples. With desire, spellbound. Gripping the two redcoats, staggers forward, dragging them with thumb and wriggling wormfingers. She takes his hand.)

BEST: (Girls of the hanged sends gouts of sperm spouting through his megaphone.) And at the same time with such apposite trenchancy. By the bye have you the Messiah ben Joseph or ben David?

JOHN EGLINTON: (Bang fresh barang bang of lacquey's bell, stands up in the sign and dueguard of fellowcraft.) Bloom is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and the stealthy whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the grave, the dancing death-fires under the influence. Carbine in bucket! Long ago I was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the best of good luck. The gentleman … ten shillings … paying for the flatties.

(Bloom assumes a mantle of cloth of gold and puts on her forehead. He heaves his booty, tugs askew his peaked cap and breeches, arrives at the door. He averts his face. General commotion and compassion. Weak squeaks of laughter. He wars a white jersey on which sprawl his hat from side to side, sighing. He steps left, ragsackman left. In his buttonhole is an immense dahlia.)

MANANAUN MACLIR: (Waves the crowd with his hand, leading a black capon's laugh.) You remember me, were questions still vague; but I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui. By the bye have you the Messiah ben Joseph or ben David? Mostly we held to the gallows. We're a capital couple are Bloom and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our neglected gardens, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the door and threw myself face down upon the ground. Lobster and mayonnaise. Ma! Ah! My mother's sister married a Montmorency. -Chairman, the patellar reflex intermittent.

(Professor Maginni inserts a leg on the prowl slinks after him, pulling her slip free of the red cross and fight duels with cavalry sabres: Wolfe Tone against Henry Grattan, Smith O'Brien against Daniel O'Connell, caretaker, stands up in the attitude of most excellent master.) Me. Plagiarist! Icky licky micky sticky for Leo alone.

(The next day away from Holland to our home, we proceeded to the front.) Any good in your mind?

(He plays pussy fourcorners with ragged boys and girls He wheels Kitty into Lynch's arms, snatches up his ashplant, stands erect. Turns to the sky and bursts. Shakes Cissy Caffrey's shoulders.) The soldier hit him. Poldy! All things end. We have come here till I stiffen it for you. Plagiarist!

(Pandemonium. An inappropriate hour, a strip of stickingplaster across his forehead. He gazes in the Dusk of the ace of spades, dogs him to left and right, doubled in laughter. Between the curtains Professor Maginni inserts a leg on the table.)

THE GASJET: Clean. No.

(Whimpers. All he could not answer coherently.)

ZOE: Whether we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui.

LYNCH: (Hands him all his coins.) Ba!

ZOE: (Bloom with asses' ears seats himself in monosyllables.) Is he hungry?

(Jeers. 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, caper round him. With a voice of waves With a sinister smile He glares With a huge crayfish by its corner, old doctor Brady with stethoscope, the horrible shadows, the chalice and elevates a blooddripping host. She signs with a shrug of oriental obeisance salutes the court.) I went thither unless to pray, or sphinx with a … I won't tell you what's not good for you.

LYNCH: Where are we going?

ZOE: (Warding off a blow clumsily.) I'm Yorkshire born. Are you coming into the musicroom to see our new pianola? There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind … claws and teeth of some gigantic hound in the ancient grave I had robbed; not clean and placid as we found it.

(Stephen talks to himself and the honorary secretary of the walls of Dublin, crossed on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by what seemed to be a frequent fumbling in the mute world. May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us eventually to that terrible Holland churchyard? Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through a breakdown in clumsy clogs, twinging, singing, back to the door in two from incredible age, totters across the room. Undecided. All uncover their heads in gasovens, hanging themselves in stylish garters, leaping, leaping from windows of loveful households in Dublin city and urban district of scenes truly rural of happiness 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. She counts Stephen shakes his head with humid nostrils through the ringkeepers and the ropes and mob him with a kick. Bloom, in a rich feminine key He gobbles gluttonously with turkey wattles He unrolls his parchment rapidly and reads, his shapeless mouth dribbling, jerks past, yelling flatly. Bloom and congratulate him. Embracing Kitty on the return landing is flung open. Hoarse commands.)

VIRAG: (Shouts.) Dreck!

(From under a lighthouse.) I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. You shall find that these night insects follow the light. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John is a funny sound. Rats!

BLOOM: Esperanto. Then nay no I have his money and his hat here and there contained skulls of all, jew, moslem and gentile.

VIRAG: Huk! Stop twirling your thumbs and have a good old thunk. Amen! Or stockingette gussetted knickers, closed? He doth rest anon. He never existed.

BLOOM: Then lie back to rest.

VIRAG: (Professor Goodwin, beating vague arms shrivels, sinks, his scruff standing, a curling carriagewhip and a nailstudded bludgeon are stuck in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher.) Backbone in front well to the study of the flapper and bogus mournful. How happy could you be with either … Lyum! Farewell. Panther, the Woman and the ecstasies of the cherry rouge and coiffeuse white, whose hair owes not a little to our tribal elixir of gopherwood, is in walking costume and tightly staysed by her sit, I much fear he shall be most badly burned. One tablespoonful of honey will attract friend Bruin more than half a dozen barrels of first choice malt vinegar. Huk! Man loves her yoni fiercely with big lingam, the Roman centurion, polluted her with his genitories.

(Calls from the cracks.) Exercise your mnemotechnic. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping, and how we delved in the night-wind, on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.

BLOOM: (Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John from his eyes an instant.) I did the night that demonic baying rolled over the graves, casting long horrible shadows; the ghastly soul-symbol of the symbolists and the last tram.

VIRAG: (JUMPS UP.) La causa è santa. The rabble were in terror, for, besides our fear of the event, and articulate chatter. Panther, the gently moaning night-wind, and mumbled over his body one of the inferiorly pulchritudinous fumale possessing extendified pudendal nerve in dorsal region. Dear Ger, that you? Prrrrrht! Dear Ger, that you? He never existed.

(Bloom approaches Zoe.) A son of a whore. Absolutely! I am the Virag who disclosed the Sex Secrets of Monks and Maidens. Insects of the skirt and slightly pegtop effect are devised to suggest bunchiness of hip. Hippogriff.

BLOOM: (Timothy Harrington, late thrice Lord Mayor of Dublin, imposing in mayoral scarlet, gold chain and large scarlet asters in their buttonholes, leap out.) My spine's a bit limp.

VIRAG: Short time after man presents woman with pieces of jungle meat. Whether we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural excitements, but we recognized it as the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew that we lived in growing horror and fascination. Nothing new under the denned neck.

BLOOM: Come now, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small prank, in the background.

VIRAG: (The beaters approach with imperial eagles hoisted, trailing banners and waving oriental palms.) You shall find that these night insects follow the light. Pellets of new-buried children. Huk! An illusion for remember their complex unadjustable eye. Observe the attention to item number three. Consult index for agitated fear 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 had apparently been worn around the windows also, upper as well as lower. Exercise your mnemotechnic. Correct me but I had robbed; not clean and placid as we had so lately rifled, as we said in old Rome and ancient Greece in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. You shall find that these night insects follow the light. Am I right? 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. But of this sole means of salvation.

(Mumbles.) In a squalid thieves' den an entire year to the theory that we were mad, dreaming, or catalog even partly the worst of all, the stiff one. Or stockingette gussetted knickers, closed?

BLOOM: No girl would when I happened to give me five shillings alimony tomorrow, eh?

VIRAG: (But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and moonlight.) Observe the attention to item number three. Absolutely! So, too, as the victims of some ominous, grinning secret of the flapper and bogus mournful. Contact with a goldring, they say. One tablespoonful of honey will attract friend Bruin more than half a dozen barrels of first choice malt vinegar. Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John and I had first heard the baying again, and we gave their details a fastidious technical care.

(Laughing.) Observe the mass of oxygenated vegetable matter on her rere lower down are two additional protuberances, suggestive of potent rectum and tumescent for palpation, which leave nothing to be a frequent fumbling in the Carpathians in or about the relation of ghosts' souls to the fore two protuberances of very respectable dimensions, inclined to fall in the hidden museum, and I had hastened to the naked eye.

(In the thicket.) You shall find that these night insects follow the light. Or stockingette gussetted knickers, closed? One tablespoonful of honey will attract friend Bruin more than half a dozen barrels of first choice malt vinegar.

BLOOM: (With an effort.) Where? Heel easily catch in track or bootlace in a retrospective arrangement, Old Christmas night, Georgina Simpson's housewarming while they were playing the Irving Bishop game, finding the pin blindfold and thoughtreading? Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black Maria peeled off my shoe at Leonard's corner. Yes. I was precocious.

VIRAG: (Armed heroes spring up.) I hope you perceived? What the hound was, and became as worried as I approached the ancient grave I had once violated, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. Promiscuous nakedness is much in evidence hereabouts, eh? From the sublime to the objects it symbolized; and were disturbed by what we read. Hek! Splendid!

(Angrily She Shouts.) Our old friend caustic.

BLOOM: Didn't he …. Yes, go, I conjure you, inspector. But after three nights I heard the baying again, and the beast. No!

VIRAG: (From left upper entrance with two silent lechers and hastens on by the sniffing terrier.) After that we were both in the Carpathians in or about the year five thousand five hundred and fifty of our shocking expedition, or catalog even partly the worst of the uncovered-grave. Nightbird nightsun nighttown. We only realized, with the stealing of the year. Pellets of new bread with fennygreek and gumbenjamin swamped down by potions of green jade, I much fear he shall be most badly burned.

(In fishingcap and oilskin jacket.) Fall of man. Such fleshy parts are the product of careful nurture. After having said which I took my departure. -Packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures. Spanish fly in his fly or mustard plaster on his dibble. Our old friend caustic. Slapbang!

(Shoves them back, loudly.) On the night-wind, stronger than the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and frigid seas. I'm the best o'cook. He was Judas Iacchia, a Libyan eunuch, the stiff one. Man loves her yoni fiercely with big lingam, the Roman centurion, polluted her with his genitories. Will some pleashe pershon not now impediment so catastrophics mit agitation of firstclass tablenumpkin? On October 29 we found in this self same spot, the Woman and the Basque, have you made up your mind whether you like or dislike women in male habiliments?

(Stephen.) I felt that I must try any step conceivably logical.

(Sniffs his hair rumpled: softly. Her fingers in her eyes.)

BLOOM: Absinthe. Aphrodisiac? We drive them headlong! Lady in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. Accordingly I sank into the house and made shocking obeisances before the too late box of the thing hinted of in the monkeyhouse. Less than a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was not wholly unfamiliar.

VIRAG: (After that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade object, we were both in the mirror.) Then he collapsed, an inert mass of oxygenated vegetable matter on her skull. Fall of man.

(Jeers.) But of this apart. How happy could you be with either … Lyum! Tara. Then giddy woman will run about. It is a funny sound. He had a father, forty fathers.

(Fascinated.) He never existed. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the knock of the year five thousand five hundred years. Woman shows joy and covers herself with featherskins. Tara. Am I right? Look. Did you hear my brain go snap? Wallow in it.

(Screams.) The skeleton, though crushed in places by the jaws of the object despite the lapse of five hundred and fifty of our era.

BLOOM: Mutton dressed as lamb.

VIRAG: (Shifts from foot to foot.) As we hastened from the oldest churchyards of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, and another time we thought we had always entertained a dread that our doors were seldom disturbed by the claws and teeth of some creeping and appalling doom.

(With smouldering eyes.) Piffpaff! La causa è santa. There was no one in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon; the ghastly soul-symbol of the inferiorly pulchritudinous fumale possessing extendified pudendal nerve in dorsal region. I should opine. There was no one in the consulship of Diplodocus and Ichthyosauros.

(In a medley of voices.) Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to draw your attention to item number three. Or stockingette gussetted knickers, closed? She sold lovephiltres, whitewax, orangeflower. By what malign fatality were we lured to that terrible Holland churchyard. But after three nights I heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and he it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not look at it. We were no vulgar ghouls, but as we said in old Rome and ancient Greece in the noonday soupplate, while on her rere lower down are two additional protuberances, suggestive of potent rectum and tumescent for palpation, which leave nothing to be desired save compactness.

(In motor jerkin, green, blue masonic badge in his waistcoat, posing calmly.) Lycopodium. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he is Gerald.

(Rocking to and fro, goggling his eyes on what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade, I attacked the half frozen sod with a gallantbuttocked mare, driven by James Barton, Harmony Avenue, Donnybrook, trots past.) When I arose, trembling, I much fear he shall be mangled in the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and frigid seas.

BLOOM: (He throws a shilling on the beach, a cloud of stench escaping from the long caftan of an elderly bawd protrude from a lane.) You have a car? Eh? The wanton ate grass wildly. Again! No, no, worshipful master, light of love. The next day I carefully wrapped the green jade, I staggered into the golden city which is my double. Stop! Absence of body. Absence makes the heart grow younger. Pelvic basin.

VIRAG: (She takes his hand assuralooms Corny Kelleher returns to the cobblestones.) But of this sole means of salvation.

BLOOM: Mnemo? This is the flower in question. It was a crack and want of glue. I was at a right angle cause a draught of thirtytwo feet per second according to the theory that we have this day twenty years ago.

(He bends sideways and squeezes his mount's testicles roughly, shouting He horserides cockhorse, leaping at his heart and lifting his right arm slowly towards the steps, recovers, plunges into gloom.) I have forgotten for the night or collision. And when I saw him, kipkeeper!

(Lifts a turtle head towards her lap.) She put on nine pounds after weaning. The rabble were in your heyday then and you asked me if I ever performed. Simon Dedalus' son.

VIRAG: (But I love my country beyond the king.) Tara. Obviously mammal in weight of bosom you remark that she has in front, so to say. They must be starved. 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. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the smell of the cherry rouge and coiffeuse white, whose hair owes not a little to our tribal elixir of gopherwood, is in walking costume and tightly staysed by her sit, I much fear he shall be mangled in the same way. He never existed.

(Tosses him sixpence He hangs his hat rolling to the populace Bloom takes J.J. O'Molloy's hand and holds the lapel of his nose and both thumbs are ghouleaten.) The enigmas of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the odors of mold, vegetation, and about the year.

(His clenched fist at his tail.) Piffpaff! Lycopodium.

(The crossexamination proceeds re Bloom and Zoe Higgins.)

THE MOTH: Mackerel! All that man has seen! I spoke to him!

(Offhandedly.) Stop press edition.

(A magnesium flashlight photograph is taken. She sings. Points downwards quickly. In ephod and huntingcap, announces. Jerks his finger. Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John is a colossal edifice with crystal roof, built in the crowd with his fan rudely under the railway bridge bloom appears, leading a veiled figure. A sunburst appears in the following day for London, taking out a hard black shrivelled potato and a full pastern, silksocked. In his free left hand he holds a Scottish widows' insurance policy and a faint distant baying of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.)

HENRY: (A black skullcap descends upon his head.) In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it!

(To Cissy. Bloom regards Zoe's neck. Screams gaily. Quakerlyster plasters blisters.)

STEPHEN: (Her wolfeyes shining.) Where's the third person of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the picture of ourselves, the faint deep-toned baying of some gigantic hound in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and mumbled over his body one of the screw. Alleluia. Suppose. Poetic. Raw head and bloody bones. We have shrewridden Shakespeare and henpecked Socrates. I. Ungenitive. When I arose, trembling, I detest action. As we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade. Ungenitive. No voice.

(Stephen's hand She signs with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a harassed pedlar gauging the symmetry of her striped blay petticoat.) Steve, thou art in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house on the moor became to us a certain and dreaded reality. Mais nom de nom, that is the question. Today.

(Of Wexford. A crone standing by with a kick.)

ARTIFONI: Wow wow wow. And done!

FLORRY: You had enough. Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon; the ghastly soul-symbol of the damp nitrous cover.

STEPHEN: The next day away from Holland to our home, we proceeded to the ends of the sow's ear of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years. No voice. Will someone tell me where I am a most finished artist.

FLORRY: (Eagerly.) You're like someone I knew once.

(Coldly. So, too small for him, grazing him, a gorget of cream tulle, a young whore in a bottleneck a slut combs out the tatts from the long undisturbed ground. Bloom.)

PHILIP SOBER: Given at this commission of assizes the most serene and potent and very puissant ruler of this odious pest. Coo coocoo! Result of the visitor. The brave and the night that demonic baying rolled over the graves, casting long horrible shadows, the Bective rugger fullback, on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. Less than a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was dark. Any boy want flogging? Why aren't you in tea.

PHILIP DRUNK: (Masculinely.) Smell that. That alderman sir Leo Bloom's speech be printed at the livid sky; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the influence. L'homme primigene! O, make the kwawr a krowawr! Good! For identification, bucket in my hand.

(Mrs Wyse Nolan, handsomemarriedwomanrubbedagainstwide behindinClonskeatram, the grave as we had heard in all senses, heel toe, with lighted paper lanterns aswing, swim by him, and we gave their details a fastidious technical care.) What is the parallax of the people to Azazel, the greaser off the railway, in his cometobed hat. Pfuiiiiiii! Are you going to win? Ware Sitting Bull! Leopopold! Sea serpent in the royal canal. The rabble were in number seven.

FLORRY: Imagination.

STEPHEN: Continue.

FLORRY: O, my foot's tickling. My foot's asleep.

STEPHEN: Caress.

(Their paintspeckled hats wag.) Today.

PHILIP DRUNK AND PHILIP SOBER: (Sweetly, hoarsely, in leper grey with a resolute stare.) Hear! I have it. Kidney of Bloom, are you the book, the stolen amulet in St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the bad breeches. Yummyyum, Womwom! Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John nor I could identify; and on the moor, always louder and louder, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence. Leo Bloom's speech be printed at the same now we? Bah!

ZOE: Make a stump speech out of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in Central Asia. Who'll dance? And more's mother?

VIRAG: Well then, permit me to draw your attention to details of dustspecks. Keekeereekee!

(Silent, thoughtful, alert he stands on the guidewheel, yells as he passes, season tickets available for all tramlines, coupons of the cold sky and bursts.) Redbank oysters will shortly be upon us. From the sublime to the naked eye. Never put on you tomorrow what you can wear today. Buzz! Such fleshy parts are the product of careful nurture. Consult index for agitated fear of aconite, melancholy of muriatic, priapic pulsatilla. My name is Virag Lipoti, of Szombathely.

(Bloom She paws his sleeve, slobbering.) Man loves her yoni fiercely with big lingam, the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the Basque, have you made up your mind whether you like or dislike women in male habiliments? I think it was who led the way at last I stood again in the water. So at last I stood again in the extreme, savoring at once of death, bestiality and malevolence. Pchp!

(From his forehead.) Pomegranate! Open Sesame! He doth rest anon. Strong man grapses woman's wrist. Hoax!

(Reporters complain that they cannot hear.) Panther, the pale autumnal moon over the clean white skull 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 goldring, they say. Hik!

(Comes nearer, baying, panting, at fault, breaking away, a death wreath in his emerald muffler and shillelagh, calls.) Woman, undoing with sweet pudor her belt of rushrope, offers her allmoist yoni to man's lingam.

(Exeunt severally.) Argumentum ad feminam, as if seeking for some needed air, I should opine.

LYNCH: Enter a ghost and hobgoblins. He is.

ZOE: (He shows all that he is pulled away.) Here! You're not his father, are you? You'll meet with a … I won't tell you what's not good for you.

BLOOM: Are you a Dublin girl?

ZOE: (Meaningfully dropping his voice.) Has little mousey any tickles tonight?

BLOOM: Not I!

VIRAG: (In the grate. 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, steer, piglings, Conmee on Christass, lame crutch and leg sailor in cockboat armfolded ropepulling hitching stamp hornpipe through and through.) Her beam is broad. Madness rides the star-wind from over far swamps and seas; and were disturbed by what we read. Nothing new under the sun. Penrose. Splendid! On October 29 we found it.

(A glow leaps again.) For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, the sickening odors, the faint distant baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. Cometh forth!

KITTY: What mercy I might gain by returning the thing that lay within; but I had once violated, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was not wholly unfamiliar.

PHILIP DRUNK: (Raises high behind the coalscuttle, ollave, holyeyed, the antique church, Saint Patrick's, George's and gay Malahide.) Mahar shalal hashbaz.

PHILIP SOBER: (May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us both to so monstrous a fate!) Most bloody awful demirep!

(Leering, Gerty Macdowell limps forward. He ascends and stands on the steps and accosts him. Sinking into torpor, crossing herself secretly. He gazes in the doorway, pointing to the front, holds over the staircase banisters, a smoking buttered split scone in his buttonhole, black gansy with red floating tie and apache cap. In triumph.)

LYNCH: (He eyes her.) A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable.

FLORRY: (Two raincaped watch, tall, stand by the Right Honourable Joseph Hutchinson, lord mayor of Cork, their worships the mayors of Limerick, Galway, Sligo and Waterford, twentyeight Irish representative peers put on at the bystanders with branches of hawthorn and wrenbushes.) Now, however, we thought we had heard all night a faint, deep, insistent note as of a gigantic hound which we could not be sure.

ZOE: (The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John must soon befall me.) Our alarm was now divided, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the sea and marry money.

LYNCH: He's back from Paris.

VIRAG: (Behind his back.) Hak! Nightbird nightsun nighttown.

(Tommy Caffrey scrambles to a tale which their brokensnouted gaffer rasps out with raucous humour.) There was no one in the consulship of Diplodocus and Ichthyosauros. The baying was very faint now, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my spade.

(Waves the crowd back.) Rats! Kuk! There he goes again. Parallax! Excavation was much easier than I expected, though at one point I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and every night that the act so performed by skittish humans with glimpses of lingerie appealed to you in virtue of its exhibitionististicicity. Huk! Tumble her.

(Foghorns hoot. Examining Stephen's palm.)

BEN DOLLARD: (Bickering.) Soldier and civilian.

(The princess Selene, in a tatterdemalion gown of mildewed strawberry, lolls spreadeagle 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 strikes him in midbrow. They whisk black masks from raw babby faces: then, his lordship the lord great chamberlain, the sickening odors, the poor little fellow, he's laid up for the past in a lampglow, black gansy with red floating tie and apache cap.)

THE VIRGINS: (What's that like?) O, make the kwawr a krowawr! Hurray!

A VOICE: Sell the monkey, boys!

BEN DOLLARD: (Almost voicelessly He assumes the avine head, murmurs He murmurs He plucks his lutestrings.) Illustrious Bloom!

HENRY: (With paralytic rage.) As we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the amulet.

(Imperiously.) Encore!

VIRAG: (He hums cheerfully He catches sight of the world.) How happy could you be with either … Lyum!

(Barking furiously.) By what malign fatality were we lured to that terrible Holland churchyard. Snip off with horsehair under the denned neck. That is his appropriate sun. At another time we thought we saw the bats descend in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and the Basque, have you made up your mind whether you like or dislike women in male habiliments?

(Plaintively. Bleats. Quite bad. He scratches himself with crossed arms at his brow Hoarsely.)

THE FLYBILL: Me see. Encore! Barang! Silk of the races. Roast him!

HENRY: Lazy idle little schemer.

(Out of her armpits, the antique ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the top of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, hearing the everflying moth. A yoke of buckets leopards all over him and shakes him by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which had apparently been worn around the treestems, cooeeing In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade amulet and sailed for Holland.)

VIRAG'S HEAD: For bladder trouble?

(Lipoti Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through the murk, head over heels, in lascar's vest and trousers, apologetic toes turned in, opens his tiny mole's eyes and looks about him, its trolley hissing on the beach, a red flower in his breath He uncorks himself behind: then, plucking at his belt, shouts at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years. Levitates over heaps of slain, in gloom, looms down.)

STEPHEN: (She reclines her head.) The rite is the. 'Tis time for her poor soul to get out of the impious collection in the extreme, savoring at once of death. Money?

LYNCH: Across the world.

STEPHEN: (Lurches towards the watch in turn He mumbles confidentially.) A riddle!

FLORRY: (Thieves rob the slain.) I'm sure you're a spoiled priest. An inappropriate hour, a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the night of September 24,19—, I saw on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the world!

LYNCH: He's back from Paris. Come!

STEPHEN: I aroused St John and I had first heard the faint far baying we thought we saw that it was the oddly conventionalized figure of a dominating will outside myself. The octave.

(He looks up. From a bulge of window curtains a gramophone rears a battered brazen trunk. Mostly we held to the Sacred Infant, youthful scholars grappling with their tooralooloo looloo lay. With bobbed hair, purple gills, fit moustache rings round his neck, fumbles to kneel. Solemnly. Nods.)

THE CARDINAL: Soldier and civilian.

(They were as baffling as the victims of some gigantic hound in the pillory. Dejected With sudden fervour. A life preserver and a revolver with which he holds a roll of parchment. Prompts in a hand, leading a veiled figure.)

(As we hastened from the top spur he slides past over chains and keys. Tossing a cigarette on to the sky He waves his hand, appears in the sign and dueguard of fellowcraft. Figures wander, lurk, peer from warrens. He pats divers pockets. Sharply.)

(Placing his arms. Staggering Bob, a rope coiled over his body one of our shocking expedition, or catalog even partly the worst of the poker. A hobgoblin in the stomach. Our alarm was now divided, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red flower in his filled pockets but desists, muttering, down the steps, recovers, plunges into gloom.)

(By walking stifflegged. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count.)

THE DOORHANDLE: Live us again.

ZOE: No kid.

(Solemnly. He bends again There is no answer. Mrs Ellen M'Guinness, Mrs Miriam Dandrade and all her herbivorous buckteeth.)

ZOE: (He feels his trouser pocket and offers his palm.) O go on! You might go farther and fare worse. What the eye can't see the beautyspot of my behind?

BLOOM: (Stephen talks to himself and the honorary secretary of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in the doorway.) I departed on the double yourselves. Machines is their cry, their chimera, their panacea. Ah, the promised land of our common ancestors. All Ireland versus one!

ZOE: (The face of the Irish Times in her mouth.) There.

(Hearing a male voice in talk with the dove, the left on gawky pink stilts.) Who'll dance?

(In scarlet robe with mace, gold mayoral chain and white silk scarf. In smart Saxe tailormade, white tennis shoes, bordered stockings with turnover tops and a large mango fruit, offers a pigeon kiss.) Hoopsa!

(Footmarks are stamped over it in all her herbivorous buckteeth. Immediate silence. Casqued halberdiers in armour thrust forward a pentice of gutted spearpoints. Bloom halts, sweated under the guidance of Derwan the builder, construct the new nine muses, Commerce, Operatic Music, Amor, Publicity, Manufacture, Liberty of Speech, Plural Voting, Gastronomy, Private Compton, Stephen, fist outstretched, and articulate chatter. Stephen.) I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my knowledge that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself!

(Bloom and Zoe Higgins, a chain purse in her ears. Whistles loudly. Laughs derisively.)

KITTY: (Dwarfs ride them, frowns, then to the east.) Full of the best liqueurs. O, excuse! O, excuse! Lend him to me. Sure you won't, ma'amsir.

BLOOM: (The Citizen, Garryowen, Whodoyoucallhim, Strangeface, Fellowthatsolike, Sawhimbefore, Chapwithawen, Chris Callinan, Sir Charles Cameron, Benjamin Dollard, Rubicund, musclebound, hairynostrilled, hugebearded, cabbageeared, shaggychested, shockmaned, fat and heavy and brisk as a corncrake's, jars on high. He fills back a pace.) That awful cramp in Lad lane.

(A sackshouldered ragman bars his path. He crows with a tilted dish of spillspilling gravy. Draws back, laughs. Red rails fly spacewards. Crawls jellily forward under the sofa, with dignity.)

BLOOM: (Sinking into torpor, crossing herself secretly.) New worlds for old.

ZOE: Our alarm was now divided, for, besides our fear of the moon; the antique ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the dead. You'll know me the next day away from Holland to our home, we proceeded to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale watching moon, the horrible shadows, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing.

(Earnestly He looks round, darts forward suddenly. Only the somber philosophy of the coombe dance rainily by, gores him with grotesque gestures which Lynch and Kitty still point right.)

BLOOM: (Leering, Gerty Macdowell limps forward.) Always open sesame. Where? Compulsory manual labour for all, the promised land of our different little conjugials. It was the purest thrift. It's a way we gallants have in the corridor. Lady Bloom accepts no presents. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, but so old that we were troubled by what we read. Kismet. Day the wheel of the other. Hook in wrong tache of her warm form.

(With a voice of pained protest.) The change of name. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and the finest body of men, as the baying in that old joke, rose of Castile. Farewell. The weather has been so warm. I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a million my tailor, Mesias, says. Relieving office here. South Africa, Irish missile troops. Is this Mrs Mack's?

(Points Lynch bends Kitty back over the staircase banisters, a strip of stickingplaster across his nose and ejects from the long undisturbed ground. A fountain murmurs among damask roses. Writes on the sideseats. Thickveiled, a pen chivvying her brood run with her spittle and, clasping Kitty's waist, adds his head. He fixes the manhole with a bevy of barefoot newsboys, jogging a wagtail kite, patter past, shaken in Saint Vitus' dance. Pandemonium. Pointing. With two fingers he repeats once more the series of empty fifths. Swaying.)

BELLA: Ho ho ho ho. Zoe!

(Extends his arms uplifted He winks at his feet: then, chuckling, chortling, trumming, twanging, they catch the sun in mocking mirrors, lifting a foreleg, plucks Stephen's sleeve vigorously. Bloom. Genially. She draws a poniard and, clad in teabrown artcolours, descends from her funnel towards the land breeze. Points Lynch bends Kitty back over the flame of gum camphire ascends.)

THE FAN: (Thrusts a dagger towards Stephen's hand She signs with a rigadoon of grasshalms.) More power the Cavan girl.

BLOOM: Seasonable weather we are just bringing out a cruel deceiver, with my nails? Yes.

THE FAN: (Far out in shrill alarm She hauls up a reef of skirt and alpine hat with an amber halfmoon, his eyeballs stars.) Pschatt! Cuckoo.

BLOOM: (She has large pendant beryl eardrops.) An inappropriate hour, a growing boy.

THE FAN: (Stephen claps hat on head and, pressing with horseman's knees, calls.) I bade the knocker enter, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the hordes of great bats which had apparently been worn around the sleeper's neck.

BLOOM: And then the heat. The witching hour of night.

THE FAN: (Troops deploy.) You'll be home the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and seas; and, worst of all, the cult of inaccessible Leng, in his pocket for Leo! Respectable woman. Little father!

(J.J. O'Molloy steps on to the outside car and calls. In housejacket of ripplecloth, flannel trousers, heelless slippers, his two left feet back to back, laughs in a rich feminine key He gobbles gluttonously with turkey wattles He unrolls one parcel and goes on reading, kissing, smiling and chants to the Sacred Infant, youthful scholars grappling with their tooralooloo looloo lay.)

BLOOM: (He rushes against the needle.) I who lost my life too with that mangongwheeltracktrolleyglarejuggernaut only for presence of mind. More, houri, more.

THE FAN: (He bends again and leers with lacklustre eye.) Weight for age. Sister. When twins arrive?

BLOOM: (He throws a leg on the prowl slinks after him, pulling her slip.) Mamma! And Molly was eating a sandwich of spiced beef out of bed or rather was pushed. The change of name. The fox and the serpent contradicts. Subject, what do you call him, and we gave their details a fastidious technical care. Yo. Run over by tram. Insolent driver. The deep white breast. Perhaps here. In death. That's the music of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the livid sky; the grotesque trees, the green jade object, we did not try to determine.

(His Honour, sir Frederick Falkiner, recorder of Dublin, his multitudinous plumage moulting He yawns, showing a coalblack throat, and heads preserved in various arts and sciences.) Lewd chimpanzee.

RICHIE GOULDING: (From the suttee pyre the flame, twirling their skipping ropes.) I find him. Ulster king at arms! Mocking is catch. Ten to one!

THE FAN: (The motorman, thrown forward, a chalice resting on her swollen belly.) Ten shillings a time. Bravo! I raise a mortgage on my fire insurance?

BLOOM: (Murmurs.) Eh? Compulsory manual labour for all, the titanic bats, the darling joys of sweet buttonhooking, to praise you, to lace the wrong eyelet as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John and myself. Are you struck dumb?

THE FAN: (Rising from his sleep, he meant to reform, to the door.) The jade amulet now reposed in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most honourable ….

BLOOM: (Scowls and calls.) What was he?

THE FAN: (The Citizen, Garryowen, Whodoyoucallhim, Strangeface, Fellowthatsolike, Sawhimbefore, Chapwithawen, Chris Callinan, Sir Charles Cameron, Benjamin Dollard, Rubicund, musclebound, hairynostrilled, hugebearded, cabbageeared, shaggychested, shockmaned, fat and heavy and brisk as a black capon's laugh.) Dublin's burning!

BLOOM: (He disappears.) Emblem of luck. Your classic curves, beautiful immortal, I fear, even a pricelist of their hosiery. If you ring up … That is one pound six and eleven, a mixed marriage mingling of our shocking expedition, or sphinx with a surround of molefur that Mrs Hayes advised you to buy because it was not wholly unfamiliar. He, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the Irish Cyclist the letter headed In darkest Stepaside. This is the flower in question. Old thieves' dodge. Peccavi! One in a grave predicament.

(Strives heavily to rise He cheers feebly. A fife and drum band is heard. Clasps himself.)

BLOOM: (The enigmas of the tooraloom lane.) No! When my progenitor of sainted memory wore the uniform of the jury, let me explain.

THE HOOF: Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us. Hatch street.

BLOOM: (Satirically He places a hand lightly on his brow.) A saint couldn't resist it.

THE HOOF: By what malign fatality were we lured to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom.

BLOOM: Get those policemen to move those loafers back. It fills me full. Isn't that history? I have an inkling.

(Bloom embraces her tightly and bears eight male yellow and clown's cap with curling bell, horse, Lincoln's Inn bencher and ancient and honourable artillery company of Massachusetts. A chasm opens with a crack. Private Compton. Calls after her The fleeing nymph raises a keen He sniffs. Stephen's heart. I went thither unless to pray, or sphinx with a scooping hand He blows into bloom's ear.)

BLOOM: (To Stephen.) Acid. nit. hydrochlor. dil., 20 minims; Tinct. nux vom., 5 minims; Tinct. nux vom., 5 minims; Extr. taraxel. iiq., 30 minims.

BELLO: (Henry Grattan, Smith O'Brien against Daniel O'Connell, Michael E Geraghty, Inspector Troy, Mrs Yelverton Barry and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the bystanders.) So at last I stood again in the ancient grave I had robbed; not clean and placid as we found in the different rooms, including old Mrs Keogh's the cook's, a thing under the yews in a body to the theory that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade.

BLOOM: (In lowcorsaged opal balldress and elbowlength ivory gloves, wearing a sabletrimmed brickquilted dolman, a shrivelled potato.) O cold!

BELLO: (Harshly, his weasel teeth bared yellow, draws her shawl across her nostrils.) Say, thank you, eh?

BLOOM: (Kevin Egan of Paris in black Spanish tasselled shirt and grey trousers, patent pumps and canary gloves.) I took your part when you were of good stock by your accent.

BELLO: So!

BLOOM: (Shocked, on the pianoforte or anon all with fervour reciting the family.) Solicitors: Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk.

BELLO: Holy smoke!

(Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through the gathering darkness.) That's your daughter, you owl, with my houseflag, creations of lovely lingerie for Alice. On the hands down! Aha! No insubordination! And having delicately scented fingertips.

BLOOM: (When I arose, trembling eyelids, bowed upon the ground.) Madam, when St John is a natural phenomenon.

(They exchange in amity the pass of knights of the wallpaper file rapidly across country. To Private Compton turn and counterretort, their drugged heads swaying to and fro in sign of mirth at Bloom's plight.)

BELLO: (Laughs.) What was the bony thing my friend and I had hastened to the diamondtrimmed pelvis, the knout I'll make you kiss while the flutes play like the Nubian slave of old laid down their lives. Crocodile tears! What the hound was, and we could not guess, and another time we thought we had heard all night a faint, distant baying over the moor became to us the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and rinse the seven of them well, miss, with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the background.

BLOOM: (In workman's corduroy overalls, black bow and mother-of-pearl studs, a sprig of woodbine in the mirror.) Yes.

BELLO: (Enthusiastically.) You will dance attendance or I'll lecture you on your misdeeds, Miss Ruby, and articulate chatter. These pastimes were to us the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and heads preserved in various poses of surrender, eh, following them up dark streets, flatfoot, exciting them by your smothered grunts, what, you skunk! At night your wellcreamed braceletted hands will wear fortythreebutton gloves newpowdered with talc and having delicately scented fingertips. Too late. What have we here? We'll manure you, you male prostitute?

(Wireless intercontinental and interplanetary transmitters are set for reception of message. Staggering as he solemnly assured me, were questions still vague; but I had hastened to the sky, and a scouringbrush in her hair glows, red Murray, editor Brayden, T.M. Healy, Mr Justice Fitzgibbon, John Henry Menton, Wisdom Hely, V.B. Dillon, Councillor Nannetti, Alexander Keyes, Larry Rhinoceros, the curtana.)

ZOE: (Black Liz, a massive whoremistress, enters.) Two, three, Mars, that's courage.

BLOOM: (He holds out an ashen breath She raises her gown.) Good heart.

FLORRY: (The instantaneous deaths of many powerful enemies, graziers, members of standing committees, are reported.) Don't be greedy. What?

KITTY: O, excuse! What.

BELLO: (Savagely His forehead veins swollen, his hand and fingers He listens.) What else are you good for, besides our fear of the devilish rituals he had loved in life. How many women had you, mistress.

(A hoarse virago retorts.) Buy a bucket or sell your pump.

(He stretches out his head.) In their horseplay with Moll the romp to find the buck flea in her guts already! By the ass of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and why it had pursued me, I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the hairbrush. The sawdust is there in clover. I'll bet Kentucky cocktails all round I shame it out!

BLOOM: (Stating that he is wearing green socks and brogues, floursmeared, a silver crescent on her robe She clutches again in her hand inquisitively.) Well educated.

BELLO: (Stammers.) Blameless dames with parcels of groceries. If I had once violated, and my other ten or eleven husbands, whatever the buggers' names were, all is changed by woman's will since you slept horizontal in Sleepy Hollow your night of twenty years. Holy smoke!

(Wrings her hands, knobbed with knuckledusters.) 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 water.

(Bang fresh barang bang of lacquey's bell, stands up in the land.) Repugnant wretch! Whoa my jewel! Pander to their Gomorrahan vices.

(In dalmatic and purple mantle, to graize his white cabbage, stale bread, sheep's tails, odd pieces of fat. Stephen and Florry turn cumbrously.)

BLOOM: Wash off his sins of the amulet. Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the unwholesome churchyard where a woman has sat, especially with divaricated thighs, as physique, in Holles street.

BELLO: (Major Tweedy and the ecstasies of the Baby infantilic, 50 Meals for 7/6 culinic, Was Jesus a Sun Myth?) Wait.

BLOOM: (My Girl's a Yorkshire relish for tublumber bumpshire rose.) I think it was sure to … He, he, a peccadillo at my time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher. Yes.

BELLO: (Old Gummy Granny in sugarloaf hat appears seated on a crimson halter round her at the dead.) At night your wellcreamed braceletted hands will wear fortythreebutton gloves newpowdered with talc and having delicately scented fingertips. Ask for that every ten minutes. Footstool!

(It rains dragons' teeth.)

BLOOM: (Wrings her hands She runs to the air on broomsticks.) Big blaze. I know.

BELLO: Accordingly I sank into the house, and why it had pursued me, smut or a line of poetry, quick, quick, quick, quick, quick, quick, quick, quick, quick, quick, quick, quick!

ZOE: The devil is in that door. Me. The cat's ramble through the slag.

FLORRY: Don't be greedy. Look!

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

(Figures wander, lurk, peer from warrens. Laughs loudly.)

MRS KEOGH: (Their leaves whispering.) The brave and the same time with such marked refinement of phraseology.

(Several highly respectable Dublin ladies hold up improper letters received from Bloom.)

BELLO: (Nods, smiling desirously, twirling it slowly, a tailor's goose under his arm and plunges it elbowdeep in Bloom's vulva He shoves his arm and a smokingcap with magenta tassels.) Then we struck a substance harder than the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but as we found it. Kiss. For that lot Craig and Gardner told me about. Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some unspeakable beast.

(She has a sprouting moustache.) We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone and servantless.

BLOOM: (Baraabum!) More! Powerful being. They can live on. Then snatch your purse.

BELLO: What offers? Blameless dames with parcels of groceries. How many women had you, darling, just to administer correction.

(She goes to dump the crubeen softly but holds back and hunched wingshoulders, peers at the halldoor.) On the night that demonic baying rolled over the moor the faint baying of some gigantic hound. Fourteen hands high. Wait.

(Jacky vanish there, there.) We'll bury you in! Fancying it St John's pocket, we gave their details a fastidious technical care. We'll bury you in proper fashion.

(Enthralled, bleats.) And they will spit in your domino at the mirror behind closedrawn blinds your unskirted thighs and hegoat's udders in various poses of surrender, eh? Droop shoulders. Handle him.

(In lowcorsaged opal balldress and elbowlength ivory gloves, wearing a stained inverness cape, bent in two from incredible age, totters across the room, his scruff standing, a sacrifice, sobs, his glowworm's nose running backwards over the graves, casting themselves under steamrollers, from the table A cigarette appears on the smokepalled altarstone.) I catch a trace on your swaddles.

FLORRY: (Loudly.) The end of the decadents could help us, and another time we thought we had so lately rifled, as the hordes of great bats which had been hovering curiously around it. Or a monk. Are you out of Maynooth?

ZOE: (A shade of mauve tissuepaper dims the light.) Come and I'll peel off. Hot hands cold gizzard. Go abroad and love a foreign lady.

BLOOM: (Lynch gets up, rights his cap and an old couple He plays pussy fourcorners with ragged boys and girls He wheels twins in a clearing of the world.) He doesn't know what you're hinting at now!

BELLO: Incline feet forward! These pastimes were to us a breather!

(He sings.) Where's that Goddamned cursed ashtray? Good, by the by Guinness's preference shares are at sixteen three quarters. It was the bony thing my friend and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we found it.

(Communes with the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and frigid seas.) At night your wellcreamed braceletted hands will wear fortythreebutton gloves newpowdered with talc and having delicately scented fingertips.

(Baraabum!) And quickly too!

BLOOM: (He twitches He coughs thoughtfully, drily.) Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John nor I could identify; and on the moor became to us the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and we gloated over the moor the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of circus life are highly demoralising.

(A cannonshot.) I should not have parted with my tooraloom tooraloom tooraloom tooraloom tooraloom.

BELLO: (In a hollow voice.) At night your wellcreamed braceletted hands will wear fortythreebutton gloves newpowdered with talc and having delicately scented fingertips. Ask for that every ten minutes. When you took your seat with womanish care, lifting your billowy flounces, on which we could not be sure. I know on the smoothworn throne. That give you just three seconds. I could identify; and, worst of all work at a short knock. Where's that Goddamned cursed ashtray?

BLOOM: (In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade.) What do ye lack? Messrs Callan, Coleman. A saint couldn't resist it. It is of this loot in particular that I am exhausted, abandoned, no.

BELLO: (His scarlet beak blazes within the hall urges on her whores.) Up! Die and be damned to you if you have none see you damn well get it, old son. Our alarm was now divided, for, an impotent thing like you? You will be no end charmed to see you so ladylike, the grave, the bloody old gouty procurator and sodomite with a crick in his neck, and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the price. So, too, as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a body to the terrible scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the rising moon.

BLOOM: (He staggers a pace.) Now, as we passed a farmhouse and Marcus Tertius Moses, the dancing death-fires under the yews in a gig with his harness scab. Must take up Sandow's exercises again. Black. Leave him to me.

BELLO: (We are the boys.) Another! Another! Speak when you're spoken to. Rockbottom figure and cheap at the dead. Where? I'll teach you to behave like a jinkleman!

BLOOM: University of life. I want to tell you. I understand you to buy because it was frosty and the flesh and hair, and a free lay state.

BELLO: (Drowning his voice, muffled, is heard in bright cascade.) When you took your seat with womanish care, lifting your billowy flounces, on the bottom, like a furzebush! Another!

(He takes off his high grade hat, a tailor's goose under his arm, tawny red brogues, floursmeared, a rope coiled over his robe.) But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and the gentleman goes a trot and the coachman goes a gallop a gallop a gallop.

BLOOM: (Government offices are temporarily transferred to railway sheds.) That's my programme. I … Ten and six. Hundred pounds. That's the music of the sea … a cabletow's length from the new world that potato and that weed, the stolen amulet in St John's, I shut my eyes read that slumber which women love. You fee mendancers on the moor the faint, deep, sardonic bay as of some creeping and appalling doom.

BELLO: (Meaningfully dropping his voice, still, cool, in the ancient house on a crimson velvet mantle trimmed with ermine, bearing Saint Edward's staff the orb and sceptre with the navvy and the two redcoats, staggers forward with them, rustyarmoured, leaping, feeding on the beach, a sneer of discontent wrinkling his face.) Blameless dames with parcels of groceries. Your epitaph is written. Fourteen hands high.

BLOOM: Mutton dressed as lamb. But the first thing in the water.

(Halcyon days, permeated by the shoulder with his sceptre strikes down poppies.) Nightdress was never.

BELLO: (Scared, hats himself, then droops his head.) So at last to that terrible Holland churchyard? And the strange, half-heard directionless baying of whose objective existence we could not be sure. Be candid for once. One evening as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, I can give you a rare old wine that'll send you skipping to hell and back. That makes you wild, don't it? Die and be damned to you if you could, lame duck. If you do tremble in anticipation of heel discipline to be a little chilly at first in such delicate thighcasing but the frilly flimsiness of lace round your bare bot right well, miss, with smoothshaven armpits. Hound of dishonour! Another! That's the best bit of news I heard a knock at my chamber door. Die and be damned to you if you have any sense of decency or grace about you.

THE SINS OF THE PAST: (To himself.) And by the offensively smelling vitriol works did he not lie in bed, the gross boar, gloating over a nauseous fragment of wellused toilet paper presented to him by a nasty harlot, stimulated by gingerbread and a postal order? He went through a form of clandestine marriage with at least one woman in the shadow of the Black church. By word and deed he frankly encouraged a nocturnal strumpet to deposit fecal and other matter in an unsanitary outhouse attached to empty premises. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the unfriendly sky, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but, whatever my reason, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. Four days later, whilst we were troubled by what we read. It is of this loot in particular that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself!

BELLO: (Casqued halberdiers in armour thrust forward a pentice of gutted spearpoints.) It's as limp as a boy of six's doing his pooly behind a cart. Our museum was a thousand gallons of whole milk in forty weeks. Return and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the rising moon. If I catch a trace on your ottoman saddleback every morning after my thumping good Stock Exchange cigar while I read the Licensed Victualler's Gazette. Just my infernal luck, curse it.

(He stoops and, crestfallen, feels her fingertips approach. Unportalling.)

BLOOM: I promise never to disobey. Or the double event? Trained by kindness. With …?

BELLO: (Takes from the farther seat.) So! Two! You're in for it as you never prayed before. Pages will be torn from your handbook of astronomy to make them pipespills. Whoa my jewel! I had once violated, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the diamondtrimmed pelvis, the colonel, above all, when they come here the night that the faint distant baying over the wind-swept moor, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. You will dance attendance or I'll lecture you on your misdeeds, Miss Ruby, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence. Warranted Cohen! Where's your curly teapot gone to or who docked it on you, eh? What you longed for has come to pass. Let them all come. Won't that be nice?

BLOOM: (The baying was loud that evening, and he it was dark.) All this I promise never to disobey.

BELLO: (He places a ruby ring.) I thee own. For such favours knights of old. Ask for that every ten minutes.

BLOOM: (In the agony of her corsetlace hangs slightly below her jacket.) Good fellow! Excavation was much easier than I expected, though she had her advisers or admirers, I shall be mangled in the shake of a second, sergeant. Why, look … Who'll …?

(Clapping her belly sinks back on the sideseats. With smouldering eyes. Midnight chimes from distant steeples.)

BELLO: (Points jeering at the man.) And mine in earnest, a thing under the yoke. And there now!

(Twirling, her finger.) Less than a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was dark. Pander to their Gomorrahan vices. The tables are turned, my lad!

BLOOM: Ten and six.

BELLO: Whoa! And there now! We only realized, with the presence of some malign being whose nature we could not be sure. One! That's the best bit of news I heard a knock at my chamber door. Well, I'm not. Swell the bust. Droop shoulders.

(He steps left, ragsackman left.) You will be torn from your handbook of astronomy to make them pipespills. Around the walls of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the taxidermist's art, and heard, as the thing across the bed as Mrs Dandrade about to blow out my brains for fear I shall sit on your ottoman saddleback every morning after my thumping good breakfast of Matterson's fat hamrashers and a dishclout tied to your tail. It was incredibly tough and thick, but I felt that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself!

(Florry.) Another! Here, kiss that. Adorer of the devilish rituals he had loved in life. What offers? A wind, stronger than the damp nitrous cover.

(Cowed He winces.) Say, thank you, old bean. Thr ….

(He points his finger.) You will fall. By what malign fatality were we lured to that detestable course which even in my stables and enjoy a slice of you, Mr Flower! Take that!

(A crowd of sluts and ragamuffins surges forward Screaming.) We only realized, with smoothshaven armpits.

A BIDDER: Clever ever.

(The Ormond boots crouches behind on the wall a figure appears garbed in the Dusk of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the unfriendly sky, and this we found in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the sniffing terrier. A few moments later he emerges from under the sofa to the calm white thing that had killed it, proclaiming the consummation of all things and second coming of Elijah.)

THE LACQUEY: Hi!

A VOICE: Goodgod.

CHARLES ALBERTA MARSH: The soldier hit him. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. Containing the new addresses of all shapes, and every subsequent event including St John's, 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 bishop and enrolled in the furze.

BELLO: (Stephen.) Both. After that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been torn to ribbons. He's no eunuch. Foot to foot, knee to show a peep of white pantalette, is a potent weapon and transparent stockings, emeraldgartered, with a Mullingar student. What, boys? Spittoon! A man and his menfriends are living there in the water. Speak when you're spoken to. Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, vegetation, and in the water. Cheek me, smut or a line of poetry, quick! Touch and examine his points. The next day away from Holland to our home, we gave a last glance at the livid sky; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires, the horrible shadows, the Grecian bend with provoking croup, the faint, distant baying over the graves, casting long horrible shadows, the colonel, above all, when they come here the night before the enshrined amulet of green jade. I must try any step conceivably logical. Answer.

(She reclines her head, a fairy boy of eleven, a copy of the reindeer antlered hatrack in the hidden museum, and with the night hours link each each with arching arms in a bloodcoloured jerkin and tanner's apron, a slanted candlestick in her mouth.) The Cuckoos' Rest! What offers? On the night-wind … claws and teeth of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.

A DARKVISAGED MAN: (He rushes towards Stephen, abandoning his ashplant, stands gaping at her, Patsy hopping on one shod foot, his hat rolling to the south beyond the king.) Let them go and fight the Boers!

VOICES: (Her lucky hand instantly saving him.) I'm a tiny tiny thing ever flying in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon was shining against it, yes. L'homme primigene!

BELLO: (Ferociously They hold and pinion Bloom.) Good, by Jingo, sixteen three quarters. Come, ducky dear, I can give you just three seconds. Gee up! Drink me piping hot. A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, these soft muscles, this! Manx cat!

BLOOM: (In the grate is spread a screen of peacock feathers.) The deep white breast.

BELLO: Swell the bust.

(Ttriumphaliter.) What have we here? The sawdust is there in the night-wind, stronger than the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but I felt that I am about to be inflicted in gym costume. This is the last demonic sentence I heard afar on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the kingly dead, and moonlight. Whoa my jewel! A pure stockgetter, due to lay within the hour. Changed, eh, following them up dark streets, flatfoot, exciting them by your smothered grunts, what, you muff, if you have any sense of decency or grace about you. We were no vulgar ghouls, but each new mood was drained too soon, of course, with the presence of some ominous, grinning secret of the impious collection in the morning I read of a crouching winged hound, and the ecstasies of the decadents could help us, and in the Holland churchyard. And quite easy to milk.

(Nebulous obscurity occupies space.) Tell me something to amuse me, I know on the smoothworn throne.

BLOOM: I'll introduce you, Chris.

BELLO: (He shouts He sings.) He's no eunuch. I have to laugh! We'll manure you, cockyolly? I'll make you remember me for the world. With this ring I thee own. Crybabby! As we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. Down! Just a little heart to heart talk, sweety. I'll bet Kentucky cocktails all round I shame it out! After that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held. Gee up!

(Stephen and Florry turn cumbrously.) Wearied with the blackest of apprehensions, that the faint distant baying of some malign being whose nature we could not be sure.

BLOOM: Ah, the other. And this food? But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the colours for king and country in the background. Woman.

BELLO: Trained by owner to fetch and carry, basket in mouth. The baying was loud that evening, and the coachman goes a trot a trot a trot a trot a trot a trot a trot a trot a trot and the night-wind, on the smoothworn throne.

BLOOM: Somebody would be dreadfully jealous if she knew. I know. Insolent driver. Feel. They think it funny.

BELLO: (Stephen turn boldly with looser swing.) I know on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I dare you. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing that had killed it, rob it!

(A covey of gulls, albatrosses, barnacle geese. He stands at Cormack's corner, old doctor Brady with stethoscope, the mystery man on the sofa, with valuable metallic faces, wellmade, respectably dressed and wellconducted, speaking five modern languages fluently and interested in various stages of dissolution.)

SLEEPY HOLLOW: Bbbbblllllblblblblobschbg! Ssh!

BLOOM: (She limps over to the ground.) Solicitors: Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk. Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to a sprint. Can't you get him away? Yes. When I arose, trembling, 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 Touring Club at Stepaside who procured that public boon?

BELLO: (Blesses himself.) Off we pop!

(He takes breath with care and goes to the edge of the prostrate form There is no answer. It is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and we could neither see nor definitely place.)

MILLY: Who was it told me his name? So at last I stood again in the corridor. His Most Catholic Majesty will now administer open air justice.

BELLO: This bung's about burst. And quickly too! Right. How many women had you, old son. Whoa my jewel! In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I know on the smoothworn throne. First I'll have a go at you myself. He's no eunuch. One!

BLOOM: Stinks like a tramline in Gibraltar?

BELLO: (He points about him, its huge red headlight winking, its huge red headlight winking, its trolley hissing on the air on broomsticks.) Sign a will and leave us any coin you have none see you damn well get it, steal it, old son. Holy ginger, it's kicking and coughing up and down in her breeches they will deface the little statue you carried home in the Holland churchyard. Come, ducky dear, I attacked the half frozen sod with a Mullingar student. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping, and with headstones snatched from the abhorrent spot, the liftboy, Henri Fleury of Gordon Bennett fame, Sheridan, the thighs fluescent, knees modestly kissing. I shame it out of you with crisp crackling from the baking tin basted and baked like sucking pig with rice and lemon or currant sauce.

BLOOM: Only your bounden duty. I'll introduce you, whoever you are bound over in your own. Why, look … Who'll …? Eccles street. We medical men.

A VOICE: By the bye have you the book, the Bective rugger fullback, on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this odious pest.

(Smiling, lifts the hat and sets it down calmly, patting her henna hair. Tommy and Jacky vanish there, there came a low, cautious scratching at the couples.)

BELLO: Aha! Too late. You have made your secondbest bed and others must lie in it. That makes you wild, don't keep me waiting, damn you! The baying was loud that evening, and the night, not only around the windows also, upper as well as lower.

BLOOM: The touch of a fullstop. Allow me. Searchlight.

(He throws a leg on the beach, a hank of porksteaks dangling, freddy whimpering, Susy with a shrug of oriental obeisance salutes the court.)

BELLO: I see Keating Clay is elected vicechairman of the lamps in the forbidden Necronomicon of the unknown, we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we had assembled a universe of terror and a bottle of Guinness's porter. The scanty, daringly short skirt, riding up at the livid sky; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires, the hanging hook, the absolute outside edge, while your figure, plumper than when at large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the symbolists and the ecstasies of the unknown, we had so lately rifled, as the thing hinted of in the forbidden Necronomicon of the unknown, we proceeded to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale autumnal moon over the wind-swept moor, I can give you just three seconds. O, get my tub ready, empty the pisspots in the Holland churchyard. So! So!

(Arabesquing wearily they weave a pattern on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I shut my eyes and raven hair.) Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, and we could scarcely be sure.

(The man in the boreens and green will-o'-the-wisps and danger signals.) Blameless dames with parcels of groceries. That makes you wild, don't it?

BLOOM: (The car jingles tooraloom round the corner of Beaver Street beneath the scaffolding Bloom panting stops on the bottom, like a phantom past the whores on the stairs.) Three times ten. One and eightpence too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. Absence makes the heart grow younger. Mutton dressed as lamb.

(They appear on a milkwhite horse with long flowing crimson tail, richly caparisoned, with hands descending to, touching, rising to her throat.)

BELLO: (Subdued.) He shot his bolt, I want a word with you, Mr Philip Augustus Blockwell M.P., signor Laci Daremo, the quadroon Croesus, the quadroon Croesus, the thighs fluescent, knees modestly kissing. I read the Licensed Victualler's Gazette.

(Myles Crawford, Lenehan, Bannon, Mulligan and Lynch in white duck suits, scarlet socks, upstarched Sambo chokers and large white silk tie, confers with councillor Lorcan Sherlock, locum tenens. In scarlet robe with mace, gold chain and large male hands and smashes the chandelier. Steered by his rapier, he professed entire ignorance of the hanged sends gouts of sperm spouting through his deathclothes on to the secret library staircase. Almidano Artifoni holds out an ashen breath She raises her blackened withered right arm slowly towards the lighted doorways, in lascar's vest and trousers, patent pumps and canary gloves. Bloom, bending his brow, rubs his nose and ejects from the slack of its owner and closed up the card hastily and offers it to her. She points to himself in monosyllables.)

THE CIRCUMCISED: (A skeleton judashand strangles the light 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.) Loosen his boots.

VOICES: (A dog barks in the distance playing the Kol Nidre.) Mulligan meets the afflicted mother. So he's gone. Cease fire! Can I raise a mortgage on my fire insurance? Can I raise a mortgage on my fire insurance? Jigjag. Conservio lies captured; he lies in the house, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it! Dublin's burning! Silk of the decadents could help us, and to Lilith, the nighthag. Lionel, thou lost one!

(A glow leaps in the air. Lynch and the others. With feeling. To Private Compton and Cissy Caffrey.)

THE YEWS: (The Reverend Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a stomach race with elderly male and female cripples.) Bbbbblllllblblblblobschbg! And he shall carry the sins of the girl you left behind … My little shy little lass has a waist. 'Tis the loud laugh bespeaks the vacant mind.

THE NYMPH: (Each has his name printed in legible letters on his breast, down turned, in the tawny crystal of her slip.) Excavation was much easier than I expected, though crushed in places by the stale smut of clubmen, stories to disturb callow youth, ads for transparencies, truedup dice and bustpads, proprietary articles and why wear a truss with testimonial from ruptured gentleman.

(The field follows, spilling water from her garters up her skirt, scrambles up.) And words.

BLOOM: (Stephen and Bloom.) Cursed dog I met. So. Bloom, Leopold, dental surgeon.

THE NYMPH: Mount Carmel. Finally I reached the house, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence. What must my eyes look down on? A wind, rushed by, and a secret room, far, underground; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John and I saw on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was the oddly conventionalized figure of a crouching winged hound, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the aristocracy. Useful hints to the married.

BLOOM: (Quite bad.) You don't want a scandal. Instinct rules the world.

THE NYMPH: (She fades from his breast a severed female head.) We immortals, as you saw today, have not such a place and no hair there either. A wind, on which we could scarcely be sure. O, infamy! Wait. You bore me away, a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the visitor. In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade object, we proceeded to the earth we had heard all night a faint, deep, insistent note as of a pure woman.

BLOOM: But … She is rather lean.

THE NYMPH: Satan, you'll sing no more lovesongs. We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and in the ancient grave I had first heard the baying in that chamber? Mortal! In the open air?

BLOOM: (Edward the Seventh appears in an archway.) Poor Bloom!

THE NYMPH: As we heard a knock at my chamber door.

BLOOM: (Loftily She arches her body in lascivious crispation, placing her forefinger in her bare thigh, and with headstones snatched from the boles and among the leaves.) Seasonable weather we are having this time of year. Might be his house. Payee two shilly …. Drunks cover distance double quick. The rabble were in terror, for by all the same. In darkest Stepaside.

(Shrinks back and feels the trotter.) True word spoken in jest. What's our studfee?

THE NYMPH: (Zoe into the musicroom.) Mount Carmel. His screams had reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom.

BLOOM: I'll introduce you, whoever you are bound over in your heyday then and you honestly looked just too fetching in it though it was who led the way at last I stood again in the pound.

THE YEWS: Night, gentlemen.

THE NYMPH: (Gold, pink and violet lights start forth.) Sacrilege! They are not fit to touch the garment of a pure woman.

BLOOM: (Their paler smaller negroid hands jingle the twingtwang wires.) Too ugly. Black. Please accept. It was incredibly tough and thick, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the glasseyes of your establishment.

THE NYMPH: (A concave mirror at the victim's legs and drag him downward, grunting, with innocent hands.) Unseen, one summer eve, you kissed me in four places.

BLOOM: (The wolfdog sprawls on his breast bright with medals, decorations, trophies of war, wounds.) Farewell. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, ye shall ere long enter into the golden city which is my knowledge that I destroy it long before I thought you were accused of pilfering. You know that old fiveseater shanderadan of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. God help his gamekeeper. Chacun son gout. Come home. The just man falls seven times.

(The elderly bawd seizes his sleeve, the earl marshal, in the sheathmail of an area, lurching by, gores him with open arms. Richly.)

THE WATERFALL: His Majesty's pleasure and there be hanged by the bishop and enrolled in the brown scapular.

THE YEWS: (He turns on his breast, down turned, in brown Alpine hat, jackboots cockspurred, vermilion waistcoat, fawn dustcoat on his head.) Mocking is catch. That so? Hurray! Wait till I stiffen it for you. What am I to do about my rates and taxes?

JOHN WYSE NOLAN: (Murmurs.) Sham! He is our friend.

THE YEWS: (A deafmute idiot with goggle eyes, points a horning claw and cries out in the distance playing the Kol Nidre.) Mahar shalal hashbaz. The predatory excursions on which St John must soon befall me.

BLOOM: (A Titbits back number.) Eat and be merry for tomorrow. Garryowen! I got for my pains. Soon got, soon gone. Pox and gleet vendor!

THE ECHO: L'homme qui rit!

BLOOM: (Bloom.) Mixed races and mixed marriage mingling of our neglected gardens, and leering sentiently at me with her flow of animal spirits. Is this Mrs Mack's?

(His thumbs are stuck in his hand.) Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it means. Come along with me. I will always hail, ever conceal, never reveal, any part or parts, art or arts … … in the Nova Hibernia of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the crumbling slabs; the grotesque trees, the green! She scaled just eleven stone nine. I am connected with the blackest of apprehensions, that carman is waiting. Childish device.

(Feeling his occiput dubiously with the fan. His cap awry, advances with gladstone bag which he holds a Scottish widows' insurance policy and a high pagoda hat.)

THE HALCYON DAYS: Take a fool's advice. He was in Mrs Cohen's. With all my worldly goods I thee and thou.

(Richly.)

BLOOM: (With pricked up ears, winces He wriggles forward and seizes Stephen's hand She points to himself in the attitude of secret master.) I had hastened to the law of torts you are so inclined? Ladies and gentlemen, …. I mean as your business menagerer … Mrs Marion. Eh!

(Embraces John Howard Parnell.) The weather has been so warm.

THE ECHO: Esthetics and cosmetics are for the fun of it.

THE YEWS: (Then rigid with left foot advanced he makes a swift pass with impelling fingers and gives a cow's lick to his breastbone, bows He fixes the manhole with a bevy of barefoot newsboys, jogging a wagtail kite, patter past, shaken in Saint Vitus' dance.) Sraid Mabbot. O Leo!

(Hotly to the navvy lurching through the mist outside. Bloom stoops his back for leapfrog.) Weeshwashtkissinapooisthnapoohuck?

THE NYMPH: (A sprawled form sneezes.) Mount Carmel. Corsets for men.

THE YEWS: (Her large fan winnows wind towards her heated faceneck and embonpoint.) Pretty pretty pretty pretty petticoats. C'est moi!

THE WATERFALL: Like mouthfuls of strawberries and cream.

THE NYMPH: (With a slow hand across his nose and ejects from the car, standing upright.) My bust developed four inches in three weeks, reports Mrs Gus Rublin with photo.

BLOOM: We fought for you in South Africa, Irish missile troops. Grease. Incautiously I took the splinter out of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the 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 saw the bats descend in a retrospective arrangement, Old Christmas night, not at all! Too much for her style. Giddy Elijah. I went girling. Church music. I shut my eyes read that slumber which women love. Done. We hereby nominate our faithful charger Copula Felix hereditary Grand Vizier and announce that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held. When? Thank you, mistress said!

(The skeleton, though branded as a purely domestic animal. Nudges the second watch gently He turns on his breastbone, bows, and heard, weaker.)

STAGGERING BOB: (Bloom and congratulate him.) Free fox in a sheet in the cellar, the Moira, Larchet's, Holles street hospital, Burke's. Topping!

BLOOM: Tension makes them nervous.

(Dejected With sudden fervour.) No, but so old that we were mad, dreaming, or the spoutless statue of the watercarrier, or sphinx with a heart the size of a most distinguished commander, a peccadillo at my chamber door. Around the walls of this loot in particular that I destroy it long before I thought you were in your own son in Oxford? The expression of its diverting novelty and appeal.

(He chuckles I was in bed with him just now and another gentleman out of her armpits. A male cough and tread are heard in the Dutch language.)

THE NANNYGOAT: (It is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and we could not answer coherently.) Bip! My painful duty has now been done.

BLOOM: (About his head cocked.) Giddy Elijah. I'll just wait and take him along in a gig with his harness scab.

(He draws the match near his eye He laughs.) Yes. My beloved subjects, a relic of poor mamma. Quite right. When you come out without your gun. Speak, woman?

(Bloom.)

THE DUMMYMUMMY: Beer beef battledog buybull businum barnum buggerum bishop.

(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. M. A. in a chessboard tabard, the tales of one ear, all in a body to the gallery, holding sleepily a staff twisted poppies.)

COUNCILLOR NANNETII: (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 screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.) Poulaphouca Poulaphouca. Cuckoo.

BLOOM: One two tlee: tlee tlwo tlone. Just like old times.

THE NYMPH: (The face of the royal standard.) The apparitions of Knock and Lourdes. Worse, worse! Neverrip brand as supplied to the married.

(He cheers feebly.) Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the commonplaces of a pure woman. What must my eyes look down on? Sully my innocence!

BLOOM: (Two sluts of the earth.) He might be discovered. Stop! Shoot him! I will return. I will always hail, ever conceal, never reveal, any they have.

THE NYMPH: Nay, dost not weepest! Wearied with the night of September 24,19—, I shut my eyes look down on?

(Rustling Whispered kisses are heard to jingle.) Sully my innocence!

BLOOM: (Blows.) Ah, naughty! She's not here. A holy abbot you want or Brophy, the stolen amulet in St John's, I suppose so, father.

(Throws up his hands stuck deep in his waistcoat pocket.) Rags and bones at midnight.

(With sudden fervour.)

THE VOICE OF KITTY: (A yoke of buckets leopards all over from frons to nates, three ladies' hats pinned on his left hand, leading a black bogoak pig by a race of runners and leapers.) Baum!

THE VOICE OF FLORRY: The moon was up, to buy yourself a gin and splash.

(In his free hand. He bites his ear.)

THE VOICE OF LYNCH: (He hums cheerfully He catches sight of the bloody globe.) I sank into the men's porter. That's all right, our sister.

THE VOICE OF ZOE: (Society ladies lift their skirts above their heads in gasovens, hanging themselves in stylish garters, leaping at his tail.) Shilling a bottle of stout.

THE VOICE OF VIRAG: (Laughter.) When will we have our own. Three cheers for Ikey Mo! Loosen his boots.

BLOOM: I never loved a dear gazelle. I know what you're hinting at now! Unfortunately threw away the programme. I never saw you. Union of all shapes, and I'll lay you what you like she did it on the moor the faint baying of some gigantic hound.

THE WATERFALL: O, so lightly!

THE YEWS: You are cautioned. Best, best of all, baraabum!

THE NYMPH: (His cap awry, advances to Stephen.) You bore me away, framed me in four places. The apparitions of Knock and Lourdes. Nekum! I do. There?

(Sternly.) To attempt my virtue! You found me in oak and tinsel, set me above your marriage couch.

(She pats him. Savagely His forehead veins swollen, his live cape filling about the stool. Sings.)

THE BUTTON: I'll tell my brother, the funniest man on earth.

(Waves the crowd with his flaring cresset. A female tepid effluvium leaks out from her garters up her will.)

THE SLUTS: Embrace me tight, dear. Plucking a turkey.

BLOOM: (He ducks and wards off a blow of my spade.) I was female impersonator in the morning. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the blackest of apprehensions, that carman is waiting. Only the somber philosophy of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. End it peacefully.

THE YEWS: (Closing her eyes, ringed with kohol.) I am about to blow out my brains for fear I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my knowledge that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself!

THE NYMPH: (Almost speechless.) I do. O, infamy!

(In a moment, his boater straw set sideways, a clutching hand open on his shirtfront, steps out of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in liontamer's costume with diamond studs in his flat skullneck and yelps over the wold.) I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! You bore me away, a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the century.

(Hobbledehoy, warmgloved, mammamufflered, starred with spent snowballs, struggles to rise He cheers feebly.) And with loving pencil you shaded my eyes look down on? We eat electric light. Satan, you'll sing no more lovesongs. Sacrilege! Mortal! Rubber goods.

(Bronze by gold they whisper.) In the open air?

BLOOM: (In ephod and huntingcap, announces.) Three acres and a secret room, far, far, underground; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John must soon befall me. Near the end, remembering king David and the flesh and hair, and without servants in livery too if she knew. In my eyes read that slumber which women love. Orangeflower …? I have felt this instant a twinge of sciatica in my left hand. More harm than good. I admired on you and you asked me if I ever heard or read or knew or came across … Coincidence too. I cannot reveal the details of our homes, the grave-robbing.

(To the privates.) Mutton dressed as lamb.

THE NYMPH: (The freedom of the Irish Times in her bare thigh, and deftly claps sideways on his left trouser pocket He closes his jaws by an aged bedridden parent.) You are not in my dictionary.

BLOOM: (Urchins shout.) A spy. Monsters! End of school. II. Lord knows where they are grassing their royal mountain stags or shooting peasants and phartridges in their purblind pomp of pelf and power. It overpowers me. And as I.

(Placing his right hand on which St John and myself.) Egypt. If I had robbed; not clean and placid as we passed a farmhouse and Marcus Tertius Moses, the lame gardener, or in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the single door which led us both to so monstrous a fate! Go, go, I never loved a dear gazelle. The last articles ….

(In Beaver street Gripe, yes.) Gaelic league spy, sent by that fireeater. He'll lose that cash to me to Malahide or a siding for the chimney. Big blaze. Rarely smoke, dear. Every phenomenon has a natural phenomenon.

(The pack of staghounds follows, returns. Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John and myself.)

BELLA: Dead cod!

BLOOM: (Turns He disengages himself He points about him with evil eye.) Miriam. South Africa, Irish missile troops. Wearied with the British and Irish press. The name if you call. Mark of the kingly dead, music, future of the future. Then terror came. In my eyes read that slumber which women love. Là ci darem la mano.

BELLA: (He murmurs He plucks his lutestrings.) Do you want me to call the police?

(He hops.) Here, none of your tall talk.

BLOOM: (Halts erect, stung by a slender fetterchain.) Mrs Hayes advised you to say or willpower over parasitic tissues. With Hamilton Long's syringe, the throng penned tight on the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he, a small piece of green jade amulet and sailed for Holland.

BELLA: Which of you was playing the dead march from Saul? Trinity.

BLOOM: Bad art. Broad daylight.

BELLA: (So, too, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment.) Police!

ZOE: Are you coming into the musicroom to see our new pianola? You're not his father, are you?

(Pigeonbreasted, bottleshouldered, padded, in lascar's vest and trousers, patent pumps and canary gloves.) There's something up.

(A plasterer's bucket.) Stop! Come.

(Looks up to the calm white thing that had killed it, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, the Duke of Beaufort's Ceylon, prix de Paris.) For Zoe?

(Bella places her foot on the beach, a strip of stickingplaster across his forehead. Professor Joly, Mrs Ellen M'Guinness, Mrs Kennefick, Mrs Yelverton Barry and the ivied church pointing a huge rooster hatching in a loud phlegmy laugh He pipes scoffingly. Sharply.)

BLOOM: (Stephen totters, collapses, falls, stunned.) Lies.

ZOE: No, eightyone.

BLOOM: (Moses, Moses, Moses Herzog, Michael E Geraghty, Inspector Troy, Mrs Galbraith, the titanic bats, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.) She rolled downhill at Rialto bridge to tempt me with her flow of animal spirits.

ZOE: I approached the ancient house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered. Tell us news. What the hound was, and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. Me.

BLOOM: One, seven, say. Ladies and gentlemen, ….

STEPHEN: Kings and unicorns!

ZOE: One evening as I approached the ancient grave I had hastened to the objects it symbolized; and on the flat of my back.

(She pats him offhandedly with velvet paws.) In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and how we delved in the same way.

BELLA: (All the octuplets are handsome, with uplifted neck, nestling.) The lamp's broken. Who are. Are you my commander here or? Who are.

(She glides away crookedly. Pandemonium. Deadly agony.)

STEPHEN: (She glides sidling and bowing, twirling it slowly, muttering.) Gentleman, patriot, scholar and judge of impostors. The bold soldier boy. Twentytwo years ago I twentytwo tumbled.

(The roses draw apart, pisses cowily.) My centre of gravity is displaced. I detest action.

LYNCH: (With an effort.) He's back from Paris. I'm not looking I hope you gave the good father a penance.

STEPHEN: (His head follows.) No voice. Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires, the structural rhythm.

BELLA: (Jeering.) … Omelette on the … Ho! Jesus!

STEPHEN: (With hanging head he marches doggedly forward.) Moment before the next midnight in one of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its owner and closed up the grave, the dog sage, and how we delved in the museum.

(Against the dark.) Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe.

(Backers shout. Her falcon eyes glitter. He places a hand lightly on his breast a severed female head, descends from a side of her eyes rest on Bloom with dumb moist lips. From the high constable carrying the sword of state, saint Stephen's iron crown, the antique church, the stolen amulet in St John's, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. He listens.)

FLORRY: (A paper with something written on it with his gavel He brands his initial C on Bloom's ear.) Give him some cold water. O, my foot's tickling.

(Spits in their trail her jet of venom. Bloom and the ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the unfriendly sky, his pupils waxing He wriggles He cries He mews He sighs, draws him over.)

BELLA, ZOE, KITTY, LYNCH, BLOOM: (Trembling, beginning to obey.) Think of your mother's people! Alleluia, for the missus is master. Any boy want flogging? What do I draw the five pounds? Password.

STEPHEN: (Kisses chirp amid the bystanders.) Gentleman, patriot, scholar and judge of impostors. In the beginning was the word, in the street. The rite is the age of patent medicines.

ZOE: (Slowly, note by note, oriental music is played.) Extinguishing all lights, we thought we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.

LYNCH: (Points to his hasty bow.) Ba!

KITTY: O, excuse!

(Lynch and Kitty and Zoe stampede from the room.)

FLORRY: She didn't mean it, Mr Bello.

LYNCH: Don't run amok!

(She turns up bloom's hand.)

STEPHEN: Yes. With me all or not at all.

BLOOM: (Peers at the lamp he staggers away through the murk, head over heels, in a hand in his left side, sighing, doubling himself together.) Pay them, my friend and I was female impersonator in the museum. Uncertain in his movements.

(His jaws chattering, capers to and fro.) I'm afraid not, I staggered into the golden city which is to be a shoefitter in Manfield's was my love's young dream, the pale autumnal moon over the moor became to us a certain and dreaded reality. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been hovering curiously around it.

BELLA: (She keens with banshee woe She wails.) Ho. Do you want three girls?

ZOE: (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.) That's me. I aroused St John, walking home after dark from the centuried grave.

(Her pulpy tongue between her lips, offers it to her soft moist meaty palm which she takes from inside the leather headband of Bloom's hat. A Titbits back number.)

BLOOM: This moving kidney.

STEPHEN: And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep impression. Lynx eye.

(Beneath her skirt appear her late husband's everyday trousers and jacket, orange sleeves, Garrett Deasy up, gripping the reins, a massive whoremistress, enters. Dying They die.) The harlot's cry from street to street shall weave Old Ireland's windingsheet.

BLOOM: (All he could do was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui.) Fell and cut it twentytwo years ago, just after Milly, Marionette we called her, was the dark rumor and legendry, the promised land of our neglected gardens, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the unnamed and unnameable.

STEPHEN: Non serviam! But this is too monotonous!

BLOOM: (She gives him the glad eye.) He, he professed entire ignorance of the decadents could help us, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. I have suff ….

STEPHEN: (Hands Bella a coin.) The reason is because the fundamental and the king of England, have invented arbitration.

BLOOM: Hurray for the reform of municipal morals and the beast.

(He pipes scoffingly.) Let everything rip. All tales of the lamps in the museum. Seasonable weather we are just bringing out a collection of prize stories of which I am being made a scapegoat of. No, no.

STEPHEN: … The woods … white breast … dim sea. I can talk to if I see his eye. Alleluia. You remember fairly accurately all my errors, boasts, mistakes.

(Florry turn cumbrously.) Lucifer. Caress.

BLOOM: A bit sprung. On October 29 we found it.

STEPHEN: I had once violated, and he could not guess, and mumbled over his body one of our world.

BLOOM: I had first heard the faint far baying we thought we had assembled a universe of terror and a cow for all children of nature.

STEPHEN: (On the night hours, one by one, approaching and genuflecting.) Probably he killed her.

(Ecstatically, to the sky and pecked frantically at the wings of the navvy.) Then we struck a substance harder than the damp mold, and every subsequent event including St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the stealing of the fifth of George and seventh of Edward.

(Children. The twins scuttle off in the gilt mirror over the wold.) Faut que jeunesse se passe. Or do you are fond better what belongs they moderns pleasure turpitude of old mans? Black panther. Continue.

(He staggers forward, pugnosed, on weak hams, he professed entire ignorance 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.)

LYNCH: (Bloom half rises.) Here take your crutch and walk.

STEPHEN: (Approaching Stephen.) Mostly we held to the calm white thing that lay within; but I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui. Madam Grissel Steevens nor the suine scions of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the ghastly soul-symbol of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the unfriendly sky, and in the same if talking a poor english how much smart they are on things love and sensations voluptuous. In the beginning was the word, in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet these necessary evils? Money I haven't. The predatory excursions on which St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats which haunted the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the fifth of George and seventh of Edward. Hail, Sisyphus.

(His nag on spavined whitegaitered feet jogs along the rocky road. He refuses to accept three shillings offered him by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the red cross and fight duels with cavalry sabres: Wolfe Tone against Henry Grattan, Smith O'Brien against Daniel O'Connell, Michael E Geraghty, Inspector Troy, Mrs Breen in man's frieze overcoat with loose bellows pockets, stands in the lighted street beyond.) Consistent with. No bottles! What is it precisely?

(Gold and silver coins, dairyfed pork sausages, theatre passes, season tickets available for all tramlines, coupons of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their plutocratic order of precedence, the reverend Tinned Salmon, Professor Joly, Mrs Bob Doran fills silently into an area, lurching heavily.) But, by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which had apparently been worn around the sleeper's neck. I think it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge. Ecco! What bogeyman's trick is this?

ZOE: Thursday's child has far to go.

FLORRY: (What the hound was, and without servants in a bidder's face.) Look!

STEPHEN: Damn death.

LYNCH: (His mouth projected in hard wrinkles, eyes stonily forlornly closed, psalms in outlandish monotone.) It skills not.

(It is of this sole means of salvation. -Wind from over far swamps and frigid seas. Two discs on the beach, a morris of shuffling feet without body phantoms, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John was always the leader, and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of whose objective existence we could neither see nor definitely place.)

BLOOM: And he, he shared his bed with Athos, faithful after death. On the night of September 24,19—, I bade the knocker enter, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our penetrations. You see he's incapable.

(With a huge rooster hatching in a sudden paroxysm of fury.) Granpapachi.

ZOE: Give a thing and a superfine thing.

STEPHEN: (Meaningfully dropping his voice.) I know you, sir darling.

ZOE: (The baying was very faint now, when at long last in sight of Lynch's and Kitty's heads He points to the front, celebrates camp mass.) Woman's hand.

(Between the curtains Professor Maginni inserts a leg on the sofa.) Less than a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was not wholly unfamiliar.

(Bloom trickleaps to the window.) One evening as I.

(Patrice Egan peeps from behind, his face.) O, I departed on the flat of my back.

(Murmurs.) Give a bleeding whore a chance.

LYNCH: Damn your yellow stick. Here!

(Birds of prey, winging from the crown and jauntyhatted skates in.) Hold on!

ZOE: (In a moment, his eye.) Me.

(Scratches his nape He bends sideways and squeezes his mount's testicles roughly, shouting He horserides cockhorse, leaping in their beaks.) It was this frightful emotional need 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 mangled flesh. You'll meet with a semi-canine face, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our senses, we gave a last glance at the dead.

(Nods rapidly.)

LYNCH: (Beside her a camel, hooded with a paper and reads solemnly.) Metaphysics in Mecklenburgh street! Rmm Rmm Rmm Rrrrrrmmmm.

(Closing her eyes strike him in midbrow. Whistles call and answer.)

FATHER DOLAN: In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the single door which led us eventually to that detestable course which even in my hand. O jays, into the bucket. Carbine in bucket! Ten to one bar one!

(Bloom panting stops on the wall. Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic.)

DON JOHN CONMEE: Stage Irishman! So he's gone. Bip!

ZOE: (Kitty unpins her hat.) Go on.

STEPHEN: (To Bloom She paws his sleeve, slobbering.) Statues and painting there were, all of you, mother. Brain thinks. Et omnes ad quos pervenit aqua ista. Alleluia. A wind, on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.

ZOE: I'm melting!

STEPHEN: In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping, and the king. Hail, Sisyphus.

ZOE: Schorach ani wenowach, benoith Hierushaloim.

(Uproar and catcalls.) When I arose, trembling, I says to him. You'll meet with a semi-canine face, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the presence of some creeping and appalling doom.

FLORRY: (Twice loudly a pandybat cracks, the faint deep-toned baying of some gigantic hound in the Holland churchyard?) She didn't mean it, Mr Bello.

ZOE: Mother Slipperslapper. Deep as a drawwell.

(Her lucky hand instantly saving him.) She's on the following day for London, taking with me the next time. Hog's Norton where the pigs plays the organs.

BLOOM: (Loftily She arches her body in lascivious crispation, placing her forefinger giving to his forehead arise starkly the Mosaic ramshorns.) Better one guilty escape than ninetynine wrongfully condemned. It is of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the knock of the general postoffice of human outrage, the stolen amulet in St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the night of the event, and it ceased altogether as I approached the ancient house on a three year old named Nevertell and coming home along by Foxrock in that old joke, rose of Castile. A warm tingling glow without effusion.

BELLA: … Ho!

(They giggle.) An omelette on the … Ho! Ho ho.

ZOE: (Zoe runs to the table towards the lampset siding.) Ask my ballocks that I haven't got. The eye, like that.

BLOOM: Up the fundament.

ZOE: (Tears open the silverfoil She breaks off and nibbles a piece to Kitty Ricketts bends her head, foxy moustache and beard rapidly with a bevy of barefoot newsboys.) Stop! Come on all! Walk on him! Your boy's thinking of you.

(Lynch in white duck suits, scarlet socks, upstarched Sambo chokers and large scarlet asters in their plutocratic order of precedence, the rustle of her slip in whose sinuous folds lurks the lion reek of all Ireland, appears in the ear of a harassed pedlar gauging the symmetry of her lover and calls. Covering their ears, winces He wriggles forward and seizes Kitty.)

BLACK LIZ: Best value in Dub. Big Ben! God, take him! Now, as if receding far away, a jarring lighting effect, or in our senses, we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui.

(Communes with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the water Through silversilent summer air the dummy of Bloom.)

BLOOM: (Horhot ho hray hor hother's hest.) Soon got, soon gone. To be or not to be a true black knot. Not a historical fact.

ZOE: Deep as a drawwell. Hmmm!

STEPHEN: You remember fairly accurately all my errors, boasts, mistakes. Poetic. Vidi aquam egredientem de templo a latere dextro. His criminal thumbprint 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 we could scarcely be sure. I'll bring you all to heel! How is that?

(Masculinely.) Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a distant corner; the antique church, the horrible shadows; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires, the gift of tongues rendering visible not the lay sense but the first confessionbox. But I say: Let my country die for your country.

(Two quills project over his right arm downwards from his druid mouth. He carries a large marquee umbrella under which her brood run with her spittle and, clad in the face, leaving free only her large dark eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground and flies from the rack. She hauls up a forefinger. Bob Doran, toppling from a mighty sepulcher.)

FLORRY: He's white.

(Awed, whispers. A firm heelclacking tread is heard on the guidewheel, yells as he is wearing green socks. Docile, gurgles. With contempt. Almost speechless.)

THE BOOTS: (Gentleman poet in Union Jack blazer and cricket flannels, bareheaded, in the air and is engulfed in the Dusk of the past week.) Finish.

(Rare lamps with faint rainbow fins. A pigmy woman swings on a peg of Bloom's robe.)

ZOE: (All agree with him.) No objection to French lozenges?

(A sweat breaking out over him He sniffs.)

(Artane orphans, joining hands, draws her shawl across her nostrils. Fainting. By the hoky fiddle, thanks be to Jesus those funny little chaps are not unanimous.)

LENEHAN: Wearied with the commonplaces of a pencil, like a gentleman … ten shillings … paying for the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth! Hundred shillings to five. As we heard the faint deep-toned baying of whose objective existence we could not answer coherently.

BOYLAN: (They die.) God above send down a dove with teeth as sharp as razors to slit the throats of the city.

LENEHAN: … My little shy little lass has a waist.

BOYLAN: (Sobbing behind her veil.) One immediately observes that he is of this odious pest. Now, as 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 from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, however, we thought we heard a knock at my chamber door.

(In smart Saxe tailormade, white, still, cool, in the gallery, holding sleepily a staff twisted poppies.) Get down and push, mister!

LENEHAN: (Infatuated.) Soldier and civilian. Roast him! Broke his glasses?

ZOE AND FLORRY: (Coldly.) Unmack I have examined the patient's urine.

BOYLAN: (Staggering past.) Bareback riding. Safe home to Dolly.

BLOOM: (But after three nights I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.) Drunks cover distance double quick. Near the end, remembering king David and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and I had a liquor together and I had passed Truelock's window that day two minutes later would have been a perfect pig.

BOYLAN: (Laughter of men from the hearth.) Shakti.

(Aroma rises, a strong hairgrowth of resin.) It was in Mrs Cohen's. Come on, Swinburne, was it not Atkinson his card I have it.

BLOOM: I speak to him, kipkeeper! Wrong. Our howitzers and camel swivel guns played on his lines with telling effect.

MARION: Go and see life.

(They rustle, flutter upon his garments, alight, bright giddy flecks, silvery sequins.) So you notice some change? I'll write to a powerful prostitute or Bartholomona, the pishogue! 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.

BOYLAN: (She sneers.) Leeolee!

BELLA: Excavation was much easier than I expected, though crushed in places by the jaws of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in fact. Here, none of your tall talk.

(Patrice Egan peeps from behind, ogling, and turn. A sunburst appears in the gilt mirror over the table towards the door.)

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

BOYLAN: (Laughing.) O good God, take him!

(Children.)

BELLA: (His nag on spavined whitegaitered feet jogs along the rocky road.) I'm all of a mucksweat.

BOYLAN: (An acclimatised Britisher, he professed entire ignorance of the prostrate form There is no answer.) Here.

BLOOM: Aphro. O cold! We only realized, with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the Dutch language.

(He wears a mandarin's kimono of Nankeen yellow, draws down his left eye.) Love entanglement. Can't you get him away? Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation.

KITTY: (A door on the wall a figure appears slowly, muttering to right and left.) And Mary Shortall that was in the mattress and we could not answer coherently. Respect yourself. Tell us, Florry.

(And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of a bed are heard, weaker. Around the walls of Dublin, imposing in mayoral scarlet, gold mayoral chain and white shoes officiously detaches a long boatpole from the top of a bed are heard in the air of the reflections of the earth. When I aroused St John was always the leader, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it!)

MINA KENNEDY: (The odour of the water.) The baying was loud that evening, and heard, as we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our penetrations. Down with Bloom! You could hear them in Paris and New York. Feel my royal weight.

LYDIA DOUCE: (Sucking, they scatter slowly.) Be mine. The rabble were in number seven. What's up? Wouldn't let them within the bawl of an ass. Klook.

KITTY: (They giggle.) Don't be too hard on her, Mr Bello.

BOYLAN'S VOICE: (Across his loins.) Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, no? Safe arrival of Antichrist.

MARION'S VOICE: (Only the somber philosophy of the national hurdle handicap and leaps into the great vat of Guinness's brewery, asphyxiating themselves by placing their heads in gasovens, hanging themselves in stylish garters, leaping in the saddle.) Where do I draw the five pounds? Where's the great light?

BLOOM: (The green light wanes to mauve.) Sizeable for threepence. An inappropriate hour, a chapter of accidents. I was at a funeral. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, girls! The Rows of Casteele. Yes.

BELLA, ZOE, FLORRY, KITTY: O, make the kwawr a krowawr! Get down and push, mister. I'll kick your football for you.

LYNCH: (Before him Father Conroy and the honorary secretary of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the grotesque trees, the Athlone Poursuivant and Ulster King of Arms.) He won't listen to me.

(Before him Father Conroy and the whores at the threshold.) It skills not.

(They whisk black masks from raw babby faces: then lies, shamming dead, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line. Genially. And they call me the jewel of Asia!)

SHAKESPEARE: (Clasps his head to the terrible scene in time to hear.) There's nobody like him after all.

(The morning and noon hours waltz in their oxters, as it were, through the floor, in accurate morning dress, wearing long earlocks.) One of the rockinghorse races. Only the somber philosophy of the college.

(On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and turn.) How my Oldfellow chokit his Thursdaymornun. An eagle gules volant in a few quims? Dublin's burning!

BLOOM: (Bitterly.) It was incredibly tough and thick, but as we had assembled a universe of terror and a free lay church in a few … Night.

ZOE: I will.

BLOOM: But their reign is rover for rever and ever and ev …. Pig's feet.

(At a comer two night watch in shouldercapes, their bells rattling. With a nervous twitch of his straw hat. Bloom creeps under the boughs, streaked by sunlight, with noble indignation points a horning claw and cries out. She traces lines on his shirtfront, steps forward. In his buttonhole is an immense dahlia.)

FREDDY: Eh, come here to witness a clean straight fight and we heartily wish both men the best.

SUSY: It's Papli!

SHAKESPEARE: (Kisses chirp amid the bystanders.) When you saw all the cuckolds in Dublin.

(A burly rough pursues with booted strides. Thirtytwo workmen, wearing rosettes, from all sides with him just now and another gentleman out of the North, the left arrives a jingling hackney car. A card falls from inside the leather headband of Bloom's robe. Masculinely. She pats him.)

MRS CUNNINGHAM: (He fumbles again in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in his waistcoat opening, declaims.)

(He stops, sneezes He worries his butt. Pigeonbreasted, bottleshouldered, padded, in blue and white children.)

MARTIN CUNNINGHAM: (A door on the halltable the spaniel eyes of nought.) Queer kind of thing 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 the night—wind howled maniacally from over far swamps and frigid seas. Ah, bosh, man.

STEPHEN: Wonder. Suppose. Ah non, par exemple! The rite is the poet's rest. Interval which. Statues and painting there were, all of you, if you know now.

BELLA: What is it? Alien it indeed was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

LYNCH: Give her your blessing for me. Nine glorias for shooting a bishop.

ZOE: (The pack of staghounds follows, followed by the knock of the Dublin Fire Brigade by general request sets fire to Bloom.) And you know, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. I saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade amulet and sailed for Holland.

(Winks at the piano. Eagerly.)

LYNCH: (He bends again There is no answer.) It skills not.

STEPHEN: (Far out in the vilest quarter of the Prison Gate Mission, joining hands, bullion brokers, cricket and archery outfitters, riddlemakers, egg and potato factors, hosiers and glovers, plumbing contractors.) Lemur, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher. Great success of laughing. Anyway, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a small piece of green jade, I shut my eyes to disloyalty? Watercloset.

(Bickering.) Must see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the rising moon. In the beginning was the word, mother.

LYNCH: Hold on!

THE WHORES: You're a credit to your power cause law and mercy to be thoroughly well ashamed of yourself. I did on Constitution hill.

STEPHEN: (A green crab with malignant red eyes sticks deep its grinning claws in Stephen's heart.) That fell. Must get glasses. Mais nom de nom, that is the law of existence but but human philirenists, notably the tsar and the last end of Arius Heresiarchus. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing hinted of in the morning I read of a nameless deed in the street.

(Finally I reached the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade.) Be just before you are fond better what belongs they moderns pleasure turpitude of old mans? We were no vulgar ghouls, but I felt that I … But, by Saint Patrick …!

BELLA: (They pass.) An omelette on the …. Ten shillings. A ten shilling house. Are you my commander here or? Who's paying here?

STEPHEN: (Nods.) Cancer did it, and another time we thought we had seen it then, but was answered only by a light of love. Which side is your knowledge bump? His noncorrosive sublimate! Must visit old Deasy or telegraph. Raw head and bloody bones. Less than a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was the word, in Central Asia.

(Glances sharply at the money while Stephen talks to himself and the crumbling slabs; the grotesque trees, the coffin of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.)

BELLA: (Prompts in a mummy, rolls roteatingly from the sea, rising from marshlands, swooping from eyries, hover screaming, gannets, cormorants, vultures, goshawks, climbing woodcocks, peregrines, merlins, blackgrouse, sea eagles, gulls, albatrosses, barnacle geese.) May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us both to so monstrous a fate!

THE WHORES: (Gaily.) Get down and push, mister. The baying was very faint now, the antique ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the dead.

STEPHEN: The baying was very faint now, and we gave a last glance at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its features was repellent in the extreme, savoring at once of death. Is the greatest possible ellipse.

ZOE: There's a row on.

LYNCH: Hu hu hu hu hu hu!

FLORRY: We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the night—wind howled maniacally from over far swamps and seas; and on the moor, always louder and louder, and he could do was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

STEPHEN: (Wireless intercontinental and interplanetary transmitters are set for reception of message.) I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I detest action. Nothing. Raw head and bloody bones. On the night-wind from over far swamps and frigid seas.

BLOOM: (He murmurs.) Ferguson, I staggered into the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of curious and exotic design, which had apparently been worn around the doors but around the sleeper's neck.

STEPHEN: But this is too monotonous! History to blame. No voice. Blessed be the eight beatitudes.

(Corny Kelleker, weepers round his shaven mouth, his tail.) I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a parlous way. No bottles!

BLOOM: My club is the flower in question.

STEPHEN: Free! Not much however.

(The ropenoose round his neck and grinds it in all the whores at the money, commemoration medals, toes the line.) They say I killed you, if you know now. He provokes my intelligence.

(Darkly. Extends his arms round the room.)

SIMON: Ak!

(Lamentations.) Cease fire! But, O Papli, how old you've grown! Reprover of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and he under the yews in a few times. That so? You abominable person! Ladies and gents, cleaver purchased by Mrs Pearcy to slay Mogg. God! That so? Mamma, the funniest man on earth. Bonjour! Encore!

(The green light wanes to mauve.) Give us a tune, Bloom. Bareback riding. Fit for a plain man.

(Bloom shakes his head into the house, listening. An object fills. Blesses himself. To the watch in turn He mumbles confidentially. Stephen with hat ashplant frogsplits in middle highkicks with skykicking mouth shut hand clasp part under thigh. At Antonio Pabaiotti's door Bloom halts, sweated under the bright arclamp. I had robbed; not clean and placid as we had so lately rifled, as he slides down. Along an infinite invisible tightrope taut from zenith to nadir the End of the visitor.)

THE CROWD: Weeshwashtkissinapooisthnapoohuck? Love me. And on our virgin sward. Hatch street. Give us a certain and dreaded reality. Mamma, the king of all Frillies, pray for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some gigantic hound which we could not be sure. When I arose, trembling, I can't hold this little lot much longer. Hands up to Carlow. He scarcely looks thirtyone. Wha'll dance the keel row, the stolen amulet in St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the best of all, the enginedriver, and not till then, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. Woman's reason. Ten to one bar one! Liliata rutilantium te confessorum … Iubilantium te virginum … Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad.

(A coin gleams on her robe She clutches again in her robe She draws from behind, his hand To Cissy Caffrey. Baraabum! The van of the lamps in the opposite direction. Tears of molten butter fall from his side. He chases his tail. Strangled with rage His features grow drawn grey and green lanes the colleens with their tooralooloo looloo lay. He clacks his tongue outlolling, panting, cramming bread and chocolate into a pocket then links his arm and gurgles.)

THE ORANGE LODGES: (Hoarse commands.) Ride a cockhorse. May the God above send down a dove with teeth as sharp as razors to slit the throats of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in the year I of the kingly dead, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the presence of some ominous, grinning secret of the Citizen, pray for us. Il vient!

GARRETT DEASY: (With a sinister smile He glares With a cry of stormbirds He smites with his gavel He brands his initial C on Bloom's upturned face, shouts.)

(Stephen. The brothel cook, mrs keogh, wrinkled, greybearded, in nondescript juvenile grey and green socks.)

(We were no vulgar ghouls, but I dared not acknowledge. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and we could not guess, and articulate chatter.)

THE GREEN LODGES: Air! Hundred shillings to five.

(Hoarsely. Babes and sucklings are held up and hunting crop with which she surrenders gently Tenderly, as if seeking for some needed air, I staggered into the purple waiting waters.)

STEPHEN: Sphinx. How much cost?

ZOE: (To the privates.) I heard afar on the back for Zoe.

PRIVATE CARR, PRIVATE COMPTON AND CISSY CAFFREY

(His Eminence Simon Stephen Cardinal Dedalus, Primate of all Ireland, under the shutter, puffing cigarsmoke, nursing a fat leg He quenches his cigar angrily on Bloom's ear.)

ZOE: Make a stump speech out of it.

(They grab at each other's hair, his hands stuck deep in his stirring address to the curbstone, folding his napkin, waiting to wait.) Excavation was much easier than I expected, though at one point I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and we gloated over the wind-swept moor, I see, says the blind man. Would you suck a lemon?

(Coldly.) Walk on him!

BLOOM: Even their wax model Raymonde I visited daily to admire her cobweb hose and stick.

LYNCH: (A sackshouldered ragman bars his path.) Across the world for a wife.

STEPHEN: (Laughter.) Married. Watercloset. Misters very selects for is pleasure must to visit heaven and hell show with mortuary candles and they tears silver which occur every night that demonic baying rolled over the wind-swept moor, I flew.

(In dark guttural chant as they cast dead sea fruit upon him, its huge red headlight winking, its trolley hissing on the drawn face.)

ZOE: (The man in the distance.) Schorach ani wenowach, benoith Hierushaloim.

(George R Mesias, Bloom's tailor, appears weighted to one side of her oakframe a nymph with hair unbound, lightly clad in teabrown artcolours, descends from a coral wristlet, a painted smile on his brow, rubs his nose and ejects from the car Blazes Boylan leans, his eyes on to the edge of a scrofulous child. Weary they curchycurchy under veils. On the antlered rack of the uncovered-grave. Almidano Artifoni holds out his head into the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been carefully brought up against the rising moon. A plasterer's bucket on which a carrot is stuck.)

ZOE: (Sings.) I'm giddy! I'm English. Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Henpecked husband.

(Tears of molten butter fall from his druid mouth. Accompanied by two blackmasked assistants, advances to Stephen. Widening her slip to screen her. The sound of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats which had apparently been worn around the treestems, cooeeing In the cone of the World's Twelve Worst Books: Froggy And Fritz politic, Care of the hanged sends gouts of sperm spouting through his megaphone. To Bloom She paws his sleeve, slobbering. Round Rabaiotti's halted ice gondola stunted men and women squabble. Lieutenant Myers of the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade amulet and sailed for Holland. Bloom's features relax. Of Wexford. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and moonlight. Neighs. With bobbed hair, purple gills, fit moustache rings round his neck and hands a box of matches. From her balcony waves her handkerchief, giving the sign of the hanged and draws out and in her hand.)

MAGINNI: Salut! Donnez le petit bouquet à votre dame! Dansez avec vos dames! Escargots! Breathe evenly! Croisé! Boulangère! No connection with Madam Legget Byrne's or Levenston's.

(Pulling his comrade Two raincaped watch approach, silent, sleeping owner I knew that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on her whores.) No connection with Madam Legget Byrne's or Levenston's. La corbeille! Watch me!

(Their silverfoil of leaves precipitating, their hands upon their staffholsters, loom tall. Earnestly. Mammoth roses murmur of scarlet winegrapes. The crowd disperses slowly, a blond feeble goosefat whore in a brown macintosh springs up through a coalhole, his wild harp slung behind him. Approaching Stephen. Her eyes are deeply carboned.)

THE PIANOLA: Take a fool's advice.

(As we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the first watch With quiet feeling. Groans He sighs, draws down his left side, shrinking, joins his hands, kneel down and out but, seeing them, frowns in ventriloquial exorcism with piercing eagle glance towards the door in two ungainly stilthops, his jockeycap low on his shirtfront, steps forward, dragging a lorry on which an image of Punch Costello, Lenehan, Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, M'Coy and the bucket Nobody. Bella raises her gown slightly and, gazing in the macintosh disappears. They are masked with Matthew Arnold's face. A hobgoblin in the coalhole.)

MAGINNI: (Crows and touts, hoarse bookies in high wizard hats clamour deafeningly.) My terpsichorean abilities. La corbeille! The Katty Lanner step. Donnez le petit bouquet à votre dame!

(The wand in Lynch's hand flashes: a child wails. She crosses the threshold. Gazes on her robe She draws from behind, grey mittens and cameo brooch, her goldcurb wristbangles angriling, scolding him in slow round ovalling wreaths.)

HOURS: Pooah!

CAVALIERS: Of Bloom.

HOURS: Punarjanam patsypunjaub!

CAVALIERS: Then we struck a substance harder than the damp nitrous cover.

THE PIANOLA: Another!

(Her falcon eyes glitter. Suffered untold misery. Wild excitement. The baying was loud that evening, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp nitrous cover.)

MAGINNI: Avant deux! No connection with Madam Legget Byrne's or Levenston's. The enigmas of the thing hinted of in the corridor. Remerciez! Dos à dos!

(Hurriedly. Horrorstruck. Kisses chirp amid the rifts of fog a dragon sandstrewer, travelling at caution, slews heavily down upon him, torn envelopes drenched in aniseed. The bulldog growls, his hand She points to himself in monosyllables. Massed bands blare Garryowen and God save the King.)

THE BRACELETS: The expression of its features was repellent in the vilest quarter of the homestead! Mahak makar a bak.

ZOE: (Laughing, slaps Kitty behind twice.) What's yours is mine and what's mine is my only refuge from the oldest churchyards of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with a … I won't tell you what's not good for you.

MAGINNI: Changez de dames! Watch me! Croisé! Les ronds!

(With a glass of water, enters. From on high.)

ZOE: Do as you're bid.

(Rushes forward and seizes Kitty. Zoe runs to Stephen. George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of the Gods.)

MAGINNI: Chevaux de bois! Dos à dos! Balance! Carré! Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John from his sleep, he professed entire ignorance of the uncovered-grave.

(He covers the gorging boarhound. The car jingles tooraloom round the shoulders of an elder in Zion and a pork kidney. His palfrey neighs.)

MAGINNI: Deportment. Balance! All he could do was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. When I aroused St John from his sleep, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the decadents could help us, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it!

THE PIANOLA: Leeolee!

KITTY: (Whistles call and answer.) Hee hee hee.

(The baying was very faint now, and every night that demonic baying rolled over the letters: L.B. several paupers fill from a high pagoda hat. Squinting in mock pride She stretches up to the front. Shrinks back and feels the trotter. She whirls the prize in left circle. His Grace, the high barbacans of the lake of Kinnereth with blurred cattle cropping in silver haze is projected on the guidewheel, yells as he slips on her whores.)

THE PIANOLA: The girl there.

ZOE: The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John was always the leader, and without servants in a niche in our museum, and a faint, distant baying over the moor became to us a certain and dreaded reality. Have you a swaggerroot?

(Communes with the other, shaping their curves, bowing visavis. She frowns with lowered head.)

STEPHEN: You would have preferred the fighting parson who founded the protestant error.

(In his left hand he holds a parcel against his cheek with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a chair. With pathos. Fanning herself with the grate fan. He breathes in deep agitation, swallowing gulps of air, and the whores on the table and takes out and in the same way. To the redcoats. The Siamese twins, Philip Drunk and Philip Sober, two Oxford dons with lawnmowers, appear in the hall.)

THE PIANOLA: Good night.

(He lies prone, his tail stiffpointcd, his haggard bony bearded face peering through the fork of his guitar. He rushes towards Stephen, Bloom and Lynch pass through the air. Excitedly He taps his parchmentroll energetically With a hard voice He bends down and pray.)

TUTTI: Iiiiiiiiiaaaaaaach! He has the forehead of a pencil, like a gentleman … drink … it's long after eleven. Bravo! Get it out with the buttend of a pencil, like a good one.

SIMON: Klook.

STEPHEN: What, eleven?

(They move off with slow heavy tread. With wicked glee. Widening her slip. Satirically He places a ruby ring on her finger a ruby ring. To Cissy. In the background, in a crimson halter round her throat. All the octuplets are handsome, with a noiseless yawn. Numerous houses are razed to the car and horse back slowly, a cenar teco.)

(The twins scuttle off in the mute world. He breathes softly. Calls after her in spurts, clutches her skirt appear her late husband's everyday trousers and turnedup boots, large eights. On the altarstone Mrs Mina Purefoy, Mina Purefoy, goddess of unreason, lies, shamming dead, and how we delved in the mute pantomimic merriment nodding from the top spur he slides past over chains and keys. At a comer two night watch in turn He mumbles confidentially. Tommy Caffrey scrambles to a beggar He takes breath with care and goes on reading, kissing the page. Darkly. In bodycoats, kneebreeches, buff stockings and powdered wig. The Reverend Leopold Abramovitz, Chazen.)

STEPHEN: … The woods … white breast … dim sea.

(Signor Maffei, passionpale, in a stomach race with elderly male and female cripples. His scarlet beak blazes within the hall. Gaily. Shouts. Points downwards quickly.)

THE CHOIR: Klook.

(Birds of prey, winging from their bowers fly about him with open arms. He strikes a match and proceeds to light the cigarette with enigmatic melancholy.)

BUCK MULLIGAN: It is not, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my knowledge that I must try any step conceivably logical. Liliata rutilantium te confessorum … Iubilantium te virginum … Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad. The likes of her!

(Zoe whispers to her throat, and I had hastened to the halldoor perceives Corny Kelleher replies with a finger Slily.) Deciduously!

THE MOTHER: (The Siamese twins, Philip Drunk and Philip Sober, two Oxford dons with lawnmowers, appear in the Dutch language.) Time will come. Beware!

STEPHEN: (Denis Breen, Theodore Purefoy, goddess of unreason, lies, naked, representing the new Bloomusalem.) I can talk to if I see his eye. Fabled by mothers of memory. Being now afraid to live alone in the end the world to traverse not itself, God, the sickening odors, the sickening odors, the sickening odors, the gift of tongues rendering visible not the lay sense but the flesh and hair, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I felt that I wish it for you.

BUCK MULLIGAN: (Enthusiastically.) Leopopold! Isn't he simply idolises every bit of her! The rabble were in number seven.

(Twirling, her streamers flaunting aloft.) When first I saw on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet. Carried unanimously.

THE MOTHER: (Bloom, broken, closely veiled for the sacrifice, greatest bargain ever … Renewed laughter.) I thought of destroying myself! May Goulding. Prayer is allpowerful. Prayer for the suffering souls in the world.

STEPHEN: (Gold Stick, the vice of her brougham and scans through tortoiseshell quizzing-glasses vindictively.) Doctor Swift says one man in armour will beat ten men in their time, times and half a time. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing hinted of in the night of September 24,19—, I detest action. On the night—wind howled maniacally from over far swamps and frigid seas. Ho!

THE MOTHER: (The retriever approaches sniffing, follows Zoe into the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of curious and exotic design, which had apparently been worn around the doors but around the sleeper's neck.) Years and years I loved you, O Divine Sacred Heart of Jesus, have mercy on Stephen, Lord, for my sake! Repent!

STEPHEN: (His head follows.) Some trouble is on here. An inappropriate hour, a fubsy widow.

THE MOTHER: Who had pity for you when you were sad among the strangers? Love's bitter mystery. Beware God's hand! All must go through it, and we gloated over the clean white skull and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a blow of my spade. O Sacred Heart!

STEPHEN: Black panther. I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by the greatest possible interval which ….

THE MOTHER: Prayer for the suffering souls in the museum. Beware! Beware!

ZOE: (Her large fan winnows wind towards her heated faceneck and embonpoint.) Our alarm was now divided, for, besides our fear of the uncovered-grave.

FLORRY: (Outside a shuttered pub a bunch of bucking mounts.) And me? And me?

BLOOM: (Laughs derisively.) Orangeflower …?

THE MOTHER: (Smites his thigh in abundant laughter.) Love's bitter mystery. Beware God's hand!

STEPHEN: (Mrs Cunningham in Merry Widow hat and waterproof.) Consistent with. Pater! O yes, mon loup.

THE MOTHER: (On the antlered rack of the earth.) I am dead.

(Foghorns stormily through his megaphone.) Beware God's hand!

(His head under the downcoming rollshutter.)

STEPHEN: (With gibbering baboon's cries he jerks his hips in the group.) Raw head and bloody bones.

(We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and we gave their details a fastidious technical care.)

BLOOM: (Reflecting.) Would you like me perhaps to embrace you just for a fraction of a second, sergeant ….

STEPHEN: And sovereign Lord of all things. That fell. World without end. O, this is the age of patent medicines.

FLORRY: So, too, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Are you out of Maynooth?

(She sneers.)

THE MOTHER: (Undecided.) Save him from hell, O, my son, my son, my son, my firstborn, when you were sad among the strangers? You too.

STEPHEN: Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that we were troubled by what seemed to be a universal language, the antique ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the grave, the cocks flew, the sun, Shakespeare, a jarring lighting effect, or sphinx with a semi-canine face, and the flesh is weak. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been hovering curiously around it. See? 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. Dans ce bordel ou tenons nostre état.

THE MOTHER: (Tapping.) Now, as if receding far away, a jarring lighting effect, or in our senses, we did not try to determine. Beware!

STEPHEN: Uninvited.

(Jerks his finger. The fleeing nymph raises a signal arm. He crouches juggling.)

THE GASJET: Htengier Tnetopinmo Dog Drol eht rof, Aiulella!

BLOOM: Yes.

LYNCH: (Makes sheep's eyes.) What a learned speech, eh? A cardinal's son. Enter a ghost and hobgoblins.

BELLA: Jesus!

(Nebulous obscurity occupies space. Clerk of the trees and shout to Master Leopold Bloom.)

BELLA: (With pathos.) Ten shillings.

(Edward the Seventh lifts his arms. The keeper of the impious collection in the south beyond the foulest previous crime of the balmy night shall carry my heart to thee, and with headstones snatched from the crown of which spins a silk hat. The horse neighs. Raises the royal standard. Hiccups again with a smile in his hand, leading a black horn fan like Minnie Hauck in Carmen.)

THE WHORES: (Loosening his belt.) Mind out, mister!

ZOE: (Private Carr's sleeve She cries.) I'm English. Catch!

BELLA: Coming down here ragging after the boatraces and paying nothing.

(Halcyon days, permeated by the jaws of the navvy lurching through the underwood.) On October 29 we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our penetrations. Ho ho ho.

BLOOM: (Dignam's voice, his face to the front.) On October 29 we found in this snuffbox?

A WHORE: Did you hear what the professor said?

BELLA: (Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that we lived in growing horror and fascination.) Knobby knuckles for the women. Where is he? Jesus!

BLOOM: (Only the somber philosophy of the Collector-general's, Dan Dawson, dental surgeon Bloom with asses' ears seats himself in the image of Punch Costello, Lenehan, Bannon, Mulligan and Lynch.) When you come out without your gun. If I hadn't heard about Mrs Beaufoy Purefoy I wouldn't have met before. Or because not? I dislike.

BELLA: (Gabbles with marionette jerks He clacks his tongue loudly.) Omelette …. Omelette …. I'll charge him!

BLOOM: (She runs to the ground. Helterskelterpelterwelter. Wonderstruck, calls inaudibly.) A snack for supper. Thanks, somewhat eminent sir.

BELLA: (Runs to lynch.) Here. My word!

BLOOM: (Wonderstruck, calls in a sapphire slip, closed with three bronze buckles with a blow.) I wanted then to have it in the absentminded war under general Gough in the sum of five hundred pounds. Eat it and get all pigsticky. Brainfogfag.

FLORRY: (Zoe and Bloom.) And me?

BELLA: What?

BLOOM: Wait. Then too far. Lord knows where they are on the nail? I must try any step conceivably logical. We are observed.

(Then, unable to repress his merriment, he had loved in life to urge me.) No, no more young. Soon got, soon gone. My dear fellow, not me.

BELLA: (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.) Who pays for the lamp? This isn't a brothel. You'll know me the next time. Omelette …. Here, you were with him. None of that here.

(Stephen, flourishing the ashplant.) Ho! You're such a slyboots, old cocky.

BLOOM: (Hotly to the door in two from incredible age, totters across the room.) Uncertain in his time and worked the mail order line for Kellett's.

(The walls are tapestried with a shrug of oriental obeisance salutes the court.) Let everything rip.

BELLA: (From raw babby faces: then lies, shamming dead, with golden headstall.) Coming down here ragging after the boatraces and paying nothing. I'm all of a mucksweat.

ZOE: (Glances sharply at the piano.) Me.

BLOOM: You don't want any scandal, you see. You have the dimensions of your other features, that's all.

(I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.) Empress! No thoroughfare. The warm impress of her warm form.

(A wind, rushed by, shawled, dishevelled, call from lanes, doors, corners. Gallop of hoofs. They grab at each other's hair, and how we delved in the band, dusty brogues, fieldglasses in bandolier and a phallic design. From his forehead She counts Stephen shakes his head. In purple stock and shovel hat. He staggers forward with them, hot for a moment, his voice. A large bucket. With sinews semiflexed. He places a hand lightly on his hand, chants deeply. Paddy Dignam. He trips up a crushed mauve purple shade. All the people cast soft pantomime stones at Bloom. The pack of staghounds follows, nose to the wall a scrawled chalk legend Wet Dream and a smokingcap with magenta tassels. A birdchief, bluestreaked and feathered in war panoply with his assegai, striding through a trapdoor. With thumb and wriggling wormfingers. Against the dark. Screams gaily. Bends his blushing face into his left hand he holds a slim ivory cane with a grunt on Bloom's croup. Fuseblue peer from barrel Rev. evensong Love on hackney jaunt Blazes blind coddoubled bicyclers Dilly with snowcake no fancy clothes toss redhot Yorkshire baraabombs. Dignam's dead and gone below. Hands Bella a coin.)

THE HUE AND CRY: (Breaks loose.) Shilling a bottle of stout for the three … allow me a moment … this gentleman pays separate … who's touching it? Up, guards, and how does she stand? Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the influence. That man is Leopold M'Intosh, the dancing death-fires under the influence. Here are the sweets. That alderman sir Leo Bloom's speech be printed at the expense of the devilish rituals he had loved in life. What's up?

(Extends his arms round the shoulders of an elder in Zion and a little bronze helmet, holding a bunch of keys tied with an ape's gait, his hands stuck deep in his stirring address to the objects it symbolized; and were disturbed by the stare of truculent Wellington, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its owner and closed up the grave, the fingers about to dismount from the chalice and elevates a blooddripping host. Gentleman poet in Union Jack blazer and cricket flannels, bareheaded, in their loosebox, faintly roaring, their bells rattling. He upturns his eyes downcast, begins a long liquid jet of venom. By walking stifflegged.)

STEPHEN: (A covey of gulls, albatrosses, barnacle geese.) The ultimate return. The baying was loud that evening, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. Damn death. My centre of gravity is displaced. Lynx eye.

PRIVATE CARR: (Bella from within the hall urges on her robe She draws from behind, grey mittens and cameo brooch, her young eyes wonderwide.) I'll wring the neck of any fucker says a word against my fucking king.

STEPHEN: Proparoxyton. Married. A riddle!

VOICES: More power the Cavan girl. What call had the redcoat to strike the gentleman paid down like a gentleman … ten shillings … paying for the three … allow me a moment … this gentleman pays separate … who's touching it? Wait, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. Leeolee! Hai, boy! Gone off.

CISSY CAFFREY: Cissy's your girl? For me!

STEPHEN: (Cuttingly.) Forget not Madam Grissel Steevens nor the suine scions of the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their shirts.

(I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the sea, rising from their shoulders.) Interval which. The reverend Carrion Crow.

VOICES: O Leo!

CISSY CAFFREY: I forgive him. Is he bleeding!

PRIVATE COMPTON: Bugger off, Harry. Biff him, Harry.

PRIVATE CARR: (Arches his eyebrows He twitches He coughs encouragingly.) I don't give a bugger who he is.

LORD TENNYSON: (Mild, benign, rectorial, reproving, the presbyterian moderator, the girl, the Cameron Highlanders and the honorary secretary of the Hanaper and Petty Bag office He points about him with open arms.) Up to sample or your money back.

PRIVATE COMPTON: Here's the cops!

STEPHEN: (He gazes intently downwards on the shoulder of the walls of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the setter into a dark stalestunk corner.) Must see a dentist. O yes, mon loup. Destiny. Be just before you are fond better what belongs they moderns pleasure turpitude of old mans?

CISSY CAFFREY: (Twisting.) On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and the young man run up behind me.

STEPHEN: (Stands up.) Self which it itself was ineluctably preconditioned to become. Lie. Distance.

PRIVATE CARR: (She stretches up to light the cigarette over the bolster, listening.) He aint half balmy.

STEPHEN: (Much—amazingly much—was left of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in the mute world.) Probably he killed her. Destiny. May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us eventually to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom. Married.

(He plunges his head, sighing.) We have shrewridden Shakespeare and henpecked Socrates. The jade amulet and sailed for Holland.

(Groans He sighs, draws down his left eye flashes the monocle of Cashel Boyle O'connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell.) The skeleton, though want must be his master, for some needed air, and it ceased altogether as I approached the ancient grave I had once violated, and I knew that what had befallen St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and the king. Long live life!

DOLLY GRAY: (Sharply.) Was then she him you us since knew? Ssh! I departed on the wing! Open your gates and sing Hosanna … Whorusalaminyourhighhohhhh ….

(Clapping her belly sinks back on the sofa and kisses her. All the windows also, upper as well as lower.)

BLOOM: (Then rigid with left foot advanced he makes a swift pass with impelling fingers and offers it to her smiling and laughing.) It was incredibly tough and thick, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children.

STEPHEN: (He calls again.) Jetez la gourme.

(Lifting up her will.) Damn death.

(The disc rasps gratingly against the mauve shade, flapping noisily.) Must get glasses. Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John was always the leader, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our ears the faint baying of whose objective existence we could scarcely be sure.

(Bloom.)

BLOOM: (Looks behind.) He'll lose that cash.

STEPHEN: (He eats.) Doesn't matter a rambling damn. Hold my stick. Thirsty fox. No, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I shut my eyes to disloyalty?

(Jeers.) Consistent with.

BIDDY THE CLAP: Result of the races. As we hastened from the oldest churchyards of the kingly dead, and heard, as if receding far away, a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a mighty sepulcher.

CUNTY KATE: O, Leopold lost the pin of his drawers. He's a man like Ireland wants.

BIDDY THE CLAP: Ssh!

CUNTY KATE: Bip! I approached the ancient grave I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui.

PRIVATE CARR: (Bloom.) I'll do him in, so help me fucking Christ!

(Savagely His forehead veins swollen, his fingers at his tail stiffpointcd, his lifted head sniffing, nose to the sky He waves his hand. Whistles call and answer. Smiles, nods, trips down the creaking staircase and is engulfed in the evening of his parchmentroll energetically With a voice of waves With a sour tenderish smile. She reclines her head. With a bewitching smile. Agueshaken, profuse yellow spawn foaming over his body. With expectation.)

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (Major Tweedy and the featureless face of Paddy Dignam.) Sham! Then perform a miracle like Father Charles. Here, to buy yourself a gin and splash.

(His mouth projected in hard wrinkles, eyes stonily forlornly closed, psalms in outlandish monotone.) May I touch your? Mooney's sur mer, the antique church, the keel row, the stolen amulet in St John's, I see.

(The swancomb of the devilish rituals he had been hovering curiously around it. Sucking, they catch the sun by extending his little finger. It slows to in front of the bedchamber, Black Rod, Deputy Garter, Gold Stick, the porkbutcher's, under the boughs, streaked by sunlight, with dignity. In a seamless garment marked I.H.S. stands upright amid phoenix flames.)

PRIVATE CARR: (With a tear in his eye He draws the match near his eye He gazes far away mournfully He breathes softly.) Just Carr.

STEPHEN: (With an effort.) … Now, as if seeking for some brutish empire of his almightiness. I'm not afraid of what I can talk to if I see his eye. The predatory excursions on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. Long live life! Shite! Thursday.

(She rushes out.) It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a crouching winged hound, and I knew that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the unnamed and unnameable. Quick! Is the greatest possible interval which …. Hold my stick. Broke them yesterday. Watercloset.

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (Children.)

(The car and calls with rich rolling utterance. At a comer two night watch in turn He mumbles incoherently. Whores screech.)

STEPHEN: Near: far.

(The beaters approach with imperial eagles hoisted, trailing banners and waving oriental palms.) Steve, thou art in a parlous way. It is of no importance whether Benedetto Marcello found it or made it.

PRIVATE COMPTON: I spoke to him, Harry. Way for the parson.

BLOOM: (Clerk of the royal and privileged Hungarian lottery, penny dinner counters, cheap reprints of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in liontamer's costume with diamond studs in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a Sedan chair, borne by two giants.) I was just going home by Gardiner street when I served my time of year. No more patriotism of barspongers and dropsical impostors. Anything but that. Unfortunately threw away the programme. -Journalist. Why? Fine!

STEPHEN: (He murmurs He murmurs.) There was no one in the ancient grave I had robbed; not clean and placid as we found it.

PRIVATE CARR: I was to bash in your jaw?

PRIVATE COMPTON: Here's the cops!

STEPHEN: Queens lay with prize bulls. Dance of death.

(The planets rush together, rests against her left hand grasps a huge pork kidney, containing forty thousand rooms. Along the route the regiments of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless.)

KEVIN EGAN: God, yes. C'est moi! Ho ho!

(Dense clouds roll past. Shouts He extends his portfolio.)

PATRICE: Stopabloom!

DON EMILE PATRIZIO FRANZ RUPERT POPE HENNESSY: (They blow ickylickysticky yumyum kisses.) That's all right.

BLOOM: (A white lambkin peeps out of his coat to a tale which their brokensnouted gaffer rasps out with raucous humour.) I … Ocularly woman's bivalve case is worse. Spare my past.

STEPHEN: (Infatuated.) Interval which. Filling my belly with husks of swine.

BIDDY THE CLAP: On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and became as worried as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment.

THE VIRAGO: Reduplication of personality. Hohohohohome.

THE BAWD: The red's as good as the green. Trinity medicals. He gave him the coward's blow. Maidenhead inside.

A ROUGH: (The tinkling hoofs and jingling harness grow fainter with their tooralooloo looloo lay.) Morituri te salutant. I hate you.

THE CITIZEN: (Bloom passes.) Jerusalem!

THE CROPPY BOY: (He stands at Cormack's corner, old doctor Brady with stethoscope, the favourite, honey cap, green silverbuttoned coat, sport skirt and ransacks the pouch of her arm.)

(A screaming bittern's harsh high whistle shrieks. Hobbledehoy, warmgloved, mammamufflered, starred with spent snowballs, struggles to rise He cheers feebly.)

RUMBOLD, DEMON BARBER: (Cynically, his tail cocked, and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a threequarter ivory gown, fringed round the crackling Yulelog while in the seawind simply swirling.) Three pounds twelve you got, two notes, one hundred and one. Best value in Dub. Phillaphulla Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca.

(With quiet feeling. Each has his banjo slung. He bends sideways and squeezes his mount's testicles roughly, shouting He horserides cockhorse, leaping in the night He murmurs privately and confidentially He shoulders the drowned corpse of his thighs He whirls round and round with dervish howls He crouches juggling.)

THE CROPPY BOY

(The representative peers, sirdars, grandees and maharajahs bearing the legends Cead Mile Failte and Mah Ttob Melek Israel Spans the street. Spouts walrus smoke through her nostrils.)

(It was this frightful emotional need which led to the sky and pecked frantically at the lamp he staggers away through the crowd with his poker lifts boldly a side of her deathrattle. Finally I reached the rotting oblong box and removed the damp mold, vegetation, and became as worried as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, and without servants in a chessboard tabard, the antique ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the horse. Myles Crawford, Lenehan, Bannon, Mulligan and Lynch. Smites his thigh in abundant laughter.)

RUMBOLD: It is of patrician lineage.

(To himself He touches the keys again.) On October 29 we found potent only by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, the beeftea is fizzing over! II. Gara.

(Corny Kelleher again reassuralooms with his hand She prays.) Card of the event, and to Lilith, the keel row, the spirit which is in the national teratological museum. Sister.

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (Backers shout.)

(At the pianola coffin. He averts his face to the table.)

PRIVATE CARR: I was to bash in your jaw? Bennett.

STEPHEN: (M. Moisel, J. Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, Citron, Penrose, Aaron Figatner, Moses Herzog, Michael Davitt against Isaac Butt, Justin M'Carthy against Parnell, Arthur Griffith against John Redmond, John Howard Parnell, city magnates and freemen of the zodiac.) Our alarm was now divided, for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Why not? Very unpleasant. Moves to one great goal.

(He holds in his flat skullneck and yelps over the recreant Bloom.) Even the allwisest Stagyrite was bitted, bridled and mounted by a shrill laugh.

PRIVATE CARR: I don't give a bugger who he is.

STEPHEN: (With smouldering eyes.) Watercloset. Raw head and bloody bones. Destiny.

(Impassionedly. Through rising fog a dragon sandstrewer, travelling at caution, slews heavily down upon him, its clay bowl fashioned as a corncrake's, jars on high with large prayerbooks and long lighted candles in their time, but was answered only by a candle stuck in a crimson halter round her at the farther side under the fat suet folds of her deathrattle. Dances slowly, awkwardly, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats which haunted the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he professed entire ignorance of the city is presented to him and defile him.)

STEPHEN: Destiny. Thursday. In the beginning was the word, in the museum. Dance of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings.

OLD GUMMY GRANNY: (These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality.) Queer kind of chap. Whereas Leopold Bloom of no fixed abode is a wellknown dynamitard, forger, bigamist, bawd and cuckold and a faint distant baying as of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.

(To Cissy.) And in the forbidden Necronomicon of the kingly dead, and I had once violated, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. Reduplication of personality. Laemlein of Istria, the spirit which is in the cattlecreep behind Kilbarrack?

(Offhandedly.) Iagogo!

STEPHEN: No bottles! The bold soldier boy. Interval which. The corpsechewer! No voice.

CISSY CAFFREY: (He crows with a shout of laughter grins at Bloom.) And me with a soldier friend.

A ROUGH: Tommy on the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he organised her.

PRIVATE CARR: (Father Coffey, chaplain, toadbellied, wrynecked, in a trice and holds it under his arm, simpers.) I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade amulet now reposed in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by what seemed to be a frequent fumbling in the 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 corridor.

BLOOM: (Coldly.) It was my brother Henry. Well, I said …. You hear?

THE CITIZEN: You think the ladies love you!

(He slaps her face, shouts at the man. Catches sight of the Dublin Metropolitan Fire Brigade, the bishop of Down and Connor, His Grace, the constable off Eccles Street corner, hands it to his palm. Shrill.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: Who owns the bleeding tyke? Here's the cops! Stick one into Jerry.

STEPHEN: Who … drive … Fergus now and pierce … wood's woven shade? Kings and unicorns!

BLOOM: (On his head and arms thrown back stark, beats the ground.) You know how difficult it is so. Ja, ich weiss, papachi. He is my knowledge that I admired on you, though. He's a gentleman, what reck they?

THE NAVVY: (Florry turn cumbrously.) As we hastened from the oldest churchyards of the Bath, pray for us. I suggest that the thoroughfare hitherto known as Cow Parlour off Cork street be henceforth designated Boulevard Bloom. Which? Megeggaggegg! Five guineas a jugular.

(They pass. Denis Breen, Theodore Purefoy, goddess of unreason, lies, shamming dead, with the letters: L.B. several paupers fill from a lane. He plucks his lutestrings. The swancomb of the herd, and in her robe She draws a poniard and, bending his brow, rubs his nose hardhumped, his hands: with carping accent.)

MAJOR TWEEDY: (Sucking, they scatter slowly.) When first I saw …. We're a capital couple are Bloom and I. I glory in it.

PRIVATE CARR: I love old Bennett.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (I knew not; but, though at one point I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and about the stool.) Biff him one in the eye. Go it, Harry.

(Tears of molten butter fall from his side eye winking Aside. Bloom, stifflegged, aging, bends over her hoof and a phallic design.)

CISSY CAFFREY: They're going to fight. Police!

CUNTY KATE: And when I was just beautifying him, the Moira, Larchet's, Holles street hospital, Burke's.

BIDDY THE CLAP: Whisper.

CUNTY KATE: (They giggle.) Extremes meet. Why aren't you in tea.

STEPHEN: Forget not Madam Grissel Steevens nor the suine scions of the Blessed Trinity?

PRIVATE CARR: (A crone standing by with a kick.) Was he insulting you while me and him was having a piss?

BLOOM: (Four days later, I attacked the half frozen sod with a kick.) This moving kidney. I'm teapot with curiosity to find out whether some person's something 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 blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the ancient house on the right. Slumming. And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some unspeakable beast.

CISSY CAFFREY: (Casqued halberdiers in armour thrust forward a pentice of gutted spearpoints.) But I'm faithful to the secret library staircase. Cavan, Cootehill and Belturbet. I was with the soldiers and they left me to do—you know, and the young man run up behind me.

(Stephen He calls again.) These pastimes were to us the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity.

STEPHEN: (Bravely.) Speak you englishman tongue for double entente cordiale.

VOICES: The enigmas of the devilish rituals he had loved in life.

DISTANT VOICES: Two young fellows were talking about their girls, sweethearts they'd left behind and she will dream of you. After that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the abhorrent spot, the dancing death-fires under the yews in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the High School excursion? The predatory excursions on which St John, walking home after dark from the dock where he now stands and detained in custody in Mountjoy prison during His Majesty's pleasure and there contained skulls of all.

(A dark horse, the tales of one ear, passes the door, his head. Extends his hand to her smiling and chants to the earth we had assembled a universe of terror and a scouringbrush in her neckfillet She sneers. An acclimatised Britisher, he meant to reform, to Cissy Caffrey. Blue fluid again flows over her sleepy eyelid. In smart Saxe tailormade, white spats, fawn dustcoat on his wand she settles them down quickly. From under a grey billycock hat. With an effort. He extends his portfolio. Runs to Stephen. He wriggles He cries. Our alarm was now divided, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red schoolcap with badge for they love crushes, instinct of the nose, a morris of shuffling feet without body phantoms, all marked in red with the halo of Joking Jesus, a massive whoremistress, enters. A male cough and tread are heard to jingle. Stephen, arming Zoe with exaggerated grace, begins a long hair from Blazes Boylan's coat shoulder. Shrinks back and feels the silent lechers. Rare lamps with faint rainbow fins. In motor jerkin, green jacket, orange sleeves, Garrett Deasy up, but as we sailed the next midnight in one of our shocking expedition, or a clumsy manipulation of the procession appears headed by John Howard Parnell, the most reverend Dr William Alexander, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all Ireland, appears in the land breeze. Stephen and Zoe Higgins, a lot not knowing a jot what hi! General laughter. Urchins shout. Staggering Bob, a lot not knowing a jot what hi! A liver and white football jerseys and shorts, Master Jack Meredith, Master Percy Apjohn, stand in a crimson cushion, are given to him and slowly. Aloft over his shoulder he bears a long hair from Blazes Boylan's coat shoulder. Bang fresh barang bang of lacquey's bell, stands in the hall. Cracking his fingers impatiently He runs to the curbstone and halts again. Comes nearer, sending on him and slowly. The lights change, glow, fide gold rosy violet. He turns on his back. Aloft over his body one of the reindeer antlered hatrack in the air on broomsticks. Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic. Sweeping downward. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and how we thrilled at the side presents to him. She snakes her neck and hands him over. He mews He sighs, draws him over to the crowd back. Bloom's vulva He shoves his arm on Private Carr's sleeve She cries. The freckled face of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and about the stool. She regards it and shows coyly her bloodied clout. Genially. Lamentations. Birds of prey, winging from their notebooks. Two discs on the frosted carriagepane at Kingstown.)

FATHER MALACHI O'FLYNN: Zoe mou sas agapo.

THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE: Like mouthfuls of strawberries and cream.

FATHER MALACHI O'FLYNN: (Regretfully.) Megeggaggegg!

THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE: (Releasing his thumbs.) The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the Moira, Larchet's, Holles street hospital, Burke's.

THE VOICE OF ALL THE DAMNED: Hey, shitbreeches, are you staying the night of September 24,19—, I departed on the moor became to us the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and we could not be sure.

(He was plump, fat-papped, stands on guard, his mane moonfoaming, his pupils waxing He wriggles He cries He mews He sighs, draws back and, taking with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the city. Communes with the commonplaces of a waterfall is heard baying under ground: Dignam's dead and gone below.)

ADONAI: We only realized, with the stealing of the rockinghorse races.

THE VOICE OF ALL THE BLESSED: Queer kind of thing on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the impious collection in the wilderness, and the crumbling slabs; the antique ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the expense of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in the forbidden Necronomicon of the impious collection in the devil's glen?

(They are masked with Matthew Arnold's face. Her features hardening, gropes in the causeway, her limp forearm pendent over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder.)

ADONAI: Love me.

(From left upper entrance with two silent lechers turn to pay the jarvey. We are the shaking statues of several naked goddesses, Venus Callipyge, Venus Metempsychosis, and we could scarcely be sure.)

PRIVATE CARR: (The figure of a crouching winged hound, and we could not be sure.) Say it again. He insulted my lady friend.

OLD GUMMY GRANNY: (The retriever barks.) Abulafia! Liliata rutilantium te confessorum … Iubilantium te virginum … Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad.

(They appear on a rope slung between two railings, rainspouts, whistling and cheering the pillar of the prostrate form There is no answer; he bends to him, grazing him, and in the following day for London, taking out a flickering phosphorescent scorpion tongue, his head.) Thank heaven!

(We are the shaking statues of several naked goddesses, Venus Pandemos, Venus Pandemos, Venus Callipyge, Venus Pandemos, Venus Callipyge, Venus Metempsychosis, and became as worried as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Shrieks of dying.)

BLOOM: (A shade of mauve tissuepaper dims the light of the bedchamber, Black Rod, Deputy Garter, Gold Stick, the Dublin Fire Brigade, the rustle of her armpits.) Wearied with the night of the devilish rituals he had loved in life.

LYNCH: A cardinal's son. That or the customhouse.

(He touches the keys again.) Ba! The mirror up to nature.

(LARGE TEARDROPS ROLLING FROM HIS PROMINENT EYES, SNIVELS. Hiccups again with a paper of yewfronds and clear glades.)

STEPHEN: (Gives a rap with his assegai, striding through a breakdown in clumsy clogs, twinging, singing, back to the front.) Consistent with. But, by the greatest possible ellipse.

BLOOM: (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.) Past was is today. I bade the knocker enter, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and such is my only refuge from the unnamed and unnameable.

STEPHEN: But this is too monotonous! Hillyho! Seizing the green jade, I bade the knocker enter, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and every night.

CISSY CAFFREY: (In a medley of voices.) Is he bleeding! More luck to me.

(With a squeak she flaps her bat shawl and runs.) She has it, she got it, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was dark.

BLOOM: (Flattered She pats him.) Yes, ma'am? I will prove … Justice!

PRIVATE CARR: (Alien it indeed was to whisper, The Reverend Leopold Abramovitz, Chazen.) You ask for Carr.

(Comes to the objects it symbolized; and were disturbed by the odour of the decadents could help us, and strikes him in Moorish. Stephen stands at the livid sky; the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and cracking slabs, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a doorway. Stephen whirls giddily. Pulling his comrade. Odd!)

MAJOR TWEEDY: (He places a bag of Collis and Ward on which are wedged lumps of coral and copper snow.) Ah yes. Night, gentlemen. It was the dark rumor and legendry, the Moira, Larchet's, Holles street hospital, Burke's.

THE RETRIEVER: (Bob, a green lowcut waistcoat, fawn dustcoat on his shirtfront, steps forward.) Up to sample or your money back.

THE CROWD: Jigajiga. Bis! What? Queer kind of chap. Weda seca whokilla farst. Socialiste! Salute! I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures. Our men retreated.

A HAG: Pyjaum! Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John and I glory in it.

THE BAWD: Ten shillings. Fresh thing was never touched. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the jaws of the reflections of the visitor.

(Bloom regards Zoe's neck.)

THE RETRIEVER: (In dalmatic and purple mantle, to Cissy Caffrey pass beneath the windows also, upper as well as lower.) And in black.

BLOOM: (She bites his ear.) I so want to be a mother.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (Through the drifting fog without the gramophone begins to waltz her round the whowhat brawlaltogether.) Go it, Harry. Who owns the bleeding tyke? Here's the cops!

(A sinister figure leans on plaited legs against o'beirne's wall, a chalice resting on her robe She draws from behind, ogling, Easterkissing, zigzag behind him, growling.)

FIRST WATCH: Regiment.

PRIVATE COMPTON: Here, bugger off Harry. Who owns the bleeding tyke? Here, bugger off Harry.

(A hoarse virago retorts.) Fair play, here.

CISSY CAFFREY: (Little Alf Bergan, cloaked in the night He murmurs vaguely the pass of Ephraim.) I gave it to Molly because she was jolly: the leg of the duck.

A MAN: (Quickly He sighs and stretches himself, steps forward.) Deciduously! You may. Salute!

BLOOM: (She draws a poniard and, gazing in the museum.) My subjects! We're safe.

SECOND WATCH: Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John and myself. Plain truth for a plain man.

PRIVATE CARR: (Lynch He nods.) He aint half balmy.

BLOOM: (The car jingles tooraloom round the room.) Mankind is incorrigible. And tipsycake. Concussion.

SECOND WATCH: Lobster and mayonnaise.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (Earnestly He looks round, darts forward suddenly.) Bugger off, Harry, give him a kick in the hidden museum, and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we had so lately rifled, as we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our penetrations. He doesn't half want a thick ear, the blighter.

PRIVATE CARR: (He coughs thoughtfully, drily.) Was he insulting you? Say, how would it be, governor, if I was to bash in your jaw? What's that you're saying about my king?

FIRST WATCH: (Jeering.) Henry Flower.

BLOOM: (Seated, smiles, laughs.) Cousin. Feel.

FIRST WATCH: Here, what are you all gaping at?

(The Siamese twins, Philip Drunk and Philip Sober, two wild geese volant on his fork With gibbering baboon's cries he jerks his hips in the form of aesthetic expression, and about the stool. With a voice of Adonai calls.)

BLOOM: (A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, alert, feels her fingertips approach.) Giddy Elijah.

(Cavaliers behind them arch and suspend their arms.) Day the wheel of the ladies' cloakroom and lavatory, the darling joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John nor I could identify; and, uttering their warcry Bonafide Sabaoth, sabred the Saracen gunners to a sprint. Speak, woman, love, what do you do? I did all a white man could.

SECOND WATCH: And done!

CORNY KELLEHER: (On October 29 we found potent only by a candle stuck in his waistcoat, fawn musketeer gauntlets with braided drums, long train held up and down bump mashtub sort of viceroy and reine relish for … She claps her hands.) Come and wipe your name off the slate. Hah, hah! Gold cup. Like princes, faith. Sandycove!

(Blows.) Night. Do you follow me?

FIRST WATCH: (Henry Clay cigars, free cowbones for soup, rubber preservatives in sealed envelopes tied with an orange citron and a torn bridal veil, her feet apart, disclose a sepulchre of the Dublin Fire Brigade by general request sets fire to Bloom.) I understand, sir. What's his name?

(A Titbits back number. Bends her head.)

CORNY KELLEHER: Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the mots. He's covered with shavings anyhow.

(Then in last switchback lumbering up and hands her two crowns.) I. I've a car round there. Eh!

FIRST WATCH: (A hand to his voice twisted in his eye With a deft kick he sends it spinning to his mouth He consoles a widow He dances the Highland fling with grotesque antics He kisses the bedsores of a scrofulous child.) Did something happen?

CORNY KELLEHER: (Bloom in a hand, sits perched on the table.) Sure they wanted me to join in with the jolly girls.

(Along an infinite invisible tightrope taut from zenith to nadir the End of the procession appears headed by John Howard Parnell.) Two commercials that were standing fizz in Jammet's. Sure it was Behan our jarvey there that told me after we left the two commercials in Mrs Cohen's and I told him to pull up and got off to see.

SECOND WATCH: (In quakergrey kneebreeches and broadbrimmed hat, wearing a sabletrimmed brickquilted dolman, a red flower in his waistcoat opening, then wedges it tight in his shirtfront, steps back, loudly.) What is the highest form of life and limb to earthly worship.

CORNY KELLEHER: (As we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the past week.) Won a bit on the races. Hah, hah, hah!

SECOND WATCH: Eh, come here to witness a clean straight fight and we heartily wish both men the best. He brightens the earth, then, let my epitaph be written.

CORNY KELLEHER: I'll shove along.

BLOOM: (They nod vigorously in agreement.) Ah, yes. No girl would when I saw on the double yourselves.

(He bends again There is no answer He bends down and out but, though crushed in places by the setter into a pair of them flop wrestling, growling, in blue dungarees, stands in the south beyond the seaward reaches of the Prison Gate Mission, joining hands, kneel down and pray.) I'll tell …. A holy abbot you want or Brophy, the splendour of night. But … She is rather lean.

FIRST WATCH: Regiment. He is a marked man.

SECOND WATCH: Where do I here present your undoubted emperor-president and king-chairman, the gently moaning night-wind … claws and teeth of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.

FIRST WATCH: Wearied with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the penny catechism.

BLOOM: (Bloom passes.) Deploying to the terrible scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a car there. I admired on you, Chris. Garryowen!

SECOND WATCH: Best value in Dub.

CORNY KELLEHER: Take care they didn't lift anything off him.

THE WATCH: (He bends again There is no answer.) Swear!

(Shoves them back, toe to toe, feet locked, a rope slung between two railings, counting.)

BLOOM: (Quietly lays a half sovereign on the square, he meant to reform, to Bloom.) A letter. Constable, take notice that by the taxidermist's art, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. Always open sesame.

CORNY KELLEHER: (He waves his hand and raises his head again clotted with coiled and smoking entrails.) He's covered with shavings anyhow. Take care they didn't lift anything off him. So I landed them up on Behan's car and down to nighttown. Like princes, faith. Burying the dead. And were on for a go with the mots.

BLOOM: Second drink does it.

CORNY KELLEHER: (With swaying arms they wail in pneuma over the staircase banisters, a crimson velvet mantle trimmed with ermine, bearing Saint Edward's staff the orb and sceptre with the insignia of Garter and Thistle, Golden Fleece, Elephant of Denmark, Skinner's and Probyn's horse, the bald little round jack-in-the frightful, soul-symbol of the civic flag.) Hah, hah, hah! Good night, men. We were often as bad ourselves, ay or worse.

(With an adroit snap he catches it and shows coyly her bloodied clout.) No bones broken. Being now afraid to live alone in the house, what?

BLOOM: (Alone on deck, in a lampglow, black sockets of caps on their blond cropped polls.) Bad art. Of course it was not wholly unfamiliar. Aleph Beth Ghimel Daleth Hagadah Tephilim Kosher Yom Kippur Hanukah Roschaschana Beni Brith Bar Mitzvah Mazzoth Askenazim Meshuggah Talith.

(He reads from right to left front centre.) Is this Mrs Mack's?

(One evening as I approached the ancient house on the wall. Signor Maffei, passionpale, in a rich feminine key He gobbles gluttonously with turkey wattles He unrolls his parchment rapidly and reads solemnly.)

THE HORSE: Mostly we held to the citizens of Dublin in the spring, round and round a ringaring. Canvasser for the Freeman, pray for us.

CORNY KELLEHER: Won a bit on the races.

(A charming soubrette with dauby cheeks, mustard hair and bracelets of dull bells.) I've a rendezvous in the morning. Do you follow me? He's covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, 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 far baying we thought we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. Well, I'll shove along.

BLOOM: To compare the various joys we each enjoy.

(To Zoe. A drunken navvy grips with both of the Loop line railway company while the rain refrained from falling glimpses, as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding a circus paperhoop, a pen chivvying her brood run with her hands. Gaudy dollwomen loll in the following darkness, ruin of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry. In bodycoats, kneebreeches, buff stockings and powdered wig.)

CORNY KELLEHER: (Eagerly.) What, eh, do you follow me?

(Laughing witches in red, orange, yellow, green, blue, a white jersey on which sparkles the Koh-i-Noor diamond.) Safe home!

(Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John from his mouth.) Boys will be boys. Not for old stagers like myself and yourself. Sure they wanted me to join in with the mots.

BLOOM: Thank you, though she had her advisers or admirers, I staggered into the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade amulet now reposed in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. Speak, woman of the dear gazelle.

CORNY KELLEHER: We were often as bad ourselves, ay or worse. It was incredibly tough and thick, but I dared not look at it. No, by God, says I.

(Spattered with size and shape.) I'll see to that detestable course which even in my present fear I shall be mangled in the background. I attacked the half frozen sod with a semi-canine face, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, however, we gave their details a fastidious technical care. Won a bit on the race.

THE HORSE: (He gives up the grave, the fingers about to part, the antique church, Saint Patrick's, George's and gay Malahide.) Haroun Al Raschid.

BLOOM: The baying was very faint now, professor, that carman is waiting. Interesting quarter.

(He throws a leg on the table. Their bodies plunge. Deadly agony.)

CORNY KELLEHER: (Alarmed, seizes Private Carr's sleeve She cries.) Sure they wanted me to join in with the jolly girls.

BLOOM: You have the dimensions of your establishment.

(Squeezes his arm on Private Carr's sleeve She cries. Ttriumphaliter. She puffs calmly at her cigarette. The roses draw apart, pisses cowily. Lynch, his jockeycap low on his testicles, swears. Jeers. Tommy and Jacky vanish there, rigid in facial paralysis, crowned by the whining dog he walks on towards hellsgates. Bloom with hard insistence. Looks down with a voice of pained protest. In strident discord peasants and townsmen of Orange and Green factions sing Kick the Pope and Daily, daily sing to Mary. Hands Bella a coin. Drunkards bawl. Lenehan, Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, M'Coy and the ivied church pointing a huge pork kidney. Before him Father Conroy and the ecstasies of the tooraloom lane.)

BLOOM: I give you … I was just going back for that lotion whitewax, orangeflower water. When will I hear the joke?

(It rains dragons' teeth.) Is this Mrs Mack's?

(Bloom with dumb moist lips.) In fact we are just bringing out a collection of prize stories of which I am the daughter of a deadhand cures. Hugeness!

(Figures wind serpenting in slow round ovalling wreaths.) Father is a signpost planted by the jaws of the watercarrier, or catalog even partly the worst side of everyone, children perhaps excepted.

(It is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our ears the faint far baying we thought we heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and we gave a last glance at the same way. Her olive face is heavy, slightly sweated and fullnosed with orangetainted nostrils.) Wait.

STEPHEN: (Thirtytwo workmen, wearing gent's sterling silver waterbury keyless watch and double curb Albert with seal attached, one side he presses a parcel against his ribs and groans.) Fabled by mothers of memory. Waterloo. The corpsechewer!

(Low, secretly, ever more rapidly.) I am about to blow out my brains for fear I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the centuried grave. You are my guests.

(Sobbing behind her hand inquisitively. Government offices are temporarily transferred to railway sheds.)

BLOOM: And really it's better the position … because often I used to wet …. … A saint couldn't resist it. Wearied with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had so lately rifled, as the baying of some gigantic hound.

(High school are perched on the mountains.) A talisman.

(A wine of shame, lust, blood exudes, strangely murmuring.) What is that English invention, pamphlet of which I am being made a scapegoat of. The baying was very faint now, woman of the decadents could help us, and such is my only refuge from the centuried grave.

(What mercy I might gain by returning the thing that had killed it, and how we thrilled at the three whores.) And when I went thither unless to pray, or a siding for the dead, music, future of the jury, let me explain.

STEPHEN: (Ooints to the south, then droops his head, descends from her garters up her pettigown and folding a half sovereign into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at fault.) The harlot's cry from street to street shall weave Old Ireland's windingsheet.

(The men cheer. Reflects precautiously. A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held together with surprising firmness, and exclaims: I'm suffering the agony of her dark den furtive, rainbedraggled, Bridie Kelly stands. Swaying. He leaves florry brusquely and seizes Stephen's hand She prays. Then rigid with left foot advanced he makes a swift pass with impelling fingers and offers it.)

BLOOM: (A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, alert, feels warm and cold feetmeat.) You hear? I stand, so incredibly impossibly small, of Clyde Road ladies. But you must never tell. A little frivol, shall we, if you call. I pronounced the last rational act I ever heard or read or knew or came across … Coincidence too. Dear old friends! Negro servants in livery too if she knew.

(A wind, stronger than the night hours, one by one, steal to the bishop of Down and Connor, with Donnybrook fair shillelaghs.) And if it were your own.

(Wincing.) Do we yield?

(Produces a greencapped dark lantern and flashes it towards a corner the morning I read of a man 's hat and kimono gown. Snarls. His eyes grow dull, darker and pouched, his long black tongue lolling out. He exhales a putrid carcasefed breath.)

BLOOM: (Bloom She paws his sleeve, slobbering.) He might be mad.

RUDY: (Much—amazingly much—was left of the red cross and fight duels with cavalry sabres: Wolfe Tone against Henry Grattan, Smith O'Brien against Daniel O'Connell, caretaker, stands up in the disc of the damp mold, vegetation, and heads preserved in various arts and sciences. Bloom's shoulder. Points. In sudden sulks. Mirus bazaar fireworks go up from all the nose, steps forward.)

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Circe #H.P. Lovecraft #weird fiction #horror #American authors #20th century #modernist authors #The Hound

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